"Who chance to tread upon their freeborn toe,"

yet, literally, they are a comely crew, and if formed into battalions in
marching order, would make the National Guard in Paris look like

"That small infantry
Warr'd on by cranes."

Our females have figures that can thaw any frost; and 'tis universally
allowed that they walk well, though their style of pedestrianism does
not so readily recall to the imagination Virgil's picture of Camilla
flying along the heads of corn without touching their ears, as the
images of paviers with post-looking mallets driving down dislodged
stones into the streets. Intermingling with the lighter and more elastic
footsteps of your Southron dames, the ongoings of our native virgins
produce a pleasant variety of motion in the forenoon melee that along
the Street of Princes now goes nodding in the sun-glint.

"Amid the general dance and minstrelsy"

who would wear a long face, unless it were in sympathy with his length
of ears? A din of multitudinous joy hums in the air; you cannot see the
city for the houses, its inhabitants for the people; and as for finding
one particular acquaintance in the crowd, why, to use an elegant simile,
you might as well go search for a needle in a bottle of hay.

But hark! a hollow sound, distant, and as yet referred to no distinct
place--then a faint mixture of a clear chime that is almost music--now a
tune--and at last, rousing the massy multitude to enthusiasm, a military
march, swelling various, profound, and high, with drum, trombone,
serpent, trump, clarionet, fife, flute, and cymbal, bringing slowly on
(is it the measured tramp of the feet of men, or the confused trampling
of horses?) banners floating over the procession, above the glitter of
steel, and the golden glow of helmets. 'Tis a regiment of
cavalry--hurra! the Carbineers! What an Advanced Guard!

"There England sends her men, of men the chief,"

still, staid, bold, bronzed faces, with keen eyes, looking straight
forward from between sabres; while beneath the equable but haughty
motion of their steeds, almost disciplined as their riders, with long
black horse-hair flowing in martial majesty, nod their high Roman
casques. The sweet storm of music has been passing by while we were
gazing, and is now somewhat deadened by the retiring distance and by
that mass of buildings (how the windows are alive, and agaze with
faces!) while troop after troop comes on, still mov