strange, but I was never introduced to her; I never spoke with her. Indeed, I carefully avoided a personal acquaintance, lest a lack of intelligence and sentiment might break the charm of her peerless bearing. I think that nothing in any woman has ever more deeply impressed my imagination than that young woman's splendid mien.

ANOTHER WOMAN WHO WALKED WELL.

Calling upon a legal friend in a western city about twenty years ago, he asked me, while we were sitting at his front window,—

"Have you ever seen Mrs. W——e?"

"No. Who is she? what is she?"

"She is a remarkable woman."

"Actress?"

"No."

"Singer?"

"No."

"Authoress?"

"No."

"Well, do tell me what she is remarkable for."

"Oh, she walks well."

"And is it so rare for a woman to walk well, in your city, that one who does, becomes famous?"

"Ah, but when you see her walk, you won't ask that question. She walks splendidly; and what is very wonderful, she knows it; and, knowing it, what is perhaps still more wonderful, she walks a great deal. She generally goes down town about this time. If we keep watch, we shall see her."

In a few minutes he exclaimed, "There she goes, there she goes!"

"Indeed, and that is your wonderful Mrs. W——e? She don't handsome much. Eyes sunken, complexion dark, nose—well, her nose is preposterous, mouth coarse,—but, she does, yes, she does walk splendidly." I pushed out my head and watched her as she went down the street.

STILL ANOTHER WOMAN WHO WALKED WELL.

We arrived at the Morley House about two o'clock in the afternoon. It was my first visit to London. While in the dining-room, I made one of those table acquaintances so common among travellers.

He asked:—

"Shall you visit one of the theatres this evening?"

"I hadn't thought of it; what is there worth seeing?"

"Have you ever seen Mrs. Charles Kean, Ellen Tree that was?"

"No."

"Well, you'd better go and see her. She is the finest walker I ever saw."

"Glad you mentioned it. I shall certainly go."

It was one of Shakspeare's plays. When Mrs. Kean came in, she walked across the stage two or three times before uttering a word. I never saw anything so perfectly grand! The play had then run a hundred and fifty nights. I afterward met several persons who had witnessed it more than twenty nights, and most of them mentioned Mrs. Kean's walking, as the great attraction.

Girls, the Creator has not made you all handsome. He has not given you all fine faces, or noble proportions; but He has given every one of you the capacity to learn to walk well.

Why, even a little woman, weighing but a hundred pounds, can make herself grand by a certain style of walking.

How any of you who desire to appear well, to make a fine impression, can consent to crawl about, poking your chins out, shoulder-blades sticking out, and wiggling yourself along in that stubby, stumbling way, amazes me.

Why, girls, if you were to give one-twentieth part as much time to learning to walk, as you give to the piano, you would add immensely to your attractions. Everybody plays the piano. It really is refreshing to meet one who says, "I have never learned to play." Why not a few of you, instead of sitting four hours a day on piano stools, weakening and distorting your spines; why not just a few of you, by way of variety, cultivate this beautiful, elastic, queenly manner of walking? You have no idea how, to use a Yankee phrase, "it would pay," as an attraction.

RULES FOR FINE WALKING.

There are certain prerequisites.

First, you must have low, wide heels, and broad soles, especially about the toes, affording a secure surface, upon which, in taking each step, you can push the body forward.

Second, the body about the waist must be perfectly at liberty. The corset is a deadly enemy to fine walking.

But given perfect freedom at the middle of the body, through which all the movements in walking must pass,—given this freedom of the trunk, with good shoes, and you have the prerequisites on which this general exercise of the body depends.

Suppose, instead of a free body, that you press a corset into the pit of the stomach, and press it in so as to make a scoop-shovel dip in that part of the body, of course you draw the shoulders forward, and push the bowels down out of their natural place. Then you walk like a deformed person.

With liberty of feet and liberty of body, you are ready to take your first lesson.

I once read a book about walking. It was a French book, and, if I remember right, it contained about one hundred and twenty pages. In it the most elaborate directions were given. We were told how to hold our heels and toes, what part of the foot to bring down first, how, when the foot had been brought down, it was to be moved during the step, just what angle must be maintained between the two feet, the style of movement in the ankle itself, management of the knees, the hips, the shoulders, the head, the arms, the hands, the thumbs, —the position of the thumbs was the subject of several pages.

I have sometimes thought that I would write a book on walking. I am sure I can write a better one than that French book, and my book would contain only four words. Let us see, we must have two leaves, and each leaf must be as large as your thumb nail. We have four pages.

Now we will proceed to print this book. On the first page we will print one single word, "chin"; on the second a single word, "close"; on the third page, "to"; now we approach the end of the volume; turn over, and on the last page we print the word "neck."

The volume is complete. No explanatory notes need be given, not another word need be said. Whoever carries the "chin close to neck" is all right from top to toe, and will walk well. Strange to say, the chin is the pivot on which the whole body turns in walking.

"Miss Howard, please stand here before us. Now push your chin forward after the manner of most girls in walking. There, girls, don't you see, her shoulders are wrong, hips wrong, wrong everywhere?

"Now, Miss Howard, draw your chin back close to your neck. See, she has brought her shoulders into the right position, hips right, every part is right. Now, please walk? Don't you see? Although, in this first attempt, she seems a little stiff, and awkward, she exhibits the elements of a fine, queenly bearing? If she were to keep it up a few weeks, and make it easy, wherever she might go, people would exclaim, 'Queenly! queenly!'"

Oh, it is pitiable to see fine American girls poke along the street with their chins away on in advance, hastening to inform the people that the girl is coming.

Come to this window with me, and look out a moment. There, there are two girls passing. Now look at their chins. If these girls would draw their chins back close to their necks, their whole appearance would be changed in an instant.

I have often said if my adopted daughter should come to me, and say: —

"Father, I am going to Japan; I don't expect to see you again in this world, and, now as I am about to leave you, tell me how to preserve my health." I should say:—

"My daughter, I am glad you came to me about this. I have