Speaking of the feet of English women reminds me of Captain McFadden, of Pittsburgh. The dear old Captain--he is dead and gone now these many a year--in addition to being one of the best river men that Pittsburgh could boast of, was also,--think of it,--a poultry fancier. When the fancy for Shanghais broke out the Captain joined in it, as he did in everything in the fowl way, and he paid cheerfully twenty-five dollars for a half-dozen eggs of the famous breed, which he immediately put under a hen that was in a setting mood. But Captain McFadden had a son who was without reverence either for his father or poultry. Young Jim McFadden went and bought a half-dozen duck's eggs and removed the Shanghais and put the duck's eggs under the hen, the said hen not knowing or caring whether she was hatching the common duck or the royal Shanghai. In time its labors were accomplished and Captain McFadden was viewing the resultant ducklings, with Jim laughing in his sleeve as he looked on. [Illustration: "JIM, MY BOY, AND IS THEM THE SHANGHAIS? LUK AT THEIR FUTS! HEVENS, JIM."] "Jim, me boy, and is them the Shanghais? Luk at their futs! Hevens, Jim, luk at their futs. All h--l wouldn't up-trup em." I can't imagine anything that would "up-trup" an English woman. But as small feet and hands are not essential to salvation I forgive them this. They can't help it. I presume they would if they could, but they are so kindly, so hospitable, so bright and pleasing generally, that I shut my eyes gladly to their feet, and their bad taste in dress, and accept it all without a word. Still I wish they could pare down their feet. Then an English woman would be the simple perfection of nature's most perfect work. I can't help thinking, however, that when your hostess's shoe is--but never mind. Their kindliness and their cheery laughs and their never failing good humor are admirable substitutes for small feet. Feet are not the whole of life. You see soldiers about London. They are as common as mosquitos in New Jersey, and to me just about as offensive. They are everywhere. Go where you will, you see a tall fellow in a blue or scarlet, or some other colored uniform, with an absurd little cap on his head, to which is attached a leather strap which comes down to his lower lip, to keep the absurd little cap in place. He has sometimes a sword hanging to him, and sometimes not, but he is a soldier all the same. England has need of a great many soldiers. In London they are used as a sort of show, as walking advertisements of the power and strength of the Government, and to make the picture of royalty complete.