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habitation for his immortal soul.
I might here--if it so pleased me--dilate upon the matter of habiliment,
and other mere circumstances of the external metaphysician. I might
hint that the hair of our hero was worn short, combed smoothly over
his forehead, and surmounted by a conical-shaped white flannel cap and
tassels--that his pea-green jerkin was not after the fashion of those
worn by the common class of restaurateurs at that day--that the sleeves
were something fuller than the reigning costume permitted--that the
cuffs were turned up, not as usual in that barbarous period, with
cloth of the same quality and color as the garment, but faced in a more
fanciful manner with the particolored velvet of Genoa--that his slippers
were of a bright purple, curiously filigreed, and might have been
manufactured in Japan, but for the exquisite pointing of the toes, and
the brilliant tints of the binding and embroidery--that his breeches
were of the yellow satin-like material called aimable--that his sky-blue
cloak, resembling in form a dressing-wrapper, and richly bestudded all
over with crimson devices, floated cavalierly upon his shoulders like
a mist of the morning--and that his tout ensemble gave rise to the
remarkable words of Benevenuta, the Improvisatrice of Florence, "that
it was difficult to say whether Pierre Bon-Bon was indeed a bird of
Paradise, or rather a very Paradise of perfection." I might, I say,
expatiate upon all these points if I pleased,--but I forbear, merely
personal details may be left to historical novelists,--they are beneath
the moral dignity of matter-of-fact.
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