f attention than my mere body. I saw Napoleon's boots and waistcoat the other
day in Paris and I felt that he himself must be there in the glass case beside
me.
Any one who at Abbotsford has felt of the white beaver hat of Sir Walter Scott
knows that he has touched part--and a very considerable part--of Sir Walter.
The hat, the boots, the waistcoat are far less ephemeral than the body they
protect, and indicate almost as much of the wearer's character as his hands
and face. So I am not ashamed of my silk pajamas or of the geranium powder I
throw in my bath. They are part of me.
But is this "me" limited to my body and my clothes? I drink a cup
of coffee or a cocktail: after they are consumed they are part of me; are they
not part of me as I hold the cup or the glass in my hand? Is my coat more characteristic
of me than my house--my sleeve-links than my wife or my collie dog? I know a
gentlewoman whose sensitive, quivering, aristocratic nature is expressed far
more in the Russian wolfhound that shrinks al
