182 ON TIGHT SHOES, 



My own cravat, although it had nothing ex- 

 traordinary either in size or shape, had once 

 very nearly been the death of me. One night, 

 on going my rounds alone in an adjacent wood, 

 I came up with two poachers : fortunately one 

 of them fled, and I saw no more of him. I 

 engaged the other ; wrenched the knife out 

 of his hand, after I had parried his blow, and 

 then closed with him. We soon came to the 

 ground together, he uppermost. In the struggle, 

 he contrived to get his hand into my cravat, 

 and twisted it till I was within an ace of being 

 strangled. Just as all was apparently over with 

 me, I made one last convulsive effort, and I 

 sent my knees, as he lay upon me, full against 

 his stomach, and threw him off. Away he 

 went, carrying with him my hat, and leaving 

 me his own, together with his knife and twenty 

 wire snares. 



I cannot possibly understand why we strong 

 and healthy men should be doomed by fashion 

 to bind up our necks like sheaves of corn, and 

 thus keep our jugular veins in everlasting jeo- 

 pardy. I know one philosopher in Sheffield who 

 sets this execrable fashion nobly at defiance, 

 and always appears without a cravat. How I 



