Trouserian

Round comes the kindly trowserian [trouserian in later editions] veil (as Dyer of ‘The Fleece’ would have had it); the legs retreat, like other conquerors, into retirement;

Very shortly we may expect to see an army of Scottish Amazons, arrayed in knickerbockers, kilts, and Tam o’ Shanters, come marching over the Border to convert their vacillating sisters in the South to the true trouserian faith. Have not our earnest “women workers” already conferred in Glasgow, and do not the whole three Scottish universities already lend their countenance to the daring woman doctor? The “new woman” seems to be having it all her own way in Scotland.

As far as it has been possible to push inquiry, it is safe to say that no trouserian biped bearing the mark of a lateral crease has been met with in any quarter of the Globe, or, for that matter, ever will be.

Over in England, an octogenarian is boasting that he’s worn the same pair of pants for 50 years.[…]First reaction to this trouserian durability will be that “They don’t put stuff like that in ’em any more.”