{"collection":"philosophy-ethics","full_text_available":true,"graph_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/api/page/gutenberg_68823/graph","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/page/gutenberg_68823","id":"gutenberg_68823","license":"Public Domain (US)","rights_basis":"gutenberg_metadata_copyright_false","source":"gutenberg","source_url":"https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/68823","summary":null,"tags":["Category: Fashion","Category: Philosophy & Ethics","Category: Sociology","Manners and customs"],"text":"HABITS AND MEN.\n\n\n\n\n                             HABITS AND MEN,\n                                   WITH\n                            Remnants of Record\n                                 TOUCHING\n                           THE MAKERS OF BOTH.\n\n                                    BY\n                                DR. DORAN,\n      AUTHOR OF \u2018TABLE TRAITS,\u2019 \u2018HISTORY OF READING,\u2019 \u2018LIFE OF DR.\n                              YOUNG,\u2019 ETC.\n\n                                  \u201cSee, sitting here,\n                Just face to face with you, in cheery guise,\n                A real, live gossip; to your charities\n                Do I appeal, my friends.\u201d\u2014_T. Westwood._\n\n                             _THIRD EDITION._\n\n                                 LONDON:\n                 RICHARD BENTLEY, NEW BURLINGTON STREET,\n                  Publisher in Ordinary to Her Majesty.\n                                  1855.\n\n                                PRINTED BY\n                 JOHN EDWARD TAYLOR, LITTLE QUEEN STREET,\n                          LINCOLN\u2019S INN FIELDS.\n\n\n\n\n                      THESE \u201cTRIVIAL, FOND RECORDS\u201d\n                                 TOUCHING\n                              Habits and Men\n               ARE INSCRIBED TO A GOOD MAN, OF GOOD HABITS,\n                                    TO\n                       HENRY HOLDEN FRANKUM, ESQ.,\n        IN TESTIMONY OF THE ESTEEM AND REGARD ENTERTAINED FOR HIM\n                        BY HIS VERY SINCERE FRIEND\n\n                                                               THE AUTHOR.\n\n\n\n\nCONTENTS.\n\n\n                                                                PAGE\n\n    BETWEEN YOU AND ME                                             1\n\n    MAN, MANNERS, AND A STORY WITH A MORAL TO IT                   9\n\n    ADONIS AT HOME AND ABROAD, PART I.                            26\n\n    ADONIS AT HOME AND ABROAD, PART II.                           40\n\n    REMNANTS OF STAGE DRESSES                                     60\n\n    THREE ACTS AND AN EPILOGUE                                    67\n\n    THE TIRING-BOWERS OF QUEENS                                   88\n\n    \u201cLA MODE\u201d IN HER BIRTHPLACE                                  114\n\n    HATS                                                         129\n\n    WIGS AND THEIR WEARERS                                       141\n\n    BEARDS AND THEIR BEARERS                                     158\n\n    SWORDS                                                       168\n\n    GLOVES, B\u2e3aS, AND BUTTONS                                     185\n\n    STOCKINGS                                                    200\n\n    \u201cMASKS AND FACES\u201d                                            204\n\n    PUPPETS FOR GROWN GENTLEMEN                                  212\n\n    TOUCHING TAILORS                                             227\n\n    WHY DID THE TAILORS CHOOSE ST. WILLIAM FOR THEIR PATRON?     229\n\n    THE TAILORS MEASURED BY THE POETS                            240\n\n    SIR JOHN HAWKWOOD, THE HEROIC TAILOR                         261\n\n    GEORGE D\u00d6RFLING, THE MARTIAL TAILOR                          275\n\n    ADMIRAL HOBSON, THE NAVAL TAILOR                             283\n\n    JOHN STOW, THE ANTIQUARIAN TAILOR                            285\n\n    JOHN SPEED, THE ANTIQUARIAN TAILOR                           296\n\n    SAMUEL PEPYS, THE OFFICIAL TAILOR                            300\n\n    RICHARD RYAN, THE THEATRICAL TAILOR                          309\n\n    PAUL WHITEHEAD, THE POET TAILOR                              315\n\n    MEMS. OF \u201cMERCHANT TAILORS\u201d                                  322\n\n    CHAPTERS ON BEAUX                                            337\n\n    THE BEAUX OF THE OLDEN TIME                                  337\n\n    BEAU FIELDING                                                347\n\n    BEAU NASH                                                    356\n\n    THE PRINCE DE LIGNE                                          370\n\n    BEAU BRUMMELL                                                378\n\n    DOCTORS READY DRESSED                                        395\n\n    ODD FASHIONS                                                 402\n\n\n\n\nBETWEEN YOU AND ME.\n\n    \u201cHere, Sir, you\u2019ll find, by way of prologue,\n    A choice imbroglio. Philosophy\n    Gay in her gravity; and Poesy\n    Casting her spangles on the theme of dress.\n    Lik\u2019st thou\u2019t not, no merry Christmas to thee!\u201d\n\n                                         OLD PLAY.\n\n\nIt is remarked by Mr. T. C. Grattan, in his \u2018Jacqueline of Holland,\u2019\nthat the \u201csuitableness of raiment and the becomingness of manners are\nlinks in the chain of social life, which harmonize with and beautify the\nwhole. There is infinitely more wisdom,\u201d he adds \u201cin submitting to than\nin spurning those necessary concomitants of civilization, which, being\nartificial throughout, require the cement of elegance and refinement\nto polish, if it cannot lighten, the chain.\u201d I offer this pinch of\nphilosophy to those who like to be tempted by something didactic. I would\nnot, for the world, however, have them believe that I shall repeat the\ntemptation, or follow the example, in my illustrations of \u2018Habits and\nMen.\u2019 And when I say \u201cMen,\u201d I would imply _man_ in its general sense,\u2014a\nsense in which \u201cwoman\u201d has the better and more perfect half; for, as the\npoet sings of Nature,\u2014\n\n        \u201cHer \u2019prentice han\u2019\n        She tried on man,\n    An\u2019 then she made the lasses, oh!\u201d\n\nThe latter, consequently, will come in for their share in these trivial,\nfond records. For, have not the poets loved especially to dress and\nundress them? And have not the nymphs been consenting? None have defied\nthem, save\n\n    \u201cFair Rhodope, as story tells,\n    The bright, unearthly nymph who dwells\n    \u2019Mid sunless gold and jewels hid,\n    The Lady of the Pyramid.\u201d\n\nRhodope has been a snare to the versifiers; but I recognize in her a\nlady who loved home, and dressed as well when there as her more gadding\nsisters do only when abroad.\n\nIf Rhodope be the only maid who has puzzled the poets, Butler is the only\npoet who has seriously libelled the maids, and their mothers. See what\nthe rude fellow says of ladies in their company suits and faces:\u2014\n\n    \u201cYes, \u2019tis in vain to think to guess\n    At women, by appearances;\n    That paint and patch their imperfections\n    Of intellectual complexions,\n    And daub their tempers o\u2019er with washes\n    As artificial as their faces.\u201d\n\nIt is certainly strange that women, in earlier days, when they dealt in\nneither washes nor washing, should have been gravely commended for that\nless commendable fashion. Thus, Thomas of Ely lays down a very nasty\nmaxim when he describes the toilet of Queen St. Ethelreda:\u2014\u201cQu\u00e6 enim lota\nerat corde, non necesse erat ut lavabatur corpore\u201d (who was so thoroughly\nwell-washed in heart that she never found it necessary to wash her\nperson).\n\nVery well! I only wish this lady could have been married to the Irish\nSaint Angus Keledeus (_Kele De_, \u201cGod worshiper,\u201d thence Culdees). They\nwould have had a nice household of it; for the gentleman in question had\nthe barn and the mill-work of his convent, and, as he _never_ cleaned\nhimself, some of the grain which stuck in his hair and about his hairy\nbody, used to grow as in a good soil, and then he pulled it out; gaining\na portion of his bread in this nasty field. St. Angus, all over _ears_,\nwould have been a novelly dressed bridegroom for Ethelreda, newly washed,\nin imagination!\n\n\u201cTut!\u201d said St. Romnald, \u201cfilthy habits are the anchors by which holy\nhermits are kept fast in their cells; once let them dress well and smell\nnicely, and worldly people will invite them to their parties.\u201d Depend\nupon it, when Ethelreda left off her habits of cleanliness, she wickedly\nthought of seducing some St. Angus to come and be her resident confessor!\n\nA better example was shown by that saintly sovereign, Jayme II. of\nMayorca, who made ministers of his tailors, as George IV. made tailors\nof his ministers, who set those useful dignitaries to work in superb\noffices, wherein no profane person dared tread. On the garments made, no\nprofane person dared lay a hand; the number of suits was seven, for the\nseven great festivals; and when these were completed, all the inhabitants\nwere compelled to celebrate the event by a voluntary illumination.\n\nCertainly, Ethelreda did not sit for the original of Cowley\u2019s \u2018Clad all\nin White,\u2019 wherein he says:\u2014\n\n    \u201cFairest thing that shines below,\n      Why in this robe dost thou appear?\n    Wouldst thou a white most perfect show,\n      Thou must at all no garment wear:\n    Thou wilt seem much whiter so\n    Than winter when \u2019tis clad with snow.\u201d\n\nBut, altogether, Cowley cannot be said to dress his ladies well. He would\nbanish all art, just as the nymphs in hoop-petticoats banished all\nnature. Herrick is the man, to my thinking, who has hit the happy medium,\nin his \u2018Delight in Disorder\u2019:\u2014\n\n    \u201cA sweet disorder in the dress,\n    Kindles in clothes a playfulness.\n    A lawn about the shoulder thrown\n    Into a fine distraction;\n    An erring lace, which here and there\n    Inthrals the crimson stomacher;\n    A cuff neglectful, and thereby\n    Ribbons to flow confusedly;\n    A winning wave, deserving note,\n    In the tempestuous petticoat;\n    A careless shoe-string, in whose tie\n    I see a wild civility;\n    Do more bewitch me, than when art\n    Is too precise in every part.\u201d\n\nHerrick was exquisitely taken by the \u201cliquefaction,\u201d as he calls it, of\nhis Julia\u2019s robes, and his very heart was rumpled by their \u201cglittering\nvibration.\u201d He dresses her in the airy fashion which Moore followed when\ncalled upon to deck his Nora Creina:\u2014\n\n    \u201cThe airy robe I did behold,\n    As airy as the leaves of gold,\n    Which erring here and wandering there,\n    Pleased with transgression ev\u2019rywhere:\n    Sometimes \u2019twould pant, and sigh, and heave,\n    As if to stir it scarce had leave;\n    But having got it, thereupon\n    \u2019Twould make a brave expansion,\n    And pounced with stars, it show\u2019d to me\n    Like a celestial canopy.\u201d\n\nG\u00f6the, that lover of many ladies, never decks one wholly, but now and\nthen he makes a gift interpreting his taste, as when Lamon remarks, in\nthe \u2018Laune des Verliebten\u2019:\u2014\n\n    \u201cDie Rose seh\u2019 ich gern in einem schwarzen Haar.\u201d\n\nThe French poets put all their swains in tight gloves and loose\nprinciples; and their nymphs are as anxious about their dress, as though\nthere were _soir\u00e9es_ in Tempe, and a _Longchamps_ in Arcadia. Thus\nCh\u00e9nier\u2019s Na\u00efs bids Daphnis not to crease her veil, and, with a shrewd\nidea of the cost of a new frock, how snappishly does the pretty thing\nreply to the invitation to recline on the shady bank:\u2014\n\n            \u201cVois, cet humide gazon\n    Va souiller ma tunique!\u201d\n\nHow pure, compared or not compared with this calculating nymph, is the\nMadeline of Endymion Keats. The English poet undresses his young maiden\nwith a \u201cniceness\u201d that gives us as much right to look as Porphyro:\u2014\n\n                        \u201cHer vespers done,\n      Of all its wreathed pearls her hair she frees;\n    Unclasps her warmed jewels one by one;\n      Loosens her fragrant boddice; by degrees\n      Her rich attire creeps rustling to her knees:\n    Half-hidden, like a mermaid in seaweed,\n    Pensive awhile, she dreams awake.\u201d\n\nIt is clear that this lady, although belonging to a more artificial\nsociety than Na\u00efs, thinks less of her dress, and more of her principles.\nNot but that ladies have a fine eye for the snares by which they may\neither catch or be caught.\n\nThere is something in the following, from an old Spanish ballad (\u2018A\naquel caballero, madre\u2019), which proves what I say, and may be useful to\ngentlemen when contemplating the subject of costume:\u2014\n\n    To that cavalier, dear mother,\n      When a child, I simply told\n    How three kisses I would owe him:\n      I must pay them, now I\u2019m old!\n\n    I am now sixteen, dear mother:\n      If the noble youth should come,\n    And call upon his little debtor,\n      Sighing for him here at home;\u2014\n    Should he come with feathers dancing,\n      Helm of steel and spurs of gold,\n    And claim the kisses that I owe him,\n      I\u2014would pay him, now I\u2019m old!\n\n    \u201cHush, child! this is not the language\n      Worthy a Castilian maid,\n    One too promised to the altar,\n      Convent\u2019s gloom, and cloister\u2019s shade.\n    For thou\u2019rt given to St. Cecil,\n      To her holy shrine thou\u2019rt sold;\u2014\n    Will not my sweet one read her missal?\u201d\n      \u201cYes!\u2014I\u2019ll pay him now I\u2019m old!\u201d\n\nGrave commentators on this ballad suggest, that if the cavalier had not\nbeen a superbly dressed cavalier, the little maiden would have forgotten\nher vow; and in the south of Spain, when a man is inclined to become\nheedless of external adornment, he is warned of the peril of losing the\nthree kisses of St. Cecilia\u2019s Nun.\n\nBut the overture to my \u201copera\u201d is extending beyond due limits; and\nas I have hitherto been repeating snatches from the airs of others,\nI will here add, to save my honour, one of my own. It is well known\nthat Henrietta Maria mostly favoured the colour known as the Maiden\u2019s\nBlush,\u2014from the rose of that pretty name. The following lines will show\n\n         HOW THE ROSE GOT ITS HUE.\n\n    One starry eve, as Psyche lay\n      Beneath a cistus bower\u2019s shade,\n    Tearing the flowers in idle play,\n    Young Love came tripping by, that way,\n      And to the girl thus, laughing, said,\u2014\n\n    The sweetest rose that ever eye\n      Yet smiled upon I plucked but now;\n    Pure as the stars in yon blue sky\n    And whiter than the flowers that lie\n      In wreaths about thy sunny brow.\n\n    The sweetest rose that ever spent\n      Its balmy store of scented bliss\n    About thy locks, or gently bent\n    Above thy bow\u2019r, had ne\u2019er the scent\n      That lies enshrined, my soul, in this.\n\n    Oh for a name, my gentle girl,\n      That mortals fittingly may call\n    This matchless rose, of flowers the pearl!\u2014\n    Look, sweet, how soft the petals curl!\n      A name!\u2014and thou shalt have them all.\n\n    While Love thus urged his pretty suit,\n      And to the blushing girl drew near,\n    He softly struck his golden lute,\n    As Psyche sat, entranced and mute,\n      Drinking the sounds with willing ear.\n\n    And when the golden lute was hush\u2019d,\n      And Love still nearer drew, to seek\n    His usual meed from lips that flush\u2019d\n    With softer hues than ever blush\u2019d\n      Upon his own sweet mother\u2019s cheek,\u2014\n\n    He whisper\u2019d something soft and low,\n      With arm and flower around her thrown,\n    That call\u2019d upon her cheeks a glow\n    Which shed upon the leaves of snow\n      A hue still deeper than her own.\n\n    And Love, rejoicing, mark\u2019d the rush\n      Of soft and rosy light that came\n    Upon the flower, which caught the flush\n    From Psyche\u2019s cheek, whose maiden blush\n      Gave to the rose both hue and name.\n\nBetween the days when Psyche blushed on the rose, and the age when\nDelamira bought her blushes at fifteen shillings the pot, there is a\nlong period;\u2014nature at one end, and hoop-petticoats at the other. The\nfashion of the latter had got so preposterous, that Mr. William Jingle,\ncoachmaker and chairmaker of the Liberty of Westminster, invented for\nthe service of the ladies \u201ca round chair in the form of a lantern, six\nyards and a half in circumference, with a stool in the centre of it;\nthe said vehicle being so contrived, as to receive the passenger, by\nopening in two in the middle, and closing mathematically, when she is\nseated.\u201d Honest Jingle also \u201cinvented a coach for the reception of one\nlady only, who is to be let in at the top.\u201d For these inventions he asked\nthe patronage of that Censor of Great Britain, Mr. Isaac Bickerstaff,\u2014and\ntherefore it must be true. However, how wide the time between the\nblushes of Psyche and the era of hoops! Now it is something connected\nwith costume, during this interval, and subsequent to it, that I am now\nabout to speak. These words, between you and me, reader, have been as\nthe fragments of airs, which in musical introductions give us an inkling\nof more fulness to come. I will only pause to add a sentiment from\nCowper;\u2014but that would really be worse than Joseph Surface. No, reader! I\nwill fling in my sentiment at the end, and here invite you to consider a\nsubject, whose title heads the following page.\n\n\n\n\nMAN, MANNERS, AND A STORY WITH A MORAL TO IT.\n\n    \u201cLes hommes font les lois, les femmes font les m\u0153urs.\u201d\u2014DE S\u00c9GUE.\n\n\n\u201cL\u2019homme est un animal!\u201d said a French orator, by way of peroration to\nhis first speech in the Chamber of Deputies; \u201cMan is an animal!\u201d\u2014and\nthere he stopped. He found his subject exhausted, and he sat down in\nconfusion. Thereupon his own familiar friend arose, and suggested that it\nwas desirable that the honourable gentleman\u2019s speech should be printed,\n_with a portrait of the author_!\n\nThe definition is, as far as it goes, a plagiarism from Plato. In the\nApophthegmata of Diogenes Laertius, it is stated that Plato defined\nMan as an animal with two legs and without feathers. The definition\nhaving been generally approved of, Diogenes went into the school of the\nphilosopher, carrying with him a cock, which he had stripped of his\nplumage. \u201cHere,\u201d said he, \u201cis Plato\u2019s man!\u201d Plato saw that his definition\nneeded improvement, and he added to it \u201cwith broad nails.\u201d He might have\nfurther said, \u201cand needing something in place of feathers.\u201d\n\nSo much depends upon this substitute, and so much more is thought of\nhabits than of manners,\u2014that is, morals,\u2014and of the makers of the former\nthan the teachers of the latter, that it is popularly and properly\nsaid, \u201cThe tailor makes the man.\u201d No doubt of it; and tailors are far\nbetter paid than tutors. The Nugees keep country-houses and recline in\ncarriages; the philosophers are accounted of as _nug\u00e6_, and plod on foot\nto give golden instruction for small thanks and a few pence. _Their_\ndevice, if they are ever so ennobled as to be thought worthy of one,\nmight be that of the patriotic ladies of Prussia, who, before the time\nwhen their country became a satrapy of Muscovy, exchanged their golden\nadornments for an iron ring, on which was engraved the legend, \u201c_Ich gab\nGold um Eisen_,\u201d\u2014I gave gold for iron.\n\nThis being the case, it is little to be wondered at that man is more\ncareful about his dress than his instruction. The well-dressed man looks,\nat all events, like a man well to do; and how profound is the respect of\nthe world for a man who may be catalogued as \u201c_well to do_!\u201d That man\nthoroughly understood the meaning of the term who, when on his trial for\nmurder, and anticipating an acquittal, invited his counsel to dinner. The\ninvitation was accepted, but, the verdict rendering the inviter incapable\nof even ordering a dinner for himself, the intended guest frowned on the\nconvict, and went and dined with the prosecutor.\n\nPhilosophy has done its best to cure man of vanity in dress; but\nphilosophy has been vain,\u2014and so has man. \u201cFor a man to be fantastic and\neffeminate in attire,\u201d says Stob\u00e6us, \u201cis unpardonable. It is next to\nSardanapalus\u2019s spinning among women. To such I would say, Art thou not\nashamed, when Nature hath made thee a man, to make thyself a woman?\u201d\n\nSeneca hath something to the same purpose, and not altogether\ninapplicable in our days. \u201cSome of the manly sex amongst us,\u201d says he,\n\u201care so effeminate, that they would rather have the commonwealth out\nof order, than their hair; they are more solicitous about trimming and\nsprucing up their heads, than they are of their health or of the safety\nof the public; and are more anxious to be fine than virtuous.\u201d Sir Walter\nRaleigh asserts that \u201cNo man is esteemed for gay garments, but by fools\nand women,\u201d\u2014an assertion which shows that his philosophy and his civility\nwere both in a ragged condition. Sir Matthew Hale throws the blame where\nit ought to be borne, when he declares that the vanity of loving fine\nclothes and new fashions, and valuing _ourselves_ by them, is one of the\nmost childish pieces of folly that can be.\n\nThe philosophy of the judge is \u201ctruer steel\u201d than that of the soldier.\nBut, for philosophy in describing a dress, I know nothing that can\nsurpass that of the poor Irishman, who, looking down at his own garment\nof million tatters, smilingly said that it was \u201cmade of holes.\u201d\n\nThere is very good philosophy in the story of Nessus and his tunic. We\nall know how the story is told in history, and that it therefore cannot\nbe true. Apollodorus and Pausanias, Diodorus, Ovid, and Seneca, have all\ntold the same tale, without guessing at the truth which lies hid in it.\nIt is to this effect:\u2014When Hercules was on his way to the court of Ceyx,\nking of Trachinia, in company with his \u201clady,\u201d Dejanira, the travellers\ncame to the swollen river of Evenus. Nessus, the centaur, politely\ncarried the lady over, and became very rude to her on the opposite bank.\nThe stalwart husband, from the other shore, observing what was going\non, sent one of his shafts, dipped in the poison of the Lern\u00e6an Hydra,\nright into the centaur\u2019s heart. Nessus, while dying, presented his\nshirt,\u2014that is, his tunic,\u2014to Dejanira, informing her that if she could\npersuade Hercules to wear it, he would never behave to her otherwise\nthan as a gentleman. Now, as he never had yet so comported himself\u2014for\nhe was a dreadful bully\u2014Dejanira accepted the gift; and, as the hero was\nsoon after found flirting with his old love Iole, and was vain of his\nappearance, she sent the gay garment to him, and he had no sooner donned\nit than death clasped him, and the hero was transferred to where there\nwere so many other powerful rascals,\u2014the halls of Olympus. So much for\nfiction, and those never-to-be-trusted poets. Here is the truth.\n\nNessus was a ridiculous old dandy, with a juvenile wig and reprobate\nprinciples. He courted Hercules\u2019 \u201clady,\u201d and so flattered her that she\nbecame fonder than ever of fashionable garments, and even accepted a\nshawl from the centaur, who had ordered it in the name of the husband,\nand left him to pay for it. Hercules forgot his vexation in the _beaux\nyeux_ of Iole; and remembering how the \u201cold beast,\u201d as he used to\ncall the centaur, had contrived to sun himself in Dejanira\u2019s eyes, he\nadopted the fashion of Nessus; and, lightly as nymphs were dressed in\nthe days of Iole, he ran up a right royal bill at the milliner\u2019s, and no\nmore thought of what he should have to pay than the Duke of York, when\nordering cashmeres for Anna Maria Clarke. The fall of the year however\ncame, and therewith the \u201clittle account,\u201d with an intimation that a\nspeedy settlement would oblige. Hercules, hero as he was, felt his heart\nfail him as he looked at \u201cthe tottle of the whole,\u201d and he fell into such\nextravagances that, being hunted to death by bailiffs, and his honesty\nas small as that of the proprietor of an ultra-pietist paper who cheats\nhis editor, he took the benefit of the act, and retired to the country,\nwhere he kept a shabby chariot, drawn by only two mangy leopards, and\nultimately died, like other heroes, bewailing his amiable weaknesses.\n\nBut let us go further back than to mythology, in order to examine the\norigin of dress.\n\nIt may be said (and I hope without profanity) that sewing came in with\nsin; or rather, it was one of the first consequences of the first crime.\nPerhaps, for this reason, has a certain degree of contempt been inherited\nby the professors of the art. The trade of a tailor is not honoured\nwith mention in any part of the Scriptures. Gardening was the early\noccupation, and hence horticulture is accounted refined. Tubal Cain was\nthe first worker in iron; and from his time down to a very late period,\nthe employment which required much exercise of muscular strength had the\nprecedence of mere sedentary callings. The French, indeed, as becomes\na nation which prides itself as being the most particular touching the\nexternal dressing of a man, has always confessed to a sort of tender\nregard for the tailor. The vocation against which Gallic wits direct\ntheir light-winged shafts, is that of the grocer. The _\u00e9picier_ with\nthem is a man whose soul does not rise above _lait de poule_ and cotton\nnightcaps. He is generally the coward in farces, while heroism is not\nmade separable from the melancholy wielders of the needle.\n\nIn France however we may still trace a remnant of the time when the\nhighest honour was awarded to the pliers of the heaviest tools, or the\nworkmen whose vocation had a spice of peril in it. Thus the farrier\nsmith, in France, still enjoys a courtesy rank which places him on a\nnominal equality with the tried commanders of valiant hosts; and if\nSoult was Marshal of France, so every Gallic farrier is \u201c_mar\u00e9chal\nferrant_\u201d\u2014the marshal of the workers in iron.\n\nAs weavers and fullers are noticed in Holy Writ, while the tailor is\npassed over in silence, it is probable that he had no distinct status\namong the Jews, and that, during a long period at least, every man was\nhis own _costumier_. In other countries the tailor and the physician were\nboth slaves, and probably the first was as little or less of a bungler\nthan the second; for the _servus vestiarius_ could often improve the\nouter man, when the _servus medicus_ could not do as much for the inner\none.\n\nUnder the old dispensation, sewing, as I have said, followed sin; and\nhe who forged a bill-hook or a brand was in higher esteem than he who\nlived by the exercise of the needle. Under a later dispensation we find\nexamples of this order of precedency being reversed. Lydia of Thyatira\nwas among the first who joined Paul in prayer, by the riverside at\nPhilippi. Her office was to make up into garments the purple cloth for\nwhich Lydia itself was famous. With this proselyte Paul dwelt, and on her\nhe left a blessing. It was not so with a certain strong handicraftsman.\nWhen Paul was once at the point of death he bethought him of an old\nvicious adversary, and said, \u201cAlexander the coppersmith did me much evil;\nthe Lord reward him according to his works!\u201d And by this we not only\nsee that he who taught so wisely could sometimes err against his own\ninstructions, but we may even make this strange circumstance profitable\nto us by viewing in it the proof that even the nearest to heaven are not\nentirely free from the stains of earth; and that the spirit truly worthy\nof immortality has never yet been found in aught that was mortal.\n\nAnd this reminds me, that while every Jew learned some trade, there\nis none recorded as having learned that of a tailor. The coppersmiths\nendeavour to disconnect their calling from the excommunication of Paul,\nby asserting that the Alexander who did evil to Paul, by maligning\nhim and by broaching heresies upon the resurrection, was really a\nphilosopher, who was only a coppersmith for his amusement. This however\nis not likely, for it was not usual to designate learned men by the\nname of their adopted trades. And however this may be, it was Lydia the\nmaker of purple vests who obtained the blessing, while Alexander the\ncoppersmith inherited the curse.\n\nAnd may I here remark,\u2014for I hope to be permitted to indulge in a good\ndeal of \u201ccross stitch\u201d in these unpretending sketches,\u2014that the best of\nmen of modern times can, like St. Paul, be vigorously minded against\ntheir opponents. I will only cite Cowper, who was more wrathful than the\nApostle, without the provocation by which the latter was judicially moved.\n\nCowper is certainly the sweetest of our didactic poets. He is elevated\nin his \u2018Table Talk;\u2019 acute in detailing the \u2018Progress of Error;\u2019 and he\nchants the praises of \u2018Truth\u2019 in more dulcet notes than were ever sounded\nby the fairest swan in Cayster. His \u2018Expostulation\u2019 is made in the tones\nof a benevolent sage. His \u2018Hope\u2019 and his \u2018Charity\u2019 are proofs of his pure\nChristian-like feeling;\u2014a feeling which also pervades his \u2018Conversation\u2019\nand his \u2018Retirement,\u2019 and which barbs the shafts of his satire without\ntaking away from their strength. The same praise is due to the six books\nof the \u2018Task,\u2019 of which perhaps the _Garden_ is the least successful\nportion. If however we be disposed to find fault at all with anything\nin his sentiment or expression, it would be in this,\u2014that while he\ncelebrates in warm praises the delights of his own peaceful and retired\nlife\u2014a life which, on the respectable authority of the old medical\nwriter Celsus, I may call as hurtful to the body as it is profitable or\nnecessary to the mind (\u201cLiterarum disciplina, ut animo pr\u00e6cipue omnium\nnecessaria, sic corpori inimica est\u201d), there is some illiberality in\nhis declaring that the various occupations of other and more active men\nare either frivolous or criminal. Cowper patiently enjoys holding the\nravelled thread for ladies to wind it on to their bobbins, but he sneers\nat the party who sits down to chess or stands up to billiards. He will\npraise air and exercise, if you will only take them in company with\n_him_, in covered walks where there is what he so well and quaintly calls\n\n    \u201cAn obsolete prolixity of shade.\u201d\n\nBut if you enjoy your air and exercise in field sports, you are more\nignoble than your groom, and a greater brute than the victim you pursue.\nAgain: he acknowledges change of scene to be beneficial to the animal\neconomy; but he intends thereby a change from one parish to another.\nYou must not go to France for change, without being undeniably anything\nbut a gentleman and a Christian. He is ready too to eat game and dine\non venison, but he would not, for the world, be so guilty as to course\na hare or shoot a buck. Finally, he would listen with all imaginable\npleasure and rapture to the strains of Handel, were they only composed\nto the glory and praise of Damon and Dolly, rather than, as they are, to\nthe eulogy of the Messiah and in illustration of His sacrifice.\n\nBut why, it may be asked, this piece of patchwork with Cowper\u2019s name\nthereon? Well, Cowper was something of a tailor in his way, and could\nsew a button on his sleeve as adroitly, if not as any tailor in town, at\nleast as any sailor in the fleet. And in this he was something akin to\nPope Pius VII. when prisoner at Fontainebleau.\n\nWhat a heavy captivity was that!\u2014not so much for the prisoner, as for\nthose who were compelled to listen to the long and dreary and pointless\nstories of the good-natured and weak old man. When the officers who\nhad this Pope in charge, were conducting him from Rome to Paris, they\non one occasion shut him up in a coach-house, where he remained seated\nin his carriage, while his captors dined. Cardinal Pacca says of this\nPope, who was an admirable tailor when necessity pressed him, that,\nduring the eighteen months he was resident at Fontainebleau, he could\nnever be prevailed upon to quit his own suite of apartments. He, and the\nCardinals who accompanied him, were employed in conjugating the verb\n_s\u2019ennuyer_. He loved a little gossip, and hated books; but the captive\nhad a solace\u2014one worthy of the dignity of Diocletian, when he cultivated\ncabbages. Savary, Duke de Rovigo, who was chief gaoler over the chief\nPontiff, says, of the latter, that \u201che did not open a book the livelong\nday; and he occupied himself in things which, if I had not myself seen,\nI never should have believed; stitching and mending, for instance,\nholes and rents in his clothes, sewing a button on his breeches, and\nwashing with his own hands his dressing-gown, on which he had a habit of\nallowing his snuff to fall in large quantities.\u201d Savary is especially,\nand naturally, astonished that the supreme Pontiff preferred his amateur\ntailoring to enjoying the books in the great library of Fontainebleau.\nPoor man! he did not like reading, but he did like killing time at the\npoint of the needle. The tailors of his community are doubtless proud\nof such a patron. The story rests on Savary\u2019s authority; and while\nCardinal Pacca abuses him for telling it, his Eminence does not deny its\nauthenticity.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nBut we must not allow the Pope and his pursuits to take us away from the\nconsideration of sacred things. Reverting therefore to the Jews, it may\nbe said of them that if they did not possess the tailor as a professor,\nthey had a sufficient variety of dress to perplex the domestic ministers\nof fashion. There is quite as much perplexity for those who have to\nwrite about it. The Jews, like the modern children of the Prophet, would\nnot tolerate the representation of any living figure, and the antiquary\nhas therefore no chance of consulting a Hebrew \u2018Journal des Modes.\u2019\nThe monuments of nations distant from Palestine cannot be accepted as\nauthority when they are said to represent the Jewish people, for we have\nno assurance that the people _are_ thereon represented; or if they be\nJews, that they are, in slavery, wearing a national costume.\n\nOf one thing however there is a certainty. The Jews _had_ a national\ncostume; and, except in ceremonial dresses and some female appendages,\nit had very little resemblance indeed to the costume of the Egyptians.\nThe material of Jewish garments was manufactured at home; the skilful\nhands of the women spinning and weaving the raw material afforded by\nthe flocks. Not _all_ the women appear to have been given to the useful\nwork. There were some fine ladies among the multitude that came out\nof Egypt, and these had an aristocratically foolish contempt for the\nspinners and tailoresses of the tribes. But I would especially recommend\nmy fair readers to remember the sacred record, which ennobles labour,\nwhere it says:\u2014\u201cAll the women that were _wise-hearted_ did spin with\ntheir hands, and brought that which they had spun, both of blue, and of\npurple, and of scarlet, and of fine linen;\u201d and again it is said,\u2014and\nit sounds like God\u2019s blessing upon the daughters of toil,\u2014\u201cAnd all the\nwomen whose _hearts stirred them up in wisdom_ spun goats\u2019 hair.\u201d No\ndoubt these women, whose hearts were the thrones of wisdom, were primeval\ntailoresses. And much value was set upon the habits which they made, the\nshaping of which, I may add, presented little difficulty. The principal\narticle of dress was an ample woollen garment,\u2014a cloak by day, and a\ncouch by night. It served two purposes, like Goldsmith\u2019s stocking, which,\nat night, he drew from his feet to place on his head. Much value, I have\nsaid, was attached to this garment; as, for instance: \u201cIf thou at all\ntake thy neighbour\u2019s raiment to pledge, thou shalt deliver it to him by\nthat the sun goeth down. For that is his covering only; it is the raiment\nfor his skin: wherein shall he sleep? And it shall come to pass, when he\ncrieth unto Me, that I will hear; for I am gracious.\u201d\n\nAt Beni Hassan, in Egypt, there are some painted representations of men\nwho are supposed to be the counterfeit presentment of Jews fresh from\ntheir own country, and therefore in undoubted Jewish costume. The men\nare variously attired: they are all sandalled. Some wear only short\ntunics, others a cloak over the tunic. This cloak or plaid, for it is of\na striped and figured pattern, and is described as resembling the fine\ngrass-woven cloth of the South Sea, is worn over the left shoulder and\nunder the right arm, leaving the latter free for action. Other figures\nare clad in fringed shirts, or tunics of the same material as the plaid,\nreminding one of the command given unto Moses in the fifteenth chapter\nof Numbers: \u201cSpeak unto the children of Israel, and bid them that they\nmake them fringes in the borders of their garments throughout their\ngenerations, and that they put upon the fringe of the borders a ribbon of\nblue.\u201d And again, in Deuteronomy: \u201cThou shalt make thee fringes upon the\nfour quarters of thy vesture, wherewith thou coverest thyself:\u201d and it\nwill be remembered that a formal observance of this command gave ground\nfor censure, when the Jews were, at a later period, reproached because\n\u201call their works they do for to be seen of men; they make broad their\nphylacteries, and enlarge the borders of their garments.\u201d\n\nThe garments in the paintings at Beni Hassan are of the very simplest\nconstruction. The Hebrew maker of them could hardly have committed the\ntrifling mistake made by Andrew Fern, the weather-brained tailor of\nCromarty, who used, says Hugh Miller, \u201cto do very odd things, especially\nwhen the moon was at the full, and whom the writer remembers from the\ncircumstance that Andrew fabricated for him his first jacket, and that\nthough he succeeded in sewing on one sleeve to the hole at the shoulder,\nwhere it ought to be, he committed the slight mistake of sewing on the\nother sleeve to one of the pocket-holes!\u201d There are no pocket-holes\nvisible in the Jewish garments.\n\nThe Jews soon learned to enlarge their fringes. In the Valley of Bab el\nMalook, near Thebes, Belzoni discovered a tomb in which is represented\nthe triumph of Pharaoh Necho, after the victory over the Jews at Megiddo.\nThe Jews, among the captives, look very much like Highlanders, with\nnothing on but kilts kept down about the knees by leaded bunches of\nribbons,\u2014a fashion not unknown to modern Ballerinas, who wear \u201cvery thin\nclothing, and but little of it.\u201d The captives, however, have probably\nbeen stripped of their upper garments, which the conquerors may be\nsupposed to have sold to the tailors of Misraim, whereupon to model new\nfashions for the modish dwellers by the purple Nile.\n\nThe Rabbins had some curious ideas touching the original form of Adam,\nand the peculiar dress made for him and Eve before the Fall. Bartolozzi,\nin his \u2018Bibliotheca Rabbinica,\u2019 notices the tradition that the father of\nmankind was originally furnished with a tail, but that it was cut off\nby his Maker, because he looked better without it. Another tradition\nasserts that, before the fall, Adam and Eve had a transparent covering,\na robe of light, of which remnants are left to mankind in the nails of\nthe hands and feet. Let me add, for the sake of those who are fond of\nadopting primeval colours, that the original hue of the father of man is\nsaid to have been a bottle-green. When Stulz furnished Mr. Haynes with\nhis celebrated pea-green coat, the _schneider_ only made him as closely\nresembling as he could to Eliezer the Tanaite, in his bright green\ngabardine. And Eliezer if a good patron to tailors, and a wearer of gay\ncolours, was also one of the most learned of men. It is said of him, that\nif all the firmament were changed into parchment, and the entire ocean\ninto ink, it would not suffice to write all that he knew; for he was the\nauthor, among other brief works, of three hundred volumes, solely upon\nthe subject of sowing cucumbers. Perhaps Stulz wished to make the wooer\nof Miss Foote look as like a philosopher as possible, for Eliezer was not\nthe only sage who walked the world in verdant suit. When Amelia Opie paid\nher visit to Godwin in Somers\u2019 Town, the teacher of the peoples wore over\na fiery crimson waistcoat a bottle-green coat, the colour of the original\nman, from whom Godwin of course very much doubted whether he really\n_were_ descended.\n\nThe Jews, as rather given to luxury in dress, would have been excellent\npatrons of the tailors, but for Christian jealousy. In Spain and\nPortugal, the rich Hebrews were the unqualified delight of the most\northodox of tailors\u2014who loved to dress even more than they did to burn\nthem. But the ultra-pietism of the Queen Regent at Valladolid, in the\nyear 1412,\u2014a year when the prospects of the unfortunate descendants of\nIsrael were particularly gloomy,\u2014put a clog upon trade, without, in any\ndegree, accelerating religion. The counsellor of the Queen was Brother\nVincent Ferrer, the inveterate enemy of the Jewish nation. The two\ntogether fulminated a decree, in the name of the infant monarch, Don\nJohn, which in substance declared that the Jews should live apart, and\nexercise no trade or calling that was either respectable or profitable.\nThe tailors of Castile would not have been much troubled at this decree,\nfor their old customers had saved money enough to make the fortunes of\nthe entire trade, had it not been for one of the concluding clauses,\nwhich did more injury to Christians than to Jews. By these clauses Jews\nwere forbidden to wear cloaks, and were restricted to long robes, of poor\nmaterials, over their clothes. The Jewesses were ordered to wear common\nmantles reaching to their feet, and with hoods to be worn over the head.\nDisobedience to these clauses was to be visited by \u201cthe forfeiture of all\nthe clothes they may have on, to their under garments.\u201d An additional\nclause fixed against them the canon of a sumptuary law; and no tailor\ndared to supply to a Jew a suit, the cloth of which cost upwards of\nthirty maravedis. If the tailor offended against this decree, the Church\nadmonished him, but the law scourged the Jew. The first time a Hebrew\ndonned a suit worth more than the thirty maravedis, he forfeited the\nsuit, and was sent home in his shirt. For a second offence, he forfeited\nhis entire wardrobe; but Justice kept him warm by administering to him\na hundred lashes, vigorously applied by the hand of an executioner, who\nimagined that the more blood he drew the better Heaven would be pleased.\nFor a third indulgence in forbidden finery the Jew was mulcted of all\nhe possessed; \u201cbut,\u201d says the gracious Queen Regent, \u201cit is my pleasure\nthat, if the Jews choose, they may make coats and cloaks of the clothes\nwhich they now possess.\u201d How lucky for Baron Rothschild that he is not\ncompelled, like his predecessors, to carry his cast-off clothes to his\ntailor, and have one new coat made out of two old garments!\n\nThe Persian Jews were as ill-content at having their tailors\u2019 bills\nregulated by the Government as were those of the Peninsula. When the\nPersian Caliphs, who would allow nobody to be well-dressed but the\nfaithful, closed the colleges at Babylon, and expelled the professors,\nit is said that nobody wept for the latter so much as the handicraftsmen\nwho used to adorn their outward persons. Of these expelled professors, a\ncorsair captured at sea Rabbi Moses, his handsome wife, and their son,\nRabbi Hanoch. On their way to Cordova, some Tarquinian-like overtures\nwere made to the lady, who, walking up to her husband, inquired if those\ndrowned at sea would be resuscitated at the resurrection? The Rabbi\nsmiled, and answered with the text:\u2014\u201cThe Lord said, I will bring again\nfrom Bashan, I will bring again from the depths of the sea.\u201d Thereupon\nthe Hebrew Lucretia plunged into the waves, and her husband into a\nreverie, in which the calmly-pleasant abounded.\n\nThe Jews of Cordova redeemed the other captives, and the first visit of\nRabbi _p\u00e8re_ was to a tailor, of whom he ordered an outfit of sackcloth.\nThe honest man was disgusted with his customer\u2019s taste, and valued below\ncost-price a philosopher who declared that his logic was always more\nconclusive in sackcloth than in habits spun from finer webs. Attired in\nhis new suit, he entered the Jewish college, where a learned dispute\nwas being carried on with equal warmth and obtuseness. A few words\nfrom the mean stranger had an effect like the sun upon a fog, and the\npresident quitting his chair, the man in sackcloth was voted into it by\nacclamation. The tailor, who had followed out of curiosity, ran to the\ncaptain of the corsair, and told him that his late captive was a rare\nman, of whose value he had been ignorant; and therewith the captain\nwould fain have had the sale cancelled, but the Caliph of Cordova\nwould not listen to such a proposition. Hanoch, the son of Moses, was\neven more fortunate than his sire, for he espoused a daughter of the\nHouse of Peliag. Hanoch displayed such liberality on the occurrence of\nthis union, that for a long time the corporation of tailors, whom he\nespecially benefited on this occasion, were accustomed to name one son\nin their respective families after so liberal a patron of the craft. The\ntwo Jewish households on that day were long celebrated at the hearths\nof those who made their dresses. The wedding feast was held at Zahara,\nnear the city, and not less than seven hundred Israelites rode thither in\ncostumes that would have dazzled the Incas. Ask a well-to-do Cordovese\ntailor as to the state of his vocation, and, if he has not now forgotten\nthe once popular legend, he will answer, \u201cIt is almost as flourishing,\nSir, as in the days of Hanoch, whom our predecessors cursed as a Jew,\nand blessed as a customer.\u201d It was a neatly cut distinction, and fitted\nexactly.\n\nDeformity of principle, as well as deformity of person, may sometimes\nbe the mother of Fashion. Thus it is stated by an old French writer,\nthat \u201cthe use of great purfles and slit coates was introduced by wanton\nwomen;\u201d but he adds, with great unction, that the fashion of these\nlemans had been adopted by the princesses and ladies of England; and\nwith them he trusts that it will long remain. The same author shows\nhow a fair lady, by following the fashion thus lightly set, became the\nvictim of Satan himself. It must be premised that the author\u2019s daughters\nhad been very desirous of indulging in furred garments, and purfles,\nand slashed coats; and as the father saved himself from a long bill at\nthe dressmaker\u2019s by telling the following story, I calculate upon the\ngratitude of all sires similarly beset, if the telling of it here, and by\nthem to their respective young ladies, should be followed by the desired\nconsequences,\u2014which I do not at all anticipate.\n\nA certain knight having lost his wife, and not being at all sure as to\nthe locality in which her spirit rested, applied to a devout hermit,\nwho picked up a living by revealing that sort of secret. In our own\ndays, the Rev. Mr. Godfrey professes to get at the same mystery by dint\nof table-turning. Well; the reverend gentleman\u2019s ancestor, the hermit,\nthought upon the question by going to sleep over it; and when he awoke,\nhe informed the knight that he had been, in a vision, to the tribunal\nof souls, and that he had there learned all about the lady in question.\nHe had seen St. Michael and Lucifer standing opposite each other, and\nbetween them a pair of scales, in one of which was placed the lady\u2019s\nsoul, with its select assortment of good deeds; and in the other, all\nher evil actions. A fiend, with all her garments and jewellery in his\npossession, was looking on. The beam of the balance had not yet made a\nmovement, when the impetuous St. Michael was about generously to claim\nthe soul thus weighed. Thereupon Lucifer urbanely remarked, that he would\ntake the liberty of informing his once-esteemed friend of a fact probably\nunknown to him. \u201cThis woman,\u201d said he, \u201chad no less than ten gowns and\nas many coats; and you know as well as I do, my good Michael, that half\nthe quantity would have sufficed for her requirements, and would not have\nbeen contrary to the law of God.\u201d\n\nSt. Michael looked rather offended at its being supposed that he knew\nanything about women and their gear, and suggested that too much\nintercourse with both had been the ruin of his ex-colleague.\n\n\u201cFier comme un Archange!\u201d was the commentary of the deboshed Lucifer,\nwho, according to some old fathers, tempted Eve in very excellent French.\nHowever that may be, he added, \u201cthe value of one of this pretty wanton\u2019s\nsuperfluous gowns or coats would have clothed and kept forty poor men\nthrough a whole winter: and the mere waste cloth from them would have\nsaved two or three from perishing. Touche-fille,\u201d he said, addressing the\nfiend who carried the finery, \u201cthrow those traps into the scale.\u201d The\nfiend obeyed, by casting them in where the lady\u2019s bad actions lay; and\nstraightway down sank that scale, and upward flew the beam which bore\nthe soul and its ounce of virtues. This was done with such a jerk that\nthe soul itself fell into the outspread arms of Touche-fille, who made\noff with his prey, without waiting for further award. Lucifer looked\ninquiringly at St. Michael; but the latter observed, that though his\nopponent\u2019s aide-de-camp had been somewhat too hasty, he would not dispute\nthe case any further. \u201cBut what, may I ask, do you intend to do with her?\u201d\n\n\u201cShe shall have a new dress daily, and fancy herself ugly in all.\u201d\n\n\u201cUmph!\u201d said Michael, \u201cyou certainly are the most exquisite of torturers.\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd Michael, despite his modesty, _does_ know what most vexes a woman!\u201d\n\n\u201cGo to \u2e3a;\u201d whither, the last person addressed had not time to say. He was\ninterrupted by Lucifer, who remarked:\u2014\n\n\u201cI have business upon earth. My affairs at home are well cared for in my\nabsence by a regency.\u201d\n\nAnd so they parted; and the moral of the tale is, that luxury in dress\ntends to lead to the Devil. And though it be lightly said, it is also\ntruly said. Let us look through the book of patterns, wherein we may\ntrace the varieties of costume, its fashion and its follies, and see how\nwhat was irreproachable today becomes ridiculous tomorrow.\n\n\n\n\nADONIS AT HOME AND ABROAD.\n\nPART I.\n\n    \u201cL\u2019habit est une partie int\u00e9grante de l\u2019homme; il agit sur nos\n    sens, et d\u00e9termine notre jugement.\u201d\u2014LA BRUYERE.\n\n\nOur ancestors, in early days, had what may be called early ways. They\nwere in no respect superior to New Zealanders in a savage state.\nCivilization has however copied some of their customs, and old ladies who\npaint their cheeks and necks are not much further advanced than their\nancestors, who coloured themselves all over, and _that_ not out of vanity.\n\nStrabo says that the people in the west of England shaved their chins,\nbut cherished mustachios, wore black garments, and carried a stick. This\ndescription might serve for half the gentlemen who are to be seen in\nRegent Street and Rotten Row during the \u201cseason.\u201d But I suppose one _may_\ntake the liberty to doubt that the Cradocks of today really resemble so\nclosely as the description would seem to warrant, their progenitors the\nCaradocs of other times, who \u201clooked like furies,\u201d says Strabo, \u201cbut were\nin fact quiet and inoffensive people.\u201d\n\nThe early Welsh bards, we are told, dressed in sky-blue; the modern bards\nof the million are content to breakfast on it: the British astronomers\nwore green, which was not indicative of what the colour might have stood\nfor,\u2014a verdant knowledge of the science. When the Romans planted their\nconquering eagles on our soil, the old British chieftains resisted them\nand their fashions. Tacitus says that it was the sons of the chieftains\nwho first adopted the Roman mode; and no doubt the old gentlemen were\ndisgusted when they beheld their unpatriotic young heirs wandering about\nwithout their _bracc\u00e6_, and sporting the tunic before whose presence\nliberty and trousers had disappeared, but not for ever.\n\nThe Saxons brought in their own fashions, and some of these still\nprevail; the smock-frock, for instance, is the old Saxon tunic without\nthe belt. Such a dress was never known in Ireland nor in Scotland: the\nSaxons kept for whole centuries to a fixed fashion, as may be seen in\nany illustrated work on costume. In this respect they were only less\ntenacious than the Persians, whose garments passed from father to son\nas long as they could hold together. It would be difficult, I fancy, to\npersuade any modern young Anglo-Saxon to draw on the _scanc-beorg_, or\nshank-coverers, of his respected and deceased \u201cgovernor.\u201d It is only\nthe mantles of our Peers that descend hereditarily upon the shoulders\nof succeeding generations; and some of these mantles look dingy\nenough to date their origin from the time when Henry III. established\nTothill-fields Fair, in order to spite the Londoners. The latter, it\nwill be remembered, were compelled to close their shops for an entire\nfortnight during the holding of the fair in Westminster; and the man on\nTower Hill who wanted to furnish his outward or inward person with the\nsmallest article was compelled to resort for it to the neighbourhood of\nthe Abbey, or to do without till the fair was raised.\n\nThe taste of the Anglo-Saxons was rather of a splendid character, but\nsometimes questionable. A lady with blue hair, for instance, could\nnot have been half so pleasant to look at as a lady with blue eyes;\nthough the custom of dyeing the hair blue was perhaps scarcely more\nobjectionable than that of the young ladies and gentlemen of Gaul, who\nwashed theirs in a chalky solution, in order to make it a more fiery red\nthan it had been rendered by nature. I may add that, of the tasteful\nAnglo-Saxons, the nuns were the most especially tasteful; and the\ngorgeous attire of the sisters, with other attractions, seems to have\nstirred the very hearts of some of the most stony of prelates.\n\nMany of the latter however were rigidly severe in their censures against\nthe luxurious dressing of lively Saxon nuns; but their objurgations take\nvery much the form of that delivered by Tartuffe when he handed his\nkerchief to Dorine:\u2014\n\n    \u201cCouvrez ce sein que je ne s\u00e7aurais voir:\n    A de tels objets les yeux sont bless\u00e9s,\n    Et cela fait venir de coupables pens\u00e9es.\u201d\n\nThough it be necessary to consider climate and temperature in the matter\nof dress, we have had weather, even in England, from the severity of\nwhich no dress could protect the wearer. Thus, in the year 851, the\nwinter became so suddenly cold and inclement, and went on with such\nincreasing severity, that clothing afforded no warmth to the frame, and\nthe people were widely smitten by paralysis. They suffered excruciating\nanguish in the limbs; generally the arms and hands were first seized\nupon by the disease, and those limbs usually became altogether withered\nand useless. The paralysis respected neither rank, age, nor sex; the\nhighest dignitaries of the Church did not escape, though, of course,\nthey miraculously recovered. The clothiers of the period appear to have\nbeen as much puzzled to discover a material for useful wear that would\nmeet the contingency, as a modern tailor would find it difficult to\ntake measure of the pulpy, shapeless, boneless being which Professor\nWhewell, in his \u2018Plurality of Worlds,\u2019 thinks may be existing in Jupiter.\nAnd he has a right to think so; for, on our own earth, have we not had\nanimals whose bones were on the outside, and whose inward parts were\nall of cartilage? They would have been pretty playthings for Jupiter\u2019s\nemphatically soft nymphs and unvertebrated swains!\n\nIf the nuns of the Anglo-Saxon times were given to gorgeousness, the\nclergy were not at all uninclined to dandyism. Boniface himself denounced\nthose priests who wore broad studs and images of worms, as servants of\nAntichrist. Garments so adorned are looked upon by the descendants of\nthis great Anglo-Saxon missionary as the undoubtedly original \u201cM. B.\ncoats.\u201d\n\nThe Danes introduced fashions that sadly perplexed the simple tailors of\nall Anglia. The former, in the days of their paganism, were attired in\ngarments as black as the raven which soared on their national standard.\nWhen they came to England they learned to surpass the Anglo-Saxons\nthemselves in the gaiety of their apparel and manners. They even took to\ncombing their hair once a day; became so effeminate as to wash weekly;\nand changed their body-linen, if not as often as they might, still\nmore frequently than was their wont of old. \u201cBy these means,\u201d says old\nWallingford, \u201cthey pleased the eyes of the women, and frequently seduced\nthe wives and daughters of the nobility.\u201d Alas, that virtue should not be\nproof against even a half-washed seducer!\n\nOne of the greatest of the North Sea chieftains derived his name from his\ndress, and Ragner Lodbroch means Ralph Leatherbreeches. The Lethbridges\nof Somersetshire are _said_ to be descendants from this worthy. They\nmight go further in search of an ancestor and fare worse. Lodbroch\ndelighted in blood and plunder; wine he drank by the quart; wealth he\nacquired by \u201cright of might;\u201d he believed in little, and feared even\nless. A family anxious to assert its nobility could hardly do better than\nhold fast by such a hero. Many a genealogical tree springs from a less\nillustrious root.\n\nThe submission with which England received laws of fashion from France\nis seen in the circumstance that even before the Conquest the English\nimported the \u201cmode\u201d from beyond Channel, and universally adopted it.\nThis was the case both in speech and dress. The Saxon tongue became as\nmute at the court of Edward the Confessor as the Flemish language has\naround the throne of Leopold of Belgium. The respectable sires however\nof the period did not make themselves so \u201coutlandish\u201d in their garb as\ndid their sons; yet when William tumbled on the sands at Pevensey, half\nthe hostile array prepared to resist his coming, as well as those who\nlooked on and awaited the course of events, were familiar with his form\nof speech and accustomed to his fashion of dress. The fact that when\nWilliam was agitated he invariably occupied himself in lacing and untying\nhis cloak, is at least as well worth knowing as that the great Coligny\nunder similar circumstances used to insert two or three toothpicks into\nhis mouth, and there champ them into pulp. Let us add, that the Normans\nshaved close and washed thoroughly; and the dirty Saxons might have found\nconsolation in the circumstance that their throats were cut by cleanly\ngentlemen.\n\nThey were a costly people however, those Normans; and they not only\nruined the Saxons, but themselves, by the extravagance of their dress,\nand the ever-varying fashions to which they bore an alacrity of\nallegiance. Some of our wealthiest men of Norman descent, or fancying\nthemselves to be so, adopt in these days a fashion common enough in the\nperiod of the Norman Kings, wearing a plumed helm on parade for show, and\na \u201cwide-awake\u201d elsewhere for comfort. The Normans even took the venerated\nsmock-frock of the Saxons, and modifying it a little, and lining it with\nfur for the winter, they wore it as a surcoat over their armour, and\ncalled it by the name of _bliaus_. Any gentleman therefore who wears a\nblouse and a wide-awake may fancy himself, if he please, as being attired\nlike a Norman knight. Well, in spite of the strength of his fancy and\nthe sameness of the articles in question, he will be as little like to\nNorman cavalier \u201cas I to Hercules.\u201d\n\nI have said that the Normans generally were remarkable for the splendour\nand variety of their costume; I may add that some of the Saxons were in\nno degree behind them. There is Becket, for instance, the champion of\nthe Saxons and advocate of the Commons. When that remarkably humble man\nwent on his famous progress to Paris, the rustics observed, as he rode\nmeekly along, that the king of England must be a marvellous personage\nindeed, seeing that his Lord Chancellor looked more like a king on his\nthrone than a traveller in the saddle. He was as stately in dress at\nhome as abroad; and he never forgave King Henry for tearing from his\nshoulders his splendid new scarlet mantle lined with fur, to fling it to\na shivering beggar at his side. Excellent practical lesson, it may be\nobserved. Well, it assuredly was all the practical charity ever evinced\nby the king. And moreover it was inappropriate. We all laughed when the\nangelic Irving subscribed his gold watch to some benevolent fund; and we\nshould feel no particular increase of respect for our Sovereign and the\nLord Primate if they were to stand at Temple Bar, and the former were\nto distribute the wardrobe of the latter among the mendicants who pass\nbeneath that hideously ridiculous arch.\n\nFoppery in dress was at its height in the reign of Henry III., when men\nhalf-ruined themselves in order that they might dress in vestments of\nthe magnificent material called cloth of Baldekins, or of Baldeck, the\nusually received term for Babylon. The rich Cyclas of this time were\nalso named from the locality where the material was manufactured,\u2014a\ncustom common enough, as may be seen in the names Worsted, Blanket,\nCambric, Diaper (d\u2019Ypr\u00e8s), Bayonet, and many others. The general love of\ndress, and the wealth manifested by the grandeur of the latter, made\nInnocent IV. to speak of England as a \u201cgarden of delights,\u201d and a \u201ctruly\ninexhaustible fountain of riches.\u201d From this fountain his Holiness drank\nmany a draught; and they who were compelled to supply it wished it might\nchoke him. But Innocent made cheap compensation to England by conferring\non it the signal honour of adopting its old national \u201cwide-awake,\u201d\nand after dyeing it red, conferring it on his Cardinals. The scarlet\nwide-awake was first worn at the Council of Lyons, in 1245. The Cardinals\ndid not exhibit their accustomed vigilance when they permitted the\nfashion of this covering to glide from that of the wide-awake into that\nof the \u201cbroad-brim\u201d of the Society of Friends. But perhaps it is because\nof its present fashion that Mr. Bright, who loves Russia and hates the\npress, has such respect for Rome and such welcome for her aggressions.\n\n\u201cWhy do you not wear richer apparel?\u201d once asked a familiar friend of\nEdward I. \u201cBecause,\u201d said the sensible king, \u201cI cannot be more estimable\nin fine than I am in simple clothing.\u201d If the monarch had only shown as\nmuch sense in other matters, he would have been a more profitable king\nto the state, however little beneficial he may have been to tailors. It\nwas, of course, the fashion now to be rather simply dressed; but there\nwere occasional departures from the rule: such as when the young Prince\nEdward was invested as a knight, on which occasion the Temple Gardens\nwere crowded with the young nobility, his \u201ccompanions,\u201d who assembled\nthere to receive a magnificent distribution of purple robes, fine linen\ngarments, and mantles woven with gold. The two latter were furnished by\nthe merchant-tailors; and these, no doubt, blessed the donor as heartily\nas the trade would now do, were her Majesty to assemble the heirs and\nyounger sons of Peers, have them measured in public, and dressed at her\nexpense for the benefit of trade. There are many younger sons who would\nbe as rejoiced thereat as the tailors themselves.\n\nOld Kit Marlowe, and doubtless from good authority, has graphically\ndescribed not only Edward the Second, but that fine gentleman, his\nfavourite Gaveston. Of the latter he says:\u2014\n\n    \u201cI have not seen a dapper Jack so brisk;\n    He wears a short Italian hooded cloak\n    Larded with pearl, and in his Tuscan cap\n    A jewel of more value than the crown.\u201d\n\nAnd of Edward, Mortimer is made to say:\u2014\n\n    \u201cWhen wert thou in the field with banner spread?\n    But once; and then thy soldiers march\u2019d like players,\n    With garish robes, not armour; and thyself,\n    Bedaub\u2019d with gold, rode laughing at the rest,\n    Nodding and shaking of thy spangled crest,\n    Where women\u2019s favours hung like labels down.\u201d\n\nIf the Norman Kings up to the period of Edward I. had encouraged a costly\nextravagance of dress, there was another Norman habit which had spread\namong the people generally, and quite as much to their cost,\u2014the wretched\nhabit of swearing. To that people might well be applied the assertion,\nthat they were covered with curses as with a garment. The Saxons were\nastounded at the variety and intensity of these oaths. They had not been\naccustomed to such profanity; but as the conquerors, and particularly\nthe kings, swore whenever they spoke, why to use oaths was to put on the\nair of a conqueror and gentleman, and so a species of Norman pride kept\noaths in vigour among the _\u00e9lite_ of society until a very recent period;\nbut, as Mr. Robert Acres remarks, \u201cthe best terms will grow obsolete, and\nDamns have had their day.\u201d How we progressed through execratory terms\nuntil this consummation was arrived at, is very tersely told in an old\nepigram of Sir John Harrington\u2019s:\u2014\n\n    \u201cIn elder times an ancient custom was\n    To swear, in weighty matters, by the mass;\n    But when the mass went down, as old men note,\n    They swore then by the cross of this same groat.\n    And when the cross was likewise held in scorn,\n    Then by their faith the common oath was sworn;\n    Last, having sworn away all faith and troth,\n    Only \u2018G\u2014d damn them\u2019 is their common oath.\n    Thus custom kept decorum by gradation,\n    That losing mass, cross, faith, they find damnation.\u201d\n\nHenry I. was surrounded by a crowd of friends, whose dresses were\nsplendid and whose principles were detestable,\u2014not to say \u201cdevilish.\u201d\nThese were the \u201cEffeminati.\u201d They were like the \u201cmignons\u201d of the French\nKing Henri, and acquired their appellation from the fact of dressing\nnearly after the fashion of women. Their tunics were deep-sleeved, and\ntheir mantles long-trained. The peaks of their shoes were not only\nenormously long, but twisted so as to represent the horns of a ram or the\ncoils of a serpent. Their peaks, introduced by Fulk, Earl of Anjou, to\nconceal his misshapen feet, were stuffed with tow; and certainly, were\nany earl or other gentleman now to enter a drawing-room thus remarkably\nshod, he would himself be taken in tow (if I may be so bold as to say\nso), and conveyed before a tribunal _de lunatico inquirendo_. The\nEffeminati, like the French \u201cmignons,\u201d wore their hair long, smooth, and\nparted in the middle; and they were not only unpleasantly unnatural to\nlook at, but were horribly so in their deeds.\n\nThe foreign knights and visitors who came to Windsor in Edward the\nFirst\u2019s reign, and brought with them a continual succession of varying\nfashions, turned the heads of the young with delight, and of the old with\ndisgust. Douglas, the monk of Glastonbury, is especially denunciative\nand satirical on this point. He says that in the horrible variety of\ncostume,\u2014\u201cnow long, now large, now wide, now straight,\u201d\u2014the style of\ndress was \u201cdestitute and devert from all honesty of old arraye or good\nusage.\u201d It is all, he says, \u201cso nagged and knibbed on every side, and all\nso shattered and also buttoned, that I with truth shall say, they seem\nmore like to tormentors or devils in their clothing, and also in their\nshoying and other array, than they seemed to be like men.\u201d And the old\nmonk had good foundation for his complaint; and the Commons themselves\nhaving, what the Commons now have not, a dread of becoming as extravagant\nas their betters in the article of dress, actually sought the aid of\nParliament. That august assembly met the complaint by restricting the\nuse of furs and furls to the royal family and nobles worth one thousand\n_per annum_. Knights and ladies worth four hundred marks yearly, were\npermitted to deck themselves in cloths of gold and silver, and to wear\ncertain jewellery. Poor knights, squires, and damsels were prohibited\nfrom appearing in the costume of those of higher degree. As for the\nCommons themselves, they could put on nothing better than unadorned\nwoollen cloth; and if an apprentice or a milliner had been bold enough\nto wear a ring on the finger, it was in peril of a decree that it should\nbe taken off,\u2014not the finger, but the ring,\u2014with confiscation of the\nforbidden finery.\n\nThe consequence was that the Commons, being under prohibition to put on\nfinery, became smitten with a strong desire to assume it; and much did\nthey rejoice when they were ruled over by so consummate a fop as Richard\nof Bordeaux. All classes were content to do what many classes joyfully do\nin our own days,\u2014dress beyond their means; and we find in old Harding\u2019s\n\u2018Chronicle\u2019 that not only were\n\n    \u201cYemen and gromes in cloth of silk arrayed,\n    Sattin and damask, in doublettes and in gownnes,\u201d\n\nbut that all this, as well as habits of \u201ccloth of greene and\nscarleteen,\u2014cut work and brodwar, was all,\u201d as the Chronicler expresses\nit, \u201cfor unpayed;\u201d that is, was _not paid for_. So that very many among\nus do not so much despise the wisdom afforded us by the example of our\nancestors as didactic poets and commonplace honest writers falsely\nallege them to do. And those ancestors of Richard the Second\u2019s time were\nespecially given to glorify themselves in parti-coloured garments of\nwhite and red, such being the colours of the King\u2019s livery (as blue and\nwhite were those of John of Gaunt); and they who wore these garments,\nsometimes of half-a-dozen colours in each, why they looked, says an old\nwriter, \u201cas though the fire of St. Anthony, or some such mischance,\u201d had\ncankered and eaten into half their bodies. The long-toed shoes, held up\nto the knee by a chain and hook, were called _crackowes_, the fashion\nthereof coming from Cracow in Poland. The not less significant name of\n\u201cdevil\u2019s receptacles\u201d were given to the wide sleeves of this reign, for\nthe reason, as the Monk of Evesham tells us, that whatever was stolen was\nthrust into them.\n\nThe fashion of clothes has long ceased to mark the position of the\nwearer. On this subject, Fuller says in his \u2018Church History,\u2019 when\ntreating of the time of Edward III., that \u201csome had a project that\nmen\u2019s clothes might be their signs to show their birth, degree, or\nestate, so that the quality of an unknown person might, at the first\nsight, be expounded by his apparel. But this was at once let fall as\nimpossible: statesmen in all ages, notwithstanding their several laws to\nthe contrary, being fain to connive at men\u2019s riot in this kind, which\nmaintaineth more poor people than their charity.\u201d\n\nDistinction in dress, it will be remembered, was not allowed by More in\nhis Utopia. \u201cAll the island over,\u201d he says, \u201cthey make their own clothes,\nwithout any other distinction than that which is necessary for marking\nthe difference between the two sexes, and the married and unmarried.\nThe fashion never alters; and as it is not ungrateful nor uneasy, so it\nis fitted for their climate, and calculated both for their summers and\nwinters. Every family makes their own clothes; but all among them, women\nas well as men, learn one or other of the trades formerly mentioned.\u201d A\ncostume suitable for all conditions of the seasons, were a consummation\nthat will long be among the things to be devoutly wished for, and never\nattained.\n\nIt was once the fashion to wear coats, the material for which had not\nlong before been on the back of the sheep. For rapidity of work in this\nway, I know nothing that can compete with the achievement of Coxeter of\nGreenham Mills, near Newbury. He had a couple of South Down sheep shorn\nat his factory, at five o\u2019clock in the morning; the wool thus produced\nwas put through the usual processes; and by a quarter past six in the\nevening, it resulted in a complete damson-coloured coat, which was worn\nat an evening party, by Sir John Throckmorton. A wager for a thousand\nguineas was won by this feat, with three-quarters of an hour to spare.\nThe sheep were roasted whole, and devoured at a splendid banquet. In one\nday they afforded comfort to both the inner and outward man.\n\nWe have often been told, that \u201cBeauty, when unadorned, is adorned the\nmost;\u201d and there is much truth in that wholesome apothegm. Beauty\nindeed needs to be dressed; but Prudence should be her handmaiden. In\nillustration of the excellence of this counsel, I may quote what happened\nto two young ladies and one lover in the days of chivalry.\n\nIn those days there lived an old noble, rich in two daughters, and in\nnought besides. Of these, he promised one to a young knight, who was\nwealthy and idle, and who\u2014strange characteristic of young and gallant\nknight!\u2014was well content to be saved the trouble of wooing.\n\nOn a certain fine morning the sire made the same announcement to his\ngirls which the father of Dinah made to that now celebrated and unhappy\nyoung lady,\u2014namely, the necessity of decking themselves in their most\nseductive array, as there was a lover on the road who would dine with\nthem that day. Now, if the morning was fine, there was also an eager and\na nipping air abroad; but the elder of the two damsels, disregarding the\ntemperature, and thinking only how best to display her slender waist\nand graceful shape, put on a \u201ccote hardie;\u201d and in this close-fitting\ngarment, without an inch of fur to lend it warmth, she accompanied her\nsister to the portal, to bid welcome to the lover, looking for a lady of\nhis love. But that sister was attired with reference to the condition of\nthe thermometer, if her father had one, which is exceedingly doubtful.\nShe was warmly clad; and if her figure was concealed by her mantle, the\nresult of such covering was, that her young blood, in circulating, left a\nrose upon her cheeks, and did not fix itself, in obstinate stagnation, as\nin her more airy sister\u2019s case, on the tip of the nose.\n\nNow a red nose is not fascinating; and the knight\u2019s choice was soon\nmade. He gave his hand to the maiden who had shown most sense in the\nchoice of attire, and a very merry wedding was the speedy consequence.\nAs for what turned up in the way of further results, it was, I believe,\nchiefly the nose of the unsuccessful candidate, which became \u201cretrouss\u00e9\nen permanence\u201d. The moral of the tale is respectfully recommended to the\nnotice of all young ladies who seek to catch ardent knights on wintry\nmornings.\n\nIf the men in the days of Edward III. wore \u201ctails behind,\u201d as well as\nbeards before, the ladies were not behind them in extravagance\u2014in tails;\nand indeed in other matters. For a lady to ride on a palfrey, and not on\na charger, would have been considered as derogatory as for a bridesmaid,\nin our days, to \u201cspoil her prospects\u201d by going to a wedding in a\none-horse fly. The damsels of this age very much affected the dress of\nthe men, and we have seen the same affectation in our own time; and this\nfashion was pushed to such an extreme, that they even carried two tiny\ndaggers in the pouches of their embroidered zones. Their head-dress still\nlingers among the female peasantry of Normandy, and may be recognized in\nthe species of mitre cap, of enormous height, from the summit of which\nstreamers float in the air like pennants from the masts of some \u201ctall\namiral.\u201d It may be added, that if, in many respects, the dresses of the\nwomen resembled those of the men, their deeds, too, were like theirs; and\nthese were often (like the dresses) none of the cleanest.\n\nWe will discuss the progress of these matters in a new chapter.\n\n\n\n\nADONIS AT HOME AND ABROAD.\n\nPART II.\n\n    \u201cLa modestie, la plus touchante des vertus, est encore la plus\n    s\u00e9duisante des parures.\u201d\u2014MAD. COTTIN: _Mathilde_.\n\n\nThe Jews were undoubtedly an ill-fated people. In London, in the\nolden time, whenever any class had a grievance, the work of redress\nwas commenced by slaying the Hebrews. In the reign of Henry III. the\nmunicipality of London and a portion of the nobility were dreadfully\nincensed against Queen Eleanor; and to show their indignation, they not\nonly plundered and murdered scores of common Israelites, but the City\nMarshal and Baron Fitz-John repaired to the residence of Kok ben Abraham,\nthe wealthiest Hebrew in the city, where the noble lord ran his sword\nthrough the body of the child of the synagogue, laughing the while as if\nthe jest were a good one. Certainly, this was a strange method of showing\na political bias; and it would be no jest now if Lord Winchelsea, for\ninstance, angry at the desire of the Crown to admit Jews into Parliament,\nwere to rush down to the city and plunge his paper-cutter into the\ndiaphragm of poor Baron Rothschild.\n\nIn the case above alluded to, not only were some four hundred of the\ndevoted race robbed and killed, but the mob, satiated with savagery,\ndetermined to wind up their well-spent evening with a frolic. Accordingly\nthey turned out of their beds all the Jews, of various ages and both\nsexes, and compelled them to walk the streets throughout the entire\nnight, with nothing on but their \u201cbed-gowns.\u201d This was scant dress\nenough in those times, and there was no active police to afford the\nvictims protection. I notice this incident, because it comes fairly\nunder the head of costume. I think, moreover, that all the police in\nthe city at the present time would be puzzled what to do, were the\nlast night of an election, returning \u201cSir Solomon\u201d at the head of the\npoll, to be signalled out by a riot, the climax of which presented all\nthe Levys, Goldschmidts, Isaacs, and Marx, of \u201cSimmery Axe,\u201d\u2014wives and\nhusbands, sons and daughters,\u2014compulsorily parading through Cheapside\nin their night-gear. Between the blushes of Miss Tryphena Levy, and\nthe indignation of Mr. Penuel Isaacs her admirer, the gallant and\nloud-laughing Division X. would hardly know which victim to succour\nfirst. Such a _cort\u00e8ge_ however would probably bring into fashion the\n\u201c_bonnets de nuit \u00e0 la Juive_.\u201d\n\nOur gallant knights of old thought it no degradation to receive clothes\nat the hands of the king. When Henry IV. dubbed some four dozen the day\nbefore his coronation, he made presents to all of long green coats, with\ntight sleeves, furred, and verdant hoods: the cavaliers must have looked\nlike cucumbers. The sumptuary laws of this reign had this additional\nseverity in them, that they decreed imprisonment during the King\u2019s\npleasure against any tailor who should dare to make for a commoner a\ncostume above his degree. The tailors, like wise men, did not ask their\ncustomers whether they were gentle or simple; and burghers dressed as\nbefore, more splendidly than barons.\n\nThere was this difference between the two wretched monarchs, John and\nRichard III. John was curious about his wife\u2019s dress, and careless\ntouching his own; whereas Richard (who was not half so bad as history and\nMr. C. Kean represent him) was perhaps the most superbly royal dandy that\never sat on an English throne: George IV. was the mere _Dandini_ to that\n_Prince Ramiro_. Henry VII., again, was utterly void of taste, and seems\nto have wanted a nurse more than a valet.\n\nThe author of the \u2018Boke of Kervynge\u2019 says to the \u201cproper officer\u201d of\nthis king, in a sort of advice to servants, \u201cWarme your soveregne his\npetticotte, his doublet, and his stomacher, and then put on hys hozen,\nand then hys schose or slyppers; then stryten up hys hozen mannerly, tye\nthem up, and lace his doublet hole by hole.\u201d\n\nWe have an illustration of the national feeling with regard to dress in\nHenry VIII.\u2019s time, in the story of Drake, the cordwainer.\n\nJohn Drake, the Norwich shoemaker, was resolved to dress, for once, like\na knight; and accordingly he betook himself to Sir Philip Calthrop\u2019s\ntailor, and seeing some fine French tawney cloth lying there, which the\ncavalier had sent to have made into a gown,\u2014gentlemen then, as now,\nit seems, sometimes found \u201ctheir own materials,\u201d\u2014the aspiring Crispin\nordered a gown of the same stuff and fashion. The knight, on calling\nat the tailor\u2019s, saw the two parcels of \u201cmaterials,\u201d and inquired as\nto the proprietary of the second. \u201cThe stuff,\u201d said the master, \u201cis\nJohn Drake\u2019s, the Norwich shoemaker, who _will_ have a gown of the same\nfashion as your valiant worship.\u201d \u201cWill he so?\u201d asked proud Sir Philip;\n\u201cthen fashion mine as full of cuts as thy shears can make it, and let\nthe two be alike, as ordered.\u201d He was obeyed; but when John Drake looked\nwonderingly upon his aristocratic garment, and saw the peculiar mode\nthereof, and was moreover told the reason there_for_, he rubbed his\nbullet-head vexedly, and remarked, \u201cBy my latchet, an it be so John Drake\nwill never ask for gentleman\u2019s fashion again.\u201d\n\nI have spoken in my \u2018Table Traits\u2019 of how a French knight gained a\nlivelihood by making salads; I may notice here that a Flemish frau,\nDingham van der Plafze, did the same by starching ruffs in London,\nin Queen Elizabeth\u2019s time. She gave lessons to the nobility at four\nor five pounds the course for each pupil, and an additional pound for\nshowing them how to make the starch. The nobility of course patronized\nher; being a foreigner, the duchesses accounted her \u201cdivine.\u201d People\nof the commonalty, with as much wisdom, esteemed her as a devil; and\nstarch itself was looked upon as a sort of devil\u2019s broth. The women who\nwore ruffs were looked upon as anything but respectable; and the men\nwho placed around the neck the \u201cmonstrous ruff, of twelve, yea sixteen,\nlengths apiece, set three or four times double,\u201d were accounted of as\nhaving made \u201cthree steps and a half to the gallows.\u201d\n\nJames I., and his subjects who wished to clothe themselves loyally,\nwore stupendous breeches. Of course the \u201chonourable gentlemen\u201d of the\nHouse of Commons were necessarily followers of the fashion. But it led\nto inconveniences in the course of their senatorial duties. It was an\nold mode revived; and at an earlier day, when these nether garments were\nample enough to have covered the lower man of Boanerges, the comfort of\nthe popular representatives was thus cared for:\u2014\u201cOver the seats in the\nparliament-house, there were certain holes, some two inches square, in\nthe walls, in which were placed posts to uphold a scaffold round about\nthe house within, for them to sit upon who used the wearing of great\nbreeches stuffed with hair like wool-sacks, which fashion being left the\neighth year of Elizabeth, the scaffolds were taken down, and never since\nput up.\u201d So says Strutt; but doubtless the comforts of the members were\nnot less cared for when the old fashion again prevailed. The honourable\ngentlemen must have looked as if they were worshipping Cloacina rather\nthan propitiating the god of Eloquence.\n\n\u201cWhen Sir Peter Wych,\u201d says Bulwer, in his \u2018Pedigree of an English\nGallant,\u2019 \u201cwas sent ambassador to the Grand Seigneur, from James I.,\nhis lady accompanied him to Constantinople, and the Sultaness having\nheard much of her, desired to see her; whereupon Lady Wych, attended by\nher waiting-women, all of them dressed in their great vardingales, which\nwas the court dress of the English ladies of that time, waited upon her\nhighness. The Sultaness received her visitors with great respect; but,\nstruck with the extraordinary extension of the hips of the whole party,\nseriously inquired if that shape was peculiar to the natural formation of\nEnglishwomen; and Lady Wych was obliged to explain the whole mystery of\nthe dress, in order to convince her that she and her companions were not\nreally so deformed as they appeared to be.\u201d Lady Wych probably did not\nlook more astounding to the Turks than the Marchioness of Londonderry did\nto those of some thirty years ago, when she traversed the courts of the\nSultan\u2019s palace in the full undress of a lady of the \u201cRegent\u2019s Drawing\nRoom.\u201d Both these ladies were ambassadresses, and they remind me of the\nEnglish nobleman in the reign of Anne, who was informed that he had been\nappointed representative of his sovereign at the court of the Sultan.\n\u201cOh!\u201d he exclaimed, \u201cI can never undertake it, I should look so absurd\nand awkward in women\u2019s clothes!\u201d He seriously thought that to represent\nhis mistress he must be dressed as she was! But I shall say more of Anne\nhereafter. I have here to exhibit Oliver; Charles, as we all know, was a\ngentleman, at all events in dress. In _that_ respect Cromwell differed\nfrom him.\n\n\u201cThe first time that I ever took notice of Oliver Cromwell,\u201d says Sir\nPhilip Warwick, \u201cwas in the beginning of the Parliament held in November,\n1640, when I vainly thought myself a courtly young gentleman, for we\ncourtiers valued ourselves much upon our good clothes. I came one morning\ninto the house well clad, and perceived a gentleman speaking whom I\nknew not, very ordinarily apparelled, for it was a plain cloth suit\nwhich seemed to have been made by an ill country tailor. His linen was\nplain, and not very clean; and I remember a speck or two of blood upon\nhis little band, which was not much larger than his collar. His hat was\nwithout a hatband; his stature was of good size; his sword stuck close to\nhis side.\u201d Altogether it is clear that Oliver was a trifle slovenly, and\nsometimes unsteady enough of hand to cut himself when shaving.\n\nAbout the year 1660-1, we find our old friend Mr. Pepys gradually soaring\nin the sky of fashion. He had been content with camlet, then he gets him\na suit of cloth with broad skirts, and adds the unheard-of atrocity of\nrakish buckles to his shoes. Subsequently he enshrines his little person\nin silk; ultimately rises to the dignity of a velvet coat; and on a\n\u201cLord\u2019s Day,\u201d in February, he writes down that \u201cthis day I first began to\ngo forth in my coate and sword, as the manner now among gentlemen is.\u201d\n\u201cAmong gentlemen!\u201d quotha; and his sire the tailor was yet alive, and his\ncousin Tom Pepys was an honest turner, and sold mousetraps!\n\nA velvet coat was not for every-day wear by a clerk in the Admiralty, and\nPepys had his by him a full half-year before he had the heart to surprise\nthe world and gratify himself by the wearing of it. Nor could Peers walk\nevery day in velvet and embroidery in Coleman-street, seeing that the\ncost of a suit was not under \u00a3200. They were content to go occasionally\nlike the King at the Council Board\u2014in a plain common riding-suit and a\nvelvet cap;\u2014not half so fine as the livery of Pepys\u2019s own boy, \u201cwhich is\nvery handsome, and I do think to keep the black and gold lace upon grey,\nbeing _the colour of my arms_, for ever.\u201d The \u201ccolour of _his arms_!\u201d\nThis reminds me of the rejoinder of Russell, the porter at the old\nPiazza, who, on being asked if his coat-of-arms was the same as that of\nthe Duke of Bedford, replied that as for their arms they might be pretty\nwell alike, but that there was a deal of difference between their coats!\n\nPepys was however as proud as a popinjay, as the manner then among\ngentlemen was; and his man Will imitated his master. _Tel ma\u00eetre, tel\nvalet._ See what he says of an occurrence which he notices on \u201cLord\u2019s\nDay,\u201d June 8, 1662. \u201cHome, and observe my man Will to walk with his\ncloak flung over his shoulder, which, whether it was that he might not\nbe seen to walk along with the footboy, I knew not, but I was vexed at\nit; and coming home, and _after prayers_, I did ask him where he learned\nthat immodest garb; and he answered me that it was not immodest, or some\nsuch slight answer, at which I did give him two boxes on the eares,\nwhich I never did before.\u201d But the transgressor forgot his fault, in his\ngratification a few Sundays after in going to church with his wife,\u2014\u201cwho\nthis day put on her green petticoate of flowred sattin, with the white\nand black gimp lace of her own putting on, which is very pretty.\u201d I fear\nthat our ancestors thought as much upon matters of dress at church as\nany of their descendants. To what an extent this feeling was carried may\nbe seen in the case of Pepys, who, seeing Captain Holmes in his pew in a\nnew gold-laced suit, was so chagrined that a disquisition upon damnation\nfailed to put him into spirits. The feelings of both husband and wife\nwere very sensitive touching costume; for does he not tell us, on one\noccasion, that on a certain visit being paid them, they \u201cwere ashamed\nthat she should be seen in a taffeta gown when all the world wears moyre\u201d?\n\nThe gentleman\u2019s eyes indeed had just been regaled by a sight of the\n\u201cRussian Embassador,\u201d\u2014\u201cin the richest suit for pearl and tissue that ever\nI did see.\u201d The envoy appears to have been an exceedingly well-dressed\nbarbarian; and the Muscovite officials of our own day are in no respect\nbehind him. Felony and mendacity would seem to be accounted of as\n_p\u00e9ch\u00e9s mignons_ by those gentlemen who wear polished boots and profess\nhonest principles, with coats like Count d\u2019Orsay\u2019s, and hearts beneath\nthem like Jack Sheppard\u2019s. After all, the pearl and tissue of the Russ\nwas not half so tasteful as Lord Sandwich\u2019s \u201cgold-buttoned suit, as the\nmode is;\u201d and Pepys took to the fashion, buying fine clothes, and half\nafraid to wear them, yet rejoicing that he is not now \u201cfor want of them,\nforced to sneak like a beggar.\u201d A camlet suit for common wear then cost\nhim four-and-twenty pounds! But Pepys had fits of extravagance as well as\neconomy. The former however were generally born of patriotism: witness\nhis buying \u201ca coloured silk ferrandin suit, for joy of the good news we\nhave lately had of our victory over the Dutch.\u201d\n\nAbout the time above specified, the Court of Spain was remarkable for\nits gravity of dress. The king and grandees wore simple mantles of\nColchester baize; and in winter, the mantles of the se\u00f1oras were of no\nmore costly material than white flannel. Thereupon English and Dutch\nhandicraftsmen repaired to Madrid, in order to establish a manufactory\nof these articles. The men engaged were sober, religious men; and they\nhad with them Psalters and Testaments, and they were given to be glad in\nspiritual songs, and to solace their weariness with a refreshing draught\nfrom the Gospels. Thereupon the Inquisition fell upon them, destroyed\ntheir houses, and imprisoned the workmen. Had these been Atheists, the\n\u201cHoly Office\u201d would not have molested them in their manufactory of\nbaizes and flannels; but as they dared to worship God in sincerity of\nheart and independence of mind, the Cahills and Wisemans of the pure and\nenlightened Peninsula ruined them in bodily estate, and sent their souls\nto Gehenna.\n\nLouis XIV. was quite as arbitrary and absurd on a matter of fashion.\nCharles II. of England was the inventor of the \u201cvest dress.\u201d It consisted\nof a long cassock which fitted close to the body, of black cloth,\n\u201cpinked\u201d with white silk under it, and a coat over all; the legs were\nruffled with black ribbon, like a pigeon\u2019s leg; and the white silk\npiercing the black made the wearers look, as Charles himself confessed,\nvery much like magpies. But all the world put it on, because it had been\nfashioned by a monarch; and gay men thought it exquisite, and grave men\npronounced it \u201ccomely and manly.\u201d Charles declared he would never alter\nit, while his courtiers \u201cgave him gold by way of wagers, that he would\nnot persist in his resolution.\u201d Louis XIV. showed his contempt for the\nnew mode and the maker of it, by ordering all his footmen to be put into\nvests. This caused great indignation in England, but it had a marked\neffect in another way: for Charles and our aristocracy, not caring to\nlook like French footmen, soon abandoned the new costume.\n\nThis reminds me of a foolish interference of Louis XVI. in a matter of\ndress. In the days of our grandfathers there was nothing so fashionable\nfor summer wear as nankeen. No gentleman would be seen abroad or at home\nin a dress of which this material did not go to the making of a portion;\nand as we ever fixed the fashion on questions of male costume, the mode\nwas adopted in France, and English nankeens threatened to drive all\nFrench manufactured articles of summer wear out of the market. The king\nhowever surmounted the difficulty: he ordered all the executioners and\ntheir assistants to perform their terrible office in no other dress but\none of nankeen. This rendered the material \u201cinfamous;\u201d and many a man\nwho deserved to be hanged, discarded the suit because a similar one was\nworn by the man who did the hanging. So Mrs. Turner, the poisoner, being\nexecuted in the reign of James I. in a yellow starched ruff, put to death\nthe fashion of wearing them.\n\nPicturesqueness of costume went out with chivalry; and few things could\nbe uglier than an Englishman of James the Second\u2019s or of William and\nMary\u2019s days, except an Englishman of our own tight and buttoned period.\n\nA hundred years ago it would have been unsafe to have sold a plaid\nwaistcoat in either Rag Fair or Houndsditch. In 1752 Mr. Thornton said\nin the House of Commons, that \u201che believed it true, plaid waistcoats had\nbeen worn by some wrong heads in the country; but in the parts where he\nlived he saw no occasion for an army to correct them\u201d (he was speaking\nagainst a standing army), \u201cfor some that had attempted to wear them had\nbeen heartily thrashed for doing so.\u201d In the same year it is worthy of\nremark that we were exporting gold and silver bullion to the Continent;\nnot indeed at the rate at which we are now importing it, especially\nthe former, but still in quantities that seem almost incredible. The\nmetal-import question as it stood then excites a smile in those who\nread it now. For example, among the current news given by our juvenile\nfriend, Sylvanus Urban, in his volume for 1752, we learn that \u201ca parcel\nof waistcoats embroidered with foreign gold and silver (which were lately\nseized at a tailor\u2019s house, who must pay the penalty of \u00a3100, pursuant to\nAct of Parliament), were publicly burnt in presence of the custom-house\nofficers and others.\u201d\n\nThe steeple head-dresses of Anne and the first George\u2019s days came under\nthe notice of Addison, in the \u2018Spectator.\u2019 He compares them with the\n_commodes_, or _towers_, of his time. Speaking of the former, he tells\nus that the women would have carried their head-structures much higher\nhad it not been for the preaching of a monk named Concete. The good and\nzealous man preached with more effect than Rowland Hill did, when he\ninveighed from the pulpit against Mrs. Hill\u2019s top-knots. So logically\ndid he prove that steeple head-dresses were devices of the devil, that\nthey who wore them were the devil\u2019s daughters, and that after this life\nthe everlasting home of the latter would be with their father, that\nthe ladies, in a fit of religious enthusiasm, cast off the denounced\ndecorations during the summer, and made a bonfire of them after it was\nover. It must have been a pretty fire in which pride was burned, for the\ncongregation amounted to something like ten thousand women, with as many\nmale hearers; from which it is to be supposed that the preaching took\nplace in the open air. If only half the ladies committed their caps to\nthe flames, it was, no doubt, a glad sight to the makers of the caps.\n_They_ were sure that if fashion went out in one blaze, it would rise\nph\u0153nix-like from the flames of that fire or another. For a time however,\nthese exaggerated head-dresses were excommunicated; and it was as unsafe\nfor a lady to appear in one in public, as it would be for a lady to make\na tour through the liberty of Dublin on the 12th of July, clad entirely\nin materials of Orange hue, and singing at the top of her voice the\nexasperating song of \u2018Boyne Water.\u2019 She would assuredly be pelted, as\n_they_ were pelted by the religious and unfashionable rabble, who, years\nago, if they could tolerate sin, were shocked at the sight of tall gay\ncaps, which had been denounced by a short grave friar. But the milliners\nhad not long to wait unemployed. As soon as the monk had turned his\nback, the needlewomen were again set to work; and \u201ccountless \u2019prentices\nexpired\u201d in the efforts made to execute the orders. \u201cThe women,\u201d says\nMonsieur Paradin, \u201cwho had, like snails in a fright, drawn in their\nhorns, shot them out again as soon as the danger was over.\u201d\n\nWhen Walpole had been to King George the Second\u2019s Levee and Drawing-room,\nin 1742, he wrote of what he witnessed in this lively fashion:\u2014\u201cThere\nwere so many new faces that I scarce knew where I was; I should have\ntaken it for Carleton House, or my Lady Mayoress\u2019s visiting day, only\nthe people did not seem enough at home, but rather as admitted to see\nthe King dine in public. \u2019Tis quite ridiculous to see the numbers of old\nladies, who, from having been wives of patriots, have not been dressed\nthese twenty years; out they come, in all the accoutrements that were in\nuse in Queen Anne\u2019s days. Then the joy and awkward jollity of them is\ninexpressible. They titter, and wherever you meet them, they are always\ngoing to court, and looking at their watches an hour before the time. I\nmet several on the birthday (for I did not arrive time enough to make\nclothes), and they were dressed in all the colours of the rainbow: they\nseem to have said to themselves twenty years ago, \u2018Well, if ever I do go\nto court again, I will have a pink and silver, or a blue and silver;\u2019 and\nthey keep their resolution.\u201d\n\nWalpole is quite right in designating the gaiety of the women as an\nawkward jollity. Rough enjoyment was a fashion at this time with the\nfair. Mrs. Sherwood, in her pleasant Autobiography, adverts to this\nsubject in speaking of her mother\u2019s early days, when undignified\namusements were not declined by ladies of any age. One of these she\ndescribes as consisting of the following sort of violent fun. A large\nstrong table-cloth was spread on the upper steps of the staircase, and\nupon this cloth the ladies inclined to the frolic seated themselves in\nrows upon the steps. Then the gentlemen, or the _men_, took hold of the\nlower end of the cloth, attempting to pull it downstairs; the ladies\nresisted this with all their might, and the greater the number of these\ndelicate creatures the longer the struggle was protracted. The contest,\nhowever, invariably ended by the cloth and the ladies being pulled down\nto the bottom of the stairs, when everything was found bruised, except\nmodesty. \u2018High Life below Stairs\u2019 could hardly have been too rampant in\nits exposition, if it really reflected what was going on above. We can\nhardly realize the matter. We hardly do so in merely fancying we see good\nLord Shaftesbury Admiral Gambier, Baptist Noel, and Dr. M\u2019Neil engaged\nin settling Miss Martineau, Catherine Sinclair, the \u201cAuthoress of Amy\nHerbert,\u201d and Mrs. Fry on a table-cloth upon the stairs, and hauling them\ndown in a heap to the bottom. It would be highly indecorous; but, I am\nalmost ashamed to say, I should like to see it.\n\nIn 1748 George II. happened to see that gallant French equestrian, the\nDuchess of Bedford, on horseback, in a riding-habit of blue turned up\nwith white. At that time there was a discussion on foot, touching a\ngeneral uniform for the navy: the appearance of the Duchess settled the\nquestion. George II. was so delighted with her Grace\u2019s appearance, that\nhe commanded the adoption of those colours; and that accounts perhaps\nfor the fact, that sailors on a spree are ever given to getting upon\nhorseback, where they do not at all look like the Duchess whose colours\nthey wear.\n\nTaste was undoubtedly terribly perverted in this century. Some ladies\ntook their footmen with them into their box at the play; others married\nactors, and their noble fathers declared they would have more willingly\npardoned their daughters had they married lacqueys rather than players.\nA daughter of the Earl of Abingdon married Gallini the ballet-master,\nof whom George III. made a \u201cSir John\u201d; and Lady Harriet Wentworth did\nactually commit the madness of marrying her footman,\u2014a madness that had\nmuch method in it. This lady, the daughter of Lord Rockingham, transacted\nthis matter in the most business-like way imaginable. She settled a\nhundred a year for life on her husband, but directed her whole fortune\nbesides to pass to her children, should she have any; otherwise, to her\nown family. She moreover \u201cprovided for a separation, and ensured the\nsame pin-money to Damon, in case they part.\u201d She gave away all her fine\nclothes, and surrendered her titles: \u201clinen and gowns,\u201d she said, \u201cwere\nproperest for a footman\u2019s wife;\u201d and she went to her husband\u2019s family in\nIreland as plain Mrs. Henrietta Sturgeon.\n\nIt is characteristic of the manners of this period, that Lady Harriet\nWentworth, in marrying her footman, was not considered as having so\nterribly _d\u00e9rog\u00e9_ as Lady Susan Fox, Lord Ilchester\u2019s daughter, who in\nthe same year, 1764, married O\u2019Brien the actor, a man well to do, and\nwho owned a villa at Dunstable. The actor had contrived something of\nthe spirit of farce in carrying out his plot. He succeeded so well in\nimitating the handwriting of Lady Susan\u2019s dearest friend, Lady Sarah\nBunbury, that Lord Ilchester delivered the letters to his daughter with\nhis own hand, and without suspicion. The couple used to meet at Miss\nRead\u2019s, the artist;\u2014that is, Catherine Read, who painted whole bevies\nof our grandmothers, and whose portraits of young Queen Charlotte and\nof that dreadful woman Mrs. Macauley (represented as a Roman matron\nweeping over the lost liberties of her country) were the delight of both\nconnoisseurs and amateurs.\n\nThe meetings of the lovers became known to the lady\u2019s proud sire, and\nterrible was the scene which ensued between the \u201cp\u00e8re noble\u201d and the\n\u201cing\u00e9nue.\u201d The latter however promised to break off all intercourse,\nprovided she were permitted to take one last farewell. She waited a day\nor two, till she was of age; and then, \u201cinstead of being under lock and\nkey in the country, walked downstairs, took her footman, said she was\ngoing to breakfast with Lady Sarah, but would call at Miss Read\u2019s; in the\nstreet, pretended to recollect a particular cap in which she was to be\ndrawn; sent the footman back for it, whipped into a hackney chair, was\nmarried at Covent Garden Church, and set out for Mr. O\u2019Brien\u2019s villa at\nDunstable.\u201d\n\nThis marriage was, as I have said, thought worse of than if the\nbridegroom had been a lacquey. The latter appear to have been in singular\nesteem, dead or living. Thus we read that the Duchess of Douglas, in\n1765, having lost a favourite footman rather suddenly in Paris, she had\nhim embalmed, and went to England, with the body of \u201cJeames\u201d tied on in\nfront of her chaise. \u201cA droll way of being chief mourner,\u201d says Walpole,\nwho adds some droll things upon the English whom he encountered in\njourneying through France. When half a mile from Amiens, he met a coach\nand four with an equipage of French, and a lady in pea-green and silver,\na smart hat and feather, and two _suivantes_. \u201cMy reason told me,\u201d says\nthe lively Horace, \u201cit was the Archbishop\u2019s concubine; but luckily my\nheart whispered that it was Lady Mary Coke. I jumped out of my chaise,\nfell on my knees, and said my first Ave Maria, grati\u00e2 plena!\u201d\n\nThe esteem of the ladies for their liveried servitors does not appear to\nhave been in all cases reciprocal, if we may believe a circumstance which\ntook place at Leicester House, the residence of the Prince of Wales, in\n1743, when one of his Royal Highness\u2019s coachmen, who used to drive the\nmaids of honour, was so sick of them, that he left his son three hundred\npounds upon condition that he never _married_ a maid of honour!\n\nThere was laxity both of manners and dress as time went on; and as we\nwere an ill-dressed, so were we an ill-washed people. In the latter half\nof the last century we were distinguished as the only people in Europe\nwho sat down to dinner without \u201cdressing\u201d or washing of hands. Indeed we\nwere for a long time \u201cnot at all particular.\u201d\n\nFashions, cleanly or otherwise, often come by the clever exercise of\nwit. Thus the Russian confraternity made little fortunes through a\nwell-timed joke perpetrated by Count Rostopchin. And the joke was cut\nafter the following fashion. The Emperor Paul had an undisguised contempt\nfor Russian princes, and loved to lower their dignity. He was one day\nsurrounded by a glittering crowd of them, attired in gold lace and dirty\nshirts, when he carelessly asked his favourite Count Rostopchin, how\nit happened that he had never gained the slight distinction of being\ncreated a prince. \u201cWell, your Majesty,\u201d said the Count, \u201cit arises\nentirely from the circumstance that my ancestors, who were originally\nTartars, came to settle in Russia just as winter was setting in.\u201d \u201cAnd\nwhat of that?\u201d asked Paul. \u201cWhy,\u201d answered the Count, \u201cwhenever a Tartar\nchief appeared at court for the first time, the sovereign left it to his\noption either to be made a prince or to receive the gift of a pelisse.\nNow as it was hard mid-winter when my grandfather arrived at court, he\nhad sense enough to prefer the pelisse to the princeship.\u201d This satire\ngave the fashion to the Rostopchin cloaks, of which our grandfathers who\ntravelled in Russia used to tell long stories, that were not half so good\nas Rostopchin\u2019s brief wit.\n\nHere was a fashion arising from a joke; but they have been as often\n\u201cset\u201d by very serious causes. Some two hundred and fifty years ago, the\nprevailing colour in all dresses was that shade of brown called the\n\u201ccouleur Isabelle,\u201d and this was its origin. A short time after the\nsiege of Ostend commenced in 1601, Isabella Eugenia, Gouvernante of the\nNetherlands, incensed at the obstinate bravery of the defenders, is said\nto have made a vow that she would not change her chemise till the town\nsurrendered. It was a marvellously inconvenient vow, for the siege,\naccording to the precise historians thereof, lasted three years, three\nmonths, three weeks, three days, and three hours; and her highness\u2019s\ngarment had wonderfully changed its colour before twelve months of the\ntime had expired. The ladies and gentlemen of the court resolved to\nkeep their mistress in countenance, and after a struggle between their\nloyalty and their cleanliness, they hit upon the compromising expedient\nof wearing dresses of the presumed colour finally attained by the\ngarment which clung to the Imperial Archduchess by force of religious\nobstinacy\u2014and something else.\n\nMrs. Sherwood offers us, in her posthumous \u2018Life,\u2019 a fair picture of\nthe fashion and simplicity of the good old country rector in the last\ncentury, as regards the adorning of the outer man. Her father, the Rev.\nDr. Butt, was Rector of Kidderminster; he is the hero of the story, which\nMrs. Sherwood shall tell herself.\n\n\u201cMy father was invited to dine at Lord Stamford\u2019s, at his seat at\nEnville, not very distant from Kidderminster.\n\n\u201cIt was the custom, when he was to go out, for some competent person\nto arrange his best cloth suit on a sofa in his study, his linen and\nstockings being in a wardrobe in the same room. On this day he was\nvery much engaged in writing. However, thinking that he would be quite\nprepared when apprised that John and the horses were ready, he laid down\nhis pen at an early hour, and dressed himself, laying his old black\nsuit, neatly folded, as was his wont, on the sofa, from whence he had\ntaken the best one; this being done, to make the best of his time, he\nsat down to write again, till admonished that the horses were waiting.\n\u2018Bless me!\u2019 he cried, \u2018and I not dressed!\u2019 and he hurried himself to put\non again fresh linen and another pair of silk stockings, whilst, as his\nold coat and waistcoat, which lay where the new ones ought to have been,\ncame most naturally to hand, they were put on, and a great coat over\nall concealed the mischief from John and my mother; and away he drove,\nreaching Enville but a little time before dinner. My father happened to\nknow Lord Stamford\u2019s butler, an old and valued servant; and as he stopped\nin the hall to take off his great coat, Mr. Johnson, having looked hard\nat his attire, said, \u2018My dear Sir, you have a large hole in your elbow,\nand the white lining is visible.\u2019 \u2018Indeed!\u2019 said my father; \u2018how can that\nbe?\u2019\u2014and, after some reflection, he made out the truth as it really had\nhappened. \u2018Well!\u2019 said Mr. Johnson, not a little amazed with the story,\n\u2018come to my room, and we will see what is to be done.\u2019 So he took my\nfather, who was in high glee at the joke, into his own precincts, and\nbrushed him, and inked his elbow, and put him into better order than the\ncase at first seemed possible (_sic_). When all was complete, he said,\n\u2018Now, Sir, go into the drawing-room; set a good face on the matter; say\nnot a word on the subject; and my life for it, not a lady or gentleman\nwill find you out.\u2019 My father promised to be vastly prudent; and as he\nwas always equally at home in every company, on the principle of feeling\nthat every man was his brother, he was not in the least disturbed by\nthe consciousness of his old coat and inked elbow. Thus everything\nwent on prosperously until dinner was nearly over. My dear father,\nhaving probably, as usual, found the means of putting everybody in good\nhumour about him, he turned towards the butler, and said, \u2018Johnson, it\nmust not be lost!\u2019 The good man frowned and shook his head, but all in\nvain. \u2018It is much too good, Johnson,\u2019 he added; \u2018though you are ever so\nangry with me, I must tell it.\u2019 And then out came the whole story, to\nthe great delight of the whole noble party present, and to the lasting\ngratification of my father himself; for he never failed to be highly\npleased whenever he told the story; and it was no small addition to the\ntale, to tell of the scolding he got, before he came away, from the\nhonest butler, whose punctilio he had most barbarously wounded.\u201d\n\nSince the beginning of the present century, the laws of fashion have been\nmore stringent, those of taste ever execrable. Taste, in its true sense,\nand as applied to costume, has never of late been\n\n                        \u201cThe admiration\n    Of this short-coated population,\u2014\n    This sew\u2019d-up race, this button\u2019d nation,\u2014\n    Who, while they boast their laws so free,\n    Leave not one limb at liberty;\n    But live, with all their lordly speeches,\n    The slaves of buttons and tight breeches.\u201d\n\nEven George IV. and his favourites could not bless or curse the nation\nwith a taste for dress. After all, we are better off in that respect\nthan the Italians of the last century, who were accustomed to walk abroad\nwithout hats, and with parasols and fans; and we do not desire to see\nKensington Gardens like that at Schesmedscher, near Bucharest, of the\nfigures on which gay stage the correspondent of the \u2018Daily News\u2019 thus\ngraphically speaks:\u2014\n\n\u201cFrom three o\u2019clock in the afternoon till an hour after sunset the place\nis crowded with boyards, boyardines, and the sons and daughters of the\nsame, shopkeepers, peasants, gipsies, officers, and cadets, without\nany distinction of rank, but all dressed regardless of expense, and\nswaggering in thoroughly peacock pride. We have matter-of-fact people,\npractical people, go-ahead people, ingenious people, etc., but without\nexception this is the \u2018dressiest\u2019 people of Europe. To see the manner\nin which the young people fig themselves out here, one might imagine\nthat millinery, hosiery, and tailors\u2019 goods were a profitable investment\nof capital. When one has been awhile in the East one generally ceases\nto wonder at varieties of costume; but the _beau monde_ of Bucharest\nin holiday attire might well rouse the most nonchalant or phlegmatic\ninto surprise and attention. Fashions of dress seldom remain long in\none\u2019s memory. The man who this year enters the Park with a terribly\nbroad-brimmed hat does not remember for a moment that twelve months\npreviously he would have been miserable had he worn one with a brim more\nthan an eighth of an inch wide. It needs engravings to call up really\nvivid recollections of what one\u2019s-self, as well as every one else, wore\nten, twenty, or thirty years ago; and Bucharest recalls very vividly a\ncertain class of engravings. Every one is familiar with those splendid\nworks of art which represent his Majesty George III. reviewing the\nMiddlesex Volunteers in Hyde Park, the Pump Room in Bath, Charing-cross\nat the period of the erection of Nelson\u2019s Column, or any other remarkable\nscene as it appeared in the days of that illustrious individual, Mr.\nBrummell. Your readers well remember the broad-crowned Caroline hats,\nthe short-waisted coats, the long-tailed surtouts, the \u2018pumps\u2019 and\nHessian boots, in which fashionables strutted at that period. All this,\nand more, is to be seen here. Young men walk about in sky-blue cutaway\ncoats with brass buttons and shockingly short skirts, trousers almost as\ntight as the ancient pantaloons, and cream-coloured kid gloves. Others\nappear on promenade with coats whose tails descend to their heels, and\nothers again in all the brilliancy of the latest Paris fashions. The\ncontrast and _m\u00e9lange_ are curious and infinitely amusing, and the\ndisplay of jewellery is immense. In short, in London I would take the\nproudest man in the place for a linendraper\u2019s shopman in his Sunday\nclothes. It is in the article of gloves however that most extravagance is\ndisplayed. White or cream-coloured is the colour _de rigueur_. Present\nyourself to a Wallachian lady to pay a visit, with your hands cased in\nanything more durable, and you excite as great a sensation as if you\nwalked into a London drawing-room in top-boots. Nor must you go about the\ntown on foot; a _birtcha_, or two-horse open hackney carriage or cal\u00e8che,\nat two zwanzigers an hour, is indispensable. The vehicles are however\ngenerally very good and clean, and the drivers civil; disputes about\nfares are unknown.\u201d\n\nA portion of the above looks like a scene in a pantomime, and this\ninduces me to offer a remnant or two of remark connected with stage\ncostumes.\n\n\n\n\nREMNANTS OF STAGE DRESSES.\n\n              \u201cAll these presentments\n    Are only mockeries, and wear false faces.\u201d\n\n                   CHAPMAN\u2019S \u2018BUSBY D\u2019AMBOIS.\u2019\n\n\nThere were few people who wore such a stage-look in the last century as a\ncountry squire in London. Mr. Isaac Bickerstaff speaks of one whom he had\njust seen in the Park. He was of a bulk and stature, we are told, larger\nthan the ordinary; \u201chad a red coat, flung open to show a gay calamanco\nwaistcoat; his periwig fell in a very considerable batch upon each\nshoulder; his arms naturally swung at an unreasonable distance from his\nsides, which, with the advantage of a cane that he brandished in a great\nvariety of irregular motions, made it unsafe for any one to walk within\nseveral yards of him.\u201d\n\nIf this was the public dress of a country gentleman, the town fops had\ntheir own costume for their own stage. There was the dapper gentleman,\nwith his cane hanging to the fifth button. The smart fop rejoiced in\nred-heeled shoes and a hat hung, rather than cocked, upon one side of the\nhead. The set of \u201ca good periwig made into a twist\u201d denoted the \u201cfellow\nof mettle.\u201d The coffee-house politician was known by the moustache of\nsnuff on his upper lip; and the lords of acres, as I have just remarked,\nby their glaring scarlet coats.\n\nThe walks looked like a masquerade scene at a time of high carnival, and\nbad taste reigned undisturbed. Reformers however sought to amend it;\nand Paul Whitehead, the tailor-poet, used to say that the taste of the\nnation depended upon Garrick! Davy\u2019s own taste was very questionable in\nsome respects, for he played Macbeth in the then costume of a general\nofficer, with scarlet coat, gold lace, and a tail-wig. All the other\nactors were attired in similar dresses; and if Malcolm, on seeing Rosse\nat a distance, exclaimed, \u201cMy countryman!\u201d he was quite right to exclaim,\non seeing an English recruiting sergeant advance, \u201cand yet I know him\nnot!\u201d But Rosse might have said as much of Malcolm. It was Macklin who\nfirst put Macbeth and all the characters into national costume, when he\nplayed the chief character himself, in 1773; and all the thanks he got\nfor it was in the remark that he looked like a drunken Scotch piper\u2014which\nhe did. But Macbeth in kilts is nearly as great an anomaly as when he is\nin the uniform of a brigadier-general; and even Mr. Charles Kean, though\nhe exhibited the Thane short-petticoated, seemed glad to get into long\nclothes and propriety as soon as the Thane had grown into a king.\n\nMacklin was a comedian rather than a tragedian, and it is singular that\nit is to another comic actor we owe the correct dressing of Othello.\nIt was in the latter character that Foote made his first appearance in\nLondon, at the Haymarket, in 1744. He was announced as a \u201cgentleman\u201d\nwhose Othello \u201cwill be new dressed, after the manner of his country.\u201d\nMr. Wright would now play the character with about as much propriety\nand equal success, or the want of it. Foote is said to have looked very\nmuch like the black boy with the tea-kettle in Hogarth\u2019s \u2018Marriage \u00e0 la\nMode.\u2019 \u201cBring the tea-kettle and lamp!\u201d was Quin\u2019s exclamation, when he\nsaw Garrick enter, blacked as Othello. And we may note that, at this\ntime, if a stage-manager were not acting in any piece represented during\nthe evening, he was exempted from coming before the audience, whatever\nconfusion might reign in the house. He was said to be not dressed. Austin\nnever so much offended Garrick as when he bought a cast-off dress, the\nexact counterpart of that worn by Garrick himself in Lothario, and in\nwhich Austin intended to accompany Roscius on the stage. It was assumed\non purpose to annoy Garrick, who wanted Austin to increase the number of\ncompanions who should surround the gallant, gay Lothario; and Austin\u2019s\nmethod of obedience made Davy eager to excuse his humble friend\u2019s\nattendance.\n\nA better illustration of stage costume is afforded us in the story of (I\nthink) Bensley. He had to play Henry VI. in \u2018Richard the Third.\u2019 After\nthe monarch\u2019s death in the early part of the play, he had to appear\nfor a moment or two as his own ghost, in the fifth act. The spirits\nwere at that time exhibited _en buste_, by a trap. Now our Henry was\ninvited out to supper, and being anxious to get there early, and knowing\nthat little more than his shoulders would be seen by the public, he\nretained his black velvet vest and bugles; but, discarding the lower\npart of his stage costume, he drew on a jaunty pair of new, tight,\nnankeen pantaloons, to be as far dressed for his supper company as he\ncould. When he stood on the trap, he cautioned the men who turned the\ncrank not to raise him as high as usual, and of course they promised\nto obey. But a wicked low comedian was at hand, whose love of mischief\nprevailed over his judgement, and he suddenly applied himself with such\ngoodwill to the winch that he ran King Henry up right to a level with\nthe stage; and moreover gave his majesty such a jerk, that he was forced\nto step from the trap on to the boards, to save himself from falling.\nThe sight of the old Lancastrian monarch in a costume of two such\ndifferent periods,\u2014medi\u00e6val above, all nankeen and novelty below,\u2014was\ndestructive of all decorum both before the stage and upon it. The\naudience emphatically \u201csplit their sides;\u201d and as for the tyrant in the\ntent, he sat bolt upright, and burst into such an insane roar, that the\nreal Richard could not have looked more frantically hysterical had the\ndeceased Henry actually so visited him in the nankeen spirit.\n\nMrs. Barry is said to have been a very elegant dresser; but, like most\nof her contemporaries, she was not a very correct one. Thus, in the\n\u2018Unhappy Favourite,\u2019 she played Queen Elizabeth, and, in the scene of the\ncrowning, she wore the coronation robes of James the Second\u2019s queen; and\nEwell says that she gave the audience a strong idea of the first-named\nQueen. Anne of Modena, with the exception of some small details, was\ndressed as little like Elizabeth as Queen Victoria was dressed like\nAnne. Royal dresses in earlier days were not turned to such base uses.\nWichtlaf, King of the Mercians, gave his purple coronation robes to the\nmonks of courteous Croyland; and they wore the same, cut up into copes\nand chasubles, at the service of the altar. Goodman, the comedian,\nwho left the stage towards the close of the seventeenth century, was\noriginally a Cambridge student, celebrated for his extravagance in dress,\nand for his being expelled for cutting and defacing the picture of the\nDuke of Monmouth, Chancellor of the University. He took to the stage, and\nwas successful; but his salary was not sufficient to enable him to dress\nas he liked, and consequently he was \u201ccompelled,\u201d as he himself said,\n\u201cto take the air.\u201d The light comedian, when the play was over, mounted a\nhorse, turned highwayman, and was brought thereby so near to the gallows,\nthat it was only the sign manual of James II. that saved his neck. The\nfamous Duchess of Cleveland, \u201c_my_ Duchess,\u201d as Goodman used to call her,\nought not to have left her handsome favourite in such a mean condition.\n\nHis condition was so mean, that he and a fellow comedian, named Griffin,\nlived in one room, shared the same bed, and had but one shirt between\nthem. This they wore alternately. It happened that one of them had to pay\na visit to a lady, and wished to wear the shirt out of his turn; and\nthis wish so enraged the other, that a fierce battle ensued, which ended,\nlike many other battles, in the destruction of the prize contended for,\nand the mutual damage of the combatants.\n\nJevon was another of the actors of this period who was noted for his\ndress and easy manners. The latter were particularly easy. As an example\nof it, I may remark that one day, as he entered a club room, he took a\nclean napkin from one of the tables, and wiped therewith his muddy shoes.\nThe waiter begged him to wait till he fetched a coarser cloth. \u201cNo, thank\nyou, my lad,\u201d said Jevon, \u201cthis will serve me well enough. I\u2019m neither\nproud nor particular.\u201d\n\nWilks the actor was the great ruler in matters of dress about this time.\nHe was exceedingly simple in his tastes off the stage, but he was the\nbest-dressed man upon it; and what he adopted was universally followed.\nAn eminent critic, writing of this actor in 1729, says:\u2014\u201cWhatever he did\non the stage, let it be ever so trifling,\u2014whether it consisted in putting\non his gloves, or taking out his watch, lolling on his cane, or taking\nsnuff,\u2014every movement was marked by such an ease of breeding and manner,\neverything told so strongly the involuntary motion of a gentleman,\nthat it was impossible to consider the character he represented in any\nother light than that of reality; but what was still more surprising,\nthat person who could thus delight an audience from the gaiety and\nsprightliness of his manner, I met the next day in the street hobbling\nto a hackney coach, seemingly so enfeebled by age and infirmities, that\nI could scarcely believe him to be the same man.\u201d This splendid dresser\nexercised charity in a questionably liberal manner. He was a father to\norphans, and left his widow with scarcely enough to find herself in\ncotton gowns.\n\nOur provincial theatres exhibit some strange anomalies with regard to\ncostume, and there the sons and daughters of today have middle-aged\nsires wearing the costume of the time of George I. But the most singular\nanomaly in dress ever encountered by my experience was at a small theatre\nin Ireland, not very far from Sligo. The entertainment consisted of\n\u2018Venice Preserved,\u2019 and the balcony scene from \u2018Romeo and Juliet.\u2019 The\nVenetian ladies and gentlemen were attired in every possible variety\nof costume; yet not one of them wore a dress that could have been\ndistinguished at any period as being once worn by any people, civilized\nor savage. Jaffier and Pierre however presented the greatest singularity,\nfor they were not only indescribably decked, but they had but one pair\nof buskin boots between them; and accordingly, when it was necessary for\nboth to be in presence of the audience, each stood at the side-scene with\na single leg protruded into sight and duly booted! When a soliloquy was\nto be delivered, the actor came forward, as easy in his buskins as though\nthey belonged to himself, and were not enjoyed by a partner, _\u00e0 la_ Box\nand Cox. Nor was this all. The appointments of the entire house were of\nthe same character. The roof was of tiles, the seats in the pit were of\npotato-sacks and sacks of potatoes; and never did I laugh so much at a\ntragedy as when a torrent of rain fell upon audience and actors, and\nJuliet went through the balcony scene in a dirty bed-gown, and under a\ncotton umbrella.\n\nI may observe that this Juliet, though unmarried, was spoken of as \u201cMrs.\u201d\nand not \u201cMiss,\u201d for the reason that she was old enough to _be_ the\nformer. This was invariably the rule on our own stage a century and a\nhalf ago; and Cibber, in the \u2018Lady\u2019s Last Stake,\u2019 calls two of his female\ncharacters _Miss_ Notable and _Mrs._ Conquest, though both are unmarried;\nbut the former is hardly old enough to be a bride, and the latter might\nhave had daughters of her own. Another coincidence struck me in the Irish\ntheatre. The performances were announced as for the benefit of a certain\nactor _and his creditors_. I should have set this down to Irish humour,\nhad I not remembered having read that Spiller, in 1719, had made the same\nannouncement at Lincoln\u2019s Inn Fields.\n\nBut enough of these remnants. I leave them, to portray an illustrative\ndrama, the chief character in which was enacted by one who was great in\ncostume; and who may therefore claim to have his story, hitherto told but\nto the select few, placed upon our record.\n\n\n\n\nTHREE ACTS AND AN EPILOGUE.\n\n                                  \u201cMy youth\n    Pass\u2019d through the tropics of each fortune, I\n    Was made her perfect tennis-ball; her smiles\n    Now made me rich and honour\u2019d; then her frowns\n    Dash\u2019d all my joys, and blasted all my hopes.\u201d\n\n                   _THE HUNTINGDON DIVERTISEMENT,\n               played at Merchant Tailors\u2019, 1678._\n\n\nACT I.\n\n\u201cBalthazar,\u201d said a fine-looking lad in the prison of Orl\u00e9ans, \u201cyou are a\nbrute!\u201d\n\nBy way of reply to this testimonial to character, the gaoler struck\nthe boy with his heavy bunch of keys on the head. The blow sent young\nEdmond staggering against the wall. He recovered himself, however, and\ndauntlessly repeated\u2014\n\n\u201cBalthazar, you are nothing better than a brute!\u201d\n\nAnd Edmond Thierry was right. Balthazar was not only a brutal gaoler, but\nhe took delight in his vocation. He had abandoned the honest calling of\na \u201cmarbrier,\u201d to take upon him the duties of guarding the victims whom\nRepublican suspicion had consigned to captivity, and whom it destined to\ndeath. There is no doubt but that Balthazar was a brute.\n\nBut brute as he was, his prisoners despised him. They endured, but they\ndefied him. His hand might smite, but his ferocity could not subdue them.\nThey _would_ be happy, and their determination only rendered him the more\nferocious. From the old Briton gentleman, Pantin de la Guerre, to little\nEdmond Thierry, there was not one whom he would not daily cuff, and cuff\nall the harder from the conviction that they dared not, for their lives,\nstrike again an officer of the Republic, one and indivisible.\n\nBalthazar then was incontestably a brute; and young Thierry had just told\nhim so, for the third time, when the youthful Madame de Charry opened\nthe door of her cell and entered the gallery. The latter was secured at\neither end by an iron grating, which was always locked; but the cells\nthemselves, twelve in number, with three or four occupants in each, were\nbarred and fastened only at night. The \u201ccitizens\u201d inhabiting them were\nuntried aristocrats; and until the law condemned them to death, they were\nallowed the liberty of an obscure gallery, from which they could not by\nany means escape to freedom.\n\nThe proud beauty who, albeit so young, had been some months a widow, was\npassing on her way to an adjacent cell, but she paused for an instant to\nkiss young Edmond on the brow, and to address some words of remonstrance\nto Balthazar touching his treatment of the little King of the Gallery, as\nThierry was called.\n\n\u201cMay our holy mother the guillotine hug him as she did our other king,\nCapet!\u201d said Balthazar. \u201cThe little reptile taunted me, because his\nfather has escaped from Amiens and reached England; and he refused,\nmoreover, to carry the pretty message I gave him from the public accuser,\nand addressed to you, citoyenne.\u201d\n\nThe boy\u2019s eyes filled with tears. They sprang, like the twin fountains of\nBenasji, from a divided source. Joy sent them gushing at the thought of\nhis father\u2019s escape; and sorrow paid its tribute at the peril which was\nthen threatening his good friend, Madame de Charry.\n\nThat lady loosened her bracelet, readjusted it on her marble arm, and\nasked, as she did so, what the public accuser could possibly have to say\n_to her_.\n\n\u201cAh! ah!\u201d roared Balthazar, the brute; \u201che invites you to honour the\ntribunal with your presence tonight; and the _faucheuse_ with the broad\nknife will send you an invitation to another party tomorrow.\u201d\n\n\u201cBe it so,\u201d said the young beauty, without apparent emotion. \u201cIn the\nmeantime, _vive le Roi_! And now, my little King Edmond, let us leave\ncitizen Balthazar to his reflections, and come with me to the _soir\u00e9e_ of\nMadame de Bohun.\u201d\n\n\u201cThey will cut off your head!\u201d cried Balthazar, with a candour meant for\ncruelty.\n\n\u201c_They!_\u201d said the lady, with great sweetness; \u201cnot if they are gallant\ngentlemen. They will be the very _canaille_ of butchers indeed, if they\nstrike off so pretty a head as mine: _n\u2019est-ce pas, mon roi?_\u201d said she\nto Edmond.\n\nBut the boy\u2019s heart was too full to answer, for he loved the charming\nStoic of Orl\u00e9ans. His courage, however, was not buried beneath his\nemotion; for as he entered the cell of the Countess de Bohun, he turned\nand gave the huge Balthazar a kick on the right shin, which made the tall\nsavage turn pale. The giant vowed vengeance at a better opportunity, and\nhe limped away to his kennel, cursing the authorities for keeping alive\na Royalist child at the expense of the Republic, and for the particular\nannoyance of their own _citoyen officiel_.\n\nIt was a singular world that, which Balthazar held in durance within his\nstronghold of Orl\u00e9ans. It was an aristocratic, pleasure-seeking world:\nwithin one confined gallery all the pomps and vanities of the earth,\u2014all\nthe weaknesses of nature,\u2014all the vices and some of the virtues of\nhumanity reigned triumphant. The sword of Damocles hung over every head,\nbut the symbol was taken for the _oriflamme_ of pleasure. The fashions\nand pursuits of the old world were not forgotten within the prison walls.\nThe rich arranged their domiciles with as much care and anxiety as though\nthe boudoirs they fitted up in their dungeons were taken for a fixed\nterm of years, instead of an uncertain tenure of minutes. Fashion had its\nrigid laws, Etiquette was enshrined, and _Ennui_ denounced. The duties,\ndresses, and pleasures of the day were distinctly defined; and the duties\ngenerally consisted in getting ready the dresses for the better enjoyment\nof the pleasures. The separation of castes was rigorously observed, and\ncommon misfortune was not permitted to level ranks; the noble captive\nmight be courteous to the commoner in captivity, but he would not\nassociate with him. The wife of a noble would not visit the cell which\ncontained the spouse of a professional man. During the day visits were\nnot only regularly made between parties of the same degree, but were\npunctually returned; else discord arose thereat. Contests at chess,\ntrials at cards, games at forfeits, shuttlecock, and ball, were matters\nof daily occurrence during the days, weeks, or months that preceded\ncondemnation or enlargement. The high-caste nobility got up pic-nic\ndinners amongst themselves. Those who were of the very top cream of even\nthat high caste found tea for large parties. Music was no rarity; singing\nawoke the echoes of every cell. In short, the habits, customs, manners,\nmorals, frivolities, fashions, and virtues of the upper classes were\nopenly practised. The greatest care was exhibited in matters of toilet.\nAs republican simplicity grew more republican and more simple without,\naristocratic fashions waxed more royal and more sumptuous within. A head\nafter the fashion of Brutus, was never seen upon noble shoulders. Among\nthe ladies there was a mania for flowers, feathers, and many-coloured\nribbons. Some wore their own hair, and some wore wigs, but in either\ncase the hair was curled and powdered, and the fair wearer was rouged,\nSpanish-whitened (where _blanc d\u2019Espagne_ was to be procured), pencilled,\nand plastered into all the beauty that could be achieved by burying her\nown beneath poisonous paint, black-lead, and adhesive _mouches_.\n\nAt Orl\u00e9ans the necessity for _some_ change of air, and for taking _some_\nexercise, caused the younger people, on certain days of the week, when\npermitted, to have recourse to the vast courtyard of the prison. Fashion\nhere reigned as she had been wont to do at the Tuileries. Here were given\nconcerts _al fresco_; and _les graces_ became the favourite game of the\nhour. It even occasionally happened\u2014for Love, like Virtue, _will_ make\nhis way into strange places\u2014that affections were aroused, and attachments\nbetween young hearts worthy of a purer locality sprang up, throwing a\ncharm over the wearisomeness of captivity. Death stood on permanent\nguard, looking over the wall of that vast prison; and his gaunt, long\narm often plunged into the crowd below, and dragged up a victim. But\neach individual there, caring little for the teaching of the past or\nthe prospects of the future, endured and yet forgot everything. Each\nconsidered every fellow-captive exposed to death, but none was without\nhope for himself. Like the selfish Neapolitans, who, when they see a\nneighbour borne to the grave, shrug their shoulders, and cry, \u201cSalute\na noi!\u201d so did the Orl\u00e9ans prisoners, on losing an old companion, bury\nsympathy for the departed in congratulations at their own escape.\n\nIt was early in a summer\u2019s afternoon when Madame de Charry, with Edmond,\nentered the cell whose oldest occupant and recognized proprietor was\nthe Countess de Bohun, a lady who had once borne the honoured name of\nDe Girardin. A large party was assembled, and, save the locality, the\nhour, and the absence of lights, there was little to distinguish it from\na party in the Chauss\u00e9e d\u2019Antin. Some were at cards, some were looking\nat pictures, some were circulating scandal, and a few were sipping _eau\nsucr\u00e9e_, heightened as to flavour with a little capillaire. Fran\u00e7ois\nVouillet, the son of a chair-mender, was there playing the guitar. His\npoverty had not saved him from the suspicion of holding aristocratic\nopinions, nor had his misfortune procured for him any commiseration\nfrom the aristocrats. He attended among them as a hired musician, and\nhe played for the dinner which he could not purchase. The appearance of\nthe new-comers interrupted the song, for a shout of _Vive le Roi_ hailed\nthe arrival of Edmond, and the most courteous welcomings that of his\ncompanion. M. de Bohun, who was attired in a flannel dressing-gown, and\nthe only individual in the cell not in full dress, advanced to Madame de\nCharry and gallantly kissed her on the brow.\n\n\u201cYou are becoming Republican in your tastes,\u201d said that exquisite lady,\nas she pointed to the flannel _robe de chambre_.\n\n\u201cMadame,\u201d said the Count, laughing, \u201cI am twice as aristocratic as the\nPrince de Ligne, the very quintessence of a knight and a nobleman. It\nis not two years since we visited him at Vienna, and he received the\nCountess and myself in no other dress than his shirt.\u201d\n\n\u201cOh!\u201d exclaimed all the ladies at once.\n\n\u201cIt is true,\u201d exclaimed Madame de Bohun, corroboratively, \u201cand yet short\nof the truth: he had one arm withdrawn from the sleeve, and within it he\ntook my own, and led me into the apartment of his young daughter-in-law.\u201d\n\nIt was within an hour of the evening period for locking up, when the\nwife of Balthazar entered the room with but scant attention to ceremony,\nand telling Edmond as she passed him, that she had just well-beaten her\nhusband for his cruelty towards the \u201clittle king\u201d of the prison, she\nadvanced towards Madame de Charry and whispered something in her ear.\nWith all her courage, the fair creature slightly trembled; but she arose,\nbegged the Chevalier Fabien to play out her cards, and promised speedily\nto return. An inquiring look was directed to her by all the company,\nbut she gave it no reply, either by word or gesture. She left the cell,\naccompanied by the gaoler\u2019s wife, and followed by Edmond. The latter, in\nspeechless fear, saw her descend to the courtyard between two gendarmes.\nThe wicket was locked upon him, but from the window he beheld her rudely\npushed into a building in which the revolutionary tribunal was wont to\nhold its bloody sittings.\n\nThe \u201clittle king\u201d burst into tears, a weakness of which he became\nhalf-ashamed when he felt the arm of the gaoler\u2019s wife passed round his\nneck, and heard words of condolence fall from the lips of the subduer of\nthe prison tyrant.\n\nFrom this period they stood in utter silence for a quarter of an hour,\nat the end of which time they saw Madame de Charry brought out from the\nbuilding and made to enter a cart, which was driven and backed up to\nthe steps expressly to receive her. At the sound of a broken glass and\na boy\u2019s scream, her face, pale and dignified, was turned to the window,\nthrough which Edmond had thrust his head. She smiled the sweet smile of\na dying saint, and the radiancy of a martyr seemed to glow around her as\nshe pointed to heaven, and with her eyes still fixed on the boy, uttered\nthe words, \u201cEsp\u00e9rance! Adieu!\u201d In another moment the cart received\ntwo more victims, and, with its load of courageous misery, soon after\ndisappeared beneath the archway that led to the exterior of the prison.\nBefore the chimes of the cathedral had struck the next quarter, three\nlives had been sacrificed, and Monsieur de Fabien had just won the game\nwith his cousin\u2019s cards.\n\n\u201cCitizen Fabien!\u201d roared the voice of Balthazar at the door of the cell.\n\n\u201cMay I not speak a word with Madame de Charry before you lock us up for\nthe night?\u201d said the Chevalier.\n\n\u201cThe Citoyenne Charry has been dead these ten minutes,\u201d answered the\nbrute with his usual bluntness, \u201cand Citizen Fabien will never be locked\nup here again.\u201d\n\n\u201cBah!\u201d said the Chevalier, who not only felt sick, but looked so.\n\n\u201cThe authorities are at the door, ready to read to you the decree which\ndischarges you from custody. The tribunal is growing tender; it has\ndemanded but three lives today. It sees no ground for accusing you,\nand it has ordered the Citizen Edmond Thierry to find his way to his\nfather,\u2014if he can. The ungrateful villain nearly threw me on my back as I\nopened the wicket to set him free.\u201d\n\n\u201cLadies and gentlemen,\u201d said De Fabien, who suddenly recovered both his\ncourage and his colour, \u201cI wish you a good night, and luck like mine. I\nam now eligible to the _bals \u00e0 la guillotine_, for I have had a relative\nwho has been beheaded.\u201d\n\n\u201cPoor Madame de Charry!\u201d exclaimed the sympathetic ladies, as the tears\nran down their cheeks with laughing at the Chevalier\u2019s drollery.\n\n\u201cPoor _me_!\u201d said M. de Bohun, \u201cfor now Edmond is gone, who will sew on a\nbutton for me, or mend a rent in my clothes?\u201d\n\n\nACT II.\n\nThe Dean of St. Patrick\u2019s has immortalized an Irish festival of the\neighteenth century, by declaring that\n\n    \u201cO\u2019Rourke\u2019s noble feast will ne\u2019er be forgot\n    By those who were there,\u2014or those who were not.\u201d\n\nSome such memories will cling for ever about the last of the great\nEuropean Congresses,\u2014that of Vienna. It will be a costly reminiscence\nfor Europe as long as the world endures; and no one is likely to forget\nthe assembly of monarchs and statesmen who, after arranging the affairs\nof the universe, amused themselves by enacting the French vaudeville of\n\u2018La Danse Interrompue,\u2019 and, in the very middle of that ominously-named\npiece, received intelligence that Napoleon had escaped from Elba, and had\nthus interrupted their dance indeed.\n\nAmong the most useful of the personages who figured at Vienna during\nthe celebrated period of 1814-15 there was none whose utility could\nbe compared with that of a gay and generous young Frenchman, who was\nknown by the _sobriquet_ of \u201cthe King of Good Fellows.\u201d He did not serve\nmuch, it is true, for the furtherance of political purposes; but he was\nalways indispensable, and never missing, when a ball, a masquerade, a\nconcert, or a pic-nic was in question, and some difficulty opposed its\nsuccessful accomplishment. Little was known of him, save that he had been\nattached to the French Legation at Lisbon; but whispers were circulated\nto the effect that in the days of the exile of the French nobility, he\nhad earned a livelihood in London by application of the needle, while it\nwas more loudly asserted that he had given lessons on the guitar in the\nEnglish capital, and that he and his father had played duets, under the\npatronage of Banti, at the Pantheon. Two or three out of the dozen of\nTalleyrand\u2019s discreet secretaries confidently affirmed, that when a boy\nhe had been confined in the prison of Orl\u00e9ans, \u201con suspicion of being\nsuspected\u201d by the Republic. But Baron Thierry himself was profoundly\nsilent on his antecedents; and he was wont to say that the memories of\nthe past were of a very unsubstantial nature, and that his designs for\nthe present and the future were to make the most of all opportunities,\nand get a crown, if he could, since one might perhaps be had at the mere\ncost of setting up a pretension to it.\n\nPeople laughed at the idea of Baron Thierry becoming a monarch; but at\nsuch mirth the baron assumed a gravity that was very majestic, and which\nlooked like determination.\n\n\u201cWho is that pretty child whom your Majesty keeps so close to your side\ntonight?\u201d said a lady to Thierry at a ball given by Wellesley Pole. The\nlady was remarkable for her natural beauty and her bad taste. She wore\nher husband\u2019s \u201cGarter\u201d as an ornament round her head, and _Honi soit qui\nmal y pense_ glittered in diamonds upon her radiant brow.\n\n\u201cShe is the half of an imperial princess,\u201d replied the Baron, in a\nwhisper; \u201cand she and I are characters in a romance of an hour. Watch us\nwell, and you will see the _d\u00e9nouement_.\u201d\n\nThe Baron had scarcely uttered the words when the lovely and childless\nCzarina of Russia passed by his side. The Czarina paused for a moment at\nan open window, and then stepped on to the balcony overlooking a handsome\ngarden. No one accompanied, and no one followed her. The Baron however\noccupied the centre of the window, and the angelic-looking child, at his\nbidding, passed on to the balcony, and stood by the imperial lady\u2019s side.\nLady Castlereagh, and some three or four persons who were aware that\nThierry was contriving something for the especial gratification of the\nCzarina, contrived to witness what passed without appearing to do so.\n\nThe scene that ensued was curious, touching, and rapid. The Czarina burst\ninto tears, kissed the wondering child with a fiery and uncontrollable\nemotion, and gazed upon her with an almost frantic look of mingled love,\njealousy, and despair. The Baron slightly coughed, the Czarina re-entered\nthe _salon_, and the spectators appeared unconscious of anything but the\nimperial presence, and the reverence due to it. Lady Castlereagh alone\nheard her say to the Baron, as she passed. \u201cThanks for your courtesy,\nMonsieur le Baron. Tell her mother I envy and forgive her!\u201d\n\n\u201cWho is her mother?\u201d asked Lady Castlereagh.\n\n\u201cMadame Krudener, the mistress of Alexander, the pious Czar. The Czarina\nhas just kissed her rival\u2019s child, and her heart is breaking that she is\nnot the mother of it.\u201d\n\nThe night that succeeded was a brilliant one at the imperial palace\nof Austria. In a small room adjoining the great gallery was assembled\na strange group. A very handsome young man, in the costume and with\nthe attributes of Jupiter, was walking to and fro, eating a slice of\npine-apple, and declaring that the Count de Wurbna was mad. A somewhat\nolder but a fine-looking personage, easily recognizable as Mars, was\nlying recumbent on a sofa, repeating the declaration that De Wurbna\nwas mad. These two theatrical deities were, in their mortal positions,\nno other than Prince Leopold of Saxe-Coburg and the Count de Zichy. De\nWurbna was seated on a stool, bending forward to fasten his sandal. His\ndress, his lyre, and his insignia told at once that he was Ph\u0153bus Apollo.\nThere was nothing like insanity about him; but when he raised his head,\nthe beholder was constrained to confess that there _was_ something about\nhim very unlike the lover of Daphne and Coronis. In fact, he wore a\nvery formidable pair of mustachios. However appropriate this adornment\nmight be to the Apollo Corybassides, who disputed the dominion of Crete\nwith Jupiter himself, it little suited the fair son of Latona, the only\none of all the gods whose oracles were in general repute throughout the\nworld. Be this as it may, the Viennese Apollo, whose transcendent beauty\nhad designated him as the only man who could fittingly represent the\ngraceful god, strictly refused to sacrifice his cherished moustache.\nMadame de Wilhelm, the destined Venus of the _tableaux vivans_ about to\nbe represented, had suggested that his head should be turned from the\nspectators; but the proud Minerva of the night, the Countess Rosalie\nRzewouska (the original of M. Sue\u2019s Fleur de Marie), declared that the\nsuggestion lacked wisdom, and that, if adopted, Miss Smith, the daughter\nof the Admiral Sir Sidney, would spoil her Juno, and laugh outright, as\nshe did at everything.\n\n\u201cI thought Thierry could do anything,\u201d said Jupiter. \u201cHe has\nsuperintended the getting up of all our costumes; and he engaged, a\nfortnight ago, to render De Wurbna reasonable.\u201d\n\nApollo caressed his very objectionable hirsutory adornment, humming as he\ndid so, \u201cDu, du liegst mir im Herzen.\u201d He smiled as Mars asserted that\nif Thierry had entered into any such engagement, Apollo would be shaved,\nand the heathen goddesses in raptures. The ubiquitous and indefatigable\nBaron had, at all events, done his best, but hitherto he had failed. At\nthe eleventh hour however he thought of the claim which he had on the\nCzarina Elizabeth, for whom he had contrived the strange gratification\nof kissing the daughter of her husband\u2019s mistress. He procured an\naudience, and stated the predicament into which he and the court-players\nwere thrown by the obstinacy of Apollo. The Czarina had recourse to her\nsister of Austria, but the two imperial ladies knew not how to solve the\ndifficulty. The Emperor of Austria was called in, and then the difficulty\nbegan to wear an aspect less redoubtable.\n\nThe mythological deities were yet disputing in their luxurious\ngreen-room, when an officer of the Imperial Guard appeared at the door,\nand summoned De Wurbna to the imperial presence. The latter flung a cloak\nover his shoulders and hastened to obey.\n\n\u201cMy dear fellow,\u201d said the officer, \u201cyou will not appear before the\nEmperor in those mustachios!\u201d\n\n\u201cWhy not?\u201d said the son of Latona, who began to suspect a mystification.\n\n\u201cBecause of this morning\u2019s general order, which commands the entire guard\nto which we belong to be shaved.\u201d\n\nDe Wurbna had already remarked the smooth lip of his Hungarian comrade,\nbut, still doubting, he proceeded to wait upon his master the Emperor.\n\n\u201cI\u2019ll wager a whole chest of Latakia,\u201d said Mars, \u201cthat this is a feat of\nThierry\u2019s accomplishing. He is well named the \u2018King of Good Fellows,\u2019 for\nhe knows how to meet every emergency. He deserves to get a crown in the\ngeneral scramble.\u201d\n\n\u201cHe _is_ a good fellow,\u201d said Prince Leopold, \u201cbut he is about as likely\nto get a crown as I am.\u201d\n\n\u201cWho knows?\u201d asked De Zichy, who cared little for crowns, and felt no\nenvy at kings. \u201cThere may be half-a-dozen political earthquakes before\nanother score of years have been added to the register; and another\nremodelling of kingdoms may strangely affect the market for monarchs.\u201d\n\nIn another moment Apollo entered, half laughing, half ashamed, and\nentirely shaven. The Emperor had really issued an order that the Guard\nshould be shaved; De Wurbna had forthwith submitted, and, in his private\nquarters, he consummated the heavy sacrifice. The decree however, which\nhad been issued to please the imperial ladies, only lasted for a day. It\nnevertheless served its purpose; and never was such honour done to the\ndiplomatic abilities of Thierry, as when the mimic Olympus discovered\nthat by his aid a king of men had subdued a refractory deity, and that\nthe consistency of a mythological _tableau_ was saved from shipwreck.\n\nThe representation went off with extraordinary _\u00e9clat_. The only persons\namong the spectators who were not enraptured with the spectacle, were the\nobese King of W\u00fcrtemberg, who was sound asleep in his chair, and who was\nnever awake except at dinner-time; his son, the Crown Prince, who was\nbreathing out his soul in the ear of the young Duchess of Oldenburg; and\nthat youthful widow herself, whose eyes beamed with a lustre born, not of\nthe outward show, but of inward feeling.\n\nWith these exceptions, all were delighted; and when Thierry, in the\nintervals of the performance, took up his guitar and discoursed eloquent\nmusic, the entire audience declared that they had never heard so\nexquisite a voice, nor seen so king-like a fellow.\n\nThe loudest in his praise, and the best-dressed man among the eulogizers,\nwas the nonagenarian Prince De Ligne; an old dandy, of whom his tailors\nmade, as nearly as dress could do it, a comparatively young-looking\nman. He was more carefully dressed than ever on this eventful night. It\nwas the night on which he went through the snow, to keep, at least he\nsaid so, an assignation of a tender nature on the ramparts, and where he\nwas kept waiting so long in vain by his Cynthia of the minute, that he\ncaught a cold which, within a very short space of time, carried him into\na bronze coffin, and covered him up in a marble tomb. All Vienna laughed,\nexcept the tailors; for though he patronized these, he never paid them.\n\nThierry was standing by the burying-place when he first heard of the\nreturn of Napoleon.\n\n\u201cWell,\u201d thought he, \u201cthere are no crowns to be had here. The kingdom of\ngood-fellowship is a sorry monarchy. Perhaps something may turn up under\nthe Corsican.\u201d\n\n\nACT III.\n\nThe \u201cCorsican\u201d however had run out his brief second imperial career,\nwhen one of the many who had hoped to profit by his rise was prostrated\nby his fall. The name of this one was Thierry. With the world before him\nwhere to choose, he turned his steps to South America, and went in search\nof a people who might happen to be in want of a king. It was always\nhis fortune, or misfortune, wherever such a servant of the people was\nrequired, to present his credentials only after the situation was filled\nup. He was at Poyais just a week subsequent to the attainment of the\ncaciqueship of that pseudo El Dorado by Gregor M\u2019Gregor. He was in Hayti\nwhen the garrison of St. Marc revolted against Christophe the king, and\nwhen the citizens and troops of Cape Haytien invited Boyer to relieve\nthem of royalty and the Marquises of Marmalade. He heard the pistol shot\nat Sans Souci which terminated the career of Christophe and his house;\nand he witnessed the abject submission of the sable heir-apparent, who\nhas not only since honoured Great Britain with his presence, but who has,\nat the invitation of the law, submitted (some six or seven years ago) to\nthe rotatory penalties and the weak gruel of Brixton, for forgetting his\nroyal dignity, and, with it, common humanity.\n\nThe Haytians were resolved upon enjoying a republic and new rum; and\nthey declined a proposal to accept Thierry, and a promise of French\nprotection. The crown-seeker, disgusted with the bad taste of the dingy\nrepublicans, passed over to Mexico. Things were promising there to all\nadventurers but himself, and Iturbide snatched an imperial crown from\nhis hopes, if not from his hands: the wanderer, nevertheless, continued\nto look about him, and the opening revolt at Soto la Marina, against\nthis same Iturbide, was hailed in his secret thoughts as an avenue to a\nthrone. He saw the fallen potentate, under the escort of General Bowo,\nembark at Antiguo, near Vera Cruz, and, with his family and followers,\nsail in an English ship for Leghorn. With all his throne-mania, however,\nwhen Iturbide returned in the following year (1824) to Mexico, to be shot\nthe night after his landing at Padilla, Thierry could not help thinking\nthat if the Mexican republican government had awarded _him_ twenty-five\nthousand dollars _per annum_, he would rather, with such a revenue, have\nrisked European fevers at Leghorn, than have reigned in that quarter of\nthe world where the bark grows that cures them.\n\nHe wandered further abroad, but the Indian tribes of South America deeply\ndeclined him as a prince. The islanders of the Southern Ocean laughed\na negative in his face, and sent him away with a lapful of yams and a\nsentence of perpetual banishment. At length the erratic king-player fell\namong the Marquesas. The good-natured people were willing to make him\nwhatever he desired; and in return for teaching them some useful matters\ntouching the fashion of garments, and for profitable exercise of his\nmedical experience, they really constituted him king of one of their\nsmallest islands, called Nebuhwa.\n\nBut, see what is human nature! The new king became speedily tired of his\nnew dignity; and after a brief but not inglorious reign, he abdicated\nwith but little outlay of ceremony. He embarked one night in a French\nvessel, one of those political appliances which is always sure to find\nitself by accident wherever it has been ordered by design. His Majesty\u2019s\nsubjects bore their loss with philosophy, and cared so little for\ndynasties that they did not seek for a successor. Some old South Sea\nwhalers however shook their heads portentously, vowed that the fellow\nwas a political agent, and that he would turn up again somewhere for the\nbenefit of himself and his employers.\n\nWell! in the summer of 1839, a weary party of New Zealand travellers\nwere on their way from Hokianga to the Bay of Islands. They were one\nnight proceeding up the river in a canoe, to a native settlement, where\nthe foot-track to the Bay of Islands then commenced. They were drenched\nthrough with rain, and were desirous of finding food and shelter.\n\n\u201cThere is a light on that eminence,\u201d said one of the party, an English\nmedical man, to the natives in the boat; \u201cdoes any one live there?\u201d\n\nThe natives laughed, and intimated that the light came from King Edmond\u2019s\npalace.\n\n\u201cWho is King Edmond?\u201d\n\n\u201cNot know. Frenchman. Not Wesleyan; not Bishop\u2019s man. Come from Sydney;\u201d\nwere the four distinct replies received from the natives.\n\n\u201cFrom Sydney?\u201d said the Doctor; \u201cthen it is no other than Thierry; the\nfellow was there in \u201935. He proclaimed himself, \u2018by the grace of God King\nof Nebuhwa and sovereign chief of New Zealand,\u2019 and he showed documents\nto prove that he had the support of Louis Philippe and his Government.\nHe drew upon the same French Government, and raised a considerable sum\nof money by the sale of the bills, which were discounted by some queer\npeople, considering they came from so far north as Aberdeen; and which,\non being forwarded to their destination, were, as might be expected,\nreturned dishonoured. Nevertheless, with the proceeds he got together a\nbody of retainers, chartered a ship, and came over to Hokianga.\u201d\n\n\u201cWhat did the resident say to it?\u201d asked a young engineer, of a native at\nhis side.\n\n\u201cWhat resident speak, Mister Chalton? He no speak! he go mad! Church\nmissionaries go madder; and chiefs maddest of all. Write to Queen\nVictoria; Queen speak:\u2014\u2018New Zealand chiefs all independent. King Thierry\nno king.\u2019 Church missionaries almost mad like chiefs, cause Thierry speak\nHokianga land belong to him.\u201d\n\n\u201cNo wonder!\u201d said the doctor, \u201cfor his Majesty declared that the Church\nmissionaries had sold it to him, years before, for twenty tomahawks! What\ndid he do at Hokianga?\u201d\n\n\u201cMake fine coat for naked Zealander,\u201d said one of the natives, with a\ngrin.\n\n\u201cA royal tailor, by Jove!\u201d exclaimed the medicus.\n\nAfter some further discussion upon this strange personage, the travellers\nagreed to make for his island palace, and ask hospitality. Leaving two\nnatives in charge of the boat and luggage, under the guidance of the\nother two the English travellers made their way, with difficulty, over\nstumps of trees and decayed logs, to the royal residence. On reaching the\npalace, they found, to their dismay, that it had nothing to distinguish\nit from the huts of the natives, save one solitary glazed window. At the\nback there was a hole, which served for a door; a Kawri board was fixed\nagainst it, and to this the four travellers applied their knuckles.\nThey had not long to wait; the board was removed by an ill-dressed man,\nof perhaps fifty years of age, who welcomed them into a tolerably neat\nkitchen, well-warmed by a blazing fire. To an inquiry as to whether they\ncould see the Baron, he announced himself as Baron, and Sovereign Chief\nof New Zealand. He reiterated his welcome; introduced them to his wife,\nwho confidently believed that her husband was a sovereign, because he had\ntold her so twenty times a day for the last three years; and he finally\nasked them if they were fond of music.\n\nThe guests pleaded guilty to the taste, but they also honestly confessed\nthat they were exceedingly hungry.\n\n\u201cYou shall have all we possess,\u201d said the ex-King of Nebuhwa. \u201cK\u00e4tchen,\u201d\nadded he to his consort, \u201cget the bread, and bring out the Beethoven.\u201d\n\nThe Queen took the loaf and the duet out of a large fish-kettle which lay\nin one corner of the apartment. The King placed upon the table a guitar,\nfour pewter plates, a violin, and a piece of cheese. Their Majesties\ndispensed their hospitality with much grace, a quality that is seldom\nwanting where there is goodwill. They apologized for the absence of wine,\nspirits, and beer, but they praised the virtues of the water of Hokianga.\nThe beverage having been poured into horns, and each guest supplied\nwith cheese and bread, her Majesty, at a signal from the King, who had\nassumed the violin, took up the guitar, and in a minute they were deep in\nthe melodious mysteries of Beethoven. That Titan\u2019s music on the guitar\nwas something of an anomaly; but the truth is, that the lady\u2019s copy was\nwritten for the piano, and it was her German ingenuity that adapted it\nto the only instrument she possessed. The guests had long terminated\ntheir repast, and ventured, as the duet proceeded, to make an occasional\nremark, which was speedily hushed by the _chef d\u2019orchestre_, who would\ntolerate no commentaries during the interpretation of so splendid a text.\nThe duet was finished only to be recommenced; detached passages were\nrepeated over and over again; and the guests meanwhile were awed into\nabsolute silence by the look, speech, and action of their host. It was\na singular exhibition in a singular locality:\u2014Beethoven in New Zealand,\nand free-born Englishmen subdued at Hokianga by the despotism of a French\nmonarch in a foreign territory.\n\n\u201cYou play superbly, Baron,\u201d at length said one of the four travellers.\n\n\u201cSir,\u201d said the sovereign chief, \u201cit is impossible to play ill on such\nan instrument as this. I adore my wife; I love my subjects, whom I would\ndress like Parisians if they would only heed me; but I venerate my\nviolin.\u201d\n\n\u201cHe has caught heathenism, and worships his fiddle,\u201d whispered Chalton to\na missionary on his right hand.\n\n\u201cThis violin, Sir,\u201d resumed the Baron, \u201chas seen as many lands as the\nWandering Jew. It had been all over the world before it got into the\nhands of Platt; and it has been all over the world since it left them.\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd who is Platt?\u201d said the missionary.\n\n\u201cPlatt, Sir,\u201d answered the Baron, \u201cwas one of the first violin-players\nin England; but he was afflicted with modesty, and consequently was only\nknown to his friends. He led your Duke of Cumberland\u2019s private band at\nKew,\u2014and what a well-dressed band that was! it did honour to its tailor;\nand it had a European reputation for excellence. I wish I were as rich as\na duke, and possessed so great a _maestro di capella_.\u201d\n\nThe Baron then proceeded to enlarge upon his position and prospects,\nentered into discussion on his rights, and pronounced himself a sterling\nking, in spite of Lord Stanley, the British Queen, or the English\nMinistry. \u201cI would make these islanders,\u201d said he, \u201cthe best-dressed\npeople out of France,\u2014and if they could but acknowledge my principles, I\nwould myself furnish them with paletots; but they denounce my tyranny,\nand laugh at me when I offer to put them into the dignity of trousers.\u201d\n\nTo hear this mock potentate speak of his people, his dominions, religious\ntoleration, the rights of man, and the duties of monarchs, one might\nhave concluded that he really was a recognized sovereign, with an actual\nkingdom, a people to protect, parties to reconcile, a faith to uphold,\nand responsibilities to oppress him. Beyond his musical instruments, his\nsolitary instrumental duet, his fish-kettle, an old \u2018Journal des Modes,\u2019\nand some needles, he can scarcely be said to have had at this moment a\nsingle possession incontestably his own.\n\nAs the party of travellers, after sleeping in the hut, proceeded on the\nfollowing morning to their boat, they were accompanied to the beach by\ntheir entertainer, who expressed his hopes of meeting with them again.\nBut this was not to be.\n\n\nTHE EPILOGUE.\n\nFour years afterwards, a solitary English traveller, named Chalton,\nwas standing in the centre of a wide district, near to where the\nlast-mentioned guests had spent a summer night in 1839. He was apparently\nin search of some locality, and two chiefs were closely watching him. A\ncouple of Wesleyan natives were not far off. They were assisting him in\nmaking a survey for a road.\n\n\u201cThere used to be a hut on that hill in the distance,\u201d said he to one of\nthe chiefs.\n\n\u201cKing Thierry\u2019s hut,\u201d answered both the chiefs at once.\n\n\u201cTrue,\u201d rejoined the inquirer; \u201cwhy is it no longer there?\u201d\n\n\u201cZealanders\u2019 gods are not sleeping,\u201d replied one of the chiefs. \u201cThierry\nand his priests were cruel to his people. The island spirits told us, in\nour dreams, to punish him. We burned the hut down last moon.\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd Thierry and his wife?\u201d asked the astounded engineer.\n\n\u201cThe good lady perished in the flames. The people from the other side of\nthe island saved King Thierry.\u201d\n\n\u201cAh!\u201d exclaimed Chalton, partly relieved; \u201cwhat are they going to do with\nhim?\u201d\n\n\u201cOh, nothing!\u201d cried the chiefs, somewhat eagerly.\n\n\u201cThe Government will not let the people keep him a captive.\u201d\n\n\u201cThe Government can\u2019t get him,\u201d said one of the chiefs.\n\n\u201cAnd the tribe haven\u2019t got him,\u201d said the other.\n\n\u201cWhy, what have they done to him?\u201d\n\n\u201cHem!\u201d growled somewhat unctuously the elder chief of the two, \u201cthey have\neaten him!\u201d\n\nSuch is said to have been really the fate of the little prisoner who used\nto mend the garments of M. de Bohun in the prison of Orl\u00e9ans; of the\n_costumier_ of the court masquerades at the Congress of Vienna; and of\nthe wandering adventurer in distant seas, where he could find no one who\nwould either acknowledge his fiats or accept his fashions. He was unable\nto establish himself in the world either as monarch of men or as makers\nof their habits.\n\nAnd having thus spoken of a mock king, let us consider now our English\nliege ladies at their respective toilets.\n\n\n\n\nTHE TIRING-BOWERS OF QUEENS.\n\n    \u201cI could accuse the gaiety of your wardrobe\n    And prodigal embroideries, under which\n    Rich satins, plushes, cloth of silver, dare\n    Not show their own complexions; your jewels,\n    Able to burn out the spectators\u2019 eyes,\n    And show like bonfires on you, by the tapers:\n    Something might here be spared, with safety of\n    Your birth and honour, since the truest wealth\n    Shines from the soul, and draws up just admirers.\u201d\n\n                                             SHIRLEY.\n\n\nLet us not presume to look into the primitive boudoirs of the Queens\nbefore the Conquest, and only reverently into those of the sovereign\nladies who succeeded. \u201cTread lightly, this is sacred ground!\u201d is an\ninjunction not to be forgotten in this locality.\n\nThe first Queen after the Norman invasion, Matilda of Flanders, who was\npummelled into loving her ungallant wooer William, had a costly wardrobe.\nBefore her death she disposed of the most valuable of her garments by\nwill, and named therein the dressmaker who had provided them for her,\na species of advertisement that ought to have made Madame Alderet\u2019s\nfortune. \u201cI give,\u201d says the royal testatrix, \u201cto the Abbey of the Holy\nTrinity my tunic, worked at Winchester, by Alderet\u2019s wife; and the mantle\nembroidered with gold, which is in my chamber, to make a cope. Of my two\ngolden girdles, I give that which is ornamented with emblems, for the\npurpose of suspending the lamp before the great altar.\u201d The abbey named\nwas at Caen, and the nuns connected therewith came in for all Matilda\u2019s\npetticoats,\u2014no indifferent legacy, for they were stiff with gold and\ndust. She was an elegant dresser, as far as outside show was concerned.\n\nRufus was a bachelor, and the ladies who frequented his uproarious court\nwere remarkable for their adoption of garments which very much disgusted\nthe sober ladies of Saxon times. Matilda of Scotland, wife of Henry I.,\nbeing graceful of form, was given to wear tight kirtles, and may be\nsaid to have brought in tight lacing. Henry\u2019s second wife, Adalicia of\nLouvaine, imitated the fashion set by her predecessor. On the King\u2019s\ndeath, she espoused the hereditary cupbearer, William de Albini, surnamed\nFortembras; and if she dressed a trifle less gloriously in her bower\nat Arundel Castle, she at least became there the mother of a numerous\nprogeny, who grew up and gave the fashions to the entire county of Sussex.\n\nThe third Matilda, she of Boulogne, wife of Stephen, was the first of\nour Queens who introduced simplicity of dress. On ordinary occasions she\nwas perhaps less plainly dressed than the very elegant inmates of that\nvery elegant \u201cSt. Katherine\u2019s College,\u201d which still commemorates her\nbenevolence, and whose inmates are doubtless a cause of some astonishment\nto the spirit of that gentle lady.\n\nEleanora of Aquitaine, ex-wife of Louis XI. of France, and consort of\nHenry II. of England, was extravagant in the article of dress, and\nloved to see her ladies around her splendidly attired. She ran their\npurses hard, for, like Marie Antoinette, she was exceedingly fond of\nprivate theatricals; and the barons who groaned over the cost of their\nown armour, looked grim at the bill of outlay for materials which, be\nit said for the honour of the parties concerned, were made up for the\nmost part by the young ladies themselves. In those days, people used to\nresort to the pleasant and sweet-smelling village of Bermondsey, to see\nthe well-dressed Eleanor walk in the quaint gardens there. The idea of\nBermondsey being pleasant and sweet-smelling is one now to smile at. It\nis in these times the seat of ill odours, amid which however many a quean\nstill walks and keeps her state,\u2014and a very sad state it is.\n\nBerengaria, the spouse of the first Richard, is one of the two Queens\nof England who never _were_ in England. Her tiring maidens found in\nher a gentle lady who gave grace to, rather than borrowed it from,\nwhat she wore. It may be added that she wore nothing that was not wet\nwith her tears; for her royal spouse was like most knights of his day,\nready to make and ready to break all vows of fidelity, and indeed all\npromises, of whatsoever quality. But Richard was not parsimonious, like\nhis brother John, who kept poor Isabella of Angoul\u00eame as poorly dressed\nas a scrivener\u2019s wife; and who wrote down what cloth she was to have\nfor her garments, and on what allowance of shoes she was to stand, all\nwith the shopkeeping sort of correctness which is to be found in no king\nsave Louis Philippe. Isabella however had some rich appurtenances in\nher wardrobe, for we find that when her son, the little Henry III., was\ncrowned, the royal circlet not being procurable for the purpose, the\nboy was at length crowned with the gold throat-collar belonging to his\nmother\u2019s gala suit.\n\nThat same Henry III. was as gorgeous a dresser as his father, but he\nloved to see not only his wife, the fair Eleanor of Provence, whom he\ngallantly married without a dower, but also her ladies, as gorgeously\nattired as himself. Had he been as careful of paying for their dresses\nas he was in the selection of them (he was a dreadful fop, and would\ndiscuss lace and frippery with a lady with as much unnecessary knowledge\nas any Belgian _petit-ma\u00eetre_ of modern days), he might have passed\nreproachless. But he was one of those men who, after squandering their\nown money, squander that which they hold in trust: and then cheat their\nown tailors and their ladies\u2019 milliners with a composition of five\nshillings in the pound. Henry, his Queen, and court glittered like\ndragon-flies, thought nothing of \u201csettling day,\u201d and turned up their\nnoses at their more honest and less gaily-dressed kindred. The result\nwas what might be expected. They got into pecuniary difficulties, and\ndescended to the commission of intense meanness. They invited themselves\nout daily to dine with the wealthy aristocracy of London, whose dinners\nthey ate and whose plate they carried away with them as a gift or a loan.\nIn fact, Henry and Eleanor established a fashion which is far from being\nobsolete, so great is the authority for its observance. The extravagant\nare always mean,\u2014mean and dishonest; they first cheat their creditors,\nand then _would_ cheat their more judicious relatives, were the latter\nweak enough to be persuaded that the very attempt is a compliment. I\ncould not of course, but you, good reader, _can_ put your finger on a\nscore of people who are like Henry and Eleanor in this,\u2014living beyond\ntheir means, and looking to their more honest friends for aid to relieve\nthem from the consequences of their knavery. Exactly; I see you smile as\nyour eye falls on that pair of cousins of yours,\u2014the lady all flounce,\nand the cavalier irreproachable in dress, and in nought besides! He has\njust asked you, a man with eight children, four hundred a year, and two\nservants, to put your name to that little bill. But you have been singed\nat that fire before, and you now decline. My dear Sir, if you will not\nallow yourself to be cheated by your extravagant relations, you cannot\nexpect to be on good terms with _that_ part of your family. But you will\nfind compensation for the loss of such a luxury at your own hearth and\nin your own heart. Why should you wrong those who cluster about both to\nhelp worthless people, who, if they could, would further do as Henry and\nEleanor did, pawn the \u201cVirgin Mary\u201d to pay their jewellers\u2019 bills. That\nprecious couple compelled the sheriffs of various counties to furnish\nthem with linen for their royal persons. Had _I_ been a sheriff at the\ntime, they should have had huckaback, compared with which they would have\nfound a hair-shirt a positive luxury!\n\nAnd let me hope, young ladies, that you will not confound this Eleanora\nwith her of the following reign, that Eleanora of Castile, who was\nsurnamed the \u201cfaithful,\u201d and who was the glorious first wife of Edward\nI. She showed what an excellent eye she had to comfort, by introducing\ninto the cold, damp dwellings of the day, tapestry hangings to protect\nthe inmates from chill and moisture. She was the royal mother of all\ngood English housewives; although she did a little scandalize the sober\nmatrons by wearing long curls adown her peerless neck, _after_ she was\nmarried.\n\nThere were some, too, who did not complacently admire her habit of\ndressing in public; but it was only a public of ladies. It was for\nElizabeth, in later days, to attire herself in presence of men. In\nEleanor\u2019s oriel at Caernarvon Castle, ladies were presented to the\ndaughter of Castile, while her tirewomen combed and braided her renowned\nlong tresses. A contemporary poet thus describes the scene:\u2014\n\n    \u201cIn her oriel there she was,\n    Closed well with royal glass;\n    Filled it was with imagery,\n    Every window by and by;\u201d\u2014\n\nthe poetry of which is of as poor a quality as was probably the glass in\nthe oriel. We must not forget to add, that there was as much sewing as\nromping, and an abundance of both among the young princesses (of whom\nthere was a noisy abundance too) in the \u201cMaiden\u2019s Hall\u201d at Westminster\nPalace; and that Eleanor is immortalized as the only sovereign who\nbequeathed \u201ca legacy to William, her tailor.\u201d\n\nWhen she died, Edward made solemn oath of sempiternal grief, and in a\nweek or two, took to flirting. Ultimately he espoused Marguerite of\nFrance; and the match was so happy a one that the two consorts bore\ntheir respective arms in one scutcheon, in testimony of their _entente\ncordiale_. Those particular gentlemen, the heralds, were in a sort of\n_delirium tremens_ at this innovation; but they were almost as little\ncared for then as now. Marguerite and Edward were a worthy couple.\nEdward, indeed, slaughtered all the inhabitants of Berwick for calling\nhim \u201cLongshanks;\u201d but nobody thought the worse of him for _that_. As for\nMarguerite, she is distinguished for her taste,\u2014her double taste, in\ndressing becomingly, and paying regularly. She never omitted acquitting\na debt at proper time, but once; and this so alarmed John of Cheam, her\ncreditor and goldsmith, that out of fear that the fashion of long credit\nwas coming in again, he besought the king, \u201cfor God\u2019s sake, and the soul\nof his father, King Henry, to order payment.\u201d The prayer was heeded; and\nI may further notice, as creditable to Marguerite especially, that she\nwillingly consented to be Queen without a coronation, as the then present\npoverty of the finances offered an obstacle to the ceremony.\n\nIsabelle of France, the consort of Edward II., was a lady of another\nquality. Her outfit, when it was displayed in London, perfectly astounded\nthe beholders. The Queen of Fairyland could have had nothing more\nsplendid; and mortal wives could not have been more usefully endowed.\nThe ladies of households, as they talked the matter over at their own\nchimneys, expatiated on the hundreds of yards of linen for the bath, and\nthe six dozen French nightcaps. These were pronounced \u201cloves;\u201d and every\nunmarried daughter, whose heart wore the figure of a bachelor knight,\ndetermined that when another night arrived, her head should wear nothing\nless than a \u201c_coiffe de nuit \u00e0 la Reine_.\u201d\n\nPhilippa of Hainault, Queen of Edward III., ranks among the reasonable as\nwell as the glorious ladies. She was simple in her dress and gentle to\nthe maids who decked her. While she dressed not beneath her dignity, she\nwas mindful that a plain dignity suited best a Queen whose crown had been\npawned, for the same reason that less noble persons pawn their spoons. In\nher later days, she fell into dropsy and a loose style of covering it.\n\nRichard II. pledged half his own jewels to pay for his bride and\nbridal,\u2014the former was Anne of Bohemia. This lady was not only a member\nof the Order of the Garter, but she was attended by ladies who were also\nassociates of that noble company,\u2014pleasanter associates there could not\nhave been; and I wish that the fashion were still observed, and that I\ncould enumerate some of my fair friends on the roll; and then we might\nride double to the festival, for\n\n    \u201cThis riding double was no crime\n    In the great King Edward\u2019s time.\n    No brave man thought himself disgraced\n    By two fair arms about his waist;\n    Nor did the lady blush vermilion,\n    Dancing on the lover\u2019s pillion.\n    Why? Because all modes and actions\n    Bow\u2019d not then to Vulgar Fractions;\n    Nor were tested all resources\n    By the power to purchase horses.\u201d\n\nThere is little said about Anne\u2019s style of dressing; but two things are\ntold of her, better worth the telling. She ruled her husband without\nhis ever suspecting it, and she did this by a soft voice and gentle\nways;\u2014this to the newly-espoused ladies. The second circumstance was\nnot publicly known until after her death. It was told at her grave-side\nat Westminster, by Arundel, Archbishop of Canterbury, who stated, that\nthis good Queen passed her leisure hours in reading the Scriptures in\nthe vulgar tongue. This was perhaps in the Bohemian tongue; for Bohemia\npossessed a translation long before England.\n\nRichard\u2019s second wife, Isabella of Valois, was as inordinately fond\nof dress as her husband was; and never, perhaps, were royal couple so\nprofusely provided with means whereby to look well in the eyes of men.\nBut she was but a little child, and he, man-grown, treated her as a\ndaughter. Little did Isabella have cause to wear in England but the\ntrappings of woe; and the gems of tears, ever set in her eyes, were\nbrighter than the jewels in her famous casket, and about which, the\ntwo Crowns ultimately quarrelled with no more dignity than a couple of\nAbigails.\n\nQueen Joanna of Navarre, spouse of Henry IV., and her ladies, appear to\nhave been attired at her coronation after much the same fashion as was\nobserved at the crowning of Queen Victoria. In after-days Joanna, who was\nterribly \u201cnear,\u201d dressed as ladies do who labour under that infirmity:\neven her mourning for the King was calculated like a widow of small\nmeans; and a black cloth gown at seven shillings and eightpence per yard,\nwith one and sixpence for the making, and shoes at sevenpence per pair,\ntend to show that the royal widow furnished herself at what may be called\nthe \u201cmitigated affliction department.\u201d\n\nHow Katherine of Valois was wooed by Henry V. may be seen in Shakspeare.\nThe record is probably as true as much that is penned down by those other\npoets, the chroniclers. She is the second Queen of England who passed\nfrom the couch of a king to that of a soldier; and Katherine founded a\nnew line of sovereigns when she gave her hand to Owen Tudor. Like all\nFrenchwomen, she dressed with taste; and she deserved a better fate\nthan to be left, as her body was, during so many years, a spectacle for\nsightseers in Westminster Abbey. Her corpse, removed from her tomb during\nrepairs, in the reign of her grandson, Henry VII., was never restored. It\nbecame mummified, and, in a coffin with a loose lid, was open to the eye\nand touch. People kissed it for twopence, until the year in which Louis\nXVI. was beheaded, and thrones began to tumble. The Revolution showing\nto what complexion royalty might come, the body of Katherine was deemed\nno longer profitable as a morsel, nor indeed as an investment, to those\nself-denying men, the Dean and Chapter. At the end of the last century,\nwhen it became the fashion to sweep away kings and queens, and nobody\nwould pay to see their wretchedly-dressed mummies, the body of Katherine\nof France was unceremoniously swept off, too, into the general dust-hole\ncovered by Westminster Abbey.\n\nWhen old King Ren\u00e9 married his daughter Margaret of Anjou to Henry VI.,\nhe did what many modern fathers do, and spent upon the festival a sum\nwhich would have served the bride and bridegroom for household expenses\nfor a year. Margaret possessed little but the clothes in which she stood;\nand she remains known as the most indifferently clad and the worst-fated\nof all our sovereign ladies. But she was a woman of too much heart and\nintellect to care more about coifs and kirtles than they deserved.\n\nIt was one of her maids of honour, Elizabeth Woodville, who shared the\nthrone of Edward IV.,\u2014a _m\u00e9salliance_ in every respect, and unfortunate\nto all parties. She however astonished the good people of Reading by the\n\u201cbravery\u201d of her attire, when she first appeared there as England\u2019s Queen.\n\nAnne of Warwick\u2019s whole reign with Richard III. was one of almost\nuninterrupted sickness, and she more often wore the garb of the invalid\nthan the costume of a queen. The daughter of Elizabeth Woodville, the\ngood Elizabeth of York, wife of Henry VII., was a lady who was never\nbetter dressed than at her coronation banquet in Westminster Hall,\nwhere the King was a spectator and not a guest. She sat in a kirtle of\npurple velvet, furred with ermine bands in front; and the Lady Katherine\nGray and Mistress Ditton went under the table, and sat at the Queen\u2019s\nfeet; while the Countesses of Oxford and Rivers knelt on each side,\nand now and then \u201cheld a kerchief before her Grace.\u201d The milliners\nespecially prayed for benison on this Queen, and justly; for never had\nthe dressmakers so fair and so faithful a patroness. She was provident\nof what she well paid for; and Elizabeth did not think it beneath her to\npay sixteen pence to her tailor, Robert Addington, \u201cfor _mending_ eight\ngowns of divers colours, for the Queen\u2019s Grace, at 2d. apiece.\u201d She\nalso occasionally pawned her plate, when she was pressed for money; but\naltogether she was not an improvident Queen.\n\nElizabeth\u2019s young daughter, Mary, sometime Queen of France, but who\nultimately died Duchess of Suffolk, was a sportive child in a cumbrous\ndress. At four years of age she was provided, according to a warrant\nstill existing, with kirtles of tawny damask and black satin; gowns of\ngreen and crimson velvet, edged with purple tinsel; and, as if to show\nthat only outside appearance was cared for, lined with nothing more\ncostly than simple black buckram. She was the widow, almost as soon\nas she was the wife, of Louis XII.; and, after a marriage of some two\nmonths\u2019 duration, she expressed her grief by retiring to the H\u00f4tel de\nCluny, where, clothed in white, and confined in a darkened apartment\nlighted by wax tapers, she kept mourning state during six long, heavy\nweeks.\n\nOf the wives of Henry VIII. it is told that Katherine of Arragon entered\nLondon wearing \u201ca broad round hat.\u201d She rose at five, and she used to\nsay that dressing-time was murdered time; and she wore the habit of\nSt. Francis of the third order, of which she was a member, beneath her\nordinary attire. Anne of Boleyn was a lady of another quality. She was as\nlong at her mirror as any modern maiden of them all; and, when arrayed\nfor conquest, perhaps no woman was ever more decidedly armed against the\npeace of mankind. Her costume was almost daily varied, the only permanent\nfashion being the hanging sleeve, to conceal the double tip of the\nlittle finger of her left hand; and the kerchief over the neck, on which\nwas a slight mark, which she had worn from her birth. Of course, kerchief\ncollar-bands and hanging sleeves were adopted by all who recognized in\nAnne the undisputed Queen of Fashion.\n\nJane Seymour, who married Anne\u2019s husband the day after he had beheaded\nAnne herself, was far from having the taste of her predecessor. She\nenjoyed the better fortune of dying a natural death, and Henry wept for\nher, poor man! because he lost the opportunity of otherwise disposing of\nher. When Anne of Cleves first presented herself to him, she was attired\nin abundance of petticoats, \u201cafter the Dutch fashion.\u201d The King was\nhorrified at such fashion, but sturdy Anne wore more petticoats, in the\nsame national mode, on her wedding-day; nor was it till the morrow that\nshe put off her national dress and assumed one shaped according to the\nEnglish mode, and which, we are told, made her look more tolerable than\nshe was before. She had the most splendid wardrobe of all Henry\u2019s Queens,\nwith the worst taste in dress. She was fonder of experimental cooking\nthan of dress,\u2014was more made for a buxom hostess than a Queen, and was\nmost fortunate _as_ Queen when she laid down her dignity and retired with\na pension, and a neck secured against the King\u2019s violent affection for\nit. Katherine Howard was in most things her very opposite, in taste for\ndress as well as in observance of duty; and Katherine Parr, the sixth\nwife, was superior to both. The first Protestant Queen of England and\npreserver of Cambridge University was not only a scholar but a \u201cvery\nwoman,\u201d\u2014in which phrase I recognize one with a whole string of virtues\nand accomplishments. She was a perfect mistress of the needle (Queen\nAdelaide herself was not a greater); and her taste in dress was shown by\nher uniting magnificence of material with simplicity of form. She was\nthe third of our Queens who descended from royalty to wed with a \u201cmere\nnobleman;\u201d but as Lady Seymour, good Queen Katherine was still the Queen\nof Hearts, and when the ivy peered into her coffin at Sudeley Chapel,\nand wound a wreath about her unconscious head, she gained a crown which\ncaused her less uneasiness than that she had worn as living Queen.\n\nIt is a trait worth noticing, both in Mary Tudor and in the times,\nthat she purchased six bonnets at \u00a31 apiece, and two frontlets at\n10_s._, at the shop of Lady Gresham, the actual Lady Mayoress, who was\na near relation of the Boleyns. So that Mary was not ashamed of humble\nrelations, nor a Lady Mayoress too proud to keep a shop. This was when\nMary was only the \u201cLady Mary,\u201d or Princess. When she became Queen she\nwas not disinclined to wrap her dignity in all the glory, gold and\nbrocade could give it. Her taste was not always of the best, and young\nladies will shudder as they hear that when Mary was married, she marred\na superb wedding costume, _\u00e0 la Fran\u00e7aise_, by wearing a black scarf\nand scarlet shoes! True, young ladies, this was worse than burning\nProtestants;\u2014which, after all, she sanctioned less from inclination than\nthat she had bloody men around her, who put compulsory strain upon her\ntastes and feelings. For one Dr. Cahill, who gloats over the \u201cglorious\nidea\u201d of massacring Protestants, there were a score then, not only with\nthe inclination but the power to give it effect; which, fortunately,\n_our_ friend of gloomy notoriety does _not_ possess.\n\nI have above said, the \u201cshop\u201d of Lady Gresham. Until the 10th or 12th of\nElizabeth there were but few silk-shops at all in London, and those were\ninvariably kept, or served, by females. The supply too was very scanty.\nStowe, the antiquarian tailor, says that citizens\u2019 wives in general were\nthen constrained to wear knit caps of woollen yarn; silver thread, lace,\nand silk being very scarce, and only the very wealthy being able to\npurchase garments of which these materials formed a part; and even then,\nthe husbands of ladies who desired to deck themselves in costly apparel,\nwere obliged to prove that they were \u201cgentlemen by descent.\u201d\n\nWhen the Princess Elizabeth lost her mother, her wardrobe, which was\nnone of the most brilliant before, became of very mean condition.\nLady Bryan wrote to Cromwell that \u201cshe hath neither gown nor kirtle,\nnor petticoat, nor no manner of linen, nor forsmocks, nor kerchiefs,\nnor rails (night-dresses), nor body stichets, nor handkerchiefs, nor\nsleeves, nor mufflers, nor biggins\u201d (the last two signifying day caps\nand night caps), and the whole list showing that the little lady was\nas ill provided for as any villein\u2019s daughter in the land. No wonder\nthat she was at an early period smartly touched by rheumatism. When she\ncame to the court of Edward VI. she was remarkable for the simplicity\nof her dress; it was religiously grave, as prescribed by the polemical\n\u2018Journaux des Modes\u2019 edited by Calvinistic divines. Dr. Aylmer, in his\n\u2018Harbour for Faithful Subjects,\u2019 says:\u2014\u201cThe King, her father, left her\nrich clothes and jewels; and I know it to be true, that in seven years\nafter his death she never in all that time looked upon that rich attire\nand precious jewels but once, and _that_ against her will; and that there\nnever came gold or stone upon her head till her sister forced her to lay\noff her former soberness, and bear her company in her glittering gayness;\nand then she so bore it that all might see that her body carried what\nher heart disliked. I am sure that her maidenly apparel which she used\nin King Edward\u2019s time, made the noblemen\u2019s wives and daughters ashamed\nto be dressed and painted like peacocks, being more moved with her most\nvirtuous example than all that ever Paul or Peter wrote touching the\nmatter.\u201d\n\nThe needle was the solace of Elizabeth in her captivity in the Tower\nand at Woodstock, and the instrument of her pastime in the days of her\ngreatness. Taylor, a very properly named poet to have sung the praise of\nthe needle, says of her in his poem:\u2014\n\n    \u201cWhen this great Queen, whose memory shall not\n      By any turn of time be overcast,\u2014\n    For when the world and all therein shall rot,\n      Yet shall her glorious fame for ever last,\u2014\n    When she a maid had many troubles past,\n      From gaol to gaol by Marie\u2019s angry spleen,\n    And Woodstock and the Tower in prison fast,\n      And after all was England\u2019s peerless Queen;\n    Yet howsoever sorrow came or went,\n      She made the needle her companion still,\n    And in that exercise her time she spent,\n      As many living yet do know her skill.\n    Thus she was still, a captive or else crown\u2019d,\n    A needlewoman royal and renowned.\u201d\n\nShe grew in love with costly suits when she became independent of church\nand grave churchmen; and the officers of her wardrobe were continually\nrecording in their journals that there were \u201clost from her Majesty\u2019s\nback\u201d gold enamelled acorns, buttons, aylets or eylets, with which her\ndresses were sprinkled; or rubies from her hat, or diamonds, pearls,\nand tassels of gold; but always from the royal back, whence they were\ncut by the over-loyal, as the Russian princess the other day stole the\ngreat jewel from the Moscow \u201cVirgin,\u201d out of piety and a taste for\ngems. She kissed the figure, and carried away the precious stone in her\nmouth. When the Scottish Queen, Mary of Lorraine, came to visit Edward\nVI., she deluged the court with new French fashions; \u201cso that all the\nladies went with their hair frowsed, curled, and double-curled, except\nthe Princess Elizabeth, who altered nothing,\u201d says Aylmer, \u201cbut kept her\nold maiden shamefacedness.\u201d In latter days Elizabeth had other ways;\nand we read with astonishment of her never-to-be-forgotten eighty wigs,\nwith her \u201cweeds (costume) of every civilized country,\u201d and her appearing\nin a fresh one every day. After all, it is questionable if she was a\nbetter \u201cdresser\u201d than the fair Gabrielle, of whom the chivalrous Unton\nwrites to Elizabeth that she was \u201cvery silly, very unbecomingly dressed,\nand grossly painted.\u201d But this was a courtier speaking of one woman to\nanother, and his testimony is to be taken with reserve. Elizabeth was\nin another respect more like Marie Antoinette, for she had a dairy at\nBarn-Elmes, where she played the milkmaid, as the poor Queen of France\nused at Trianon.\n\nIf we may trust La Mothe F\u00e9nelon, Leicester was as much the Queen\u2019s\n\u201cmaid\u201d as her Master of the Horse. The French Ambassador says, that\nthe public was displeased with the familiar offices he rendered at her\ntoilet. He was in her bed-chamber ere she arose; and there, according\nto the reports of men who denounced his privileges merely because they\nwere not their own, he would hand to her a garment which did not become\nthe hands of a Master of the Horse, and would dare to \u201ckiss her Majesty\nwhen he was not even invited thereto,\u201d but when, as he very well knew,\n\u201che was right welcome.\u201d For Elizabeth took all she could get, even\n\u201cnightcaps,\u201d which were among the presents sent to propitiate her by\nthe Queen of Scots. She took with both hands; and gave, as she herself\ntruly said, only with the little finger. She ever graciously received\nnew-year\u2019s gifts that enriched her wardrobe; and was especially wroth\nwith the Bishop of London for preaching too strictly against vanity of\nattire. When she saw Harrington in a frieze jerkin, she declared that the\ncut liked her well, and she would have one like it for her own wear; but\nshe spat on Sir Matthew Arundel\u2019s fringed suit, with the remark,\u2014\u201cThe\nfool\u2019s wit is gone to rags. Heaven spare me from such gibing!\u201d A queen of\nlater days would not think of assuming the fashion of Lord Palmerston\u2019s\npaletot, nor spoil the uniform of a bran-new deputy-lieutenant,\nas Elizabeth did Sir Matthew Arundel\u2019s embroidery. I believe our\nGracious Sovereign never went further in this direction than to laugh\ngood-humouredly at the Duke of Wellington\u2019s hair when he had had it newly\ncropped, as was his wont, into the appearance of short bristles on a\nscrubbing-brush.\n\nIf it be true that Leicester helped her at her toilet, he was the only\nhappy individual who enjoyed the privilege. At least, in her mature years\nshe had a horror of being seen _en d\u00e9shabille_. Essex once came upon her\nunexpectedly in the hands of her tiring-maids, and hardly escaped with\nhis ears. Talbot, the Earl of Shrewsbury\u2019s son, also once beheld her in\nher night-gear, as she stood at a window to look out at a May morning.\nThe _Virgo, magis quam tempestiva_, hurried away with such blushes as she\ncould call up at forty-five. Twenty years before she would have shown\nless haste and more discretion; at forty-five, in her \u201cnight-stuff\u201d at\nsunrise,\u2014no Gyges would have thanked Candaules for letting his eye rest\non so questionable a vision.\n\nEven in her midday glories, she was no attractive sight as she grew in\nyears. See her going to prayers, when her threescore years had thrice\nas many nobles to honour them, and _she_ walking amid all, wrinkled,\nsmall-eyed, with teeth that made her smile hideous, and with not only\nfalse hair, but that hair red. Hurtzner, who saw her on one of these\noccasions, says:\u2014\u201cHer bosom was uncovered, as all the English ladies\nhave it till they marry, and she had on a necklace of exceeding fine\njewels.... She was dressed in white silk, bordered with pearls of the\nsize of beans; and over it a mantle of black silk, shot with silver\nthreads; her train was very long, the end of it borne by a marchioness;\nthe ladies of the court followed next to her, very handsome and\nwell-shaped, and for the most part dressed in white.\u201d\n\nThe older she grew, the more splendidly she bedizened herself,\u2014as\ndecaying matter puts on variety of colour. \u201cShe imagined,\u201d says Bacon,\n\u201cthat the people, who are much influenced by externals, would be\ndiverted, by the glitter of her jewels, from noticing the decay of her\npersonal attractions.\u201d The people were not such simpletons, and they\nsaw plainly enough that she was dying, in spite of the majesty of her\nexquisitely braided periwig.\n\nAnne of Denmark, the next Queen of England, did not look queenly even in\nElizabeth\u2019s robes. Her taste in dress was extremely bad. She patronized\nespecially the huge farthingales, high behind, low before, and swelling\nout into unlimited space on all sides. These monstrous dresses were kept\nin countenance by the as monstrous padded costumes of the courtiers; and\nit was not very unusual for a bevy of the bearers of them to stick fast\nin the narrow passages, whence only dexterity could decently disentangle\nthem. The King issued a proclamation against the farthingales; but the\nladies, to show their contempt for his authority in matters of fashion,\ncontinued to wear them till he died,\u2014and _then_ left them off. Spirited\nwomen!\n\nKing Charles wore a white mantle at his coronation, and when his poor\nhearse, poorly attended, crossed the yard of Windsor Castle, the snow\ndescended upon it, and covered the coffin as it was taken out with its\nsilently-falling flakes; and so, from crown to grave, Charles was, as\nhis servants used to call him, \u201cthe White King.\u201d His consort, Henrietta\nMaria, was fond of the colour,\u2014that in which Mary Tudor had mourned. But\npoor Henrietta, less fortunate than the sister of Henry VIII., gay and\ngraceful as she was at her husband\u2019s court, was too ill-conditioned in\nFrance to dress becomingly even in weeds. She was one of the founders of\ngood taste in England; and in her exile she wore contentedly the coarsest\nstuffs. But then Louis XIV. buried her splendidly at his own cost; and\nCharles II. and his people spent twice as much in a six months\u2019 mourning\nfor her as would have sufficed to have kept her and her household for\never.\n\nWhen Katherine of Braganza landed in England as Queen Consort of Charles\nII., she excited mirth by the stiff outlandish fashion in which her\nluxuriant tresses were done up by her Majesty\u2019s \u201cbarber,\u201d and her\nexceedingly ugly maids of honour. Indeed she had as little taste for\ndress as she had for the fine arts; though she _had_ a taste for music.\nIn full court dress, however, she looked a handsome woman,\u2014without\nstudying how she might best become so. Pepys has recorded that he saw her\nand the King dining together once, on which occasion she wore a loose\nwhite wrapping gown, as was supposed to become her imaginary condition;\nand Pepys adds, that she looked handsomer in it than in her robes of\nstate and ceremony.\n\nMary Beatrice of Modena, the wife of James II., is remarkable for her\ndetestation of _rouge_, and for her wearing it in obedience to her\nhusband\u2019s wishes. Ladies will be pleased to make a note, not so much\nof the fact as of the motive. Father Seraphine, her Capuchin confessor\ngave an impudent stare of horror when he beheld it; and as she murmured\nsomething about the paleness of her complexion, he exclaimed,\u2014and in\nthe very face of the King too,\u2014\u201cMadam, I would rather see your Majesty\nyellow or green than rouged;\u201d at which the good lady fell a laughing, as\nservilely as a barrister at a judicial bad joke, such as Baron Alderson\u2019s\nlight puns, with which he cuts short heavy suits.\n\nThis is almost the only trait of interest told in connection with her\ntoilet. It was simply observed that in England she dressed as became her\nstate; and in exile, as became a lady whose dower was stolen by William\nIII. and appropriated to his own use. Apply it as he would, he could\nnever look so well as the owner. She cared little for that of which\nElizabeth thought so much; and when, in after-days, it was remarked that\nshe dressed as plainly as a citizen\u2019s wife, and wore no jewels, it was\nknown that she had sold her jewels, to profit her son. As often happens\nwith mothers who despoil themselves to benefit their boys, the gift\nprofited neither the recipient nor the giver. The splendour of the silver\nornaments of her toilet was well known; and the ladies of France could\nwell appreciate the sacrifice, which was in truth no sacrifice to her who\nmade it.\n\nQueen Mary II., if she rolled joyously over the couches from which her\naffectionate father had just before been rolled off, the unfilial romp\nwas, at least, a _private_ bit of ingratitude. She did not, like her\nsister Anne, go to the play in a dress covered with orange ribbons.\n\nMary, in her later days, patronized the cornette head-dresses of\nmonumental elevation, and the _fontanges_, of which she was desirous to\ndeprive, by royal decree too, the \u201ccity minxes;\u201d but the ladies beyond\nTemple Bar would neither heed her decrees nor wear the high-crowned hat,\nwhich had fallen into disuse save by the _pagani_, and they continued to\n\u201cflaunt in cornettes and top-knots, after her own gracious example.\u201d\n\nAnne was too lame to walk at her coronation, and accordingly she was\ncarried in a low sedan chair; and as she could not take her huge train\nwith her, the same was as gravely carried by the privileged bearers\nbehind the chair, as though it had been hanging from the back of her\nmost sacred person. She was indifferently dressed for the occasion, but\nthere were two figures present whose appearance compensated for whatever\nlacked. The Queen, being \u201cQueen of France\u201d as well as of England, must\nnecessarily be attended by her French nobility; but as the real article\nwas not to be had, a spurious one was invented, and two men, named\nClarke and Andrews, were dressed up to represent the Dukes of Normandy\nand Aquitaine. They stood at the foot of the throne, answered to their\nfictitious titles, and looked, like all shams, very much embarrassed and\nsupremely ridiculous. If this Queen was not a very splendid dresser, the\nmakers and washers of her dresses had profitable places under her. Mrs.\nAbrahal enjoyed a pension of one hundred a year, in return for having\n\u201cwashed and starched the Queen\u2019s heads (triple-tiered caps, brought\ninto fashion by Maintenon) when she was princess, for twenty pounds a\nyear.\u201d The Queen\u2019s sempstress came off more fortunately still; for Mrs.\nRavensford pricked the heart of a gallant as easily as she could pierce\nher own pincushion, and ultimately married the son of the Bishop of Ely.\nAnd _such_ lawn sleeves she made for her father-in-law!\n\nBut it was a reign in which the devisers of garments had a lucky time of\nit. I may instance John Duddlestone, the bodice-maker of Bristol, who\nasked Prince George to dinner when none of the Bristol merchants had the\nhospitality to do so. The Prince accepted the invitation, kissed Dame\nDuddlestone, ate his beef and pudding with more appetite after such a\ngrace, and ultimately presented the pair to the Queen at Windsor. Anne\nnot only invited them to dine with her, but, like the French lady who\nused to find all her male visitors in black velvet breeches, attired\nhim in a suit of violet velvet at her own cost; and when the bottle had\ngone a round or two, drew her husband\u2019s sword, and laying it on the\nbodice-maker\u2019s shoulder, bade him \u201cstand up, Sir John!\u201d\n\nThe full dress of Queen Anne\u2019s time was perhaps never seen to more\nadvantage than at the grand _soir\u00e9es_ which the obese lady gave in that\nconservatory at Kensington which, as Defoe says, she was afterwards\npleased to turn into a summer supper-room. The well-known old building\nwas indeed divided into three rooms,\u2014a ball-room, with a drawing and\nmusic-room on either side. The Corinthian pillars, the elegant friezes,\nand the niches for statues bearing girandoles, are yet to be seen. The\nQueen came to the parties given in this modest Trianon in a chair, by the\ngate on the north-west of the palace. Concerts, balls, and illuminated\ngalas _al fresco_, were the usual entertainments; and to witness them\nthe wealthy public were admitted, on condition of their appearing in full\ndress;\u2014the ladies patched, feathered, sacked, or hooped; the gentlemen in\nthree-cornered hats, velvet coats with stupendous skirts, powder on the\nhead, a bodkin across the loins, and two inches of heel to give increase\nof dignity. Where the Broad Walk now exists there was then a railing; and\nthrough this the mobility,\u2014worse dressed, but probably not less washed,\nthan their betters,\u2014looked on at the genteel people who glided about the\ngardens in brocaded robes, hoops, fly-caps, and fans.\n\nIndifferent as Anne\u2019s clothing was, there were terrible squabbles,\ntouching the cast-off garments, between the Duchess of Marlborough,\nwho was Mistress of the Robes, and the bed-chamber women and dressers.\nThese complained that they only received _very_ old mantuas, and sacks,\nand gowns, petticoats, commodes, head-clothes, and _mantes_, from the\nDuchess, who kept all the best of the old clothes, they said, for her own\nwear. Her Grace, in return, rated them as hussies; told them that she had\na right to _all_, and that they could claim none, although she gave, out\nof her liberality, more than they deserved. Nay, she so well distributed\nthe cast-off garments among the subaltern ladies, that of petticoats and\nother habits left, she had, as she protested, \u201conly two or three for my\nown service.\u201d Such was the delicacy of a ducal Mistress of the Robes in\nthe palmy days of Queen Anne.\n\n\u201cMistress\u201d indeed she was, and what a virago to boot! Witness the\nincident when Anne was entering St. Paul\u2019s, the Duchess at her side, to\nrender thanks for the great victory achieved at Oudenarde. The Duchess\nof Marlborough had had the royal jewels newly set for that especial day;\nand sublime was her horror, as the royal carriage ascended Ludgate-hill,\nat observing that the Queen had no jewels at all about her. The vicinity\nto Billingsgate lent power to the vituperative eloquence of the offended\nwife of the General whose valour had won the victory. The Queen, for\nonce, was not an iota less vituperatively eloquent than her Mistress\nof the Robes. As they mounted the steps, and entered the cathedral,\nthey flew at one another with winged words, that fly swiftly, and wound\nwhere\u2019er they fall. Anne\u2019s voice was by far the louder; and for every\nthrust of the Duchess\u2019s tongue, she fired a volley of asseverations that\nmade the lieges long to tear the \u201cMistress\u2019s\u201d robes from her own back.\nThat lady saw as much herself, and became alarmed; but, like a skilful\ngeneral, she had the last shot, and fairly battered the Queen into\nsilence, as she attempted to renew the contest in the royal pew, by the\nimperative order to \u201chold your tongue!\u201d\u2014\u201cdon\u2019t answer me!\u201d\u2014and poor Anne\nobeyed.\n\nBut if Anne claimed the privilege of dressing as she pleased, she was\nangry if the necessary etiquette was disregarded by others. When Eugene\nof Savoy came over here in 1712, to uphold, as well as he could with his\none hand, the war-faction against the Queen, he marvellously offended her\nby appearing in her august presence in a tie-wig. Mr. Secretary St. John,\nwho presented him, wore a periwig so huge that he perfectly extinguished\ntherewith the illustrious stranger whom he held by the hand. Eugene had\nbeen forewarned that the Queen could not bear to look upon a man unless\nhe were covered with a full-bottomed periwig. Eugene carelessly, and not\ntruthfully, answered, as he stood in the royal antechamber, \u201cI don\u2019t know\nwhat to do; I never had a long periwig in my life; and I have sent to\nall my valets and footmen to know if any of them have one, that I might\nborrow it; but no one has such a thing.\u201d And so the Prince was conducted\nto the Queen, who thought more of the tie-wig on his head than she did of\nthe gallant heart that beat within his \u201cplaguy yellow and literally ugly\u201d\nperson.\n\nQueen Anne, on the death of Prince George of Denmark, wore black and\nwhite, with a mixture of purple in some part of her dress. The precedent\nwas taken from that worn by Mary Queen of Scots for the Earl of Darnley.\nMourning, with such variety in it, was, after all, better than _none_.\nThe Pope\u2019s nieces, for instance, never wear mourning, not even for their\nnearest relatives. The Romans account it so great a happiness for a\nfamily to have a Pope in it, that they think no calamity whatever ought\nto be permitted to afflict his Holiness\u2019s kindred! On the other hand, the\ndowager Empresses of Germany were accustomed never to leave off their\nmourning, and even their apartments were hung with black till their\ndeath. I will just add, that the French Queens, previous to the era of\nCharles VIII., wore white upon the decease of the King. They were thence\ncalled \u201cReines blanches.\u201d In later days, the state mourning of the French\ncourt was purple. Consequently, when Anne wore white, black, and purple,\nin mourning for her departed lord, she put on the suits of woe sanctioned\nby the practice of three different courts.\n\nSophia Dorothea, the wife of George I., was the second of the royal\nconsorts of England who never visited our shores. For allowing Count\nK\u00f6nigsmark to kiss her hand, her jealous husband murdered the Count, and\nshut the lady up in prison for more than thirty years. In her youth she\nwas a charming person, charmingly dressed. The most touching circumstance\nof her long captivity was her weekly appearance, all clad in white, at\nthe communion-table of the chapel of her prison-house, the Castle of\nAlden, where she partook of the sacrament, made solemn asseveration of\nher innocence, and forgave her enemies.\n\nThe process of dressing Marie Antoinette, it will be seen in another\npage, was at times a splendid misery. That of Queen Caroline, the wife of\nGeorge II., was a splendid mockery. Horace Walpole describes a scene as\nhaving taken place in Queen Anne\u2019s tiring-room, which really occurred\nin that of the sovereign lady of the second George. This exemplary Queen\ndressed and transacted her early worship at one and the same moment.\nShe and her nymphs were in one room, the chaplain _solus_ in another.\nOccasionally these nymphs, in their discretion, closed the door. Whenever\nthis occurred, the chaplain, liberal Whiston, ceased to pray, and\nmeditated on the mysteries proceeding within. This observance nettled the\nQueen, and did not please her ladies. One of the latter, on re-opening\nthe door one morning, and finding the chaplain had not progressed in his\nduties while he had been shut out, angrily inquired, \u201cWhy did you stop?\u201d\n\u201cI stopped,\u201d said Whiston, \u201cbecause I do not choose to whistle the word\nof God through the key-hole.\u201d\n\nIt is not to be wondered at, since queens afforded such examples of\nlaxity, that fine ladies followed with alacrity the unseemly fashion.\nMiss Strickland notices the fact, that great ladies had, in the days upon\nwhich we are treating, a bad custom of proceeding with the affairs of\nthe toilet during prayers; which was severely satirized, says the fair\nhistorian, in one of the old plays of that era, \u201cwhere the fashionable\nbelle is described preparing for her morning toilet, by saying her\nprayers in bed to save time, while one maid put on her stockings, and the\nother read aloud the play-bill.\u201d\n\nThe consort of George III., the \u201cgood\u201d Queen Charlotte, lived in a\ntransition time, and wore the costumes of two separate centuries. The\nlittle lady lacked taste; and though she set the fashion to loyal maids\nand matrons, seldom became the robes she wore. But at the worst of these\nperiods she displayed more taste, and, what is better than taste, more\npersonal cleanliness, than her daughter-in-law, the coarse wife of the\nheartless George IV. Queen Adelaide was simply a lady. Expensive dresses\nwere her abhorrence; and she never put on a robe of state without a sigh\nat the cost. In any sphere of life she would have been a thoroughly tidy,\nhonest, careful housewife.\n\nExcept for a few days, Queen Victoria has not resided at Anne\u2019s favourite\nKensington since her accession. In her early days, the then little\nprincess,\u2014clad so simply that it is wonderful the middle classes did\nnot avail themselves of the example, and dress their darlings less\ntawdrily,\u2014might be seen of a bright morning in the enclosure in front of\nthe palace, her mother at her side. On one of these occasions I remember\nseeing a footman, after due instruction given, bringing out to the lively\ndaughter of the Duke of Kent a doll most splendidly attired,\u2014sufficiently\nso to pass for the \u03b5\u1f34\u03b4\u03c9\u03bb\u03bf\u03bd of an heiress, and captivate whole legions\nof male _poup\u00e9es_, all gold without, and sawdust within. The brilliant\neffigy, however, had no other effect upon the little princess but to put\nher in a passion. She stamped her little foot and shook her lustrous\ncurls, and evidently the liveried Mercury had unwittingly disobeyed her\nbidding. He disappeared for a minute or two, but returned, bearing with\nhim a very _torso_ of a doll. A marine-store dealer would not have hung\nup such an image, even to denote that he dealt in stolen goods, and \u201cno\nquestions asked.\u201d But the unhappily deformed image was the loadstone\nof the youthful affections of the princess. She seized it with frantic\ndelight, skipped with it over the grass, gambolled with it, laughed over\nit, and finally, in the very exuberance of joy, thrust it so suddenly up\nto the face of a short old lady, who was contemplating the scene from the\nlow iron fence, that the stranger started back and knew not well what to\nmake of it; thereupon the maternal Mentor advanced, and something like\nan apology appeared to be offered, but this was done with such a shower\nof saucy \u201ccurtsies,\u201d\u2014so droll, so rapid, so \u201caudacious,\u201d and so full\nof hearty, innocent, uncontrollable fun,\u2014that duchess, princess, old\nlady, and the few spectators of the scene, broke into as much laughter\nas _biens\u00e9ance_ would permit; and some of them, no doubt, \u201cexclaimed\n_mentally_,\u201d as well-bred people do in novels, that there was a royal\nEnglish girl, who had most unquestionably a heart and a will of her\nown,\u2014and may God bless both!\n\nI have noticed above how queens of foreign birth introduced to our\nancestresses fashions of which their young imaginations had never\ndreamed. The origin of all fashion then, as now, was in France; and\nthitherward we now will take our way.\n\n\n\n\n\u201cLA MODE\u201d IN HER BIRTH-PLACE.\n\n    Chacun \u00e0 sa mode, et les \u00e2nes \u00e0 l\u2019ancienne.\u2014MODISH PROVERB.\n\n\nThe Honourable James Howard, in the year 1764, wrote a sprightly comedy,\nentitled \u2018The English Monsieur.\u2019 The hero is an individual who sees\nnothing English that is not execrable. An English meal is poison, and\nan English coat degradation. He once challenged a tasteless individual\nwho had praised an English dinner; and, says the _English Monsieur_, \u201cI\nran him through his mistaken palate, which made me think the hand of\njustice guided my sword.\u201d He can tell whether English or French ladies\nhave passed along the moist road before him, by the impressions that they\nleave.\n\n\u201cI have often,\u201d he remarks, \u201cin France, observed in gardens, when the\ncompany used to walk after a small shower of rain, the impression of the\nFrench ladies\u2019 feet. I have seen such _bonne mine_ in their footsteps,\nthat the King of France\u2019s _ma\u00eetre de danse_ could not have found fault\nwith any one tread amongst them all. In this walk,\u201d he adds, \u201cI find the\ntoes of English ladies ready to tread upon one another.\u201d\n\nSubsequently our \u201cEnglish Monsieur\u201d quarrels with a friend, because he\nhad found fault with \u201ca pair of French tops\u201d worn by the Philogallist,\nand which were so noisy when the wearer moved in them, that the other\u2019s\nmistress could not hear a word of the love made to her. The wearer\njustifies the noise as a fashionable French noise; \u201cfor look you, Sir,\na French noise is agreeable to the air, and therefore not unagreeable,\nand therefore not prejudicial to the hearing; that is to say, to a person\nwho has seen the world.\u201d The slave of Gallomania even finds comfort, when\nhis own mistress rejects him, in the thought that \u201c\u2019twas a denial with a\nFrench tone of voice, so that \u2019twas agreeable!\u201d and when she bids him a\nfinal adieu, he remarks to a friend, \u201cDo you see, Sir, how she leaves us?\nshe walks away with a French step.\u201d\n\nSuch was the early allegiance rendered even in this country to the\nauthority of France in the matters of \u201cMode,\u201d of that ever-variable\nqueen, of whom a French writer himself has despairingly said, that she is\nthe despot of ladies and fops; \u201cLa mode est le tyran des femmes et des\nfats.\u201d\n\nBut Paris is the focus of insurrection, and Fashion itself has had to\nendure many a rebellious assault. Never was rebellion more determined\nthan that carried on against towering plumes.\n\nIn Paris, feathers and head-dress extended so outrageously, both in\na vertical and a horizontal direction, that a row of ladies in the\npit stalls, or in the front row of the boxes, effectually barred the\n\u201cspectacle\u201d from an entire audience in the rear. The fashion was\nsuppressed by a Swiss, who was as well known in the Paris theatres as\nthe celebrated critical trunk-maker once was in our own galleries. The\nSwiss used to attend, armed with a pair of scissors; and when he found\nhis view obstructed by the head-dresses in front, he made a demonstration\nof cutting away all the superfluous portions of the head-dresses which\ninterfered with his enjoyment. At first, the result was that the ladies\nmade way for him, and he obtained a front place; but overcome by his\nobstinate warfare they at length hauled down their top-knots, and by\nyielding defeated the Swiss,\u2014for he never got a front place afterwards.\n\nI will take the liberty of adding here, that the fans used by Queen\nElizabeth were usually made of feathers, and were as large as a modern\nhand fire-screen, with all sorts of devices thereon, such as would have\nsingularly delighted an astronomical Chinese philosopher. Sir Francis\nDrake gave her one of this description, and she used to leave fans of a\nsimilar description at country houses as memorials of her visits; as, for\ninstance, when she left Hawsted Hall, she dropped her silver-handled fan\ninto the moat. Happy of course was the lucky man who got it thence. But\nto get back to France.\n\nCarlin, the famous French harlequin, once excited universal laughter\nby appearing on the stage, not with the usual rabbit\u2019s tail in his\nharlequin\u2019s cap, but with a peacock\u2019s feather, and _that_ of such length,\nthat the stage was hardly high enough for him. If the laughter however\nwas universal, there was not wanting something of indignation, for lofty\nfeathers formed a fashion in which Marie Antoinette very much rejoiced,\nand old royalists thought that Carlin ought to be sent to prison for\nhis impertinence; but Carlin had not ventured on the caricature but by\nsuperior order, and the King would not consent to his being molested.\n\nThe fashion deserved to be caricatured, for feathers and head-dresses had\nraised themselves to such an outrageous elevation, when Mdlle. Bertin,\nthe milliner, and Marie Antoinette set a fashion between them which\nruined many a family, that they who followed the mode to the extreme were\ncompelled, as they rode in carriages, either to hang their heads out at\nthe door, or to set on the floor of the vehicle.\n\nWhen Hardicanute lived at the house of Osgod Clappa, the Clapham\ndistrict, which took its name from the chief, was not half so obsequious\nin copying the costume and carriage of the royal dandy, as all France\nwas in transforming themselves into multiplied copies of the consort of\nLouis XVI.\n\nAnd what a cruel ceremony was the dressing of that same Queen! When\nMarie Antoinette, in the days of her cumbersome greatness, stood of a\nmorning in the centre of her bed-chamber, awaiting, after her bath, her\nfirst article of dress, it was presented to her, or rather it was passed\nover her royal shoulders by the \u201cdames d\u2019honneur.\u201d Perhaps, at the very\nmoment, a princess of the blood entered the room (for French Queens\nboth dressed and dined in public), the right of putting on the primal\ngarment of her Majesty immediately devolved upon _her_, but it could not\nbe yielded to her by the \u201cdame d\u2019honneur;\u201d the latter, arresting the\n_chemise de la Reine_ as it was passing down the royal back, adroitly\nwhipped it off, and, presenting it to the \u201cpremi\u00e8re dame,\u201d that noble\nlady transferred it to the princess of the blood. Madame Campan had once\nto give it up to the Duchess of Orl\u00e9ans, who, solemnly taking the same,\nwas on the point of throwing it over the Queen\u2019s head, when a scratching\n(it was contrary to etiquette to knock) was heard at the door of the\nroom. Thereupon entered the Countess de Provence, and she being nearer\nto the throne than the lady of Orl\u00e9ans, the latter made over her office\nto the new-comer. In the meantime, the Queen stood like Venus as to\ncovering, but shaking with cold, for it was mid-winter, and muttering\n\u201cwhat an odious nuisance!\u201d The Countess de Provence entered on the\nmission which had fallen to her; and this she did so awkwardly, that she\nentirely demolished a head-dress which had taken three hours to build.\nThe Queen beheld the devastation, and got warm by laughing outright.\n\nAs England had its \u201cmacaronies,\u201d its \u201cbloods,\u201d its \u201cbucks,\u201d its\n\u201cdandies,\u201d and its \u201cexquisites,\u201d so France had its \u201chommes \u00e0 bonnes\nfortunes,\u201d its \u201cpetits-ma\u00eetres,\u201d its \u201cimportuns,\u201d its \u201c\u00e9l\u00e9gans,\u201d and\nlast of all, its \u201clions.\u201d With us, variety of names scarcely indicated\nvariety of species; the \u201cmacaroni\u201d and the \u201cexquisite\u201d were simply the\nfast and fashionable men of their respective times; their titles were\nconferred by the people, not arrogated by themselves.\n\nIt was otherwise with our neighbours. The \u201chommes \u00e0 bonnes fortunes\u201d\nassumed the appellation, and therewith became the terror of fathers and\nhusbands. His glory was to create a \u201cscandal\u201d\u2014to be ever mixed up with\nthe coteries of the women, and to be for ever fighting the men. Compared\nwith him, the \u201cimportuns,\u201d who took the Duc de Beaufort for their Magnus\nApollo, and the \u201cpetits-ma\u00eetres,\u201d who swore by their great master, the\nPrince de Cond\u00e9, were simply harmless fops.\n\nThe \u201celegant\u201d was the first of the butterfly race who exhibited a\ncalmness of bearing. He smiled rather than answered, when spoken to;\nnever gazed at his reflection in a glass, but concentrated his looks upon\nhis own proper person. He was in a continual calm ecstasy at the sight of\nso charming a doll, so admirably dressed.\n\n\u201cThe \u2018elegant,\u2019\u201d says Mercier, \u201cpays visits of not more than a quarter\nof an hour\u2019s duration. He no longer proclaims himself the \u2018friend of the\nduke,\u2019 the \u2018lover of the duchess,\u2019 or the \u2018indispensable man at little\nsuppers.\u2019 He speaks of the retirement in which he lives, of the chemistry\nwhich he studies, of his distaste for the great world. He lets others\nspeak; and while they speak, an almost imperceptible smile of derision\nflutters on his lips. He is dreaming while he listens to you. He does\nnot noisily leave a room, but glides out of it; and a quarter of an hour\nafter he has quitted you, he writes you a note, as if he had not seen you\nfor months, just to show you that he is an absent man.\u201d\n\nThe \u201celegant\u201d was not without his uses. He brought down superlativeism.\nExaggeration of speech and of dress went out as he came in. This\nchange extended to female as well as male society. He rendered social\nintercourse however a difficulty for intellectual men. The latter had\nindeed no difficulty in talking of science with the wise, of knowledge\nwith the learned, of war with the soldier, and of dogs and horses with\nthe nobles; but he did find a difficulty in talking about nothing with\nthose fashionable women who cared only for the subject most patronized by\nthe \u201celegant.\u201d\n\nWhat dreadful guys were the French children of the middle of the last\ncentury! Their monkeys, who danced upon cords, for the edification of\nthe _grande nation_, were not more ridiculous. Fancy a boy seven years\nold: his head was powdered profusely, and between his little shoulders\nhung the wide tie or bag of his hair. Therewith he wore a full-sleeved\nand broad-skirted coat, immense ruffles, a cocked hat, not on his\nhead,\u2014it was not big enough for that,\u2014but beneath his arm; and upon his\ntobacco-pipe of a thigh there hung a needle of a sword! And this young\nold man could hold himself erect, could bow like a judge, and was kept\nlean by late hours. He had, in the common acceptation of the words,\nneither wrists, arms, nor legs of his own. He seemed jointless, but he\nhad been taught how to sit down, and how to walk a minuet.\n\nMercier groans over the contrast between French and English boys of\nthis period. Take, he says, a little Gallic monseigneur to London,\nand introduce him to the son of a lord, a boy of his own age. What\ndoes he see? Clean, fair, and long flowing hair; the skin pure and\nhealthy; the head unmolested by a peruke; the body supple and robust.\nThe little Frenchman might be sulky thereat, but he found consolation\nin his gold-laced embroidery. He thinks to make an impression on the\nother boy by his profound bows, at which the English lad laughs; and\nwhen, according to the French custom, the little monseigneur advances to\nembrace the youthful Briton, the latter skips off, with the exclamation,\nthat they wanted to take him in by pretending to introduce him to a\nplayfellow, which proved to be only a monkey.\n\nThe extravagances of fashion were carried to the utmost in France when\nit was the custom for ladies not only to keep the head powdered and\nuncleaned, but to wear over it a napkin less clean still. The authors\nof the period are murderously satirical against a mode which especially\nprescribes that the napkin should not only seem dirty, but be so. Lady\nMary Wortley Montague however thought the idea admirable, and she adopted\nit with a nasty alacrity.\n\nThe fashion nevertheless could not long \u201cobtain,\u201d and soon we find _la\nMode_ raised from an art to a science, and women devoting themselves to\nthe study thereof with an intensity worthy of a better cause.\n\nA pretty woman, says Mercier, meaning thereby a pretty Frenchwoman, daily\ngoes twice through the ceremony of the toilet. The first was a mystery,\nfrom which lovers were as rigorously banished as the profane from solemn\nrites in the temples of old. A lover, says Mercier, dare not enter his\nlady\u2019s tiring-bower but at an appointed hour. You may deceive a woman,\nbut you must never come upon her by surprise: that is the rule; the most\nfavoured and the most liberal of lovers never dares to infringe thereon.\n\nMercier however seems to have had free admission to the performance of\nthe early ceremony; for he says that thereat mysterious use was made of\nall the cosmetics whose application beautifies the skin. He only alludes\nto \u201cother preparations which, among women, form a science apart,\u2014ah! I\nmight say, a whole encyclop\u00e6dia.\u201d\n\nThe second toilet he describes as a game invented by coquetry. If faces\nbe thus made before a glass, it was, he says, with a studied grace. It\nwas not contemplation, but admiration. If the finger was run through\nthe long curls, it was only for effect, for they had already been duly\narranged and perfumed. It was at this second toilet that the world was\npresent. The lovers fluttered round the half-dressed object of what\nthey called their love,\u2014and that object was only a quarter dressed,\nand looking not unlike Anadyomene herself as to form and feature and\nposition, but with a glance in her eyes and a significance in her bearing\nthat bespoke much more the Venus Pandemia than the Venus Ourania. And\nthere too were the abb\u00e9s, who were permanent lovers wheresoever they\nwere to be found; they were of all sizes and conditions of health,\nbut they were all, without exception, gay, gallant, witty, impudent,\nand blasphemous beyond all belief, and happily beyond all conception.\nReputations were made and unmade at these morning toilets; and as for the\ndetail of the dressing, while the _coquet_ and _causerie_ were going on,\nit was very like that which Pope has so brilliantly described in the Rape\nof the Lock, and in which a reputation died at every word.\n\nIn modern days France has become more than ever the locality where the\nPopess Fashion is enthroned, and whose slipper is reverently kissed by\na devoted world. Parenthetically may I say that the custom of kissing\nthe Pontiff\u2019s slipper arose from the time when one of the Leos, having\nbeen offended by an act of one of his fingers, cut it off, and in his\nstrange humility would no longer permit his hand to be saluted by the\nfaithful. That was a queer cause for a strange fashion; but it rests\nonly on legendary authority. In France causes as strange, sometimes more\nand sometimes less pleasant, have fixed the fashion of the hour. Last\ncentury,\u2014that is to say, during something more than the traditionary\n\u201cnine days\u201d of that century,\u2014the rage in Paris was for pantaloons made,\nfrom aloes, the colour of a lady\u2019s finger-nails, between rosy tint and\ndelicate blue.\n\nFrance not only gave the fashion for fine dresses, but also prescribed\nhow people should visit in them. It was in Paris, about the year 1770,\nthat was introduced the custom of visiting _en blanc_, as it was called;\nthat is by leaving a card. The old ladies and gentlemen who loved to show\ntheir costume, called this fashion fantastic; but it has its advantages,\nand, though sometimes anti-social, is perhaps generally less so than it\nat first sight appears. Society would often gain nothing by the closer\ncontact of individuals.\n\nThere was wit however in many of the modish inventions of the Parisians.\nHere is an instance. La Harpe was the vainest of men, and the most\nunfortunate of authors. His pieces were invariably failures; but he used\nto speak of their success with as little regard to truth as the Czar\nNicholas and his Muscovite \u201cgentlemen\u201d show, when, being thoroughly well\nbeaten, they go and outrage Heaven with thanks for a victory. La Harpe\u2019s\ntragedy of \u201cLes Barm\u00e9cides\u201d was hissed off the stage; but he complacently\npottered about its merits. He was one day riding in the Bois de Boulogne\nwith the Duchess de Grammont and another lady, when a man was heard\ncalling for sale \u201cCannes \u00e0 la Barm\u00e9cide.\u201d La Harpe rapturously summoned\nhim to the carriage-door, at the request of the Duchess, who wished to\nmake him a present of a walking-stick _\u00e0 la Barm\u00e9cide_, in celebration\nof the success achieved by his tragedy. \u201cBut why do you call your canes\n_\u00e0 la Barm\u00e9cide_?\u201d said La Harpe. \u201cI will show you,\u201d said the man; and\ntaking off the ivory head, he pointed to a whistle within, warranted to\nbe shrill of note, and which the vendor pronounced to be very useful to\nowners of good dogs and hissers of bad tragedies. La Harpe could have\nshed \u201ctears of bile,\u201d says Beaumarchais; and, what is worse, the story\ngot abroad, and the tailors profited by it, and sporting vests with a\nlittle pocket to carry a whistle, were immediately named \u201cvestes \u00e0 la\nBarm\u00e9cide.\u201d\n\nWhat the Bourse and Royal Exchange are to the magnates of the commercial\nworld, the Temple in Paris is (and Rag Fair and Houndsditch in London are\nor have been) to the dealers in the cast-off skins, if we may so speak,\nof glittering metropolitan and other snakes. It is especially at Paris\nthat the commerce of renovated ancient garments (_dix-huits_, as they are\nsometimes called, because _deux fois neuf_) is carried on with eagerness.\n\nThe locality of the Temple, where knights displayed a sovereign splendour\nand the _rou\u00e9s_ of Paris laughed at the philosophers\u2019 splendid wit,\u2014where\nkings put their plate in pawn, and where the people made prisoners of\nkings,\u2014was turned to something like base uses when, upon its sacred or\nclassic soil,\u2014soil, at all events, on which flourished a giant crop\nof varied memories,\u2014was erected the arcaded and pilastered rotunda,\nbeneath which dealers drove bargains in dilapidated habits. The Paris\nclass of such dealers is a class apart, who barter, sell, and re-sell;\nand through whose hands pass the rejected garments of court and city.\nThere, in old chests, may still be found tarnished lace coats, which\nonce shone brilliantly at the court of Louis XV.; and embroidered robes,\nwhose original wearers sat at the suppers of the Regent, and laughed\nat Heaven. By the side of the republican _carmagnole_ hangs the red\nrobe of the parliamentary magistrates, or judges rather, with something\nof the senator annexed,\u2014a little of the legislative with a trifle of\nthe executive, and not very much of either,\u2014and who wore those scarlet\nrobes on days of high rejoicing, when the grand wearers of them were\naccustomed, as they met at the tribunal, not to bow but to curtsey to\neach other. The act is not incongruous to the dress; for when the Turkish\nAmbassador first saw our own judges in their crimson draperies, seated in\nthe House of Lords, he innocently asked who all those old ladies were who\nwere huddled together and looked so uncomfortable. But to return to Paris.\n\nIt is to the Temple that the correct comedian runs who would fain\ndiscover the proper type of a lost mode of the last century. And this\nreminds me that the law in France is exceedingly strict, even with\nrespect to the costume of a comedian. It is not many months since\nthat a young French actress, possessed with becoming ideas of decency,\nrefused to put on the extremely minute portion of transparent gauze\nwhich was allotted to her as her entire costume, in a fairy piece then\nabout to appear. She averred that to stand so attired, rather undressed\nthan dressed, before the public, would be an insult to the audience\nand a degradation to herself. The manager, not more modest than those\ndelicate creatures generally are, did not comprehend, and therefore could\nnot respect, the sentiment which influenced the young actress; and he\naccordingly summoned her to the tribunal of the law. The grave magistrate\nheard the case, examined the bit of gauze, condemned the poor girl to\nwear it, and went in the evening to see how she looked. The worthy\nofficial of the very blind Astr\u00e6a repaired to the lady\u2019s \u201cloge\u201d when all\nwas over, and inquired pleasantly how she had felt when greeted by the\nacclamations of the audience. \u201cI felt as if I were in the pillory,\u201d said\nthe really _decens Nympha_, \u201cand that every shout was a missile flung at\nmy head.\u201d The solemn villain smiled, tapped her on the cheek, and bade\nher take courage; \u201cthat foolish excess of modesty,\u201d he said, \u201cwould soon\ndisappear!\u201d Thus we see that Paris has not improved in this respect since\nthe days when people saw \u201cthe Testament turned into melodramas nightly:\u201d\u2014\n\n    \u201cHere Daniel in pantomime bids bold defiance\n    To Nebuchadnezzar and all his stuff\u2019d lions;\n    While pretty young Israelites dance round the prophet,\n    In very thin clothing, and but little of it.\n    Here Begrand, who shines in this scriptural path\n      As the lovely Susanna, without e\u2019en a relic\n    Of drapery round her, comes out of the bath\n      In a manner that, Bob says, is quite _Eve-angelic_.\u201d\n\nMany a royal garment has been carried off from the Temple to the\ntheatres. The former place is most crowded about eleven in the morning.\nAll the _marchands d\u2019habits_ in Paris assemble there at that hour, laden\nwith the purchases which they have made during the early part of the day;\nand these purchases are immediately resold to the stationary dealers in\nthe rotunda, who divide the same according to their respective merits and\nexpected customers.\n\nOne of the best-dressed men in France under the Empire was General\nDorsenne. \u201cLook at Dorsenne,\u201d Napoleon would say, \u201con the day of battle;\nhe looks like the true type of a French general, while Murat has the air\nof a rider from Franconi\u2019s.\u201d\n\nDorsenne was about to set out for the campaign in Prussia. He was the\npossessor of a tasteful but brilliant uniform, which he was desirous of\nexhibiting as closely as possible to the enemy, and which he intended to\nwear at the balls at Berlin. It was duly packed up; and Dorsenne, who\nwas to set out on the morrow, took it into his head to pay a visit in\nthe evening to the Th\u00e9\u00e2tre de la Ga\u00eet\u00e9, where they play such melancholy\nmelodramas, in order to see the somewhat celebrated actor Tautain in one\nof his military characters. The first act passed off well enough; but in\nthe second Tautain appeared in the full uniform of a general. Dorsenne\nwas astonished; he put up his glass, recognized his property on Tautain\u2019s\nback, and, exploding with wrath, he cried to his aide-de-camp:\u2014\n\n\u201cArrest that rascal; take him to the corps-de-garde; I will be there as\nsoon as you; he has stolen my coat!\u201d\n\nThe piece was interrupted: four soldiers escorted Tautain to the\nneighbouring \u201cposte,\u201d and there stood the General as scarlet as Major\nBagstock.\n\n\u201cWhere did you steal that coat, you wretched mountebank?\u201d exclaimed\nDorsenne.\n\n\u201cI am neither thief nor mountebank,\u201d said Tautain, who was pale with rage\nand fright; \u201cI bought it not two hours ago at the Temple.\u201d\n\nWhen the affair was examined into, Dorsenne\u2019s valet turned out to be the\nthief. The latter was punished as he merited; and the General, leaving\nhis coat, lace, and epaulettes to the comedian, went through the campaign\nin an old uniform and with his accustomed success.\n\nIn this quarter of the Temple takes place the last transformation of the\nblack dress coat, the silk waistcoat, and the polished leather boots.\nThe French _feuilletoniste_ who is known by the name of M. D\u2019Anglemont,\nhas devoted much of his acute observation to the manners of the Temple\nExchange. It is from him we learn that when a coat has passed through\nall its degrees of descent,\u2014when it has been transferred from maker to\nowner, from the latter to his valet, from the valet to the porter, and\nfrom that functionary to the Norman who plies in Paris the vocation\nwhich is monopolized in London by sons of ancient Israel,\u2014it soon after\narrives at the Temple, the necropolis of Parisian costumes. It is there\nturned, mended, and re-made; and it has yet a phase to go through before\nit is ultimately sold to those Paris manufacturers who make \u201cl\u2019engrais\nde laine,\u201d guano for worn-out clothes. This last phase it owes to the\ningenuity of the brothers Meurt-de-Soif.\n\nThis name, Meurt-de-Soif, as we are told by M. D\u2019Anglemont, is not a name\ninvented by the Paris wits. The family of Meurt-de-Soif (Die of Thirst)\nhas its residence in the sixth arrondissement. Its especial occupation\nis the purchase of old garments in huge quantities, which are made\ntemporarily to wear a new aspect, and then sold to the suburban beaux who\nsun themselves beyond the Barriers.\n\nThe traffic carried on by this family takes place at night, by\ntorch-light, and by Dutch auction. There you may see put up a coat from\nthe studio of Humann, a genuine waistcoat from the hand of Blanc, and\ntrousers whose incomparable cut declares them to have proceeded from\nthe genius and shears of Morbach; in a word, the costume complete of\na \u201cfashionable\u201d of the first water,\u2014for how much? Three francs!\u2014just\nhalf-a-crown!\u2014the pleasantry of the vendor included, without extra charge.\n\nThis pleasantry is something like that of our \u201cCheap Jacks,\u201d whose\ninvention is so facile, and whose power of lying exceeds that of\nOsten-Sacken and the Czar together.\n\n\u201cLook, gentlemen,\u201d exclaims one of the illustrious house in question;\n\u201cthis coat originally belonged to a Russian prince, and was the means\nof rendering him irresistible in the eyes of a _danseuse_ of the Grande\nChaumi\u00e8re. It subsequently became the admiration of all the inhabitants\nof the Closerie du Lilas, who saw its effect on the back of a celebrated\ncorn-cutter. By means of this coat the valet of a \u2018milord\u2019 carried off a\n_figurante_ from the little Th\u00e9\u00e2tre des D\u00e9lassemens, who mistook him for\nhis master. The coat has come to us immediately from this last possessor,\nthe extravagance of whose Dulcinea compelled him to part from it. Well,\ngentlemen, notwithstanding all these glorious souvenirs, in spite of all\nthe conquests due to it, I _give_ it to you, gentlemen, at three francs!\nThree francs! there is an opportunity for those accustomed to profit by\nit!\u201d\n\nThe coat put up at three francs has a gradually diminishing value put\nupon it, until it is at last purchased at thirty sous. Morbach\u2019s trousers\ngo for a franc; and Blanc\u2019s waistcoat for the small price of fifty\ncentimes\u2014fivepence!\n\nThe garments thus purchased are often only retained for a single Sunday,\nsome _f\u00eate_ day, on which the poor cavalier desires to look splendid,\nthough it be with a second-hand splendour, in the eyes of his \u201cbelle.\u201d\nIf the costume holds together through the severe ordeal of a night\u2019s\ndancing, it is often resold to the Temple merchants, who repair the\ndamage, and again fit it to the back of some ephemeral dandy of the\nsuburbs who wishes but to shine for \u201ca little day.\u201d\n\n\u201cLa M\u00e8re Moskow\u201d drives her own trade by the side of the Meurt-de-Soifs.\nShe is an ex-vivandi\u00e8re of the Grand Army, who lets out body-linen to\npoor gentlemen suffering from scarcity. A shirt may be hired of her\nfor a week for the modest price of twopence, the wearer being required\nmerely to leave his old one, by way of a security deposit. Nothing can\nbe more delicate than, not the deposit, but the manner in which the\nrequest is made; and a shirt of La M\u00e8re Moskow might have been worn,\nwithout scruple, at Lord O\u2019Grady\u2019s by the Reverend Ozias Polyglot, or the\nbetter-endowed Reverend Obadiah Pringle.\n\nBut I shall have more to say hereafter touching Gallic influences\nincidentally; I will therefore turn from persons and places to things,\nand, hat in hand, discourse of what I hold.\n\n\n\n\nHATS.\n\n    \u201cYour bonnet to its right use.\u201d\u2014SHAKSPEARE.\n\n\nNewton observed this Shakspearian injunction by always taking off his hat\nwhen he pronounced the name of God. This was a right use. The grandmother\nof Guy Faux devoted one to a strange use when she bequeathed her best\nvelvet hat to a nephew. I have often wondered if he went to church in\nit! The grandees of Spain treat their sacred sovereign with less respect\nthan Newton showed for a sacred name. It is the privilege of the grandees\nof Spain that they may stand with their hats on in the presence of their\nsovereign. There is but one noble in England so privileged,\u2014the head, so\nto speak, of the De Courcys, Earls of Kinsale.\n\nIt is just six centuries and a half since Philip of France sent over a\nknight to summon King John to answer for the murder of Prince Arthur,\nor abide by trial by combat. John had no relish to do either, but he\nlooked round for a substitute willing to meet one of the alternatives.\nThere was a gallant soldier in prison of the name of De Courcy. He had\nconquered Ulster for his master, Lackland, and had been rewarded with\ncaptivity because he had not done more. His fetters were struck off,\nand he was asked if he were willing to be champion for John in this\nbloody arbitrement. \u201cNo, not for him!\u201d cried De Courcy, \u201cbut for my\ncountry, ay!\u201d The adversaries met, yet did not come to an encounter; for\nthe French knight, not liking the look of his gigantic foe, declined\nthe combat, and so lost his honour. John and Philip, who were together\npresent, directed De Courcy to give them a taste of his quality.\nWhereupon the champion placed his helmet upon a post, and cleaving\nthrough the first into the second, his sword stuck so fast in the wood\nthat none but himself could draw it out. \u201cNever unveil thy bonnet, man,\nagain, before king or subject,\u201d was the cheap privilege accorded him by\nthe economical John; \u201cbut tell us why thou lookedst so fiercely round ere\nthou didst deal thy dainty stroke.\u201d \u201cBecause, had I failed, I intended to\nslay all who had dared to mock me.\u201d \u201cBy the mass,\u201d said John, \u201cthou art a\npleasant companion, and therewith Heaven keep thee in good beavers!\u201d\n\nIt was long the custom for the De Courcys to wear their hat, but for\na moment, in presence of their respective kings, just for the purpose\nof asserting their privilege, and then to doff it, like other men. The\nhead of the family, at one of George the Third\u2019s Drawing-rooms, thinking\nthis not sufficient assertion of his right, continued wearing his court\nhead-piece throughout the time he was in the \u201cpresence.\u201d The good old\nKing at length extinguished this poor bit of pride, by bluntly remarking,\n\u201cThe gentleman has a right to be covered before _me_; but even King John\ncould give him no right to be covered before ladies.\u201d The rebuke was\nmost effectual; and De Courcy saw, to his horror, that the entire court,\nladies, princesses, courtiers, and attendants, were wreathing a broad\ngirdle of grins \u201call round his hat.\u201d\n\nIt is said that when Fox the Quaker had an interview with Charles\nthe Second, the King observing that his \u201cfriend\u201d kept on his beaver,\nimmediately took off his own. \u201cPut on thy hat, friend Charles,\u201d said\nthe plain gentleman. \u201cNot so, friend George,\u201d replied the King; \u201cit is\nusual for only one man to be covered here.\u201d It was a neat retort, and may\nserve as a _pendant_ to the remark of the peasant boy, whom Henri IV.\nhad taken up behind him, and who pretended that he would take the lad\nwhere he might see the monarch. \u201cHow shall I know the King when he is\namong so many nobles?\u201d said the rustic, as he rode _en croupe_ behind\nthe sovereign, of whose identity he was ignorant. \u201cYou will know him,\u201d\nsaid Henri, \u201cby his being the only person who will keep his hat on.\u201d At\nlength the two arrived where the King\u2019s officers awaited him, and they\nall uncovered as he trotted up to them. \u201cNow, good lad,\u201d said he, \u201cwhich\nis the King?\u201d \u201cWell,\u201d exclaimed the boy, \u201cit must be either you or I, for\nwe have both got our hats on!\u201d\u2014An old-world story, I fear, but not _mal\ntrovato_.\n\nHats have been of divers service in battle. The plumed hat of Henri\nIV. was the rallying point of his followers. In later times, the\nhead-covering was put to good purpose by a \u2019cute Highlander. In the\nPeninsular war, one of the 93rd and a French infantry-man came upon one\nanother in a wood. As their pieces were unloaded, they both rushed to\nthe cover of a tree, in order to put their muskets in deadly order; but\nthis done, neither was inclined to look out, lest the other should be\nbeforehand with him, and let fly. At length the Highlander quietly put\nhis feathered hat on the end of his piece, and held it a little beyond\nthe tree, as though a head was in it, looking out. At the same moment\nthe impatient Frenchman reconnoitered, saw his supposed advantage, and,\nfrom his rifle, sent a ball through his adversary\u2019s bonnet; thereupon\nthe bonny Scot calmly advanced with his loaded piece, and took his enemy\nprisoner without difficulty.\n\nI do not know if it ever occurred to any one that hats had something to\ndo with the dissolution of the Long Parliament; but such is the fact.\nAs soon as Cromwell had declared that assembly non-existent, he flung\non his hat, and paced up and down the Parliament Chamber. The members,\nhowever, were piqued by such truly cavalier swagger, and would not budge\nan inch. Cromwell called in Major Harrison and the guard. The Major saw\nhow matters stood, and he felt at once that he could get the ex-deputies\nout much sooner by courtesy than carbines. Accordingly he approached\nthe Speaker, and taking off his own hat with much ceremony, he bowed\nlow, kissed the fallen official\u2019s hand, detaining it at the same time\nwith such gentle violence that the deposed dignitary was constrained to\nfollow whither the very polite but unwelcome republican chose to conduct\nhim. The Major led him out of the Hall, we are told, \u201cas a gentleman\ndoes a lady, the whole Parliament following.\u201d Thus a hat in hand helped\nto do what a hat on head failed to accomplish; and the Long Parliament\nresisting rudeness, yielded to gallantry, and was demolished for ever.\n\nThe close of the last national Parliament held in Scotland has something\nin connection with the hat. On the 22nd April, 1707, that illustrious\nbut sometimes turbulent assembly adjourned never to meet again. There\nmust have been some aching hearts under the old-fashioned dresses of\nmany of the members; but there was no sorrow to be read on the brow of\nSeafield the Chancellor. He put on his hat as he pronounced, with brutal\nlevity, the annihilation of the parliamentary body. Had he done it to\nhide confusion or to mark contempt, there might have been some excuse for\nhim, but it was a mere formality; and he unfeelingly added thereto, words\nwhich were the cruel knell of the dying victim. \u201cThere,\u201d said he, \u201cthere\nis the end of an auld sang!\u201d It was a song that, in its day, had been\nsung to some tune, despite some harshness and occasional discord; but, as\nthe Chancellor remarked when he put on his hat, there was an end of it.\n\nWhen Sir Edward Coke, in 1645, was trying Mrs. Turner, the physician\u2019s\nwidow, as an accessory before the fact in the murder of Sir Thomas\nOverbury (the poor woman had a penchant for poisoning people,\u2014but we\nhave all our little _foibles_), he observed that she wore a hat, and he\nbade her take it off. \u201cA woman,\u201d said he, \u201cmay be covered in a church,\nbut not when arraigned in a court of justice.\u201d The lady tartly commented\non the singularity that she might wear her hat in presence of God, and\nnot in that of man. \u201cFor the reason,\u201d said the judge, \u201cthat man with\nweak intellects cannot discover the secrets which are known to God; and\ntherefore, in investigating truth, where human life is in peril, and\none is charged with taking life from another, the court should see all\nobstacles removed. Besides,\u201d he added, \u201cthe countenance is often an index\nto the mind, and accordingly it is fitting that the hat be removed, and\ntherewith the shadow which it casts upon your face.\u201d The hat was taken\noff; but the lady, although a murderess, was modest, and she covered her\nhair with a kerchief.\n\nHad good Mrs. Turner been like the ladies and gentlemen of Natal, she\nmight have puzzled the chief justice. The Natal \u201cfashionables\u201d wear\nhats of from half a foot to a foot in height, made of the fat of oxen.\nThey first gradually anoint the head with a purer grease; and this,\nmixing with the hair, fastens these _bonnets_ on during the lives of the\nwearers! Or the fashion of the Myantses would have done. These people\ncarry on their heads a slight board, a foot long, and half of that broad;\nwith this they cover their hair, and seal it with wax. They cannot lie\ndown or lean without keeping the neck straight; and the country being\nvery woody, it is not uncommon to find them with their head-dress\nentangled in the trees. Whenever they require to comb their hair, once or\ntwice a year, they have to pass a preliminary hour in melting the wax,\nbefore they can get their hats off.\n\nBetter keep them on than take them off to such poor purpose, as was once\nobserved in the case of one of the celebrities of the Place Royale,\nBeautru, whose name was a mine of tinsel to the little punsters of\nParis, in the reign of Louis XIII. Beautru was bold, haughty, and an\ninveterate gambler. He was a libertine both as to morals and religion,\nand the slanderer _par excellence_ of his age. Richelieu had a strong\nliking for him,\u2014proof enough that he was not worth the affection of an\nhonest man. His repartees were more spiced with wickedness than wit. One\nday, on passing in front of a crucifix in the public streets, he, with\nan air of humble reverence, raised his hat. \u201cAh!\u201d exclaimed one who saw\nthe unwonted action, \u201cthat is what I call setting a good example.\u201d \u201cVery\ngood!\u201d cried the scoffer, pushing his hat firm upon his brows, \u201cbut you\nwill be pleased to observe that though we bow, we are not on speaking\nterms.\u201d\n\nThe Place Royale was in the olden times the _sanctum sanctorum_ both\nof fashion and wit; and never had either a more celebrated high-priest\nthan Voiture. This famous Euphuist was only the son of the keeper of a\nwine-shop, but he used to say that he had been born again in the society\nof Madame and Mademoiselle de Rambouillet. He was a renowned humourist,\nwas given to love-making and to card-playing, but rather to the latter\nthan the former. He was remarkable for the fashion of his hats, which he\nwore in the very extreme of the mode, like Don Basilio in the \u2018Barber of\nSeville;\u2019 and he never uncovered even to the greatest noble, until the\nlatter had first lowered his bonnet to _him_ in testimony of salute to\nthe wit of the son of the wine-dealer. He once brought two bears from the\nstreet into the boudoir of Mademoiselle Rambouillet; and the lords and\nladies both laughed and screamed at seeing Voiture cover their heads with\nthe hats of two of the company, and give the animals fine Greek names,\nas was the custom of the Euphuists of the day. It was he who uttered the\nneat expression applied to Bossuet, when the latter, at the premature age\nof fourteen, delivered a sermon before the gay sinners of the H\u00f4tel de\nRambouillet, at midnight. Voiture sat with his hat on to listen to the\ndiscourse, but when it was concluded, he uncovered, and making a low bow\nto the young orator,\u2014\u201cSir,\u201d said he, \u201cI never heard a man preach at once\nso early and so late!\u201d and the gallants putting on their plumed hats,\ndeclared with round oaths that Voiture\u2019s wit had capped young Bossuet\u2019s\nsermon!\n\nIt was in truth a strange locality, that same old Place Royale. The\nArnault family, with their grave manners and fashions, were perhaps the\nworthiest of the residents of any age; but it is not among them that\nwe must look for striking anecdotes respecting passing modes. These\nare more plentifully furnished by the household chronicles of the more\nworldly people. The Marchioness de Sabl\u00e9 and the Countess de Maure were\namong these latter. They were next-door neighbours, and they daily sent\neach other little _billets_, remarkable for the aristocratic contempt\nwhich they showed for orthography; and little patterns of head-dresses,\nquite as remarkable for their grace and \u201ckillingness.\u201d It happened one\nday that the Countess was sick, and thereupon the Marchioness resolved\nto pay her a visit of condolence, in state. She was poor and proud, and\nher pride and poverty were displayed in the circumstance of ceremony, so\nto speak, with which she waited on her much-afflicted friend. She could\nnot, like an honest woman, put on her bonnet and carry a posset under\nthe folds of her farthingale to the noble patient. _That_ would have\nbeen derogatory to both noble houses. Accordingly, she descended her\ngrand and not over-clean staircase, beneath a canopy which consisted of\nnothing more than the top and vallance of her cook\u2019s bedstead, upheld on\ncrossed staves by two grooms, who bore their burden with uncovered heads,\nas though royalty were walking beneath the striped-linen canopy of the\nold cook\u2019s couch. But it was a canopy, and so there was dignity therein,\nthough it was rather of a dusty sort.\n\nWhile people were laughing at this illustration of pride in Paris,\nLondon was being sadly scandalized at a royal illustration of obstinacy.\nWhen William III. went to church, it was impossible to induce him to\ntake off his hat. He might indeed doff it during the liturgy, but the\npreacher was no sooner in the pulpit than on went the ponderous beaver,\nand up fired the indignation of the beholders. William cared not a jot\nfor their indignation. The Dutch wore their hats during Divine worship,\nand _he_ had not ceased to be a Hollander simply for having become a\nKing of England. Besides, that ancient and scriptural people the Jews\nsat in their synagogues with their heads covered, and was not he their\nmost religious and gracious king?\u2014and did it not become him to follow the\npractices of a Biblical race, when the doing so tended to the increase of\nhis comfort, and jumped with the inclination of his caprices? And so the\nbroad hat was worn, and censure disregarded.\n\nIn the middle of the last century, when actors at their benefits expected\ngreat houses, the pit was not only incorporated with the boxes, but\na graduated building was erected on the stage for the superflux of\naudience. The consequences were sometimes ridiculous enough; _exempli\ngrati\u00e2_:\u2014\n\nWhen Holland, the Chiswick baker, played Hamlet, at his first benefit at\nDrury Lane (1762), the little tillage poured out all its inhabitants to\ndo him both honour and profit; and I do not know if the predecessor of\nthe present estimable rector, the Rev. Mr. Bowerbank, was not at the head\nof them. However this may be, there was assuredly amongst them a young\nChiswick maiden, who contrived to seat herself at a corner of the lowest\nseat of the amphitheatre, with her feet resting on the stage.\n\nWhen the Ghost appeared, Hamlet\u2019s hat fell off; and this so excited\nthe commiseration of the damsel from Chiswick that she gently stepped\nforward, picked up the hat, and with her own hands placed it upon\nHolland\u2019s head, with the broad corner foremost, as it might have been\nworn had Hamlet been exceedingly drunk. Holland gravely finished the\nscene, but his appearance was too much for the gravity of the house; and\nalthough the audience, becomingly but with difficulty, restrained their\nrisibility till the young prince with the queer hat and his respected\nsire\u2019s ghost had diversely departed, they burst out into so uproarious\na laugh _then_, that the whole house rang again; and Holland too when\nhe was led to a glass, and contemplated his own counterfeit and highly\nridiculous presentment.\n\nSuch was a hat on the English stage; here is one on that of America.\nMr. Charles Kean, when once playing Richard, at New Orleans, observed,\nas he was seated on the throne, and the curtain was rising, that his\nnoble peers wore their hats or caps in his presence. With his truncheon\nto his lips he contrived a stage whisper, which said, \u201cTake off your\nhats; you are in the presence of the king.\u201d \u201cAnd what of that?\u201d roared\nhigh-reaching Buckingham, looking round at the audience, and smacking his\nown cap tighter on his circumspect head; \u201cwhat of that? I guess we know\nnothing of kings in this country.\u201d The New Orleaners were in raptures,\nand the king sat corrected.\n\nIn old days there was not only a fashion in the hat, but also in the cock\nof it. The famous battle of Ramilies introduced the Ramilies cock of the\nhat. In No. 526 of the \u2018Spectator,\u2019 \u201cJohn Sly, a haberdasher of hats,\nand tobacconist,\u201d is directed to take down the names of such country\ngentlemen as have left the hunting for the military cock, before the\napproach of peace. In a subsequent number is told how the same John Sly\nis preparing hats for the several kinds of heads that make figures in\nthe realm of Great Britain, with cocks significant of their powers and\nfaculties. His hats for men of the faculties of law and physic do but\njust turn up to give a little life to their sagacity. His military hats\nglare full in the face; and he has prepared a familiar easy cock for all\ngood companions between the above-mentioned extremes.\n\nAdmiring mothers would sooner have followed their sons to the grave than\nsee them walk about with hats uncocked,\u2014whether the form took that of\na spout or the point of a mince-pie. The German _Kevenh\u00fcller_ came on\nabout the accession of George III. They were as tasteless as those French\n_chapeaux \u00e0 cornes_, of whom Mr. Bob Fudge says that he\n\n                    \u201cwould back Mrs. Draper\n    To cut better weather-boards out of brown paper.\u201d\n\nAt this time, we are told, there was the military cock and the mercantile\ncock; and while the beaux of St. James\u2019s wore their hats under their\narms, the beaux of Moorfields Mall wore them diagonally over their left\nor right eye. Some wore their hats with the corners which should come\nover their foreheads, in a direct line, pointed into the air. These were\nthe Gawkies. Others did not above half cover their heads, which was\nindeed owing to the shallowness of their crowns. A hat with gold binding\nbespoke a man given to the pleasures of the turf. The tiny Nivernois hat\ncame into fashion early in the reign of the third George; and it is said\nthat gold-laced cocked hats used to be worn in the year \u201978, because they\nhad a military look with them, and would therefore protect the wearer\nagainst the press-gangs that were then more than usually active.\n\nWhen round hats came in, at first merely for morning or undress wear,\nbut finally became a _fait accompli_, like that other little matter, the\nFrench Revolution, all the young wearers of them (and there were, at\nfirst, no others) were denounced as \u201cblackguards\u201d and \u201chighwaymen.\u201d The\nyouthful votaries of fashion retorted by nicknaming the three-cornered\nhats, as \u201cEgham, Staines, and Windsor,\u201d in allusion to the three-fingered\nroad-post pointing in that tripartite direction. The flat, folding,\ncrescent-shaped beaver, called a cocked or an opera hat, was still to be\nseen as late as 1818; and a party of gentlemen returning on foot from\nAlmack\u2019s on a summer\u2019s morning, with pantaloons tight as the Venetian\nstandard-bearer\u2019s, and hats cocked according to the mode, presented a\nrather martial look. Since that time, the round hat has gained headway;\neven coachmen only wear the old cocked covering on state occasions; and\nthe ugliest article that ever could be devised for the purpose seems to\nbe planted upon our unwilling brows for ever.\n\nIn New, as formerly in Old, England, Quakers objected to take off their\nhats. A judge in the former locality once remarked thereon, that if\nhe thought there was any religion in a hat, he would have the largest\nhe could purchase for money. Poor Essex, at his mock trial before his\nenemies in Elizabeth\u2019s palace, was compelled to stand uncovered. He\nwas so embarrassed with his hat and the papers in it, that he forgot\nsomething of what he had to say; and perhaps too much care for his hat\nhelped him to lose his head.\n\nFinally, do my readers know why \u201cbeaver\u201d was the originally favourite\nmaterial for a hat? Dr. Marius was told by a Jew physician of Ulm, that\nit was because by wearing a cap of beaver\u2019s fur, anointing the head\nonce a month with oil of castor, and taking two or three ounces of it\nin a year, a man\u2019s memory may be so strengthened that he will remember\neverything he reads. I would eschew French velvet, and would stick to\nbeaver, if I thought _that_.\n\nAnd now as hats were put upon heads, the next fashion that will naturally\ncome under our notice is the fashion of Wigs and their Wearers. Previous\nto turning to which, I may mention, by way of being useful, that \u201cbeaver\u201d\nis not beaver in our days; and that perhaps is why we are all so\nforgetful of our duties. English beaver is a mixture of lamb\u2019s wool and\nrabbit\u2019s fur. Silk, satin, and velvet hats are made of plush, woven for\nthe most part in the north of England. _Paris_ hats are made in London\nfrom French plush, of which we import annually about 150,000 lbs. We\nexport few hats except to our own colonies. They are chiefly made, like\nour wigs, for native wear.\n\n\n\n\nWIGS AND THEIR WEARERS.\n\n    \u201cWigs were to protect obstinate old heads from the rays of\n    truth.\u201d\u2014ANONYMOUS AUTHOR.\n\n\nWhen it is said that Hadrian was the first Roman Emperor who wore a wig,\nnothing more is meant than that he was the first who avowedly wore one.\nThey were common enough before his time. Caligula and Messalina put them\non, for purposes of disguise, when they were abroad at night; and Otho\ncondescended to conceal his baldness with what he fain hoped his subjects\nwould accept as a natural head of hair belonging to one who bore the name\nof C\u00e6sar.\n\nAs for the origin of wigs, the honour of the invention is attributed to\nthe luxurious Iapygians, in Southern Italy. The Louvain theologians, who\npublished a French version of the Bible, affected however to discover the\nfirst mention of perukes in a passage in the fourth chapter of Isaiah.\nThe Vulgate has these words:\u2014\u201cDecalvabit Dominus verticem filiarum Sion,\net Dominus crinem earum nudabit.\u201d This the Louvain gentlemen translated\ninto French as follows:\u2014\u201cLe Seigneur d\u00e9chevelera les t\u00eates des filles de\nSion; et le Seigneur d\u00e9couvrira leurs perruques.\u201d The which, done into\nEnglish, implies that \u201cThe Lord will pluck the hair from the heads of the\ndaughters of Sion, and will expose their periwigs.\u201d My fair friend, you\nwould perhaps fling your own in my face were I to presume to tell you\nwhat the true reading is.\n\nIn the above free-and-easy translation, the theologians in question\nfollowed no less an authority than St. Paulinus of Nola, and thus had\nrespectable warrant for their singular mistake.\n\nAllusions to wigs are frequently made both by the historians and poets\nof ancient times. We know that they were worn by fashionable gentlemen\nin Palmyra and Baalbec, and that the Lycians took to them out of\nnecessity. When their conqueror, Mausoleus, had ruthlessly ordered all\ntheir heads to be shaven, the poor Lycians felt themselves so supremely\nridiculous, that they induced the king\u2019s general Condalus, by means of an\nirresistible bribe, to permit them to import wigs from Greece; and the\nsymbol of their degradation became the very pink of Lycian fashion.\n\nHannibal was a stout soldier, but on the article of perukes he was as\nfinical as Jessamy in \u2018Lionel and Clarissa,\u2019 and as particular as Dr.\nHoadley\u2019s Ranger,\u2014as nice about their fashion as the former, and as\nphilosophical as the latter on their look. Hannibal wore them sometimes\nto improve, sometimes to disguise, his person; and if he wore one long\nenough to spoil its beauty, he was as glad as the airy gentleman in \u2018The\nSuspicious Husband,\u2019 to fling it aside when it wore a battered aspect.\n\nOvid and Martial celebrate the gold-coloured wigs of Germany. The latter\nwriter is very severe on the dandies and coquettes of his day, who\nthought to win attraction under a wig. Propertius, who could describe so\ntenderly and appreciate so well what was lovely in girlhood, whips his\nbutterflies into dragons at the bare idea of a nymph in a _toupet_. Venus\nAnadyomene herself would have had no charms for that gentle sigher of\nsweet and enervating sounds, had she wooed him in borrowed hair. If he\nwas not particular touching morals, he was very strict concerning curls.\n\nIf the classical poets winged their satirical shafts against wigs, these\nwere as little spared by the mimic thunderbolts of the Fathers, Councils,\nand Canons of the early Church. Even poets and Christian elders could\nno more digest human hair than can the crocodile,\u2014of whom, dead, it is\nsaid, you may know how many individuals he devoured living by the number\nof hair-balls in the stomach, which can neither digest nor eject them.\nThe indignation of Tertullian respecting these said wigs is something\nperfectly terrific. Not less is that of St. Gregory of Nazianzus, who\nespecially vouches for the virtue of his simple sister Gorgonia, for the\nreason that she neither cared to curl her own hair, nor to repair its\nlack of beauty by the aid of a wig. The thunder of St. Jerome against\nthese adornments was quite as loud as that of any of the Fathers. They\nwere preached against as unbecoming to Christianity. Council after\nCouncil, from the first at Constantinople to the last Provincial Council\nat Tours, denounced wigs even when worn in joke. \u201cThere is no joke in\nthe matter!\u201d exclaimed the exceedingly irate St. Bernard; \u201cthe woman\nwho wears a wig commits a mortal sin!\u201d St. John Chrysostom cites St.\nPaul against the fashion, arguing that they who prayed or preached in\nwigs could not be said to worship or to teach the Word of God \u201cwith head\nuncovered.\u201d \u201cLook!\u201d says Cyprian to the wearers of false hair; \u201clook at\nthe Pagans! they pray in veils. What better are you than Pagans if you\ncome to prayers in perukes?\u201d Many local Synods would authorize no fashion\nof wearing the hair but straight and short. This form was especially\nenjoined on the clergy generally. St. Ambrose as strictly enjoined the\nfashion upon the ladies of his diocese: \u201cDo not talk to me of curls,\u201d\nsaid this hard-working prelate; \u201cthey are the _lenocinia form\u00e6, non\npr\u00e6cepta virtutis_.\u201d The ladies smiled. It was to some such obdurate and\nbeautiful rebels that Cyprian once gravely preached, saying: \u201cGive heed\nto me, O ye women! Adultery is a grievous sin; but she who wears false\nhair is guilty of a greater.\u201d\n\nIt must have been a comfortable state of society when two angry ladies\ncould exclaim to each other, \u201cYou may say of me what you please; you may\ncharge me with breaking the seventh commandment; but, thank Heaven and\nCyprian, you cannot accuse me of wearing a wig!\u201d\n\nNo pains were spared to deter women from this enormity. St. Jerome holds\nup the fate of Pr\u00e6texta as a warning to all ladies addicted to the\nfashion of the world. Pr\u00e6texta was a very respectable lady, married to\na somewhat paganish husband, Hymetius. Their niece, Eustochia, resided\nwith them. At the instigation of the husband, Pr\u00e6texta took the shy\nEustochia in hand, attired her in a splendid dress, and covered her\nfair neck with ringlets. Having enjoyed the sight of the modest maiden\nso attired, Pr\u00e6texta went to bed. To that bedside immediately descended\nan angel, with wrath upon his brow, and billows of angry sounds rolling\nfrom his lips. \u201cThou hast,\u201d said the spirit, \u201cobeyed thy husband rather\nthan the Lord, and hast dared to deck the hair of a virgin, and made her\nlook like a daughter of earth. For this do I wither up thy hands, and bid\nthem recognize the enormity of thy crime in the amount of thy anguish\nand bodily suffering. Five months more shalt thou live, and then Hell\nshall be thy portion; and if thou art bold enough to touch the head of\nEustochia again, thy husband and thy children shall die even before thee.\u201d\n\nSt. Jerome pledges himself for the truth of this story, which is\nexceedingly perplexing and utterly unintelligible.\n\nThe ladies were more difficult of management than the clergy. The former\nwere not to be terrified by the assurance, that breaking an ordinance of\nmen was a worse crime than breaking one of the commandments of God. The\nhair of the clergy was kept straight, by decree of forfeiture of revenues\nor benefice against incumbents who approached the altars with curls even\nof their natural hair. Pomades and scented waters were denounced as\ndamnable inventions; but anathema was uttered against the priest guilty\nof wearing one single hair combed up above its fellows. The well-curled\nBishop of Oxford would have been in the olden time _ipso facto_, because\nof being so curled, excommunicated,\u2014according to the decree of the\nCouncil of Lateran (Gregory II.), which says:\u2014\u201cCuicumque ex clericis\ncomam relaxaverit, anathema sit!\u201d\n\n\u201cAll personal disguise,\u201d says Tertullian, \u201cis adultery before God. All\nperukes, paint, and powder are such disguises, and inventions of the\ndevil;\u201d _ergo_, etc. This zealous individual appeals to personal as often\nas to religious feeling. \u201cIf you will not fling away your false hair,\u201d\nsays he, \u201cas hateful to Heaven, cannot I make it hateful to yourselves,\nby reminding you that the false hair you wear may have come not only\nfrom a criminal but from a very dirty head, perhaps from the head of one\nalready damned?\u201d\n\nThis was a very hard hit indeed; but it was not nearly so clever a stroke\nat wigs as that dealt by Clemens of Alexandria. The latter informed the\nastounded wig-wearers that, when they knelt at church to receive the\nblessing, they must be good enough to recollect that the benediction\nremained on the wig, and did not pass through to the wearer! This was a\nstumbling-block to the people; many of whom however retained the peruke,\nand took their chance as to the percolating through it of the benediction.\n\nOn similarly obstinate people, Tertullian railed with a hasty charge of\nill-prepared logic. \u201cYou were not born with wigs,\u201d said he; \u201cGod did not\ngive them to you. God not giving them, you must necessarily have received\nthem from the devil.\u201d It was manifest that so rickety a syllogism was\nincapable of shaking the lightest _scratch_ from a reasoning Christian\u2019s\nskull. Indeed the logic of Tertullian, when levied against wigs, is\nexceedingly faulty. Men of the world he points out as being given to\nover-scrupulous cleanliness. Your _saint_ is dirty from an impulse of\nduty; were he otherwise, he might be too seductive to the weaker sex.\nThis reminds me of the monk of Prague who was blind, but he had so fine\na nose that he was able to distinguish between a saint and a sinner by\nthe smell!\n\nNot only were the Scriptures pressed into service against those who wore\nfalse hair or dyed their own, but zealous Christian priests quoted even\nheathen writers to shame men out of the custom. It is a remarkable thing\nhow well acquainted these well-meaning, but somewhat over-straining,\npersonages were with the erotic poets of heathendom.\n\nBefore the period of the Conquest, ecclesiastics were hardly\ndistinguishable from the laity except by the tonsure; and of this they\nseem to have been partly ashamed, for they concealed it, to the best of\ntheir ability, by brushing the long hair around it, so as to cover the\ndistinctive mark. It was only the great dignitaries who wore beards:\nhad a poor priest ventured to carry one on his face, he would have had\nthe one pulled and the other slapped by his ecclesiastical superiors.\nThe inferior clergy cared nothing about the matter till beards were\ninterdicted, as far as _they_ were concerned; and when the Council\nof Limoges, in 1031, decreed that the wearing of the beard was to be\nentirely optional, all concerned lost all concern in the question.\nDesire had only fastened itself upon what was forbidden. As for the more\ndignified clergy of the period, they were the most splendid dressers of\nthe day; and the greatest \u201cdandies\u201d were those who officiated at the\naltar. No censure directed against their extravagance in this respect\nhad any effect upon them. It was only when the reproof seemingly came\nfrom Heaven that they cared for it; as in the case of the young soldier\nin the army of Stephen, who was intensely vain of the locks which fell\nfrom his crown to his knees, and which he suddenly cut off close to the\nroots, in consequence of dreaming that the devil was strangling him with\nhis own luxuriant ringlets. The dream did not cure other fops. In the\ndays of King John, our excellent fathers actually curled their hair with\ncrisping irons, and bound their locks with fillets, like girls. They\nwent bareheaded lest the beauty of their curls should be disturbed by a\ncap; and they were not at all the sort of men that we should suspect of\nhaving wrung Magna Charta from the King;\u2014that Magna Charta the original\ncopy of which once fell into the hands of a tailor, who was cutting it up\ninto other measures for men, when it was rescued, not without difficulty,\nand consigned to its present safe custody in the British Museum.\n\nEnglish _ladies_ (despite the fact that English lords cherished wigs\neven in the days of Stephen) do not appear to have adopted the fashion\nof wearing wigs until about the year 1550. Junius, in his \u2018Commentarium\nde Com\u00e2,\u2019 says that false hair came into use here with the ladies about\nthat time, and that such use had never before been adopted by English\nmatrons. Some three hundred years before this, the Benedictine monks\nat Canterbury, who were canons of the cathedral, very pathetically\nrepresented to Pope Innocent IV. that they were subject to catch very\nbad colds from serving in the wide and chilly cathedral bareheaded. The\nPontiff gave them solemn permission to guard against cathedral rheum,\nbronchitis, and phthisis, by covering their heads with the hood common\nto their order; bidding them have especial care however to fling back\nthe hood at the reading of the Gospel, and at the elevation of the host.\nZealous churchmen have been very indignant at the attempts made to prove\nthat the permission of Innocent IV. might be construed as a concession\nto priests, allowing them to wear wigs if they were so minded. The\nquestion was settled at the Great Council of England, held in London\nin 1268. That Council refused to sanction the wearing by clerics of\n\u201cquas vulgo _coifas_ vocant,\u201d except when they were travelling. If a\ncoif even was profane, a wig to this Council would have taken the guise\nof the unpardonable sin. It is, however, well known that although Rome\nforbade a priest to officiate with covered head, permission to do so\nwas purchaseable. In fact, the rule of Rome was not founded, as it was\nasserted to be, on Scripture. Permission was readily granted to the\nRomish priests in China to officiate with covered heads, as being more\nagreeable to the native idea there of what was seemly.\n\nNative sentiment nearer home was much less regarded. Thus, when the\nBulgarians complained to Pope Nicholas, that their priests would not\npermit them to wear, during church-time, those head-wrappers, or turbans,\nwhich it was their habit never to throw off, the Pontiff returned an\nanswer which almost took the brief and popular form of \u201cServe you right!\u201d\nand the Bulgarians, on the other hand, took nothing by their motion.\n\nOur Anselm of Canterbury was as little conceding to the young and\nlong-haired nobles of his day as was Pope Nicholas to the Bulgarians.\nEadmer, a monk of Canterbury, relates that on one occasion (Ash\nWednesday) the Primate soundly rebuked the hirsute aristocracy, put them\nin penance, and refused them absolution, until they had submitted to\nbe close shorn. The prelate in question would allow none to enter his\ncathedral who wore either long or false hair.\n\nAgainst both the objection remained for a lengthened period insuperable.\nWhen Henry I. of England was in France, Sirron, Bishop of S\u00e9ez, told him\nthat Heaven was disgusted at the aspect of Christians in long hair, or\nwho wore on manly heads locks that perhaps originally came from female\nbrows. They were, he said, sons of Belial for so offending:\u2014\u201cPervicaces\nfilii Belial, capita sua cornis mulierum ornata.\u201d\n\nThe King looked grave: the prelate insinuatingly invited the father of\nhis people, who wore long if not false hair, to set a worthy example.\n\u201cWe\u2019ll think of it,\u201d said the sovereign. \u201cNo time like the present,\u201d\nreplied the prelate, who produced a pair of scissors from his episcopal\nsleeve, and advanced towards Henry, prepared to sweep off those honours\nwhich the monarch would fain have preserved. But what was the sceptre\nof the prince to the forceps of the priest? The former meekly sat down\nat the entrance of his tent, while Bishop Sirron clipped him with the\nskilful alacrity of Figaro. Noble after noble submitted to the same\noperation; and, while these were being docked by the more dignified\nclergy, a host of inferior ecclesiastics passed through the ranks of the\ngrinning soldiers, and cut off hair enough to have made the fortunes of\nall the periwig builders who rolled in gilded chariots during the palmy\ndays of the _Grand Monarque_.\n\nIn what then but in profligate days could wigs have triumphed in England?\nPeriwigs established themselves victoriously (dividing even the Church)\nunder Louis XIV. When a boy, that king had such long and beautiful hair,\nthat a fashion ensued for all classes to wear at least an imitation\nthereof. When Louis began to lose his own, he also took to false\nadornment; and full-bottomed wigs bade defiance to the canons of the\nChurch.\n\nCharles II. did not bring the fashion with him to Whitehall. On the\ncontrary, he withstood it. He forbade the members of the University to\nwear periwigs, smoke tobacco, or read their sermons. The members did all\nthree, and Charles soon found himself doing the first two. \u201cOn the 2nd\nNovember, 1663,\u201d says Pepys, \u201cI heard the Duke say, that he was going to\nwear a periwig; and they say the King also will. I never till this day,\u201d\nhe adds, \u201cobserved that the King was so mighty grey.\u201d This perhaps was\nthe reason why Charles stooped to assume what he had before denounced.\nPepys himself had adventured on the step in the previous May; and what a\nbusiness it was for the little man! Hear him. \u201c8th. At Mr. Jervas\u2019s, my\nold barber. I did try two or three borders and periwigs, meaning to wear\none; and yet I have no stomach for it; but that the pains of keeping\nmy hair clean is so great. He trimmed me, and at last I parted; but my\nmind was almost altered from my first purpose, from the trouble which I\nforesee will be in wearing them also.\u201d He took some time to make up his\nmind; and only in October of the same year does he take poor Mrs. Pepys\n\u201cto my periwig maker\u2019s, and there showed my wife the periwig made for me,\nand she likes it very well.\u201d\n\nIn April, 1665, the wig was in the hands of Jervas, under repair. In\nthe meantime, our old friend took to his natural hair; but early in\nMay we find him recording, \u201cthat this day, after I had suffered my own\nhayre to grow long, in order to wearing it, I find the convenience of\nperiwigs is so great, that I have cut off all short again, and will\nkeep to periwigs.\u201d In the autumn, on Sunday the 3rd of September, the\nwicked little gallant moralizes thus on periwigs and their prospects.\n\u201cUp, and put on my coloured silk suit, very fine, and my new periwig,\nbought a good while since, but durst not wear, because the plague was\nin Westminster when I bought it; and it is a wonder what will be the\nfashion, after the plague is done, as to periwigs, for nobody will dare\nto buy any hayre for fear of the infection, that it had been cut off\nthe heads of people dead of the plague.\u201d The plague and fear thereof\nwere clean forgotten before many months had passed; and in June, 1666,\nPepys says:\u2014\u201cWalking in the galleries at Whitehall, I find the ladies of\nhonour dressed in their riding-garbs, with coats and doublets with deep\nskirts, just for all the world like mine; and buttoned their doublets\nup their breasts, with periwigs and with hats. So that only for a long\npetticoat dragging under their men\u2019s coats, nobody could take them for\nwomen in any point whatever; which was an odd sight, and a sight that\ndid not please me.\u201d The moralist at Whitehall, however, could forget\nhis mission when at \u201cMercer\u2019s.\u201d There, on the 14th of August, 1666, the\nthanksgiving day for the recent naval victory, after \u201chearing a piece of\nthe Dean of Westminster\u2019s sermon,\u201d dining merrily, enjoying the sport at\nthe Bear Garden, and letting off fireworks, the periwig philosopher, with\nhis wife, Lady Penn, Pegg and Nan Wright, kept it up at Mrs. Mercer\u2019s\nafter midnight; \u201cand there, mighty merry, smutting one another with\ncandle-grease and soot, until most of us were like devils. And that being\ndone, then we broke up, and to my house, and there I made them drink; and\nup stairs we went and then fell into dancing, W. Battelier dancing well;\nand dressing him and I, and one Mr. Banister, who, with my wife, came\nover also with us, like women; and Mercer put on a suit of Tom\u2019s, like a\nboy. And Mr. Wright, and my wife, and Pegg Penn put on periwigs, and thus\nwe spent till three or four in the morning, mighty merry;\u201d\u2014and little\ntroubled with the thought whether the skull which had afforded the hair\nfor such periwig were lying in the pest-fields or not.\n\nBy the following year, our rising gentleman grows extravagant in his\noutlay for such adornments; and he who had been content to wear a wig at\n23_s._ buys now a pair for \u00a34. 10_s._,\u2014\u201cmighty fine; indeed too fine,\nI thought, for me.\u201d And yet, amazingly proud was the macaroni of his\npurchase, recording two days afterwards, that he had been \u201cto church,\nand, with my mourning, very handsome; and new periwig made a great show.\u201d\n\nDoubtless, under James II., his periwigged pate made a still greater\nshow; for then had wigs become stupendous in their architecture. The\nbeaux who stood beneath them, as I have stated in another page, carried\nexquisite combs in their ample pockets, with which, whether in the Mall,\nat the rout, in the private box, or engaged in the laborious work of\n\u201cmaking love,\u201d they ever and anon combed their periwigs, and rendered\nthemselves irresistible.\n\nEven at that period, Wisdom was thought to be beneath the Wig. \u201cA full\nwig,\u201d says Farquhar in his \u2018Love and a Bottle\u2019 (1698), \u201cis as infallible\na token of wit as the laurel;\u201d an assertion which I should never think of\ndisputing.\n\nTillotson is the first of our clergy represented in a wig, and _that_\na mere substitute for the natural head of hair. \u201cI can remember,\u201d he\nsays, in one of his sermons, \u201csince the wearing of the hair below the\nears was looked upon as a sin of the first magnitude; and when ministers\ngenerally, whatever their text was, did either find or make occasion\nto reprove the great sin of long hair; and if they saw any one in the\ncongregation guilty in that kind, they would point him out particularly,\nand _let fly at him_ with great zeal.\u201d\n\nThe victory of Ramilies introduced the Ramilies wig, with its peculiar,\ngradually diminishing, plaited tail, and tie, consisting of a great bow\nat top, and a smaller one at the bottom. This wig survived till the reign\nof George III. The macaronis of 1729 wore \u201ca macaw-like toupee and a\nportentous tail.\u201d But when the French Revolution came in contact with any\nsystem,\u2014from the German Empire to perukes,\u2014that system perished in the\ncollision. So periwigs ceased, like the dynasty of the Doges of Venice;\nand all that remains to remind us of by-gone glories in the former way,\nis to be found in the Ramilies tie, which still clings to court coats,\nthough the wigs have fallen from the head, never again to rise.\n\nLady Wortley Montague makes a severe remark in her letters, less against\nwigs indeed than their wearers. She is alluding to an alleged custom\nin the East of branding every convicted liar on the forehead; and she\nsmartly adds, that if such a custom prevailed in England, the entire\nworld of beaux here would have to pull their periwigs down to their\neyebrows.\n\nTillotson, as I have noticed above, makes reference to the opposition\nwhich perukes met with from the pulpit. The hostility from that quarter\nin England was faint, compared with the fiery antagonism which blazed\nin France. In the latter country, the privilege of wearing long hair\nbelonged, at one time, solely to royalty. Lombard, Bishop of Paris,\nin the middle of the twelfth century induced royalty not to make the\nprivilege common, but to abolish it altogether. The French monarchs wore\ntheir own hair cut short, until the reign of Louis XIII., who was the\nfirst King of France who wore a wig. To the fashion set by him is owing\nthat France ultimately became the paradise of perruquiers.\n\nIn 1660, they first appeared on the heads of a few dandy abb\u00e9s. As\nIreland, in Edward Dwyer, or \u201cEdward of the Wig,\u201d has preserved the\nmemory of the first of her sons who took to a periwig, so France has\nhanded down the Abb\u00e9 de la Rivi\u00e8re, who died Bishop of Langres, as being\nthe ecclesiastical innovator on whose head first rested a wig, with\nall the consequences of such guilty outrage of canonical discipline.\nThe indignation of strict churchmen was extreme; and as the fashion\nbegan to spread amongst prelates, canons, and cur\u00e9s, the Bishop of\nToul sat himself down and wrote a \u201cblast\u201d against perukes, the wearing\nof which, he said, unchristianized those who adopted the fashion. It\nwas even solemnly announced that a man had better not pray at all than\npray with his head so covered. No profanity was intended when zealous,\nclose-cropped, and bareheaded ecclesiastics reminded their bewigged\nbrethren, that they were bound to imitate Christ in all things; and then\nasked them, if the Saviour were likely to recognize a resemblance to\nhimself in a priest under a wig.\n\nNor was this feeling confined to the Romish Church in France. The\nReformed Church was fully as hostile against the new and detested\nfashion. Bordeaux was in a state of insurrection, for no other reason\nthan that the Calvinist pastor there had refused to admit any of his\nflock in wigs to the sacrament. And when Riviers, Protestant Professor of\nTheology at Leyden, wrote his \u2018Libertas Christiana circa Usum Capillitii\nDefensa\u2019 in behalf of perukes, the ultra-orthodox in both churches\nturned to gore him. The Romanists asked, what could be expected from a\nProtestant but rank heresy? and the Protestants disowned a brother who\ndefended a fashion which had originated with a Romanist. Each party stood\nby the words of Paul to the Corinthians. In vain did some suggest that\nthe apostolical injunction was only local. The ultras would heed no such\nsuggestion, and would have insisted on bare heads at both poles.\n\n\u201cAnd yet,\u201d remarked the wiggites, \u201cit is common for preachers to preach\nin caps.\u201d \u201cAy,\u201d retorted the orthodox, \u201cbut that is simply because they\nare then speaking only in their own name. Reading the Gospel or offering\nup the adorable sacrifice, they are speaking or acting in the name of the\nUniversal Church. Of course,\u201d they added, \u201cthere are occasions when even\na priest may be covered. If a Pope invented the _baret_, a cur\u00e9 may wear\na cap.\u201d\n\nSylvester was the first Pontiff who wore a mitre, but even that fashion\nbecame abused; and in the year 1000 a Pope was seen with his mitre on\nduring mass,\u2014a sight which startled the faithful, and a fact which\nartists would be none the worse for remembering. _After_ that period,\nbishops took to them so pertinaciously that they hardly laid them by\non going to bed. These prelates were somewhat scandalized, when the\nPopes granted to certain dukes the privilege of wearing the mitre; but\nwhen the like favour was granted to abbots of a peculiar class, the\nprelatic execration was uttered with a jealous warmth that was perfectly\nastounding.\n\nWhen the moderns brought the question back to its simple principles,\nand asked the sticklers for old customs if wigs were not as harmless\nas mitres, they were treated with as scant courtesy as Mr. Gorham or\nthe Lord Primate is in the habit of experiencing at the hands of a\n\u201cmedi\u00e6val\u201d bishop. If, it was said, a priest must even take off his\n_calotte_ in presence of a king or Pope, how may he dare to wear a wig\nbefore God? Richelieu was the first ecclesiastic of his rank in France\nwho wore the modern _calotte_; but I very much doubt if he ever took it\noff in the presence of Louis XIII. It is known however that the French\nKing\u2019s ambassador, M. d\u2019Oppeville, found much difficulty in obtaining\nan audience at Rome. He wore a wig _\u00e0 calotte_,\u2014that is, a wig with a\n_coif_, as though the tonsure had been regularly performed, and that the\nwig was natural hair. The officials declared he could not be introduced\nunless he took off the _calotte_. He could not do this without taking off\nthe wig also, as he showed the sticklers of court etiquette, and stood\nbefore them with clean-shaven head; asking, at the same time,\u2014\u201cWould the\nPope desire me to stand in his presence in such a plight as this?\u201d The\nPontiff however did not yield the point readily. Perhaps his Holiness,\nhad he received the ambassador under bare poll, would have graciously\nserved him as one of his predecessors had served the Irish saint,\nMalachi,\u2014put his pontifical tiara on the good man\u2019s head, to prevent his\ncatching cold!\n\nBut of all the tilters against wigs, none was so serious and chivalresque\nas \u201cJean Batiste Thiers, Docteur en Th\u00e9ologie et Cur\u00e9 de Champrond.\u201d\nDr. Thiers, in the year 1690, wrote a book of some six hundred pages\nagainst the wearing of wigs by ecclesiastics. He published the same at\nhis own expense; and high authority pronounced it conformable in every\nrespect to the \u201cRoman Catholic and Apostolic Church.\u201d Dr. Thiers wrote\na brief preface to his work, in which he invokes an abundant visitation\nof divine peace and grace on those who read his volume with tranquillity\nof mind, and who preferred truth to fashion. The invocation, I fear, is\nmade in vain; for the tediousness of the author slays all tranquillity of\nspirit on the part of the reader, who cannot however refrain from smiling\nat seeing the very existence of Christianity made to depend upon the\nquestion of perukes. The book is a dull book: but the prevailing idea\nin it,\u2014that it is all over with religion if perukes be not abolished,\u2014is\none that might compel a cynic to inextinguishable laughter. Yes, says\nthe Doctor, the origin of the tonsure is to be found in the cutting of\nPeter\u2019s hair by the Gentiles, to make him look ridiculous; _therefore_,\nhe who hides the tonsure beneath a peruke insults the Prince of the\nApostles! A species of reasoning, anything comparable with which is not\nto be found in that book which Rome has honoured by condemning\u2014Whately\u2019s\n\u2018Logic.\u2019\n\nThe volume however affords evidence of the intense excitement raised in\nFrance by the discussion of the bearing of wigs on Christianity. For\na season, the question in some degree resembled, in its treatment at\nleast, that of baptismal regeneration, as now treated among ourselves. No\nprimitively-minded prelate would license a cur\u00e9 who professed neutrality\non the matter of wigs. The wearers of these were often turned out of\ntheir benefices; but then they were welcomed in other dioceses, by\nbishops who were heterodoxly given to the mundane comfort of wiggery.\nTerrible scenes took place in vestries between wigged priests ready\nto repair to the altar, and their brethren or superiors who sought to\nprevent them. Chapters suspended such priests from place and profit;\nParliaments broke the decree of suspension, and Chapters renewed the\ninterdict. Decree was abolished by counter-decree, and the whole Church\nwas rent in twain by the contending parties.\n\nLouis XIV. took the conservative side of the question, so far as it\nregarded ecclesiastics; and the Archbishop of Rheims fondly thought he\nhad clearly settled the dispute by decreeing, that wigs might or might\nnot be worn, according to circumstances. They were allowed to infirm\nand aged priests, but never at the altar. One consequence was that many\npriests used first to approach near to the altar, and there taking off\ntheir wigs, deposit the same, under protest, in the hands of attending\nnotaries. Such a talk about heads had not kept a whole city in confusion\nsince the days wherein St. Fructuarius, Bishop of Braga, decreed the\npenalty of entirely-shaven crowns against all the monks of that city\ncaught in the fact of kissing any of its maidens. Three-fourths of the\ngrave gentlemen thus came under the razor! Such would not have been the\ncase, good reader, with you and me. Certainly not! We would not have\nbeen found out, and we know better than to \u201ckiss and tell, as they do at\nBrentford.\u201d\n\nThiers could not see in the wig the uses discerned by Cumberland, who\nsays, in his \u2018Choleric Man,\u2019\u2014\u201cBelieve me, there is much good sense in\nold distinctions. When the law lays down its full-bottomed periwig, you\nwill find less wisdom in bald pates than you are aware of.\u201d The Cur\u00e9 of\nChamprond says that the French priests, who yearly spent their thirty\nor forty pistoles in wigs, were so irreligious that they kept their\nbest wigs for the world, and their oldest for God!\u2014wearing the first\nin drawing-rooms, and the latter in church. This was certainly less\ningenious than in the case of the man celebrated in the \u2018Connoisseur,\u2019\nwho, having but one peruke, made it pass for two:\u2014\u201cIt was naturally a\nkind of flowing bob; but by the occasional addition of two tails, it\nsometimes passed as a major.\u201d\n\nIn France wigs ended by assuming the appearance of nature. In the Reign\nof Terror, the modish blonde perukes worn by females were made of hair\npurchased from the executioner, of whom old ladies bought the curls which\nhad clustered about the young necks that had been severed by the knife of\nSamson. But after this the fashion ceased among women, as it had already\ndone among men, beginning to do so with the latter when Franklin appeared\nin his own hair, unpowdered, at the Court of Louis XVI.; and from that\nperiod wigs have belonged only to history.\n\nIf you please, gentle reader, we will now descend from the wig to the\nbeard.\n\n\n\n\nBEARDS AND THEIR BEARERS.\n\n      \u201cNow of beards there be\n      Such a company,\n    Of fashions such a throng,\n      That it is very hard\n      To treat of the beard,\n    Though it be ne\u2019er so long.\u201d\n\n                       _Ballad_\n          in LE PRINCE D\u2019AMOUR. (1650.)\n\n\nWhoever invented wigs, proud as he may be of the achievement, cannot\nboast of the same antiquity for his fashion as that which attaches to the\nbeard. The beard, like sewing, came in with or was a consequence of sin.\nWith respect to sewing and sin, I have before spoken; and I will only add\nhere, that in the most prosperous times of Puritanism, it was the fashion\nfor Puritan ladies to wear aprons only of a green colour, that being\npresumedly the colour of the apron worn by Eve, whose daughters they\nwere, and the remembrance of whose sin and the acknowledgment of their\nown, they perpetuated in the adopted fashion of their day.\n\nIt is confidently asserted by Dutch philosophers,\u2014_so_ confidently that\nto suppose they have not good authority for what they assert, would be\nvery ungenerous on my part,\u2014it is asserted then by these Hollanders that\nAdam was created without a beard, and that the latter appendage was\nsuddenly conferred on his chin on the very evening of the day that he had\nbeen such a \u201cbeast\u201d as to allow himself to be beguiled into rebellion\nby his wife. He was consequently so far changed into the similitude of\na beast, being rendered most like the goat, who is an impostor in his\nway, wearing as he does the grave airs of a judge, and yet being given\nto very frolicsome indulgences, in which judges should not, though they\noften do, indulge.\n\nIf this be fact, one may wonder why Eve and her daughters generally\nescaped this badge of opprobrium. It was perhaps on the principle\naccording to which we punish the receiver more than the thief. If there\nwere no receivers there would be less pilferers; and though Eve offered\nthe temptation, if Adam had only resisted it, the consequences would\nhave been confined within their original narrow limits, and Mr. Mechi\u2019s\nrazor-strops would have been without a market.\n\nVan Helmont, in support of this theory, asks us if we ever saw a good\nangel with a beard;\u2014one of those questions which are supposed by those\nwho put them to determine a dispute at once. He falls to another\nconclusion thereupon; and maintains that if good angels do not wear\nbeards, the men who _do_ are guilty of profanity, and love goats rather\nthan godliness. Van Helmont himself was extremely perplexed by the Jesuit\ncasuists, who wrote on the lawfulness of beards, and who most lucidly\nproved, under three heads,\u20141st, That we are bound to shave the beard;\n2nd, That we are bound to let it grow; and 3rd, That we may do either the\none or the other.\n\nSt. Fran\u00e7ois de Sales, the gentleman saint, was less perplexing when,\non being asked by a lady whether she might not _rouge_, smiled, and\nanswered, certainly, if she only painted one cheek.\n\nVan Helmont hit the happy medium left by the Jesuitical argument, and,\nshaving his beard, only cultivated his mustachios.\n\nSouthey is rather inclined to accept the Dutch account of the derivation\nof beards, based as it is on the certainty that no man ever saw a good\nangel wearing one; \u201cfor,\u201d says he, \u201ctake the most beautiful angel that\never painter designed or engraver copied, put him on a beard, and the\ncelestial character will be so entirely destroyed, that the simple\nappendage of a tail will cacod\u00e6monize the Eud\u00e6mon.\u201d So it may be said,\nthat a monk with a fine polished bald head is hedged with a sort of\ndivinity, and looks altogether reverend; but only sprinkle powder from\na dredging-box upon the baldness, and you make him, if not ridiculous,\ncertainly mundane.\n\nThe English clergy do not appear to have estimated beards by Van\nHelmont\u2019s scale. One of the body, in the reign of Elizabeth, cherished\nhis beard as an incentive to righteousness. \u201cHe wore it,\u201d he said,\n\u201cto remind him that no act of his life should be unworthy of the\ngravity of his appearance.\u201d This good gentleman\u2019s beard assuredly did\nnot deserve what Shakspeare affirms some men\u2019s _do_, namely, \u201cnot so\nhonourable a grave as to stuff a botcher\u2019s cushion, or to be entombed\nin an ass\u2019s pack-saddle.\u201d Henry VIII. on the other hand, would not\ntolerate monitorism even from his own beard, and he accordingly and\ncharacteristically cut it short. Perhaps this monarch wished also to have\nit out of the way of petitioners; for stroking the beard, in sign of\nsupplication for mercy, was for thousands of years a recognized fashion,\nas may be seen in the Classics, and in Shakspeare, _passim_. It will be\nremembered that Hudibras stroked his own beard before he proceeded to\n\u201chonour the shadow\u201d of the lady\u2019s shoe-tie. This act has been editorially\ndeclared to have been done as in sign of asking for her favour; from the\nrecollection, I suppose, of Thetis \u201cpalming\u201d the chin of Jupiter; but I\nthink it was merely a piece of gallantry, \u201cdressing\u201d as it were, for the\noccasion, as in Congreve\u2019s \u2018Way of the World,\u2019 wherein it is said, \u201cThe\ngentlemen wait but to comb, Madam, and will wait on you.\u201d Formerly, no\ngallant ascended to a lady\u2019s boudoir without first combing his peruke at\nthe foot of the stairs, and assuring himself, by a glance at his pocket\nmirror, that he was as well-looking a fop as ever wasted morning in\ntalking nonsense to a speaking and painted doll.\n\nTo pull another person\u2019s beard, was to inflict on the wearer the most\ndegrading insult that could be thought of. When the Jew, who hated and\nfeared the living Cid Rui Dios, heard that the great Spaniard was dead,\nhe contrived to get into the room where the body lay, and he indulged\nhis revengeful spirit by contemptuously plucking at the beard. But the\n\u201cson of somebody\u201d (the _hidalgo_) was plucked temporarily into life and\nindignation by the outrage; and starting half up, endeavoured to get at\nhis sword,\u2014an attempt which killed the Jew by the mere fright which it\ncaused.\n\nTo shave a Moslem\u2019s beard was once a penalty as terrible as to a Chinese\nthe cutting off of his extended tail; and Christian princes have so\nesteemed the appendage, that they have pawned the beard, or a portion\nof it, for money lent, and redeemed the sacred pledge punctually at the\npromised hour. They would have forfeited all claim to be honoured of men,\nor rewarded of God, had they failed in their contract. In modern times\nthey pledge only their words; and as words are of less value than beards,\nthey are not so careful about the redemption thereof. That terribly\nmendacious personage, the Czar Nicholas, has, at all events, made his\n\u201cparole de _gentleman_\u201d to be synonymous with deliberate falsehood.\n\nThe beard however was long a cherished ornament of Russian chins, and\nthe Czar Peter was accused of profanity against that orthodoxy which so\ndistinguishes his successors by abolishing them. He certainly abolished\nthe huge and spreading honours of the Muscovite jaws by a rough process.\nTaxes were laid upon them, which had their weight upon every hair;\nand when the recalcitrant were encountered in the street, they were\nseized, and their beards either torn from them, or shaved off with an\noyster-knife, whereby half the chin went with the entire beard. The\nloyal nobility compromised the matter by preserving their beards in their\ncabinets, to be buried with them. They conjectured that the angels would\nneither know nor welcome them if they presented themselves at Heaven\u2019s\ngate with clean chins: they thought more of these than of clean souls.\n\nTaylor, the water poet, catalogues in rough rhymes the various fashions\nafter which beards were worn. They are too tedious to enumerate, and yet\ndo not enumerate every fashion; for omission is made of the fact that\nit was once the very \u201csweetest\u201d mode to wear strings to the beard, as\nJack the highwayman did to the knees of his breeches, and the Kings of\nPersia, who interwove their beards with gold thread. The \u201ccane-coloured\u201d\nbeard was always held as detestable, that hue having been, according\nto tradition, that of the beard of the traitor Judas. The famous Count\nBr\u00fchl, who lost Saxony but preserved a collection of wigs, was more\npractical than the Water Poet. His wig museum not only contained every\nvariety, but they were chronologically arranged, from the days of Aaron\nto those of the Count\u2019s own time. I may add, that I have never heard of\nthe beard being held in dishonour except among the Chaymas, in South\nAmerica, who have a great antipathy against it.\n\nApollo and Mercury are the only deities of olden times who are\nrepresented beardless. When professional barbers first arose it would be\ndifficult to say; Rome got hers from where she procured her cooks\u2014Sicily;\nbut the Eternal City was four centuries and a half old before the chins\nof her sons were submitted to the handling of mercenaries. Scipio\nAfricanus, despite the turmoil of battles, found time to shave every\nday; and he was the first Roman who did so. Had the Senate followed the\nsame fashion, the invading Gaul would not have found a beard to pluck,\nand perhaps the city might have been saved. The old Persians were very\nobstinate in this respect; and they and the Tartars waged bloody wars,\nand spilled oceans of blood in no better quarrel than the fashion of the\nbeard. These heathens were almost as wicked as the Christian inhabitants\nof the adjacent towns of Bouvignes and Dinant, in Flanders. The people of\nboth localities manufactured copper kettles, and each declared that the\nother\u2019s ware was made after a sorry fashion. The animosity thus created\nled to bloody and long-continued feuds; but peace was happily restored by\nthe time that other towns had applied themselves to the manufacture, and\nthis gave the old antagonists the more leisure to ruminate upon their own\nfolly.\n\nWhen Alexander ordered the Macedonian soldiers to shave, lest their\nbeards should be handles whereby their enemies might capture them,\nsmooth chins become a universal Greek fashion. It so continued to the\nreign of Justinian, but when the Turks took Byzantium, they would allow\nof beards only on the chins of the conquerors; and the Normans treated\nthe Anglo-Saxons according to the same rule. Subsequently, in the year\n1200, the Council of Lateran swept off the beards of the monks, \u201clest\nin the ceremony of receiving the sacrament, the beard might touch the\nbread and wine, or crumbs and drops fall and stick upon it.\u201d The monks\nthen were, like the Emperors, _utraquists_. Of course dispensation was to\nbe obtained by paying for it, and it was probably _therefore_ that the\ndecree was issued; but some wore their beards, in despite of the Church\nand her chancery, for the same reason that Fitzherbert Longbeard did in\nthe Norman times, to show his independence of all superiors and their\norders.\n\nIf there has really been wisdom in the wig, there has been wit in the\nbeard, or its owner. More, on the scaffold, put it out of reach of the\naxe, because, as he said, it had committed no treason. Raleigh, when\nvisited by the barber of the Tower, declined to have his beard trimmed,\non the ground that there was a lawsuit pending about it, between him and\nthe King, and he would not lay out any capital on it till the cause had\nbeen decided.\n\nRaleigh\u2019s wit reminds me of something still more witty, and quite as\ngermane to the subject.\n\nA few years prior to the Revolution, the witty but rather too fiery\nLinguet was committed to the Bastille. It is seldom that confinement\ncalms the bile of the confined; and accordingly Linguet, the next\nmorning, was engaged in writing _ab irato_ an article against his\nincarcerators; when he was interrupted by the entrance into his room of\na tall, thin, pale, personage, whose appearance very much displeased the\ncelebrated advocate.\n\n\u201cWhat is your business?\u201d said the latter, in a marked tone of ill-humour.\n\n\u201cSir,\u201d answered the other, \u201cI come\u2014\u201d\n\n\u201cI see you are come!\u201d interrupted the impatient lawyer, \u201cbut you are not\nwel-come.\u201d\n\n\u201cPossibly, Sir; but I am the Bastille barber, and I have come\u2014\u201d\n\nHere the Figaro of state-prisoners burst into a laugh, and rubbing his\nchin significantly with his hand, exclaimed, \u201cHo! ho! my good Sir, that\nis a different matter; _puisque vous \u00eates le barbier de la Bastille,\nrasez-la_;\u201d and after so capital a pun, he addressed himself in better\nhumour to the cutting up of his adversaries.\n\nThe last barber who held something more than barber\u2019s office under a\nChristian king was Olivier le Dain, the _familiar_ of Louis XI. In\nPersia, it has been common for the monarch\u2019s barber to be a prince over\nthe people. The Khasterash, or \u201cpersonal shaver,\u201d is reverenced by all\ninferior citizens; and they see nothing incongruous in the fact that\na palace and slaves are part of the rewards of a man who makes of the\nbeard of the Shah an eighth wonder of the world. The beard, in fact, has\never been held in reverential regard by all Moslems, for the reason that\ntheir prophet never allowed instrument to diminish his own. An Arab\nwould be as much horror-stricken now as ever Lacedemonian fugitive was of\nold, if in punishment for offence he were condemned to lose, by shaving,\nthe half of his beard. He would infinitely prefer to lose half his family.\n\nThe wit of Linguet, mentioned above, recalls to my memory a _trait_ of\na Duc de Brissac. This nobleman was frequently heard saying, as he was\nat his matutinal toilet, and was about to raise his razor to the surface\nof his ducal chin:\u2014\u201cNow then, Timol\u00e9on de Coss\u00e9, God hath made thee a\ngentleman, and the King hath made thee a duke; nevertheless, it is right\nand proper that thou shouldst have something to do\u2014therefore thou shalt\nshave thyself.\u201d I may add that it was the fashion of the De Coss\u00e9s to\nhave one general Christian name; and I think it is Bungener who remarks,\nin his \u2018Julian,\u2019 that on a gentleman of this house being brought before\nthe revolutionary tribunal, and asked what his baptismal name was, he\nanswered indignantly, \u201cAm I not a De Coss\u00e9? and what should my Christian\nname be but Timol\u00e9on?\u201d\u2014and he added an exclamatory \u201cde par Dieu!\u201d to show\nthat though he was in danger of death, he could swear as recklessly as\nthough he had still been in the galleries of Versailles.\n\nI have said that philosophers have not disdained to write upon the beard,\nand I may be honestly proud of an opportunity to follow in the wake of\nthe philosophers. Chrysippus has chronologized its history, and it is\nfrom him we know that it was not before the reign of Alexander that\nshaving became a fashion in the East. Timotheus, that renowned musician,\nlong stuck to the olden mode, and played the flute in a beard as long as\nhis instrument, \u03c0\u03ce\u03b3\u03c9\u03bd\u03b1 \u03bc\u03ad\u03b3\u03b1\u03bd \u1f14\u03c7\u03c9\u03bd \u03b7\u1f54\u03bb\u03b5\u03b9: and how sweetly does that last\nword interpret the flute\u2019s sweet sound\u2014\u03b7\u1f54\u03bb\u03b5\u03b9! it dies away like a cadence\nbeneath the lips of as great a flutist as Timotheus, our own modest and\nable Richardson.\n\nThe first man who shaved himself at Athens acquired a name by the act. He\nwas called _Korses_, the shaven, or clipped. Diogenes despised fashion,\nand therefore kept his beard. Not only that; he abused all who dispensed\nwith it. \u201cAh!\u201d he exclaimed with that mouth which lay behind a portion of\nhis own hirsute dirtiness,\u2014for Diogenes had a contempt for soap;\u2014\u201cAh!\u201d\ncried he, on encountering a friend newly mown, \u201cart thou inclined then to\nreproach Nature? Wouldst thou insinuate that she had done better to have\nmade thee a woman rather than a man?\u201d\n\nAt Rhodes all shaving was forbidden; but the Rhodians loved to display\ntheir independence of the law, and every man did what seemed best to his\nown chin. The same unruly sort of liberty was taken by the Byzantine\nbarbers. The law expressly denounced razors, but scissors were tolerated.\nClipping was permitted, but shaving was pronounced irreligious. Some\npriests shaved in spite of the decree. It was made a diocesan-court\nmatter of; and the chief pontiff, a sort of bishop in his way, rendered\nan admirable judgement on the occasion. He regretted his limited powers,\nbut he said his course was clear. Scissors were lawful, razors illegal;\nbut the priests had first used the former, and the law did not say\nthat razors should _not_ be used after the scissors had been applied.\nFor his own part, he did not well know which to adopt; but he thought\nhis reverend gentlemen would be justified in keeping razors, but not\nin using them\u2014themselves. They might shave each other! One poor priest\ninquired what _he_ was required to do, seeing that he had no beard. \u201cOh,\u201d\nsaid \u039b\u03bf\u03bd\u03b4\u03bf\u03bd\u03b9\u03ba\u03cc\u03c2, \u201cin this case I have no doubt. The use of scissors is\nimperative; and if you do not obey the law, I will clap you into the\nEcclesiastical Court.\u201d\n\nThe Mahometans are very superstitious touching the beard. They bury\nthe hairs which come off in combing it, and break them first, because\nthey believe that angels have charge of every hair, and that they gain\nthem their dismissal by breaking it. Selim I. was the first Sultan who\nshaved his beard, contrary to the law of the Koran. \u201cI do it,\u201d said\nhe apologetically to the scandalized and orthodox mufti, \u201cto prevent\nmy vizier leading me by it.\u201d He cared less for it than some of our\nancestors, two centuries ago, did for their own. They used to wear\npasteboard covers over them in the night, lest they should turn upon them\nand rumple them in their sleep!\n\nThe famous Raskolniki schismatics had a similar superstition to the\nMahometan one mentioned above. They considered the divine image in man to\nreside in the beard.\n\nNot only have the shavers of barbaric kings been accounted superior\nto the Prime Minister, as in our own country French _coiffeurs_ are\ninfinitely better paid than English curates; so to be shaved by a Prince\nis to be exalted to ecstatic honours. Hoskins, the traveller, was so\noperated on by the heir apparent of the Shaghes. His royal highness used\na threepenny razor, and at every stroke carried away as much chin as\nbeard; the honour was too much for the traveller, especially when it was\ncut out with a blunt razor.\n\nRogers is said to have once asked Talleyrand if Napoleon shaved himself.\n\u201cYes,\u201d said the latter; \u201cone who is born to be a king has some one to\nshave him, but they who acquire kingdoms shave themselves.\u201d He might have\nadded, \u201cAnd the people too, pretty closely!\u201d\n\nBut I am pulling the beard to a greater extent than my readers\u2019 patience\nwill be inclined to bear with it. I have only to add, that the beard was\na symbol of bravery as well as of wisdom; and he who had a good one on\nhis chin was usually able to grasp a sword to some purpose in his hand.\nLet us therefore draw the sword too, and see what can be made of it.\n\n\n\n\nSWORDS.\n\n    \u201cI love an enemy, I was born a soldier;\n    And he that at the head of his troop defies me,\n    Binding my manly body with his sword\n    I make my mistress.\u201d\u2014BONDUCA.\n\n\nIn the first book of the Peloponnesian War, it is stated by Thucydides\nthat \u201cthe people of the Continent exercised robberies upon one another;\nand to this very day,\u201d he adds, \u201cthe people of Greece are supported by\nthe same practices.\u201d The great historian especially names the Ozolian\nLocrians, \u00c6tolians, and Acarnanians, and their neighbours on the\ncontinent; among whom, as he informs his readers, the custom of wearing\ntheir swords, or other weapons required by their old life of rapine, was\nstill retained. \u201cThis custom,\u201d continues the writer, \u201cof wearing weapons,\nonce prevailed throughout Greece, as the houses had no manner of defence,\nas travelling was full of hazard, and the whole lives of the people were\npassed in armour, like barbarians. A proof of this,\u201d says the civilized\nThucydides, \u201cis the continuance still in some parts of Greece of these\nmanners, which were once with uniformity general to all. The Athenians\nwere the first who discontinued the custom of wearing their swords, and\nwho passed from the dissolute life into more polite and elegant manners.\u201d\n\nWhat the Athenians did so long ago was not accomplished in our own\nmetropolis until the end of the first quarter, or rather the beginning of\nthe second half, of the last century. The example, slowly set by London,\nwas soon enforced at Bath. I say \u201cenforced,\u201d because there was a pleasant\ndespot there, who ruled so supreme that the very \u201cBaths of Bath\u201d seemed\nonly to flow at his permission.\n\nIt was in presence of \u201cBeau Nash\u201d that fell the swords and top-boots of\nthe squires and the aprons of the ladies. The results thereof, at least\nof the putting aside the sword, at Bath and in London, and throughout the\ncountry generally, where gallant submitted to be disarmed in obedience\nto law or to custom, may be described in the language of Thucydides,\nas applied to the Athenians when they abandoned ruffianism and adopted\nrefinement:\u2014\u201cMen passed from the dissolute life into more polite and\nelegant manners.\u201d\n\nIn the simple old Saxon days the sword played a considerable part in\nthe making of a knight. The candidate for chivalry was required, the\nday before his consecration, to confess; and then pass the night in the\nchurch, in prayer and fasting. On the following day he was to hear mass,\nand during the service he placed his sword upon the altar; the priest,\nafter the Gospel, took the weapon, blessed it, and then, with benison on\nthe warrior, laid the blade on the neck of the knight, who however was\nnot a knight complete until he had received the Sacrament as a complement\nof the blessing.\n\nThus the Church made her own cavaliers: but the Normans, who came among\nus under a banner blessed by the Pope, held his method of consecration\nin scorn and abomination. The knights so made they accounted of as no\nknights at all, but as mere \u201ctardy troopers and degenerate plebeians.\u201d\nSo, in modern times, a militia ensign with a Norman name affects to look\nwith contempt on a \u201ccaptain\u201d who may have fought his way to his title\nin Spain or South America; and the young noble who at Oxford has taken\na degree, not conferred by right of knowledge, but seized by right of\nnobility, pretends to look down upon men who, at Bonn, at Marburg, or at\nG\u00f6ttingen, have penned their Latin thesis, and maintained its statements\nagainst all adversaries, and who have won their honours,\u2014in short, by\nearning and deserving them.\n\nThey were godless fellows, those Normans, though they did come with a\npapal benediction. Previous to their appearance no deed was legal that\nwas not marked by golden crosses and other sacred signs. The Northmen\n_chang\u00e8rent tout cela_: they transferred estates simply by word of mouth,\nwithout writing or charter, and only with the sword, helmet, horn, or\ncup of the owner. Tenements, we are told, were conveyed with a spur, a\nbow, an arrow, or even a \u201cbody-scraper.\u201d But this was soon found to be\ninconvenient; and then the conquerors introduced the custom of confirming\ndeeds by wax impressions, made by the especial seal of each person, with\nthe subscription thereto of three or four witnesses present. Now many a\nNorman had no other seal than the end of the pommel of his sword, and by\nsuch an instrument many a Saxon was pommelled out of his estate.\n\nAnd what were these Normans, from whom so many amongst us are proud\nto trace their descent? They were\u2014at least good numbers of them\nwere\u2014unbaptized thieves. Such certainly were the Mandevilles and\nDandevilles, the Mohuns and Bohuns, the Bissets and Bassets. These were\nfellows who had converted themselves to Christianity fifty times in\nthe course of the year, for the sake of the garment given each time to\nevery convert. Those renowned swordsmen, the Dagotes, Bastards, Talbots,\nLaceys, Percys,\u2014what were they but so many robbers who came hither\npenniless, and were very much astonished at the superabundance of their\nown good fortune?\n\nStill lower in the scale must have been those Norman swordsmen whose\nnames translated signify Bull-head, Ox-eye, Dirty-villain, Breechless,\nand the like. Nay, Wim (the) Carter, Hugh (the) Tailor, and Wim (the)\nDrummer stand recorded in the _Monast. Anglic._ as having been made\nNorman knights and noble by right of conquest. The ancestor of one of\nour proudest dukes was a plundering scoundrel, who, having no name at\nall, was known by that of the town in which he had been recruited,\u2014St.\nMaur; and the ladies of the Somerset family do not appear ashamed of the\ndescent, since they, not long ago, adopted the old name in preference to\nthat of Seymour, which some of the branches of the family still retain.\n\nOur Chaloners, Rochfords, and Chaworths can boast of no more honourable\nancestry: they all spring from the sword-begirt loins of vagabonds, born\nor recruited in Ch\u00e2lons, Rochefort, and Cahors; and the honourable house\nof Sacheverele has no more glorious founder than a limping brigand, known\nby the name of \u201cSaute Chevreau,\u201d or \u201cSaut de Chevreau,\u201d because he hopped\nlike a goat. Why, if antiquity of name be a thing to boast of, that of\nJohn Adams should be most admired among men; and Winnifred Jenkins is, in\nsuch case, more truly noble than the proudest Norman of them all.\n\nI have noticed how possession was sometimes given with the sword. It was\nperhaps in allusion to that old custom that Jack Cade touched with his\nweapon that ancient piece of mystery, \u201cLondon Stone.\u201d He felt that his\ntitle was not good until that ceremony was performed; and, that done,\n\u201cNow!\u201d exclaimed that popular hater of national schools, \u201cnow is Mortimer\nLord of London city!\u201d His worship the Mayor carries, by his deputy, a\nsimilar weapon, as emblem of his sovereignty. The sword in the City\nshield has another signification. Some have supposed it was placed there\nin memory of the gallant chief magistrate who so summarily despatched\nWat Tyler; but the sword was in the City shield long before that period.\nIt was called the Sword of St. Paul; and the _Domine dirige nos_ is an\ninvocation that the magistracy may be taught to bear such sword like\ngentlemen and Christians. Is it because the prayer has been ineffectual\nthat a new legend was constructed to account for the emblazoned weapon?\n\nIn the reign of Elizabeth there were two adjuncts which especially went\nto the making of a gallant\u2014the ruff and the rapier. He whose ruff was the\ndeepest and rapier the longest was the most unquestionable gallant; the\nconsequence was, that apprentices robbed their masters in order to look\nlike gallants. The vigorous Queen looked to it, however; and she placed\ngrave citizens at the gates, with orders to cut off all ruffs of above a\nnail in depth, and break the points of all rapiers that were above a yard\nlong. The scenes at the City gates must have been turbulent enough at\nthose times, for it is not to be supposed that a \u201cruffian\u201d would submit\nquietly to the cutting of his collar or the clipping of his sword.\n\nIn earlier times, in England, the sword and poniard too had something of\nsacredness attached to them: thus, when Athelstan was marching against\nthe Danes and Scots, he paid a visit by the way to the shrine of St. John\nof Beverley. Upon the altar of the church there he deposited his poniard,\nvowing that if Heaven and the Saint would help him to a victory, he would\nredeem the arm at a suitable price. He gained the victory, and observed\nhis vow; and for years the monks there blessed the good Athelstan for\nnot only putting them above the law, but making them as rich as Cr\u0153sus.\nIf he had not, they were men who would have taken their revenge; and\nthey would not have scrupled, as the member of the Peace Society says in\none of the comedies of Aristophanes, \u201cto take his measure for a suit of\nSardian scarlet,\u201d or to have served his body as the heralds have the arms\nof the Duke of Buccleuch, which, as we all know, are \u201cbruised by a baton\nsinister.\u201d\n\nThe readers of Sterne will not need to be reminded that in ancient days\nin Brittany a nobleman, too poor to support his dignity, was allowed to\nmake temporary sacrifice of the same by turning to commercial pursuits,\nafter first surrendering his sword to the keeping of the magistracy.\nWhen fortune was achieved by honest industry, the old sword was once\nmore hung upon the thigh. It was a wise custom, superior to that I have\nheard of in another country, where pauper aristocrats condescend to get\nrich by marrying merchants\u2019 daughters, whose dowries they as profligately\nsquander as though they had inherited them from their own fathers.\n\nI have, in my \u2018TABLE TRAITS,\u2019 alluded to the use and abuse of the sword,\nand therefore will not repeat here incidents already related therein; I\nwill merely remark that the best exemplification of the career of a mere\nswordsman is to be found in the history of fighting Fulwood, the lawyer.\nThis hero, ever ready to draw his blade with or without reason, while\n_standing_ (one night in the year of 1720), as was the custom of the pit,\nto see Mrs. Oldfield in \u2018The Scornful Lady,\u2019 remonstrated roughly with\nBeau Fielding for pushing against him. \u201cOrlando the Fair\u201d straightway\nclapped his hand to his sword; and the pugnacious lawyer, determined not\nto be behindhand, drew his blade, and passed it into the body of the\nBeau. While the latter, who was a mature gentleman of some half-century\nold, was exhibiting his wound, in order to excite the sympathy which\nhe could _not_ arouse in the breasts of the laughing ladies, Fulwood,\nflushed by victory, hastened to the playhouse in Lincoln\u2019s Inn Fields,\nwhere he picked a quarrel with Captain Cusack, who was a better swordsman\nthan Orlando and who stopped the lawyer\u2019s triumphs by straightway slaying\nhim.\n\nThe sword-clubs were suppressed by royal proclamation in 1724. They\nhad been denounced as unlawful three years previously. The object\nof the proclamation was to banish from civilized society the sword\nitself, in order thereby to check the practice of duelling, which was,\nat that period, exercised exclusively by means of the sword. The law\nbecame stringent, and judges merciless upon this point. This was made\nsufficiently clear in 1726, when Major Oneby killed Mr. Gower in a\nduel with swords, fought in a tavern, after a dispute over a game at\nhazard. The adversaries had fought without witnesses, in a room the door\nof which was closed. The Major, who had been both the aggressor and\nthe challenger, mortally wounded Mr. Gower, who however declared that\nhe had fallen in fair combat. A jury, nevertheless, found Oneby guilty\nof murder; the judges acquiesced in the verdict, but the Major escaped\npublic execution by committing suicide.\n\nThe law had not long to wait before other offenders were summoned for too\nfreely using the sword. On a night in November, 1727, Savage the poet,\nwith two companions, named Gregory and Merchant, entered a coffee-house\nnear Charing-cross. Merchant insulted the company, a quarrel ensued,\nswords were drawn, and a Mr. Sinclair was slain by a thrust,\u2014it is said,\nbut not proved, from the sword of Savage. The result of the trial that\nfollowed is well known. The verdict of _guilty of murder_ against Savage\nand Gregory, and of _manslaughter_ against Merchant (who was the most\nculpable of the three), was exacted by a villanously partial judge,\nevidently under pressure of the proclamation against swords.\n\nMerchant was at once burned in the hand in open court; he was also fined,\ncompelled to give security for future good behaviour, and discharged.\nHis associates had a narrow escape of an ignominious death, for which\nthey were assiduously prepared by that Dr. Edward Young, who had not then\nachieved a reputation for \u2018Night Thoughts,\u2019 but who was establishing a\nreputation by the publication of those \u2018Satires\u2019 which so faithfully\nportray the social crimes and errors of the day.\n\nJohnson\u2019s Life of Savage does not notice Merchant\u2019s sentence, nor does\nit state upon what terms Savage and Gregory obtained their liberty. They\nwere liberated upon condition of their withdrawing to the Colonies for\nthe space of three years, and giving security to keep the peace. The\nconditions appear to have been evaded. Gregory indeed did proceed to\nAntigua, where he obtained an appointment in the customs; but the wayward\nSavage sat down as a pensioner at the hearth of Lord Tyrconnell, whose\nbenevolence, it is hardly necessary to add, he most shamefully abused.\n\nI think that the last duel, certainly the last _fatal_ duel, fought\nwith swords, was between Lord Byron and Mr. Chaworth, in January, 1762.\nThey had quarrelled at the Star and Garter, Pall Mall, upon a question\ntouching manors and game-preserves; they fought in a closed room of the\ntavern, and Mr. Chaworth was slain. The circumstances of the killing\nlooked much more like murder than in the case of Major Oneby and Mr.\nGower. The Peers, however, acquitted Lord Byron of the capital crime, but\nthey found him guilty of manslaughter. His lordship claimed the benefit\nof the statute of Edward VI., and he was discharged on paying his fees. A\nbitter mockery of justice!\n\nThe sword appears to have been drawn in as hot wrath at the playhouse\nas in the park; and sometimes to have figured by way of ridicule. I may\ncite, as an example of the latter, an incident of the time of Charles II.\nThe court was at Dover, whither the King had gone to receive his sister,\nand the mistress which that sister brought in her hand as a bribe whereby\nto make of Charles the enemy of his people! At this time, the French\ncourtiers wore laced coats, of various colours, but all ridiculously\nshort. The shortness of the front part was made up for by the breadth\nof the waistbelt. Nokes, the Keeley of his day, was dressed to play\nSir Arthur Addle, in \u2018Sir Solomon;\u2019 and his costume, a caricature on\nthe already sufficiently absurd dress of the French, so delighted the\ncelebrated Duke of Monmouth, that the latter took his own sword and belt\nfrom his side, and buckled it with his own semi-royal hands about the\nperson of the player. We should be somewhat startled in these days if\nwe were to hear of Lord Augustus Fitzclarence fastening a cutlass upon\nthe thigh of Mr. Keeley, when acting in the \u2018Thirst for Gold:\u2019 but in\nCharles\u2019s days such freaks were very mildly construed of. The appearance\nof Nokes, in his short coat and long sword, elicited a roar from King\nand court, all the louder that the French originals were present. The\nlatter must have taken our most religious and gracious King for a sorry\nbarbarian; and, as chivalrous ideas went, it was very well that they\ndid not surround Nokes as he was going home, and \u201cpink\u201d him into an\neverlasting incapability of ever caricaturing them again.\n\nJames II. was unquestionably more of a true gentleman in outward bearing\nthan his brother Charles. I have an instance of this appropriate to this\nvery subject of swords and actors. In the reign of James, an actor of\nunimpeachable character and of very refined manners, named Smith, had\na discussion behind the scenes with a young nobleman, who, losing his\ntemper with getting the worst of the argument, drew his sword and struck\nSmith,\u2014for want of logic to confute him. The King forbade the courtier\nto appear in his presence; and by this means proclaimed his opinion\nthat the nobleman was less of a gentleman than the player. But such a\nmanifestation of opinion roused all the so-called _gentlemen_ against\nthe so-called vagabond players; and the next time Smith played they\nresorted to the theatre, sword in hand and catcall between their lips,\nand so plied both, that, despite the royal protection, he was driven\nfrom the stage for ever. Luckily for him, the \u201cvagabond\u201d was better\noff, on two points, than the \u201cnoble gentlemen,\u201d his antagonists: he had\na considerable fortune, and he was in debt to no man, not even to his\ntailor.\n\nSmith\u2019s story of the swords drawn against him, reminds me of Mrs.\nVerbruggen\u2019s, with the sword always ready to leap from the scabbard to\ndefend her. Mrs. Verbruggen was the Mrs. Sterling of her period,\u2014that\nis, the cleverest of artificial actresses. It would be pertinent to\nmy subject of \u2018Habits\u2019 to speak of her as she appeared in what is\ncalled \u201cbreeches parts;\u201d but I am afraid if I were to describe her,\nas old Anthony Aston does, who so often saw and wondered, it would be\nconsidered very _impertinent_ indeed. I _may_ tell however what he\nsays of her face. \u201cIt was of a fine smooth oval,\u201d says Anthony, \u201cfull\nof beautiful and well-disposed moles, as were her neck and breast.\u201d He\nafterwards adds:\u2014\u201cShe was the best conversation possible,\u2014never captious\nor displeased at anything but what was gross or indecent. For she was\ncautious, lest fiery Jack should so resent it as to breed a quarrel; for\nhe would often say, \u2018Damme! though _I don\u2019t much value my wife_, yet\nnobody shall affront her;\u2019 and his sword was drawn on the least occasion,\nwhich was much in fashion at the latter end of King William\u2019s reign.\u201d\n\nIt is a funny trait of the sword-wearers, that they could extol the\nvirtue which they had ineffectually endeavoured to destroy. We see\nthis in the case of Mrs. Bracegirdle, that Diana of the stage before\nwhom Congreve and Lord Lovelace, at the head of a troop of bodkined\nfops, worshiped in vain. The noblest of the troop,\u2014and it reckoned the\nDukes of Devonshire and Dorset, the Earl of Halifax, and half-a-dozen\ndelegates from each rank of the peerage among its members,\u2014were wont,\nat the coffee-house, and over a bottle, to extol the Gibraltar-like\nvirtue, if I may so speak, of this incomparable woman. \u201cCome,\u201d said\nHalifax, \u201cyou are always praising the virtue; why don\u2019t you reward the\nlady who will not sell it? I propose a subscription, and there are two\nhundred guineas, _pour encourager les autres_.\u201d Four times that amount\nwas raised, and with it the nobles, with their swords in their hands,\nwaited on Mrs. Bracegirdle, who accepted their testimonial, as it was\nintended in honour of her virtue. What should we think now if\u2e3a? but this\nis a delicate matter, and I _might_ make a mistake. I will only add,\ntherefore, that had Mrs. Bracegirdle been rewarded for her charity, the\nrecompense would have been, at least, as appropriate. For it is true of\nher that when the poor saw her they blessed her,\u2014and, we may add, she\nrichly merited the well-earned benedictions. She was, at all events,\nnot quite so prudish as Mrs. Rogers, who not only objected to act any\nbut virtuous characters, but made a public vow of chastity,\u2014in an\nepilogue,\u2014and broke it, out of good-nature.\n\nIt must be understood that the players wore swords in the streets, and\nused them, like gentlemen, for the destruction of one another. Thus Quin\nkilled Will Bowen, in 1717. The former had declared that Ben Jonson acted\nJacomo, in the \u2018Libertine,\u2019 better than Bowen. The latter pursued Quin\nto a tavern, shut the door of the room in which he found him, placed\nhis back against the door, and threatened to pin Quin to the wainscot\nif he did not immediately draw. Quin remonstrated, but drew and kept on\nthe defensive; while the impetuous Bowen so pressed upon his adversary\nthat he actually fell upon that adversary\u2019s sword and died, after\nacknowledging his own rashness. Quin was tried and acquitted.\n\nThe actors however had need to wear swords to defend themselves from\ntheir noble assailants. The latter used to crowd between the side-scenes,\nand often interrupt the performance by crossing the stage and conversing\naloud with one another. On one occasion, at the house in Lincoln\u2019s\nInn Fields, an earl, who was said to have been drunk for six years\ncontinuously, was guilty of this rudeness; and Rich, enraged thereat,\nthreatened never to allow him to be admitted again, whatever he might\noffer for it. The Peer replied by slapping Rich in the face; and Rich\nreturned the salute with all the vigour and rapidity that belonged to\nhim as an accomplished harlequin. The drunken lord\u2019s drunken companions\nimmediately drew, and solemnly devoted Rich to death. The comrades of the\nlatter, headed by Ryan, the ex-tailor, whipped out their swords too (some\nof them wore them with their court suits in Macbeth), charged the nobles,\nand after a bloody _m\u00eal\u00e9e_ drove them into the streets. The illustrious\ndrunkards, brandishing their weapons, attacked the front of the house,\nfought their way into the boxes, proceeded to destroy the interior\nadornments, and would have set fire to the theatre but for the arrival\nof the \u201cwatch,\u201d who captured the whole of the rioters. Justice was both\nlame and blind in those days, and the peers compromised the matter with\nthe managers; but George I. was as much disgusted with the conduct of his\n\u201cnoble\u201d subjects as a quiet scamp _could_ be at the peccadilloes of noisy\nones. The _only_ men, not nobles, who were as great nuisances with their\nswords, were the Darby Captains. These were old \u201chalf-pays\u201d or penniless\n\u201cdisbanded,\u201d who used to pitch their tent at Derby\u2019s Coffee-house in\nCovent-garden, and who were sanguinary in their cups. The \u201cH. P.\u2019s\u201d who\nnow meet in Ryder-street have little idea of the truculency of their\npredecessors, who most did congregate at the hostelrie whence they\nderived their name, and some pretenders their rank.\n\nI have alluded to the proclamation against swords in 1724. It appears to\nhave been made in vain, for in 1755 I find the aristocrats still ruling\nthe theatre by power of naked weapons and impudence. Garrick received\nfrom them this questionable support when he brought out the \u2018Chinese\nFestival,\u2019 with Noverre and other foreign dancers from the neighbourhood\nof \u201cZurich\u2019s fair waters.\u201d A war with France had just broken out, and the\nmob were like Foote\u2019s patriot gingerbread-maker in the Borough, who would\nnot tolerate three dancers from Switzerland because he hated the French.\nThe ochlocracy hissed; the aristocracy drew their swords to silence the\nvillains; the latter welcomed the battle, and they not only damaged the\ntheatre and many illustrious heads, but they pretty nearly destroyed\nGarrick\u2019s own private residence. Roscius lost nearly \u00a34000 in this\nquarrel, wherein swords were drawn and blood spilt that was of no value\nto the manager; and the present Mr. Noverre, of Norwich (I believe),\ncan hardly make even a faint guess of the dire storm which greeted his\ngreat-grandsire when he first cut an _entrechat_ on the boards of Old\nDrury.\n\nBut actors had bloody frays of their own, and that too among the gentler\npart of the profession. One I may mention, as it is connected with a\nmatter of dress. The charming George Anne Bellamy had procured from Paris\ntwo gorgeous dresses, wherein to enact Statira in the \u2018Rival Queens.\u2019\nRoxana was played by Peg Woffington; and she was so overcome with malice,\nhatred, and all uncharitableness, when she saw herself eclipsed by the\ndazzling glories of the resplendent Bellamy, that Peg at length attempted\nto drive her off the stage, and with upheld dagger had wellnigh stabbed\nher at the side-scenes. Alexander and a posse of chiefs with hard names\nwere at hand, but the less brilliantly-clad Roxana rolled Statira and her\nspangled sack in the dust, pommelling her the while with the handle of\nher dagger, and screaming aloud\u2014\n\n    \u201cNor he, nor Heaven, shall shield thee from my justice;\n    Die, sorceress, die! and all my wrongs die with thee!\u201d\n\nPoor Madge! Not many weeks afterwards she was playing Rosalind, when she\nwas, at the age of forty-four, struck with the fit that slowly conducted\nher to the grave. Her last words were, \u201cIf I were among you, I would kiss\nas many of you as had beards that pleased me.\u201d The stroke followed, then\na scream, and she who had charmed multitudes was for ever charmless. I\nwill only add here that it is said of O\u2019Brien, of whom I have spoken\nelsewhere as having married an earl\u2019s daughter, that \u201cin the drawing\nof his sword he threw all other performers at a wonderful distance by\nhis swiftness, grace, and superior elegance.\u201d But O\u2019Brien was the son\nof a fencing-master, and his brother actors were as jealous of him as\nPepys of his friend Pen, as illustrated by the entry which says (May,\n1662), \u201cWalked with my wife to my brother Tom\u2019s; our boy waiting on us\nwith his sword, which this day he begins to wear, _to outdo Sir W. Pen\u2019s\nboy_.\u201d From which it would appear that gentlemen and footmen once had\nfashions, if not vices, in common; and that our ancestors, with regard to\npride, were as great fools as ourselves; and _that_ is eminently, nay,\npre-eminently consoling.\n\nThe players were not scared from using swords as well as displaying\nthem. When Garrick played Bayes in the \u2018Rehearsal,\u2019 in 1741-2, he gave\nimitations of Hall, Delaney, Ryan (the ex-tailor), Bridgewater, and of\nGifford. The first four bore the ridicule better than Roscius would have\nendured the like of himself; but Gifford was so dreadfully enraged at the\nliberty taken with him that he sent Davy a challenge, and the two mimes\nfought until Gifford, whipping his rapier through the fleshy part of\nGarrick\u2019s arm, laid him up for a fortnight, and cured him of mere mimicry.\n\nI have noticed above how Peg Woffington, with her pointed dagger, punched\nthe ribs of the exquisite Bellamy; a similar, but more disagreeable\nsort of excitement, once seized on Woodward, the old pupil of Merchant\nTailors\u2019, who had turned actor. He was playing Petruchio to Kitty Clive\u2019s\nCatherine, when, borne away by his towering rage, he not only threw the\nlady down, but ran a fork into her finger; and as he had no love for\nKitty, it is said that there was more design than accident in the matter.\nBut this I do not believe. More credit, I fancy, is to be attached to the\nstory which says, that when Pasta played Otello to Sontag\u2019s Desdemona,\nthe former was so excited by the superabundant applause gained by her\nrival, that in the killing scene Otello twisted a strong hand into\nDesdemona\u2019s luxuriant hair, and gave it a series of such hearty tugs,\nthat the gentle lady, married to the Moor, screamed with all her might,\n_au naturel_!\n\nWhen the most pleasant and reasonable of Popes was Legate at Bologna,\na circumstance connected with swords came under his observation. Two\nsenators had fallen into a deadly quarrel touching the pre-eminence of\nTasso and Ariosto. A duel ensued, in which the champion of Ariosto was\nmortally wounded. The future Pope visited the dying man, whose sole\nobservation to his visitor\u2019s religious injunctions was\u2014\u201cWhat an ass I am,\nto get run through the body in the very flower of my age, for the sake\nof Ariosto, of whom I have never read a line.\u201d \u201cBut\u2014\u201d interrupted the\npriest. \u201cAnd if,\u201d exclaimed the dying man, not heeding the interruption,\n\u201cif I _had_ read him, I should not have understood him; for I am but a\nfool at the best of times.\u201d Benedict himself had a respect for swordsmen;\nand it was said of him and that other pleasant fellow, his contemporary,\nthe Sultan Mahmoud, that if they were made to change places, the Holy\nFather becoming Grand Seigneur, and the Sultan becoming Pope, nobody\nwould be sensible of any consequent difference; except, perhaps, the most\nintimate portion of the Sultan\u2019s household. Benedict was, at all events,\nwiser than that celebrated Capuchin, who, preaching repentance to a party\nabout to resort to the arbitration of the sword, exclaimed, \u201cBrethren,\nadmire and bless Divine Providence, who has placed death at the close of\nlife, in order that we might have the more time to be prepared for it.\u201d\nThis confusion of ideas reminds me of that which existed in the mind of\nthe soldier who remarked, that people nowadays did not live to such a\nlengthened age as when he was young. \u201cNot that there are not old people\nnow,\u201d said he, \u201cbut then _they_ were born a very long time ago!\u201d\n\nFinally, let me conclude the subject of swords with something better\nworth remembering than mere gossip. Toledo, Damascus, and Milan have\nbeen especially renowned for the excellence of the swords manufactured\nin those respective places. The quality of the Spanish blade is said to\nhave been given it by the cunning of Arab workmen; but the fact is, that\nSpanish blades were famous for their power of letting daylight into the\nsoul\u2019s tabernacle as early as the old Roman time. When the first C\u00e6sar\nwas master of the empire, Iberian tailors (and ladies) worked only with\nToledo needles; while Iberian officers and gentlemen (for the characters\nwere distinct in those heathen times: as for the matter of that, they\nsometimes are now) fought only with Toledo blades. Virgil alludes to\nthe excellence of the Spanish steel in his first Georgic: \u201cAt Chalybes\nnudi ferrum (mittunt).\u201d Justin says the Chalybes were Spaniards; and\nthe _nudi_, no doubt, refers to the fashion in which they worked at the\nforge. Dryden translates the line\u2014\u201cAnd naked Spaniards temper steel\nfor war.\u201d Further, Diodorus Siculus states, \u201cthat the Celtiberians so\ntempered their steel, that no helmet could resist the stroke of the\nsword.\u201d\n\nThe temper of the Damascus blade was of another sort. It was so fine that\nthe sword passed through the lightest object floating in the air. The\nmerits of the two methods will be found admirably illustrated in Scott\u2019s\nstory of \u2018The Talisman.\u2019\n\nThe English blade, I am sorry to say, has never been famous for\n_excellence_ of temper. Some two centuries ago, an attempt was made\nto improve the home-manufactured sword, by incorporating a company of\nsword-cutlers for making hollow sword-blades, in Cumberland and the\nadjacent counties. The project failed, owing to the parsimony of the\nprincipals and the ignorance of the workmen. During the greater portion\nof the last century, our sword-blades were \u201cregular bricks,\u201d quite as\nblunt, but not half so dangerous. An English officer was as safe with\none in his hand as if he had bought it at a toyshop; but he never met\nthe enemy with a native-manufactured weapon. This state of things, and a\nmixed idea of profit and patriotism, fired Mr. Gill of Birmingham into\nexperiments which became realities; and the English weapon was turned\nout as well calculated to help its wearer to cut through the sixth\ncommandment as any foreign blade of them all.\n\nA sword is only perfectly tempered at a heat of 550\u00b0 Fahrenheit.\nThe testing is by means of a process of bending and twisting almost\ntorturing to read of. I only wish that all monarchs who unjustly draw\nthe sword, were first subjected to the tempering and testing which the\nweapon itself undergoes. Could such a course have been applied to that\nmiscreant Nicholas, what a relief it would have been to the world! An\nexposure, during ten minutes in an oven, to a heat of 550\u00b0, would have\nbeen followed by uncomplaining acquiescence on the part of the Czar;\nand there would not have been added to his account so many murders as\nthose for which, as Heaven is just as well as merciful, he will be held\nresponsible, at the tribunal which that gigantic criminal can _not_ avoid.\n\nThe sword was grasped by hand, or mailed or gloved; and to the question\nof gloves we will now direct attention.\n\n\n\n\nGLOVES, B\u2e3aS, AND BUTTONS.\n\n    \u201cHe said he had his gloves from France;\n      The Queen said, \u2018That can\u2019t be;\n    If you go there for glove-making,\n      It is without the _g_.\u2019\u201d\u2014FAIR ROSAMOND.\n\n\nThe elder D\u2019Israeli, in his sketch on the history of gloves, sets out\nby observing, that in the 108th Psalm, where the royal prophet declares\nhe will cast his shoe over Edom, and in Ruth iv. 7, where the custom is\nnoticed of a man taking off his shoe and giving it to a neighbour, as a\npledge for redeeming or exchanging anything, the word _shoe_ may in the\nlatter, if not in both cases, mean _glove_. He adds, that Casaubon is of\nopinion that gloves were worn by the Chaldeans; and that in the Chaldee\nparaphrase of the book of Ruth, the word which we render as _shoe_ or\n_sandal_, is explained in the Talmud lexicon as \u201cthe clothing of the\nhand.\u201d Here is a sad confusion of hands and feet, as much so as in the\ncelebrated observation by Mrs. Ramsbottom, that she \u201chad had a great deal\nof walking on her hands, lately.\u201d\n\nThe flinging down of a sandal upon a territory was a symbol of occupancy\nor possession. \u201cUpon the land of Edom do I cast my shoe\u201d (sandal), says\nthe Psalmist, in the 9th Psalm. And this was a symbol of slavery to the\nEdomites, for to loose the sandal was the office of a slave; and in\nEgypt, especially, we find paintings of slaves who are carrying their\nmaster\u2019s sandals. On the sole of the latter was sometimes represented a\ncaptive, whom the wearer had the pleasure of thus pictorially treading\nunderfoot. When an old shoe is thrown after a newly married couple, it\ndoes not so much imply that they have probably been put in possession of\nfelicity, as that they have certainly lost their liberty.\n\nXenophon remarks that the Persians wore coarse clothes, fought\nbareheaded, and never required pocket-handkerchiefs. He laughs at them\nhowever for using gloves, and for effeminately covering their heads, when\nthe latter might best dispense with the protection. Laertes, the Greek,\nwore gloves when he was gardening, in order to protect his fingers from\nthe thorns;\u2014and this shows that young Greek noblemen, in remote times,\ncould occupy themselves usefully and innocently. _Our_ youths, with much\ntime, heavy purses, and a lordship of self, would find considerable\nprofit in \u201cputting on the gloves\u201d for no worse purposes.\n\nGloves were not common among the Romans, but they were not entirely\nunknown. Varro says that to pluck olives without them was to spoil the\nolive; and Athen\u00e6us tells of a glutton who used to dine out in gloves,\nand so be enabled to dispose of the hot things quicker than the guests\nwho were less prepared for the handling them. The fashion of gloves made\nits way however in Rome, in spite of the philosophers who affected to\ndespise comfort, and did assuredly decline cleanliness. They were worn,\nfor instance, by the secretary of the elder Pliny.\n\nThe mode seems to have been adopted in some excess by the monks, until\na decree of the Council of Aix ordered that they should wear none but\ngloves of sheep-skin. Had they turned their cilices into gloves, and made\nflesh-brushes of them, it would have been more profitable to themselves,\nand to all who stood near them. In France, the use of gloves was allowed\nonly to bishops. They were sometimes used in great formalities of the\n\u201cChurch,\u201d and indeed of the State also; for bishops received investiture\nby presentation of a glove, and kings were not half crowned who did not\nreceive a pair, with an episcopal blessing to enhance the gift.\n\nAmong the early English, the Anglo-Saxons, we find that ladies, before\nthey knew the use of the glove, or applied their knowledge to its most\nconvenient conclusion, had the ends of their mantles shaped into gloves,\nand these were worn over the hand, under the name of mufflers. Gloves\nwere worn by females before the Reformation, despite what Gough says to\nthe contrary. A dishonoured knight was deprived not only of his spurs,\nbut of his gloves also. It was right that the symbol for or gage of\nbattle should be taken from him whose office it had been to carry arms,\nbut who was no longer accounted as worthy of wielding them.\n\nIn Germany, he who entered a prince\u2019s stables, or was present at the\nkilling of a stag, without taking off his gloves, had to pay his\nfooting or fine; in the first case to the grooms, in the second to the\nhuntsmen,\u2014and for this reason, because they could not mingle among grooms\nand huntsmen, and yet retain their dignity (asserted by keeping on the\nglove), without paying for it.\n\nGloves are distributed at funerals,\u2014perhaps originally as a challenge\nfrom the doctor, defying all who shall dare say that he had committed\nmurder contrary to the rules of art. But they were acceptable presents on\nother occasions; and when gloves were rare, and James I. and Elizabeth\ngave those rich and rare articles as gifts to various members of the\nDenny family, no doubt the fingers of the latter felt the honour deeply.\nWhen these gloves were sold, some two centuries and a half later, a\nsingle pair fetched a price for which a man with judgment and taste\nmight purchase a select library. One of this family, Sir William Denny\nhimself, contributed a remarkable poetical work to the libraries of\n1653, namely, the \u2018Pelecanicidium, or the Christian Adviser against\nSelf-murder; together with a Guide, and a Pilgrim\u2019s Pass to the Land of\nthe Living.\u2019 In the preface he says, \u201cMine ears do tingle to hear so many\nsad relations, as ever since March last, concerning several persons, of\ndivers rank and quality, inhabiting within and about so eminent a city\nas late-famed London, that have made away and murdered themselves.\u201d\n\nIn England gloves came in about the time the Heptarchy went out. The\nexact period is not known; but we _do_ know that when a society of German\nmerchants sought protection for the trade which they carried on between\ntheir own country and England, they propitiated King Ethelred II. by\npresenting him with five pairs of gloves: their not being able to muster\nthe half-dozen shows the rarity of the article. In the case mentioned the\ngloves were probably not so much a gift or bribe, as a portion of duty\npaid in kind. Prior to this period the hands of both sexes were covered,\nas I before observed, by the mantles; and some persons with rapidly\nprogressing ideas, had donned an imperfect structure which presented a\nstall for the thumb, and a sort of stocking-foot for the rest of the\nfingers. They were like the mufflers which we place on the digits of\nyoung England; and when Mrs. Ramsbottom made the observation I quoted in\nthe first paragraph, of \u201chaving had much walking on her hands lately,\u201d\nshe may have had these very mufflers in her eye.\n\nGloves soon became fashionable among the higher classes; at least,\nOrdericus Vitalis tells us that when the Bishop of Durham escaped from\nthe Tower, during the reign of Henry I., he had to slide down a rope;\nand as the bishop, in his hurry, had \u201cforgotten his gloves,\u201d he rubbed\nthe skin off his hands to the bone, in descending from the window. Duke\nCharles of Guise, when he escaped in a similar manner, from the Ch\u00e2teau\nat Tours, in the days of Henri III., had better fortune; he descended\nmore leisurely than the bishop, being lighter, and with no further\ndetriment than a rent in his hose.\n\nLong before the period referred to by Ordericus, the French monks\nwere the authorized glove-makers. They especially loved hunting, but\nrespectability required that they should not love the sport merely for\nthe sport\u2019s sake. Accordingly, Charlemagne granted to the monks of Sithin\nespecially, unlimited right of hunting, because of the skins of the deer\nkilled by them they made gloves and girdles, and covers for books. I have\nbefore noticed, that by a subsequent decree of the Council of Aix, in the\ntime of Louis le D\u00e9bonnaire, monks were forbidden to wear any gloves but\nthose made of sheep-skin.\n\nGloves were popular new-year\u2019s gifts, or sometimes \u201cglove-money\u201d in\nplace of them; occasionally, these gloves carried gold pieces in them.\nWhen Sir Thomas More was Chancellor, he decided a case in favour of Mrs.\nCroaker against Lord Arundel; the former, on the following new-year\u2019s\nday, gratefully presented the judge with a pair of gloves with forty\nangels in them. \u201cIt would be against good manners,\u201d said the Chancellor,\n\u201cto forsake a gentlewoman\u2019s new-year\u2019s gift, and I accept the gloves. The\n_lining_ you will elsewhere bestow.\u201d\n\nIt will be remembered that St. Gudule had the faculty of being able, when\nher candle was extinguished, to blow it in again. Many among us enjoy\nthe same faculty, and schoolboys often practise the miracle,\u2014the only\none ever performed by St. Gudule. It is said however that when the saint\nprayed, barefooted, in church, the attendant priest, moved by compassion,\nput his gloves under her feet. They immediately rose, and hung in the air\nfor a whole hour;\u2014but what that proves, I really do not know.\n\nBut we have had gloves suspended in our own churches. When Bernard Gilpin\nwas preaching in the North of England, he observed, on entering one of\nthe churches there, a glove suspended from the roof; and having learned\nthat it was a challenge placed there by a Borderer, in defiance of some\nother Borderer, he tore it down, to the great disgust of the sexton,\nwho had a respect for established usages, even though the devil had\ninvented them. Good Bernard Gilpin gave a challenge of his own from the\npulpit: he flung down the Gospel before the rather angry people, who were\nhighly civilized, and therefore averse to innovation; and he told them so\ndefiantly of the difficulties in the way of their salvation, that they\ndetermined to surmount them and became a Christian people; and _that_,\nunder correction, is a better glove, and a greater miracle, than those of\nSt. Gudule.\n\nI have spoken, in another page, of our old English custom of kissing.\nIt is one which is not likely to decay. We still kiss persons caught\nnapping,\u2014that is, if they be worth the kissing,\u2014and exact as forfeit the\nprice of a new pair of gloves. In old days, he who first saw the new moon\ncould, by kissing a maiden, and proclaiming the fact,\u2014that is, the lunar\nfact,\u2014claim a pair of gloves for his service. The Persian habit was to\nkiss only relatives, which must have been highly proper, but uncommonly\ninsipid,\u2014a perfect waste of good things, except among cousins.\n\nOur Queen Elizabeth was a wearer of gloves that are said to have been of\na very costly description. Shakspeare was once acting in her presence\nthe part of a king\u2014one of his own making; and so careful was he of the\nillusion of the scene, that he forgot all other things beside. The Virgin\nQueen resolved to put him to the proof; and as the mimic king passed\nbefore her, she dropped one of her gloves. Shakspeare, faithful subject\nas well as actor, immediately paused, and with the words that, \u201calthough\nbent on this high embassy, yet stoop we to pick up our cousin\u2019s glove,\u201d\nhe presented it to the real queen, and then passed on. This anecdote is\noften cited to prove that nothing could induce the poet-actor to depart\nfrom the business of the stage; and it proves exactly the contrary; but\nas an illustration of gloves I have found it handy to my purpose.\n\nElizabeth treated Clifford, Earl of Cumberland, more generously than she\ndid Shakspeare. The Queen gave him her glove, which, she having dropped\nit, he had picked up to return to her. He immediately adorned it with\njewels, and placed it in his cap, where he displayed it at all jousts and\ntournaments. Chivalrous gentlemen at Donnybrook Fair follow something of\nthis fashion when they draw a chalk line round their hat, and knock down\nevery one bold enough to declare that it is not silver lace. Elizabeth, I\nmay add, received as well as gave gloves. The first embroidered pair ever\nworn in England were presented to her by Vere, Earl of Oxford, when he\nreturned from a mission abroad. The Queen had her portrait taken with the\ngloves introduced.\n\nAnd speaking of embassies, recalls to my memory another story connected\nwith gloves and legations. Ambassadors\u2019 effects are passed without\nexamination,\u2014not by law, but out of courtesy. This courtesy has made\nsmuggleresses of many an envoy\u2019s wife; of none more than of a French\nAmbassadress, not very many years ago, in England. She used to import\nhuge cases of gloves under the name of \u201cdespatches,\u201d and these she\ncondescended to sell to English ladies who were mean enough to buy\nthem. But the custom-house officers became tired of being accomplices\nin this contraband trade, and they put a stop to it by a very ingenious\ncontrivance. Having duly ascertained that a case directed to the Embassy\ncontained nothing but ladies\u2019 gloves, they affected to treat it as a\nletter which had been sent through the Customs by mistake, and which they\nmade over to the Post-office. The authorities of the latter delivered\nthe same in due course; the postage-fee of something like \u00a3250 was paid\nwithout a remark; and the Ambassadress stopped all further correspondence\nof that sort by declining to deal any longer in gloves.\n\nBut even the Customs get defeated occasionally, in spite of their\ncleverness. Some years ago a celebrated exporter of contraband goods,\nresiding at Calais, sent on the same day, to two different parts of\nEngland, two cases of gloves, one containing gloves only for the right,\nthe other case, gloves only for the left hand. The \u201cleft hands\u201d got\nsafely to their destination, but the \u201crights\u201d were seized. The Customs\nhowever could find no purchaser at the usual sales for single gloves, but\nthey were at last bought by an individual at the rate of a penny a dozen;\nthis individual happened to be the possessor of the other single gloves,\nand he reaped a rich profit by the trick over the fair and honest dealer.\n\nThis was a more successful trick with the gloves than that practised by\nthe lady who, flinging her pretty gauntlet on to the arena where some\nwild beasts were struggling, bade her knight descend and bring it back to\nher. The cavalier accomplished the task, but he smote the cruel damsel in\nthe face with the glove ere he threw it at her feet; and, turning on his\nheel, he left her for ever. She of course lived on in single sullenness;\nand I warrant that she never saw white gloves and a wedding without a\ntwinge at her heart.\n\nThe late Duke of Orl\u00e9ans was once almost as unlucky as this lady, and\nall through a glove. He was visiting some of the wounded of Antwerp in a\nhospital near the scene of conflict. He spoke kindly to all, and he shook\nhands with several; but one of those he so honoured bluntly remarked,\nthat when the Emperor shook hands with the wounded he first drew off his\ngloves.\n\nThe Duke as much offended _contra bonos mores_ by keeping his gloves\non, as an old-fashioned naval captain once did by keeping them off. The\nmarine hero in question had stood up to go through a country-dance with\na very fine lady, who was shocked to observe that his huge and warm\nhands were not covered according to etiquette. \u201cCaptain,\u201d said his fair\npartner, \u201cyou are perhaps not aware that you have not got your gloves\non.\u201d \u201cOh, never mind, Ma\u2019am!\u201d answered the commander, \u201cnever mind; I can\nwash my hands when we\u2019ve done!\u201d The gallant sailor was not as wide-awake\nto the advantages of opportunity for gallantry on the question of gloves\nas Yorick was when the grave gentleman flirted with the Calais grisette.\nHe was no descendant\u2014albeit his name was Harley\u2014of that Earl of Oxford\nI have just named, who once presented Elizabeth with a pair of gloves,\nornamented with four tufts of rose-coloured silk, so deliciously scented,\nthat she called the scent \u201cLord Oxford\u2019s perfume.\u201d\n\nLondon, Ludlow, and Leominster, Worcester, Woodstock, and Yeovil, are the\ngreat seats of the leather-glove manufacture in England. The Worcester\ndistrict alone supplies six million pairs annually, and all, or nearly\nall, made by hand. Derby contributes silk gloves; the worsted come from\nLeicester; and Nottingham furnishes us with cotton gloves. In addition to\nthese, we yearly import between three and four million pairs of leather\ngloves from France. The export of home-made gloves is very small,\u2014not\nlarge enough to keep warm the fingers of the little republic of San\nMarino.\n\nBut a man, to be well dressed, must don something besides hat and gloves.\nI will not put one part of the necessary addition under a separate head;\nnor indeed will I mention its name, save in an anecdote. I will simply,\nby way of introduction, quote two salient sayings uttered by French\nmoralists on the article in question.\n\nThe first is to the admonitory effect that \u201c\u00e0 la femme alti\u00e8re, m\u00e9chante,\nimp\u00e9rieuse, on est tent\u00e9 d\u2019offrir une culotte.\u201d The second is still\nmore salubrious of character, and observance of it will prove highly\nefficacious. \u201cUne femme qui porte les culottes,\u201d says a melancholy and\nmarried philosopher, \u201cne peut marcher longtemps sans tomber.\u201d And now to\nmy promised anecdotes.\n\nA gentleman once said, in defence of Shakspeare, that his vulgar\ncharacters, though low, were natural. Voltaire, to whom this was said,\nobserved the advantage to be derived from such an assertion by one who,\nlike himself, hated Shakspeare:\u2014\u201cAvec permission, mon derri\u00e8re est\nbien dans la nature, et cependant je porte culotte.\u201d This illustration\nreminds me of a stage pair of breeches, which, some eighty years ago,\nhad wellnigh killed that fair and fairly-reputable actress, Miss Maria\nMacklin. She was famous for her male characters, and for her taste in\ndressing them; Dejazet has not a better taste in this respect. But Miss\nMacklin unfortunately had not only worn the male garment repeatedly, but\nshe was in the habit of buckling the garter portion of it so tightly,\nthat the result was a large and dangerous swelling in the knee, which,\nwe are told by Kirkman and Cooke, \u201cfrom _motives of delicacy_, she\nwould not suffer to be examined till it had increased to an alarming\nsize!\u201d An operation however was successfully performed, and she bore\nit courageously; but she never regained her strength, and she died the\nvictim of false delicacy and a little vanity.\n\nBut, false or not, her delicacy was very like that of Mary of Burgundy,\nwho died in consequence of over-modesty, in concealing an injury in the\nthigh, caused by a fall from a horse. Mary\u2019s husband, Maximilian, had his\ndelicate scruples too,\u2014that is, on one point\u2014the point of putting on a\nshirt, which he would never do in the presence of a _valet_. The idea of\ndoing what Louis XIV. so regularly did,\u2014namely, put on a shirt, and that\nsometimes a rather dirty one, in presence of a roomful of people,\u2014would\nhave made the modest and moneyless Maximilian turn pale with disgust.\nPerhaps however Maximilian hated shirts, because they were not of German\ninvention. Like the old gentleman in the \u2018Wasps\u2019 of Aristophanes, who,\nbeing desired to put on a pair of Laced\u00e6monian boots, excuses himself\non the plea that one of his toes is \u03c0\u03ac\u03bd\u03c5 \u03bc\u03b9\u03c3\u03bf\u03bb\u03ac\u03ba\u03c9\u03c5\u2014altogether hostile\nto the Laced\u00e6monians; a bit of wit, by the way, which honest Sheridan\nhas fitted on to the character of Acres, who hates French dancing terms\nfor the reason that his feet don\u2019t understand _pas_ this and _pas_ that;\nand that he decidedly has most \u201cAnti-Gallican toes.\u201d This expression\nis decidedly a plagiarism from the admirable low-comedy scene in the\n\u2018Wasps,\u2019 where good Master Bdelycleon so daintily dresses his father\nPhilocleon, the Athenian Dicast, and gallantly compliments him at last,\nby comparing him to \u201ca boil covered with garlic.\u201d\n\nThe Aristophanic incident recalls to my memory one of a somewhat similar\nquality, which really occurred some years ago at Gosport. Mr. Joseph\nGilbert, who had been attached to the astronomical service in Captain\nCook\u2019s expedition to observe the transit of Venus, and whose name was\nconferred by the great navigator on \u201cGilbert\u2019s Island,\u201d resided at\nGosport; where, according to the fashion of the day, he, like the Count\nd\u2019Artois, wore very tight leather breeches. He had ordered his tailor\nto attend on him one morning, when his granddaughter, who resided with\nhim, had also ordered her shoemaker to wait upon her. The young lady was\nseated in the breakfast-room, when the maker of leather breeches was\nshown in; and, as she did not happen to know one handicraftsman more than\nthe other, she at once intimated that she wished him to measure her for\na pair of \u201cleathers,\u201d for, as she remarked, the wet weather was coming,\nand she felt cold in \u201ccloth.\u201d The modest tailor could hardly believe his\nears. \u201cMeasure you, Miss?\u201d said he with hesitation. \u201cIf you please,\u201d\nsaid the young lady, who was remarkable for much gravity of deportment;\n\u201cand I have only to beg that you will give me plenty of room, for I am\na great walker, and I do not like to wear anything that constrains me.\u201d\n\u201cBut, Miss,\u201d exclaimed the poor fellow in great perplexity, \u201cI never in\nmy life measured a lady; I\u2e3a\u201d and there he paused. \u201cAre you not a lady\u2019s\nshoemaker?\u201d was the query calmly put to him. \u201cBy no means, Miss,\u201d said\nhe; \u201cI am a leather-breeches maker, and I have come to take measure not\nof you, but Mr. Gilbert.\u201d The young lady became perplexed too, but she\nrecovered her self-possession after a good common-sense laugh, and sent\nthe maker of breeches to her grandpapa.\n\nRosemary-lane was not only of old, and under its name of Rag Fair, a\ngreat mart for cast-off garments, but especially, by some freak of\nochlocratic fashion, for breeches. It has had the honour of being\nnoticed by Pope as \u201ca place near the Tower of London, where old clothes\nand frippery are sold;\u201d and, says Pennant, \u201cthe articles of commerce\nby no means belie the name. There is no expressing the poverty of the\ngoods, nor yet their cheapness. A distinguished merchant, engaged with a\npurchaser, observing me to look on him with great attention, called out\nto me, as his customer was going off with his bargain, to observe that\nman, \u2018for,\u2019 says he, \u2018I have actually clothed him for fourteen pence.\u2019\u201d\nAnd in the \u2018Public Advertiser\u2019 for February 14, 1756, we read, as an\nincident of the locality \u201cwhere wave the tattered ensigns of Rag Fair,\u201d\nthat \u201cThursday last one Mary Jenkins, who deals in old clothes in Rag\nFair, sold a pair of breeches to an old woman for sevenpence and a pint\nof beer. Whilst they were drinking it in a public-house, the purchaser,\nin unripping the breeches, found quilted in the waistband eleven guineas\nin gold, Queen Anne\u2019s coin, and a thirty-pound banknote, dated in 1729,\nwhich last she did not know the value of till after she sold it for a\ngallon of twopenny purl.\u201d\n\nTo go a little further back, I may say that the Reformation had other\nresults besides those usually recorded; thus that great event was no\nsooner accomplished than the brokers and sellers of old apparel took\nup their residence in Hounsditch, where their great enemy, the Spanish\nAmbassador, had previously had a residence. Their locality was then \u201ca\nfair field, sometime belonging to the Priory of the Holy Trinity, at\nAldgate.\u201d \u201cWhere gott\u2019st thou this coat, I mar\u2019le,\u201d says Wellbred to\nBrainworm, in Jonson\u2019s \u2018Every Man in his Humour.\u2019 \u201cOf a Houndsditch man,\nSir,\u201d answers Brainworm; \u201cone of the devil\u2019s near kinsmen, a broker.\u201d\n\nWe have another portion of dress whose origin dates from a serious\npersonage and from eventful times. I allude to that terror of gentlemen\nwho do not possess that which frogs and properly-built men alone possess\nin common,\u2014namely, calves;\u2014I allude, I say, to \u201cpantaloons.\u201d This\ntight-fitting garment was once part of the official costume of the great\nstandard-bearer of the Venetian Republic. He carried on his banner the\nLion of St. Mark, and he was the _Piantaleone_, or Planter of the Lion,\naround whose glorious flag and tightly-encased legs the battle ever raged\nwith greatest fury, and where victory was most hotly contended for. The\ntight parti-coloured legs of the tall Piantaleone were the rallying\npoints of the Venetians. Where _his_ thighs were upright, the banner was\nsure to be floating in defiance or triumph over them; and Venice may be\nsaid to have stood upon the legs of her Pantaloons. He who once saved\nstates was subsequently represented as the most thoroughly battered\nimbecile of a pantomime. But therein was a political revenge. Harlequin,\nClown, and Columbine represented different states of Italy, whose delight\nit was to pillory Venice by beating her nightly under the guise of the\nold buffoon \u201cSignor Pantaloon.\u201d The dress has survived the memory of this\nfact, though the dress too is almost obsolete.\n\nIn the last paragraph there is the phrase \u201cI say\u201d interpolated, the\nuse of which reminds me of a tailor-like comment made upon it. Erskine\nwriting to Boswell, or Boswell to Erskine, I forget now which, remarks\nthat \u201ca sentence so clumsily worded as to require an \u2018I say\u2019 to keep it\ntogether, very much resembles, in my candid opinion, a pair of ill-mended\nbreeches.\u201d\n\nThe article of _bracc\u00e6_ is suggestive of _buttons_; and touching these,\nI may observe that there is a curious law extant with regard to them. It\nis, by Acts of Parliament passed in three reigns,\u2014William III., Anne, and\nGeorge I.,\u2014perfectly illegal for tailor to make, or mortal man to wear,\nclothes with any other buttons appended thereto but buttons of brass.\nThis law is in force for the benefit of the Birmingham makers; and it\nfurther enacts, not only that he who makes or sells garments with any but\nbrass buttons thereto affixed, shall pay a penalty of forty shillings\nfor every dozen, but that he shall not be able to recover the price he\nclaims, if the wearer thinks proper to resist payment. Nor is the Act a\ndead letter. It is not many weeks since, that honest Mr. Shirley sued\nplain Mr. King for nine pounds sterling, due for a suit of clothes.\nKing pleaded non-liability on the ground of an illegal transaction,\nthe buttons on the garment supplied having been made of cloth, or bone\ncovered with cloth, instead of gay and glittering brass, as the law\ndirects. The judge allowed the plea; and the defendant having thus gained\na double suit without cost, immediately proceeded against the defendant\nto recover his share of the forty shillings for every dozen buttons which\nthe poor tailor had unwittingly supplied. A remarkable feature in the\ncase was, that the judge who admitted the plea, the barrister who set\nit up, and the client who profited by it, were themselves all buttoned\ncontrary to law!\n\nIf I were writing an Encyclop\u00e6dia of Trades, I would be as elaborate as\nDryasdust on the manufacture of buttons of all sorts of metal, more or\nless costly; of wood, bone, ivory, horn, leather, paper, glass, silk,\nwool, cotton, linen, thread, flock, compressed clay, etc. etc.\u2014so that\nboth my readers and myself have a lucky escape. As the age however is\nstatistical in its inclinations, I will save my credit by remarking that\nat Birmingham, the chief seat of button-manufacture, there are not less\nthan five thousand persons engaged in the manufacture of buttons, and\nthat half this number consists of women, and children.\n\nHaving said this, I turn to a new chapter, wherein there will be\nsomething more of statistics, and something new about stockings.\n\n\n\n\nSTOCKINGS.\n\n    \u201cTroth, Master Inkpen, thou hast put thy foot\n    Into a pretty subject.\u201d\u2014OLD PLAY.\n\n\nWhen the old trunkhose was found to fray the sacred epidermis of\nChristian kings and queens, the first fruits of a remedial discovery were\npresented for the benefit of the illustrious sufferers. Thus we hear that\nwhen stockings were first known in Europe, a Spanish grandee manifested\nhis loyalty and love for his Queen, by presenting a pair to the Prime\nMinister, with a request that that official would place them at, if not\non, the feet of his sovereign lady. The Minister was shocked at the\ngrandee\u2019s assurance and lack of modesty. \u201cTake back thy stockings,\u201d said\nhe, \u201cand name the thing not again; for know, O foolish Sir Duke, that the\nQueen of Spain has no legs!\u201d\n\nOur Henry III., less nice with regard to his own sister the Princess\nIsabella, did not scruple to present her with a pair of stockings of\ncloth, embroidered with gold.\n\nThese cloth hose went out of fashion in the reign of Elizabeth. Her\nsilk-woman, Montague, had presented her Majesty with a pair of black knit\nsilk stockings; and these were so pleasant to the legs of \u201cEngland,\u201d that\nher Majesty discarded hot cloth for ever. She found double comfort in\nthe first; namely, to herself, and further comfort that by adopting them\nshe was encouraging a home-made article. The first pair of English-knit\nworsted stockings were worn by Elizabeth\u2019s Peer, \u201cproud Pembroke.\u201d They\nhad been imitated from an Italian knit pair by William Rider, apprentice\nto Thomas Burdett, at the Bridge foot, opposite St. Magnus\u2019 Church;\nand their presentation to Pembroke was, doubtless, profitable to the\napprentice.\n\nDisappointed love has been the cause of various dire effects, but I do\nnot know that it ever caused effect so singular as when it invented\na stocking-frame. This too was in Elizabeth\u2019s time. In those golden\ndays, Will Lee, of Woodborough, in Norfolk, was a student at Cambridge;\nsomewhat given to maidens as well as to mathematics, but not so utterly\nwasting his time with the former pleasant trifles but that he found both\nlearning and leisure to achieve an M.A. degree, and obtain a Fellowship.\n\nMaster Lee was especially addicted to talk agreeable nonsense to an\nhonest lass in the town, who gained her living, and increased the smiles\non her pretty face, by knitting stockings, to her very great profit. Now\nthis Cambridge damsel did not care the value of a dropped stitch for\nsuch love as rich Will Lee brought her at sundown every coming eve; and\nshe told him as much. \u201cAy, marry!\u201d said the vindictive lover, \u201cthen thou\nshalt rue thy words and thy contempt.\u201d\u2014\u201c_Marry_ scenteth of Rome,\u201d said\nthe orthodox knitter; \u201cand thou art as false in love as in faith.\u201d\n\nMaster Lee however was a \u201cfellow\u201d who was true to his word. He was piqued\nat being rejected,\u2014_he_, a gentleman, by a pert knitter of stockings;\nand he took but a base way of revenging his pique. He had sat knitting\nhis brow in vain, when all at once the thought struck him that he would\nknit stockings too, and that by a process which should ruin the poor\ndamsel, who, poor as she was, despised an unworthy gentleman and scholar.\nThereupon he actually invented and set up the stocking-frame. He first\nworked at it himself, and then taught his squire-brothers, and his\ngentle relations; and finally he opened a manufactory at Calverton in\nNottinghamshire, and made stockings for the Maiden Queen.\n\nAll the hand-knitters were in despair, and they left no means untried\nto bring the new invention into disrepute. Nor did they try in vain,\nfor Will Lee was driven out of England by the force of the coalition\nagainst him. He set up his frames at Rouen, and drove a \u201croaring trade\u201d\nthere, which was however interrupted by the confusion which followed upon\nthe assassination of Henri IV.; and the inventor of the stocking-frame\nultimately died at Paris, poorer than the humble knitting-maiden whom he\ntried to ruin in two ways, and failed in both.\n\nAnd a double moral may be drawn upon this story as neatly as two\nstockings upon a pair of becoming legs. Swains too lightly given of\nphrase in honest maidens\u2019 ears may reflect, as they pull on their hose,\nthat treachery, as in the case of Will Lee, brought that gentlemanly\nknave to want even a foot to the stockings he had made at his own frame.\nMaidens, on the other hand, may as profitably reflect, when similarly\nengaged, that they had better knit stockings than lend ear to the wicked\nwords of a fool; and that if once a hole be made in the stocking of their\nreputation, the most skilful darning will hardly repair, and can never\nconceal, the permanent injury.\n\nAnd _\u00e0 propos_ of darning, though it be not at all so to the above story,\nShuter was one day reproached by a brother actor that he had a hole in\nhis stocking, and the friend advised inimitable Ned to have it darned. \u201cI\nwill not be such an ass,\u201d exclaimed the original Sir Anthony Absolute; \u201ca\nhole in the stocking is an accident that may happen to any gentleman, but\na darn is premeditated poverty.\u201d\n\nKing James I. was willing to do what would have shocked even\nShuter,\u2014namely, wear borrowed stockings. There is a letter extant in\nwhich that monarch asks a noble to lend him the \u201cscarlet hose with the\ngold clocks,\u201d on a particular day on which he was desirous of giving the\nFrench Ambassador \u201can extraordinary idea of his magnificence!\u201d\n\nThis idea would never have entered the head of his great predecessor\nHenry VIII., of whom Stowe, the tailor, says:\u2014\u201cYou shall understand\nthat Henry VIII. did only wear cloth hose, or hose cut out of ell-broad\ntaffeta, unless by great chance there came a pair of silk stockings from\nSpain. King Edward VI.,\u201d he adds, \u201chad a pair of Spanish silk stockings\nsent him as a great present.\u201d\n\nWhile upon these times I may add, that when Elizabeth made Knights of\nthe Garter those great noblemen, the Duc de Montmorenci, and the Lords\nBurleigh, Chandos, Essex, and Grey of Wilton, the Queen distinguished her\nfavourite Burleigh from the rest, by buckling the garter about his knee\nherself; and this is said to have been the first occasion on which this\npersonal favour was conferred by the hands of a female sovereign, and to\nhave given rise to the exclamation, first uttered by the offended prudes,\nof \u201c\u2019Ods Stars and Garters!\u201d\n\nI have read somewhere of stockings made out of the human hair, and how\nthe pretty conceit was adopted by lovers who were willing to entangle\ntheir legs, as well as heart, in their mistresses\u2019 tresses. To be once\nmore statistical and useful, I have to add for your information, that\nalthough we no longer export anything but cotton yarns, instead of the\nmanufactured article, to Saxony, our general export is still large;\nsaving of silk stockings, of which we send abroad annually only some\n60,000 pairs. Two hundred and fifty thousand dozen pairs of cotton\nstockings go abroad annually to deck foreign legs, and about half that\namount of worsted,\u2014the latter being generally sold by weight. Finally, I\nconclude with the remarkably interesting statistical fact, that a lady\nalways takes off her left stocking last!\n\nThe possibility that this bit of statistical darning may excite a blush\non susceptible cheeks, reminds me of another fashion to which I will now\nadvert, under the title at the head of the following chapter. Having got\ndown to the feet, and shoes having been already incidentally noticed, we\nwill again mount upward.\n\n\n\n\n\u201cMASKS AND FACES.\u201d\n\n    \u201cIl faut \u00f4ter les masques des choses aussi bien que des\n    personnes.\u201d\u2014MONTAIGNE.\n\n\nFrancis Bacon somewhere remarks that politeness veils vice just as\ndress masks wrinkles. Perhaps this saying of his was founded on the\ncircumstance, that Queen Elizabeth not only wore dresses of increasing\nsplendour with increasing age, but that she also used occasionally to\nappear masked on great gala occasions. The mode thus royally given, was\nnot however very speedily or generally followed. The introduction of\nmasks as a fashion appears to have \u201cobtained,\u201d as old authors call it,\nonly about the year 1660. Pepys, in 1663, says that he went to the Royal\nTheatre, and there saw Howard\u2019s comedy of \u2018The Committee\u2019 (known to us\nin its new form and changed name of \u2018The Honest Thieves\u2019). He designates\nit as \u201ca merry but indifferent play, only Lacy\u2019s part, an Irish footman,\nis beyond imagination.\u201d Among the company were Viscount Falkenberg, or\nFalconbridge, with his wife, the third daughter of Cromwell. \u201cMy Lady\nMary Cromwell,\u201d he goes on to say, \u201clooks as well as I have known her,\nand well clad; but when the house began to fill, she put on her vizard,\nand so kept it on all the play; _which of late is become a great fashion_\namong the ladies, which hides their whole face. So,\u201d he adds,\u2014and it\nshows, does that sighed-forth \u201c_So!_\u201d the melancholy consequence of\nleading wives into temptation,\u2014\u201cSo to the Exchange, to buy things, with\nmy wife; among others a vizard for herself.\u201d\n\nCertainly that pretty precisian, Mary Cromwell, in a vizard at the play,\nsounds oddly; one would as soon expect to hear of Mrs. Chisholm at a\nCasino! No wonder Mrs. Pepys admired her!\n\nBut Mrs. Pepys was not very long content with her English vizard; for six\nmonths after we find the little man, her husband, recording\u2014\u201cTo Covent\nGarden, to buy a maske at the French house, Madame Charett\u2019s, for my\nwife.\u201d The taste of Mrs. Pepys was doubtless influenced by the example of\nthe court, \u201cwhere six women, my Lady Castlemaine and Duchess of Monmouth\nbeing two of them, and six men, the Duke of Monmouth, and Lord Arran, and\nMonsieur Blanfort (Lord Feversham) being three of them, in vizards, but\nmost rich and antique dresses, did dance admirably and most gloriously.\u201d\nWhat Pepys thought of the fashion and the time is seen again by a sighing\ncomment\u2014\u201cGod give us cause to continue the mirth!\u201d\n\nThe fashion was still in full force in 1667; and to what purpose it\nwas used, and to what purpose it might be abused, may be seen in the\nfollowing extract.\n\n\u201cTo the King\u2019s House to \u2018The Maid\u2019s Tragedy,\u2019 but vexed all the while\nwith two talking ladies and Sir Charles Sedley; yet pleased to have their\ndiscourse, he being a stranger. And one of the ladies would and did sit\nwith her mask on through all the play; and, being as exceeding witty as\never I heard woman, did talk most pleasantly with him; _but_ was, _I\nbelieve, a virtuous woman, and of quality_. He would fain know who she\nwas, but she would not tell; yet did give him many pleasant hints of her\nknowledge of him, by that means setting his brains at work to find out\nwho she was, and did give him leave to use all means to find out who she\nwas but pulling off her mask. He was mighty witty, and she also making\nsport with him very inoffensively, that a more pleasant _rencontre_ I\nnever heard;\u201d and then once more a groaning commentary,\u2014\u201cbut by that\nmeans lost the pleasure of the play wholly.\u201d\n\nIn the following year Pepys makes record of his having been at\nBartholomew Fair with his wife and a party. We \u201ctook a link,\u201d he says,\n\u201cthe women resolving to be dirty, and walked up and down to get a coach;\nand my wife being a little before me, had like to have been taken up\nby one whom we saw to be Sam Hartlib. My wife had her vizard on; yet\nwe cannot say that he meant any hurt; for it was just as she was by a\ncoach-side, which he had, or had a mind to take up: and he asked her,\n\u2018Madam, do you go in this coach?\u2019 but as soon as he saw a man come to her\n(I know not whether he knows me) he departed away apace.\u201d By all which\nwe may see that a vizard at a fair was evidently \u201can outward and visible\nsign,\u201d recognized by the rakes and gallants of the locality.\n\nA vizard in the Park, at dusk, was equally intelligible; and though the\nmen were not masked at that or any other hour, they were at that time and\nplace more than sufficiently disguised. \u201cAnd _now_,\u201d says Vincent, in Sir\nGeorge Etherege\u2019s comedy of \u2018Love in a Wood, or St. James\u2019s Park,\u2019\u2014\u201cnow\na man may carry a bottle under his arm, instead of his hat, and no\nobserving, spruce fop will miss the cravat that lies on one\u2019s shoulder,\nor count the pimples on one\u2019s face.\u201d As at park and fair, so fell the\nconvenient covering into evil application at the play itself. The matter\nis alluded to by the Widow Blackacre in the epilogue to the \u2018Plain\nDealer:\u2019\u2014\n\n    \u201cFor as in Hall of Westminster\n    Sleek sempstress vends amid the Courts her ware;\n    So while we bawl, and you in judgement sit,\n    The visor-mask sells linen too i\u2019 the pit.\u201d\n\nBy the end of the seventeenth century the fashion of masks was being\ntarnished by vulgarity; and the practice of concluding comedies with a\n\u2018Marriage in a Mask,\u2019 a ceremony which may not have been unusual, was\nalready considered as a stale device. Congreve winds up two of his\ncomedies, \u2018The Old Bachelor\u2019 and \u2018Love for Love,\u2019 with this jovial sort\nof bouquet.\n\nThe mode however still held on at the theatre. The latter was never\nmore licentious than now, and the ladies never so much loved to resort\nthither. Our great grandmothers however, when young, were extremely\nmodest: many of them were afraid of venturing to a new play till their\nlovers assured them they might do so without offence to their exquisite\ndelicacy. The bolder spirits, still modest but impatient, went in\nmasks,\u2014not unwilling to listen to savoury uncleanness, but so modest\nthat they could not bear any one to see that they did _not_ blush at\nit. \u201cSuch incidents as these,\u201d says the \u2018Spectator,\u2019 \u201cmake some ladies\nwholly absent themselves from the playhouse; and others never miss the\nfirst night of a new play, lest it should prove too luscious to admit of\ntheir going with any countenance to the second;\u201d\u2014a most exquisite reason.\nIt was good enough however to authorize vizards; and the theatre became\nsomething like what Nat Lee in his \u2018Nero\u2019 describes Mount Ida to have\nbeen,\u2014\n\n    \u201cWhere the gods meet and dance in masquerade!\u201d\n\nBut Mount Ida had something divine about it, which our stage in the days\nof vizards certainly had not. As Joe Haines said to his masked audience,\nin the concluding lines of the prologue to the very play just named\u2014\n\n    \u201cAll tragedies, egad! to me sound oddly;\n    I can no more be serious than you godly.\u201d\n\nThe fashion, after it had been indifferently well worn by the ladies, of\ncourse fell to their maids, and Abigail wore the vizard which Lady Betty\ndropped. In Malcolm\u2019s \u2018London\u2019 (eighteenth century) a writer is quoted,\nwhose communication shows whither the masks had fallen in 1731. It is\nin a letter on \u201cBoxing Day,\u201d and in it occurs the following passage:\u2014\u201cMy\nfriend next carried me to the upper end of Piccadilly, where, one pair of\nstairs over a stable, we found near a hundred people of both sexes (_some\nmasked_, others not), a great part of which were dancing to the music of\ntwo sorry fiddles. It is impossible to describe this medley of mortals\nfully; however, I will do it as well as I can. There were footmen,\nservant-maids, butchers, apprentices, oyster and orange women, and\nsharpers, which appeared to be the best of the company. This horrid place\nseemed to be a complete nursery for the gallows. My friend informed me\nit was called \u2018a threepenny hop;\u2019 and while we were talking, to my great\nsatisfaction, by order of the Westminster justices, _to their immortal\nhonour_, entered the constables and their assistants, who carried off all\nthe company that was left; and had not our friend been known to them, we\nmight have paid dear for our curiosity.\u201d\n\nAfter all, Justice was here, as usual, uncommonly blind; for the boxing\nparty, masked or not, was not more offensive against _bonos mores_ than\nthe Ranelagh parties, where powdered \u201cbloods\u201d percolated their dreadfully\nluscious nonsense through the filter on the faces of the masked \u201cbelles.\u201d\nAnd besides, masking at holiday-time had long been a privilege of the\npeople. In \u2018Vox Graculi\u2019 (1623), above a century prior to the last date,\nI find it stated of Twelfth Night\u2014\u201cOn this night, much masking in the\nStrand, Cheapside, Holborn, and Fleet-street.\u201d\n\nI have already noticed how our exceedingly precious grandmothers used to\nresort to the theatres with covered faces instead of stopped-up ears.\nThe ears of the public did however rise angrily at last; the palled\nappetite loathed the long-served food. A society was formed \u201cfor the\nreformation of manners, for immoral words and expressions _contra bonos\nmores_, uttered on the stage.\u201d The society retained hired informers,\nwho sat in the pit, took down the naughty words and the names of the\nspeakers, and then entered a prosecution against the utterers. They were\ndriving a pretty trade, for the benefit of modesty and the suppression\nof masks, when all at once Queen Anne, sipping her hollands, gently\nbethought herself that these spies were flourishing by the abundance\nof that which they feigned desire to put down; and indeed the fellows\nwere like some of our professional missionaries of the _pav\u00e9_, who steal\nspoons from chop-houses, and have as many wives as Rugantino. The Queen\naccordingly crushed the trading prosecutions by a \u201cNolle prosequi,\u201d and\ntook the matter into her own hands. She issued a \u201croyal command\u201d for the\nbetter regulation of the theatres, whereby she left to her Master of the\nRevels \u201cthe special care that nothing be acted in either of the theatres\ncontrary to religion or good manners, upon pain of our high displeasure,\nand of being silenced from further acting.\u201d\n\nNow, leaving to a Master of the Revels the care of suppressing revelry on\nthe stage, was very much like entrusting to Satan the suppression of sin.\nHowever, so it was; but her Majesty tore the masks off herself, or rather\nthreatened to do so, as thus:\u2014\n\n\u201cWe do hereby strictly command that no person, of what quality soever,\npresume to go behind the scenes, or come upon the stage, either before\nor during the acting of any piece; that no woman be allowed or presume\nto wear a vizard mask in either of the theatres; and that no persons\ncome into either house without paying the price established for their\nrespective places.\u201d\n\nGood Queen Anne issued this decree in the second year of her reign,\nand it had just the effect that might have been expected. The houses\nplayed \u2018London Cuckolds\u2019 to vizards of masked ladies, as usual, on the\n9th of November; and Pinkethman roared his buffoonery in his booth near\nHyde Park during May Fair. What then did her Majesty deem contrary to\nreligion and good manners? Well, I really do not know; but I _do_ know\nthat, in the very year of the decree, she herself had the comedy of \u2018Sir\nSolomon\u2019 acted before her and her ladies at court; and if she could\nlisten to that without a blush, or a mask to conceal the want of it, why\nshe must have construed immorality, and her royal command against it, in\na very mild sense indeed.\n\nThe ladies were uncommonly angry with their liege mistress Anne for\nthis decree, and the sentiment is exemplified by the song so popular at\nthe Lincoln\u2019s Inn Theatre in 1704,\u2014\u2018The Misses\u2019 Lamentation, for want\nof their Vizard Masques at the Theatre.\u2019 The \u201cmisses\u201d however, and the\nmatrons too, had long before this indulged in a fashion which was not\ndropped until long subsequent to the fall of the mask.\n\nAbout five years after Mrs. Pepys had taken Samuel for her liege lord,\nthat is to say in 1660, she first essayed to add new lustre to her charms\nby affixing a few \u201cbeauty spots\u201d to her face. \u201cThis is the first day,\u201d\nsays he, on the 30th of August of the year above named, \u201cthat ever I\nsaw my wife wear black patches since we were married.\u201d It was some time\nbefore the gentleman could make up his mind to the propriety of wearing\nthese adjuncts to beauty. In October, he expresses his astonishment\nthat even Lord Sandwich should \u201ctalk very high how he would have a\nFrench cook, and a master of his horse, and his lady and child to wear\nblack patches; which methought was strange, but he has become a perfect\ncourtier.\u201d It was perhaps because the court patronized patches, that\nPepys permitted them on his wife. Hitherto the lady had worn them without\nthe marital sanction, but in November we find him saying, \u201cMy wife seemed\nvery pretty today, it being the first time I had given her leave to weare\na black patch.\u201d And therewith his admiration increased; and some days\nlater, on seeing his wife close to the Princess Henrietta (daughter of\nCharles I.) at court, on the occasion of a visit she paid to her brother\nCharles II., as Duchess of Orl\u00e9ans, he remarks: \u201cThe Princess Henrietta\nis very pretty; ... but my wife standing near her, with two or three\nblack patches on, and well-dressed, did seem to me much handsomer than\nshe.\u201d\n\nA century subsequent to this, patches still kissed the cheek of beauty;\nand as professors taught how to wield the fan, so French essays were\n\u201cdone into English,\u201d and instruction therein given as to the secret\nof applying them in an artful manner, how to arrange them with the\nmost killing effect, and how to so plant them about the eye that the\nexpression desired should be at once achieved,\u2014whether of proud disdain,\namorous languor, or significant boldness. They were the hieroglyphics\nof vanity and of party spirit; and beaux and politicians read in the\narrangement of patches not only the tender but the political principles\nof the wearer.\n\nDespotism too had something to do with patches. Thus Lady Castlemaine\nfixed the fashion of mourning, by \u201cforcing all the ladies to go in black,\nwith their hair plain, and without spots.\u201d It is a curious trait of the\nmanners of other times that a royal concubine should order the tiring of\nhonest women. She could hardly have influenced that \u201ccomely woman,\u201d the\nDuchess of Newcastle, who went about, in the second Charles\u2019s time, with\na velvet cap, her hair about her ears, \u201cmany black patches, because of\npimples about her mouth,\u201d naked-necked, and in a black _justaucorps_.\n\nThe ladies marked or patched, the gentlemen red-heeled and similarly\n\u201cnosed,\u201d had no greater delight than in killing time by looking at the\n\u201cpuppets;\u201d and the fashion of these same puppets is a thing of such\nantiquity and such duration, that I may fairly add a chapter thereon to\nthose through which I have already been accompanied by the courteous and\nindulgent reader.\n\n\n\n\nPUPPETS FOR GROWN GENTLEMEN.\n\n    \u201cThey do lie in a basket, Sir; they are o\u2019 the small\n    players,\u2014and as good as any, none dispraised, for dumb\n    shows.\u201d\u2014BEN JONSON: _Bartholomew Fair_.\n\n\nMadame de Puysieux was a witty and vivacious lady. Among her recorded\nsayings is one that exceedingly well suits me for the nonce. \u201cI would\nrather,\u201d she said, \u201cbe occasionally found looking at puppets than\nlistening to philosophers.\u201d\n\nThere was doubtless some reason in this; but the fact is also\nindubitable, that puppets and philosophy are not so far apart. The latter\nhas often condescended to illustrate the former. The learned and serious\nJesuit, Mariantonio Lupi, devoted his brief leisure to writing upon them.\nThe great mathematicians, Commendino d\u2019Urbino and Torniano di Cremona,\nstooped to play with and perfect them. Le Sage and Piron wrote plays for\nthem. Ben Jonson brought them on the stage. Addison has immortalized them\nin stately verse; and Haydn seriously addressed himself to composing\nexquisite music, wherewith to grace their motion. These are but modern\nillustrations. We shall however presently discover, that the great and\ngifted men of a very remote antiquity were wont also to turn from the\nconsideration of mighty problems, and carve puppets that should excite\necstasy in the wide world of \u201cthe little people.\u201d\n\nSurely there is dignity in a subject treating even of toys that have\nbeen in fashion for three thousand years, and have afforded amusement\nto two-thirds of the human race. The subject was largely discussed in\nFrance not many years since, by M. Charles Magnin, a gentleman who, in\nlove with his plaything, had recourse to every source of information, and\nwho brought away from all something worth knowing. M. Magnin shows that\nthe gravest of authors are at issue as to the origin of the puppet race.\nCharles Nodier, however, traces it to the doll that lies in unconscious\nfelicity in the arms of youthful and precocious maturity. M. Magnin\nmaintains, on the other hand, that the puppet does not spring from the\nhearth, but from the altar. The rude god whittled out of a gnarled bough\nis, with him, the undoubted sire of the universe of dolls. The puppet\nserved for pious, before it was suited to domestic, purposes; and it\nexcited awe long before it won laughter or excited admiration. It lived\nin a wood, and ruled savages. As civilization advanced, it changed its\nhabits, form, and features; and, ceasing to affright man, undertook the\nhappier task of amusing him.\n\nSuch is the legendary record of puppets. We must turn over the graphic\npages of the \u2018Father of History,\u2019 to find the first authentic mention\nof their employment. The guests at an Egyptian feast, when they grew\nhilarious, were called back to sober propriety by the exhibition of\na little skeleton, and the admonition to reflect upon the lesson it\nconveyed. The British Museum possesses many of these figures, as well as\nothers which appear to be toys that have been buried with their loved\nlittle owners. There is some uncertainty on this point, however; for\nit is known that on diseased persons it was the custom to place little\nfigures, supposed to represent the deity which had particular influence\nover the part whereon the image was laid. I believe that the liver\nwas the only portion of the body that had not its peculiar divinity.\nThat obstinate organ has always defied gods and men. \u201cIn jecore nigro\nnascuntur domini;\u201d and over these even the Egyptian Pantheon availed\nnothing.\n\nWhether the figures in our Museum be actual toys, or counterfeit\npresentments of very swarthy gods, it is not in every instance easy\nto determine. From conjecture however we can turn to Herodotus; and\ncertainly that worthy Halicarnassian tells us, in his second book, that\nin Egypt, on the festival of Osiris, or Bacchus, a puppet figure of the\njoyous god, a cubit in height, with some indecent mechanism moved by\nthe pulling of a string, was carried in procession by the women. When\npreviously speaking of the figure of Pan, he says, that the deity in\nquestion is worshiped under a form known not to be his real one, for\na reason, he adds, which he \u201chad rather not mention.\u201d So, in the case\nof Bacchus, he confines himself to stating that there were \u201csacred and\nmysterious reasons\u201d for the same. We are now aware that the unseemly\npractice was really a species of invocation that the earth might be\nimpregnated with prolific virtue.\n\nWe next arrive at articulated figures. The statue of Jupiter Ammon nodded\nto the attendant priests when he was about to prophesy. So Apollo, at\nHeliopolis, would not open his lips till his ministers had carried him\nwhither he would go. Aloft on the shoulders of his bearers, he guided\nthem as with reins. On being questioned, he graciously bowed his head, if\nhe approved; or fell back, if he dissented. When placed on the ground of\nhis temple, he was seen to ascend, without aid, till his head touched the\nroof; and there he remained fixed till prayers brought him down again.\nIt is suggested that the magnet may have been employed to accomplish the\nfeat. How this may have been defies aught but conjecture.\n\nVoluntary motion of inanimate objects was always an evidence of their\ndivinity. When Juno paid her celebrated visit to Vulcan, she found him\nengaged in the manufacture of tripods, which moved about and performed\ntheir office with a bustling air of the most zealous assiduity.\n\n    \u201cFull twenty tripods for his hall he framed,\n    That, placed on living wheels of massy gold,\n    Wondrous to tell, instinct with spirit, roll\u2019d\n    From place to place around the blest abodes,\n    Self-moved, obedient to the beck of gods.\u201d\n\nWe have here in England, if not tripods, at least bipeds, who can\n\n                \u201cinstinct with spirit roll\n    From place to place.\u201d\n\nAnd this subject reminds me of Bacchus, generally. Now, my readers know\nthat there were of old not less than ten cities known by the name of\nNysa. At two of these, Nysa in India and Nysa in Ethiopia, Bacchus (Dio\nNysus) was held in extreme reverence. In the last-named city, Ptolemy\nPhiladelphus manifested his veneration for the god, by honouring the\ndeity\u2019s great festival after a pleasing fashion. The King had a figure of\nthe joyous divinity made expressly for the occasion. It was eight cubits\nin length, and was drawn through the city, attired in a tunic of yellow\nand gold, with a Macedonian mantle hanging from the shoulders. The god\nwas seated in a car, and as he passed through the gazing crowds, he ever\nand anon majestically arose, poured out, not wine, but milk, from a bowl,\nand then solemnly re-seated himself.\n\nAmong the Greeks, D\u00e6dalus is famous, in legend at least, as the founder\nof the art of figure-making. He is said to have flourished about a\nthousand years before Christ; and despite what is generally told of him,\nhe was probably but a rude craftsman. He was the first who introduced\nquicksilver into figures, and by this process he lent a sort of\nChinese-tumbling motion to a wooden image of Venus. Some of his figures\nwere so given to activity as to require being made fast when not wanted\nto move, without which precaution they would, like the leg in the legend,\nhave continued running about without intermission.\n\nAll the Greek puppets belong to the D\u00e6dalus school; they were generally\nof wood or baked clay, were set in motion by strings, and were invariably\nof the feminine gender. It was customary to place them in the coffins\nof young girls. M. Magnin quotes from Xenophon\u2019s graphic description of\nthe banquet in the house of Callias, to demonstrate that the noblest\nAthenians condescended to be amused with representations by puppets.\nThere is however not a word touching puppets throughout the lively\nnarrative of the learned and gallant Greek. The Syracusan showman therein\nintroduced exhibits a living boy and girl, who go through some rather\ndangerous gymnastic exercises, which excite considerable disgust in the\nmind of Socrates. That sage is much better pleased when the graceful\npair represent in his presence the ballet of \u2018Bacchus and Ariadne.\u2019\nThese children not only danced but sang; and if it be suggested that\nthe feat of singing might easily be contrived for a puppet by a clever\nstage-manager, we may also suggest that the Syracusan speaks, on one\noccasion, in answer to Socrates, so plainly as to leave no doubt that\n\u201cflesh, blood, and blue veins\u201d entered into the composition of his\nelegant little slave.\n\nAntiochus Cyzenicus, half-brother to Antiochus Grypus\u2014the huge-nosed\nAntiochus\u2014was celebrated as the inventor of puppets as well as of larger\nmachines; and his counterfeit animals, whose limbs simulated motion, were\nas agreeable to his friends, as his engines, with unpronounceable names,\nwere horridly distasteful to his enemies.\n\nIn Greece again, Archytas the mathematician constructed for his young\nacquaintances a hollow pigeon that could fly,\u2014the original Montgolfier.\nIn like manner, D\u00e6dalus, who made quicksilvered tumblers, also\ndiscovered the use of the wedge and the science of sailing; while Cnidus,\nthe great astronomer, not only regulated the year and brought the\ncelestial sphere from Egypt, but made all his little cousins glad by the\nexcellence of the puppets he invented, and the fantasticness of their\nmovements.\n\nThe public puppet-plays were fashionable in Greece after the theatres\nhad been suppressed by the Puritan Macedonian faction. The method\nof representation was, in many respects, like that still followed\nby the itinerant managers of wooden companies in our own days. The\nlike permanence of fashion has clung to our childish games. The old\n_Muinda_ is the modern Blind-Man\u2019s-Buff; _Chytrinda_ is Hot Cockles;\n_Trigodiphasis_ is Bob-Cherry; and Scriblerus, we remember, permitted his\nillustrious son to play at Puss-in-the-Corner, for the sufficient reason\nthat it was the _Apodidascinda_ of the ancients. There is one classical\ngame that has gone out of fashion, and I am not altogether surprised at\nit, seeing that it consisted in one of the players standing on a round\nball, with his neck in a noose hung from above; in one hand he held a\nknife. It was the part of his opponents to kick the ball from under his\nfeet. If, when this was done, he succeeded in cutting the rope, he won\nthe game; if not, he lost it, and got hanged.\n\nTo return to our figures, we may state that the Italian temples were\ncelebrated for their moving gods. In the fane of the two Fortunes at\nAntium, the goddess moved both arms and head when that solemnity was\nrequired. So at Pr\u00e6neste, the figures of the youthful Jupiter and Juno,\nlying in the lap of Fortune, moved, and excited awe thereby. The marble\nServius Tullius is said to have shaded his eyes with his cold hand\nwhenever that remarkably strong-minded woman, his daughter and murderess,\npassed before him.\n\nIt was a common thing for the images of the gods to turn away their\nheads when displeased with the meats placed before them. This act filled\na whole district with terror, and excited a desire in the people to do\nwhatever the priests enjoined. When the Athenians were slow to desert\ntheir capital and take to their ships, the sacred wooden dragon of\nMinerva not only refused to eat his cakes, but rolled himself out of\nthe temple and down into the sea, as though to indicate to the people\nthe direction in which resided safety. As for the huge puppets used in\nreligious processions, nothing now exists like them, save in some of the\nfestival processions in Flemish towns. Our venerable city brethren, Gog\nand Magog, are the ancient freemen of that guild. In some of the smaller\nimages our worthy friend Punch figures with his wonted _\u00e9clat_. M. Magnin\nholds that the French _Polichinelle_ is not a descendant of the puppet\nwith the Phrygian bonnet, but an image caricaturing some old boasting\ncuirassed captain of Gascony. The breast protuberance he considers to be\nmerely an exaggeration of the bowed cuirass,\u2014an explanation which I am\nfar from feeling bound to honour with acceptance.\n\nPuppets found favour at the hands of the early Fathers of the Church:\nperhaps for the reason that more decency was observed in the speeches of\nthe shows than in those of the stage. The Fathers however were divided on\nthe point. Some advocated the use of every and any means whereby religion\ncould be furthered; others declared that nothing was lawful but what\nwas in itself holy. The fashion nevertheless prevailed, and allegorical\nfigures became common. The Fish, the Lamb, the Good Shepherd, and similar\nrepresentations gladdened the hearts of simple people, till the Church\nplanted her canons against them exclusively, and insisted upon the\nadoption of figures of the Saviour in his human form.\n\nThe command was but slowly complied with. In the fourth century artists\nhad not got beyond the bust of Jesus. By the end of the seventh century,\nwe meet with the sacred figure in slight relief carved on the wooden\ncross. It required full another century before the reluctant or incapable\nartists achieved the complete anatomical figure hanging _from_ the cross.\nBut when this was once accomplished, progress was soon made beyond it;\nand images of the Saviour and the Madonna, with movable limbs, set in\nmotion by strings, became common throughout Europe. We hear of one\ngravely moving through Lucca on foot, and gravely blessing the people as\nhe passed along: this was the counterpart of the Bacchus at Nysa.\n\nThe Boxley Madonna was long the glory of Kent. It not only moved the\nhead, but opened and closed the eyes; and I would tell its story here, as\napt to the subject, but that I have already narrated it at some length in\nthe \u2018Gentleman\u2019s Magazine.\u2019\n\nThe Rimini Madonna is but a poor plagiarism of Our Lady of Boxley.\nMaundrill, at the end of the seventeenth century, saw an image of Christ,\nso flexible, that it was difficult to distinguish, at a distance, between\nit and a dead body. These figures were so often used to deceive the\npeople, that the employment of them was forbidden by several Councils;\nbut in vain. Some of them were of such exquisite workmanship, that\ntheir makers were taxed with having the devil for an ally; and the\nfigure-makers generally were consigned to infamy.\n\nOne day, in the year 1086, the holy Abbot Thergius, attending at Cluny\nto give investiture to some half hundred novices, refused conferring\nthe benediction upon one of them, under the plea, \u201cMechanicum ilium\nesse et necromanti\u00e6 deditum.\u201d And yet the abbot artists were among the\npriests themselves; nay, were sometimes to be found among the Popes.\nSylvester II. is said to have constructed a brazen head. Roger Bacon\nand Robert Greathead were celebrated for the same achievement; while\nAlbertus Magnus has the reputation of having constructed an _android_\nor semblance of a man, of such perfection, that it would support an\nargument with satisfaction to itself and discomfort to its opponents.\nThomas Aquinas, when young, ventured to enter upon a discussion with this\nfigure; when the _androide_ so perplexed the priest with his shower of\nsyllogisms, that the latter broke his head for his pains, and ruined his\nargumentative powers for ever.\n\nThe ecclesiastical puppets were probably productions with more than mere\npretensions to rank among objects of art and science. The semi-religious\nand popular puppets were too gross to deceive; and yet the great dragon\nof Paris, slain by St. Marcel, whose _simulacrum_ dragged itself through\nthe city during the Rogation Days, was probably contemplated with as much\nawe by the youthful beholders, us the sacred dragon of Minerva was at\nAthens, by such of the citizens as lived before the innovating period of\nthe free-thinking Anaxagoras.\n\nGalen speaks of puppets so anatomically perfect, that Heaven might have\ntaken a hint therefrom. Synesius, Bishop of Ptolema\u00efs, too, referring to\neffects following at long intervals, the impelling cause divinely given,\nstumbles upon an unprofitable simile, and compares such effects to the\nmotion in the limbs of the puppet long after the showman has ceased to\npull the strings.\n\nIf our little actors fell into disuse from the thirteenth to the\nfifteenth century, it was only to reappear in Italy with an _\u00e9clat_ which\nthey never previously enjoyed. Of modern puppets, Italy is the birthplace\nand permanent home. In front of a puppet-show exists an equality of all\nclasses, who fraternize for the moment to enjoy the liberty which puppets\nalone in the peninsula appear to possess. These imitate nature with such\nperfection as to confer on their constructors the name of _artists_.\nIn the regular puppet-theatre, where none but wooden actors appear on\nthe stage, the scenery and accessories are in such due proportion with\nthe performers, that the eye yields ready consent to the illusion.\nBurlettas, sparkling extravaganzas, melodramas, and even grand operas\nare represented. In the latter case, the mute _prima donna_ on the stage\ninvariably answers by her expressive pantomime to the voice which is\nuttered for her behind the scenes. And when a bouquet is flung to her,\nher grateful emotion is, as Mr. Carlyle would say, \u201ca noticeable thing.\u201d\n\nThe puppet ballet-dancers are even more wonderful than their vocal\nbrethren. Rome extends to them the privilege of playing in the capital,\neven in solemn seasons. Church-censorship is however strict, as might be\nexpected; and it evidences its care for the proprieties by requiring that\nno female puppet shall appear on the stage without a pair of light blue\nsilk drawers! This is something to smile at; for morality at Rome is not\nof a high character, and female immodesty there is almost as disgustingly\noffensive as it is on our Ramsgate sands at the height of the bathing\nseason. Even Rome cannot beat _that_.\n\nThe private puppet-actors in Italy indulge in political allusions, to\nthe delight of an audience invited for the express purpose of enjoying\nsatirical allusions against the Government. In Florence, the private\ncompanies are remarkable for their coarseness, to which they who pay\nfor the same do not object. In Milan, the fool of the puppet-stage is\ninvariably a native of Turin; while among the Piedmontese puppets, the\nfool of the farce and the villain of the melodrama are of course of\nLombard origin.\n\nThe Spanish puppets are of Italian derivation. Torriani invented many in\norder to amuse Charles V. in his retirement among the monks of St. Just.\nThese were so clever that the brotherhood suspected the artist of being\nleagued with evil powers; but the uses to be drawn from these figures\nwere so apparent, that the Church of Spain employed them largely in the\nworking of miracles. The modern prince of puppets, our friend Punch,\nnever got thoroughly naturalized in Spain. The fact is, the unscrupulous\nfellow is of Neapolitan descent; and since Naples revolted against the\nSpanish government, _Pulcinello_ is looked upon as a very dangerous\nperson. Seneca, on the other hand, being a native of Cordova, is a great\nfavourite. His history is faithfully represented, with an addition that\nreminds one of the new act put by the modest M. Dumas to one William\nShakspeare\u2019s tragedy of Hamlet. This addition consists in the ascent of\nthe heathen philosopher to heaven; where, at the feet of the figure of\nthe Saviour, he recites the creed, and professes himself a Christian.\n\nAfter all, this is not more absurd than the act of that Pope who\nconverted Trajan to Christianity three hundred years after that Emperor\u2019s\ndeath; and who had nearly canonized him to boot, in spite of the\nremonstrance of the astounded College of Cardinals.\n\nAlthough Punch was not originally French, he has always been greatly\nesteemed in France. He was a highly honoured puppet, as the registers\nof the royal treasury certify; _ex. gr._, \u201cPaid to Brioch\u00e9, the\npuppet-player, for sojourning at St. Germain-en-Laye, during September,\nOctober, and November, 1669, to divert the royal children, 1365\nlivres.\u201d The royal children of France must have had enough of this\nsort of amusement, the Dauphin particularly, who had already had two\nmonths of puppet-playing before Brioch\u00e9 came, as is shown by the same\nregistry:\u2014\u201cPaid to Fran\u00e7ois Daitelin, puppet-player, for the fifty-six\ndays he remained at St. Germain, to amuse Monseigneur le Dauphin (July\nand August, 1669), 820 livres.\u201d\n\nBossuet, the Dauphin\u2019s tutor, persecuted both puppets and Protestants,\nwhich, and especially the latter, were reckoned for a time among\nthe things that were reprobate and abominable. Brioch\u00e9 himself was\nsuppressed; but he had friends at court; and the King, who would\nexecute a Protestant for preaching, signed a decree which authorized the\nmountebank to continue playing. Due gratitude was shown in return; and\namong the favourite pieces represented at the famous fairs of St. Germain\nand St. Laurent, was \u2018The Destruction of the Huguenots.\u2019\n\nThe puppet-plays at the fairs in Paris were got up with much\nmagnificence, and were wittily written,\u2014but with as much indecency as\nwit; particularly during the last years of Louis XIV. and the time of\nthe Regent. The puppets alone had full liberty of speech, when every\nother sort of liberty was extinct. Le Sage and Piron, as I have said,\nwrote pieces expressly for them. And while plays in France were acted in\npuppet-shows, puppet-shows in England were introduced into plays. Of this\nthe \u2018Bartholomew Fair\u2019 of Jonson is a sufficient example. The _vogue_ of\nthe French puppets is proved by the fact that the Regent Duke of Orl\u00e9ans,\nwith his company of _rou\u00e9s_, often remained in the fair till long after\nmidnight, to witness representations where the coarser the wit the more\nit was enjoyed.\n\nAll the _chefs-d\u2019\u0153uvre_ of the French stage were immediately parodied\non the puppet-boards; and saving the license of speech, the parody was\noften superior to the original. It was so attractive that the regular\nactors complained, and sought for the suppression of their wooden rivals.\nBut Punch and his brethren pleaded for their ancient privilege, \u201cde\nparler et de p\u2e3ar.\u201d The plea was held good, and the puppets triumphed\nover the Thespians. The quarrel being a family one, it was of course\ncarried on with undying hostility. The puppet-players took every\nopportunity of ridiculing the extravagances of the more serious stage.\nWhen the custom of calling for \u201cthe author\u201d of a successful new piece\nwas established, upon the example set of calling for Voltaire after the\nfirst representation of \u2018Merope,\u2019 the puppets availed themselves of the\nopportunity for caricaturing. \u201cLe comp\u00e8re pressait Polichinelle de\nlui faire entendre une de ses \u0153uvres; et apr\u00e8s avoir re\u00e7u une r\u00e9ponse\ntr\u00e8s-incongrue, le comp\u00e8re s\u2019empressait de demander l\u2019auteur! l\u2019auteur!\nsatisfaction que s\u2019empressait de lui donner Polichinelle, aux grands\n\u00e9clats de rire de l\u2019assembl\u00e9e.\u201d\n\nThe contrast with this will call up but a ghastly smile when we find\nthat while the crowd on the Place Louis XV. was waiting to witness the\nexecution of the King, Punch was being serio-comically guillotined in\none corner of the square, to the great delight of the spectators. Indeed\nthe \u2018Vieux Cordelier\u2019 tells us, that Punch daily filled up the intervals\nof executions; and so varied the pleasures of the humane but impatient\nmultitude. But what neither the \u2018Vieux Cordelier,\u2019 nor M. Magnin tells\nus, is the fate of this very Punch, or rather of the man and his wife\nwho exhibited the popular puppet. Their fate is recorded by the Marquis\nde Custine. Punch, it appears, ventured on some jokes against the\nTerrorists. His master and mistress were thereupon seized. They bore\ntheir brief imprisonment with heroism, and they were executed on the spot\nwhereon had perished their sovereign and queen.\n\nThe puppets went down in the general hurricane of the Revolution, and\nthey only partially came again to the surface. To their ancient shows\non the Boulevard du Temple has succeeded a line of theatres; and the\nchief resulting difference is, that very awkward men and women now enact\nthe most sacred subjects where puppets once did the same office less\nrevoltingly.\n\nIf a popular movement finally declared that the puppet dynasty had ceased\nto reign, it was a despotic will that abolished the use of such effigies\nin church spectacles. Louis XIV., on witnessing one of those sights at\nDieppe, was so shocked thereat that he ordered their general suppression.\nThe French word for puppet, _Marionnette_, applied originally only to\nfigures of the Virgin Mary; but, like the _Catrinette_ of the little\nSavoyard, it has ceased to have an exclusive application.\n\nWith regard to puppets in England, those wooden ladies and gentlemen once\nfigured largely in our church-shows, interludes, and pageants. The names\nof the puppet masters have come down to us, from Pad, Cookley, Powell,\nand the _daughter_ of Colley Cibber, to no less a man than Curran, who,\ntaking upon himself, in sport, the charge of a show for one night, found\nit so easy when speaking for the mute actors to maintain both sides of an\nargument that he was _therefore_ convinced of his excellent aptitude for\nthe law.\n\nPepys, as usual, affords us again illustrations of the fashion which\nattached to puppets in his day. From his brief journalizing we obtain a\nworld of information on this matter. Thus we find him recording:\u2014\u201c12th\nNov. 1661. My wife and I to Bartholomew Fayre, with puppets (which I had\nseen once before, and the play without puppets often); but though I love\nthe play as much as ever I did, yet I do not like the puppets at all,\nbut think it to be a lessening of it.\u201d On the 9th May, in the following\nyear, we find him in Covent Garden, \u201cto see an Italian puppet-play, that\nis within the rayles there,\u2014the best that ever I saw, and great resort\nof gallants.\u201d In a fortnight he takes poor Mrs. Pepys to the same play.\nIn October, he says:\u2014\u201cLord Sandwich is at Whitehall, with the King,\nbefore whom the puppet-plays I saw this summer in Covent Garden are\nacted this night.\u201d On the 30th August, 1667, being with a merry party at\nWalthamstow, he left his wife to get home as well as she could; _he_ \u201cto\nBartholomew Fayre, to walk up and down, and there, among other things,\nfind my Lady Castlemaine at a puppet-play, \u2018Patient Grizell,\u2019 and the\nstreet full of people expecting her coming out. I confess I did wonder\nat her courage to come abroad, thinking the people would abuse her;\nbut they, silly people, do not know the work she makes; and therefore\nsuffered her with great respect to take coach, and so away without any\ntrouble at all.\u201d\n\nThe last allusion made by Pepys on this subject forms an admirable\ncommentary on the approving ecstasy expressed by the royalists at the\nlashing which the \u201cPrecisians\u201d received at the hands of Lantern\u2019s puppets\nin Jonson\u2019s comedy. On the 5th September, 1668, Pepys is again on the\nold ground, \u201cto see the play \u2018Bartholomew Faire,\u2019 and it is an excellent\nplay; the more I see it, the more I love the wit of it; _only_\u201d (he adds)\n\u201cthe business of abusing the Puritans begins to grow stale, and of no\nuse, they being the people that at last will be found the wisest.\u201d\n\nI began this chapter with a quotation from Puysieux\u2014I may end it with\nthat just cited from Pepys; and therewith, lowering the curtain of my\nlittle theatre, I beg the indulgence of my audience for the succeeding\nportions of what I have respectfully to bring before them; something\nmore especially touching Tailors, and the Man whose making is to Tailors\ndue! First, however, to treat the matter reverently, let us inquire what\ninfluenced the ancient corporation in their selection of a protecting\nSaint.\n\n\n\n\nTOUCHING TAILORS.\n\n\n    \u201cRem acu tetigisti.\u201d\u2014HORACE.\n\n    \u201cYou have treated of a matter about the needle.\u201d\u2014_Translated by\n    a Merchant Tailors\u2019 Pupil._\n\n    \u201cSit merita Laus!\u201d\u2014ST. WILLIAM, ABP.\n\n    \u201cSit, merry Tailors.\u201d\u2014_Freely rendered by the Saint\u2019s Chaplain._\n\n\n\n\nWHY DID THE TAILORS CHOOSE ST. WILLIAM FOR THEIR PATRON?\n\n    \u201cKing David\u2019s confessor is worth a whole calendar of\n    Williams.\u201d\u2014LUTHERAN TAILOR.\n\n\nWhy did the tailors choose St. William for their patron? Ah, _why_? I\nconfess it puzzles me to furnish a reply; and I would not be editor of\nthat pleasant paper \u2018Notes and Queries,\u2019 if my official hours were to be\npassed in furnishing answers to such questions.\n\nI can understand why St. Nicholas is the patron of children. The Saint\nonce came upon a dozen or two in a tub, cut up, pickled, and ready for\nhome consumption or foreign exportation, and he restored them all to life\nby a wave of his wand,\u2014of his hand, I should say, but I was thinking\nof Harlequin; and thenceforth parents very properly neglected their\nchildren, knowing that Nicholas was their commissioned curator.\n\nI can comprehend why \u201cSt. John Colombine\u201d is the patron saint of honest\nworkmen. I heard Dr. Manning, the other day, tell _his_ story from that\nthimble of a pulpit in the Roman Catholic Chapel at Brook Green. This\nJohn was a journeyman tailor (or of some as honest vocation) given to\nstrong drink and hot wrath. He was one day made insanely furious because\nhis real Colombine, his wife, had not got his dinner ready according to\norder. The good housewife bethought her for a moment, and thereupon,\nafter turning aside, placed before him, not bread, but biography; not\na loaf and a salad, but the \u2018Lives of the Saints.\u2019 John dipped into\nthe same, devoured chapter after chapter, and fed so largely on the\nwell-attested facts, that he lost all appetite for aught besides. He\nthenceforth so comported himself that future editors gave him a place in\nthe catalogue of the canonized; and the story, as told by that pale and\ncare-worn-looking Dr. Manning, is worth the shilling which you _must_\ndisburse if you would hear it. Certainly, I mean nothing disrespectful\nto that sincere but seemingly unhappy man, when I say that so startling\nwas the story as introduced into a discourse upon the Spirit of the Lord\nand they who are led by such Spirit, that I could not have been more\nstartled if, in the days of my youth, the Bleeding Nun in \u2018The Travellers\nBenighted\u2019 had, in the midst of her most tremendous scene, tripped down\nto the foot-lights and sung a comic song.\n\nBut this will not answer the query, \u201cWhy did the tailors choose St.\nWilliam for their patron?\u201d Indeed, the digression I have made may be\ntaken for proof that I do not know how to answer the question. But let us\nat least inquire.\n\nFirst, there was the Savoyard Saint William, who, when an orphan,\nabandoned the friends who would have protected him; and after wandering\nbarefooted to the shrine of that Saint whom English boys unwittingly\ncelebrate by their grottoes, \u201conly once a year,\u201d St. James of\nCompostella, proceeded to the kingdom of Naples, where he withdrew to a\ndesert mountain, and passed his time in contemplating the prospect before\nhim. He lacerated his skin instead of washing it, and he patched his\nown garments when he might have earned new ones by honest labour. But\nhe founded a community of monks and friars, and _ergo_ he is celebrated\nby the hagiographers. A contempt for saponaceous applications, and a\ndisregard of upper appearance or under comfort, have decidedly descended\nto the brotherhood of tailors from William of Monte Vergine.\n\nSecondly, there was William of Champeaux, who founded the Abbey of St.\nVictor at Paris. This William was a man of large learning and small\nmeans; and he was well content to dine daily on a lettuce, a pinch of\nsalt, and a mouthful of bread. The shadows of dinners which form the\nsubstance of tailors\u2019 repasts, are reflections from the board of William\nof Champeaux.\n\nThirdly, there was William of Paris, the familiar friend of St. Louis,\nKing of France. This bishop, next to piety, was famed for his knowledge\nof politics; and as tailors have ever been renowned for knowing what\nis going on \u201ci\u2019 the capitol,\u201d and for discussing such goings on with\nuncommon freedom, I think we may trace this characteristic of the race to\nthe news-loving and loquacious prelate of eight centuries ago.\n\nFourthly, there was St. William of Maleval, of sufficiently ignoble birth\nto have been a tailor; and who did, in his youth and his cups, what\nmodern young tailors frequently offer to do under similar circumstances,\nnamely, enlist. If our useful friends have not imitated the latter\nexample set them by the Saint, we may trace their love of the pot, at\nleast, to the early model they found in their patron of Maleval; and if\noften they find themselves in the station-house, lying upon no softer\nbed than the bare ground, they doubtless find the reflection as feathers\nto their bruised sides, that it was even thus that the founder of the\nGulielmites lay in a cave of the Evil Valley to which he gave a name\n(Male Val), and which before was known by no better than the Stable of\nRhodes.\n\nFifthly, there was William of Gelone, Duke of Aquitaine, whom it took St.\nBernard twice to convert before he made a Christian of him; and who had\nsuch gallant propensities that he might have been one of the couple sung\nof in the \u2018Bridal of Triermain,\u2019 where of three personages it is said\nthat\u2014\n\n    \u201cThere were two who loved their neighbours\u2019 wives,\n      And one who loved his own.\u201d\n\nThe well-known gallantry of the tailors therefore is an heirloom from\nWilliam of Aquitaine.\n\nSixthly, there was William sometime Archbishop of Bourges, who left to\nthe guild of whom we are treating the example which is followed by so\nmany of its members, and which consisted in utterly dispensing with a\nshirt. He further never added to his costume in winter, nor diminished\nanything in it in summer; and they who have taken St. William for a\npatron are known, though not for the same reasons, to be followers of the\nsame fashion.\n\nThen there was, seventhly, St. William of Norwich, whose father, after\nhesitating whether to bind him apprentice to a tailor or a tanner, had\njust placed him with the latter when the lad was seized upon by the Jews,\nand by them tortured and crucified, in derision of Christ. On Easter Day\nthey put the body into a sack, and carried it into Thorpe Wood, where it\nwas afterwards discovered, and buried, with many miraculous incidents to\nillustrate the funeral; and where was afterwards erected the chapel of\nSt. William in the Wood. Now, at first sight, it would appear difficult\nto decide as to what the tailors\u2019 guild derived from William of Norwich.\nBut it is only at first sight, and to those unaccustomed to follow a\ntrail, and not determined to find what they are looking for. In allusion\nto what had befallen the body of St. William, or rather in memory of how\nthat body was conveyed away, after life had been expelled from it, the\nNorwich tailors first adopted that now consecrated phrase of \u201cgetting the\nsack,\u201d and which phrase implies a loss of position, to the detriment of\nthe loser.\n\nBut I have not done; Williams are as plentiful as blackberries. There\nis an eighth, the Abbot of Eskille, who no more liked to play sub-prior\nto a superior than Garrick liked to play an unapplauded Falconbridge\nto Sheridan\u2019s King John. William of Eskille was a great reformer of\nslothful convents, by whose inmates he was as much detested as an honest\nand vigilant foreman is by operatives who work by the day. One thing\ndeemed worthy of mention by his biographers consists in the dreary fact\nthat he wore the same shirt for thirty years. At the end of that time\nhe turned it, and then piously blessed the saints for \u201cthe comfort\nof clean linen.\u201d I question if even modern tailors have succeeded in\nattaining to this extent of saintly uncleanliness, but I would not be\ntoo certain of that fact. As for what they may further have derived from\nthis excellent person, it is well known that for an abbot to be called\nan _Abbot d\u2019Eskille_ was the highest possible compliment that could be\npaid him; and so the phrase fell to other _camaraderies_, and a _Tailleur\nd\u2019Eskille_ was the origin of a tailor of skill. But this is confidential,\nreader,\u2014between you and me. If you are related to an etymologist, or on\nfriendly terms with a lexicographer, I earnestly beg that you will not\nmention it, even \u201cafter dinner.\u201d\n\nUnder the mystic number \u201cnine,\u201d I come to that William Archbishop of\nYork, who was the nephew of Stephen King of England, and whom old St.\nBernard belaboured with as many hard words as ever Sir Richard Birnie\nhurled, on a Monday morning, on ex-inebriated tailors captured on the\npreceding Saturday night. I do not believe a word of what the irate St.\nBernard says against St. William, whom he accuses of the most horrible\ncrimes. The slightest charge in the bill of indictment drawn up by him,\nwhom Hurden calls a wicked old impostor, is love of good living. St.\nWilliam, like honest Archiepiscopus Wilfred, had a tender inclination for\nroast goose! Oh, benedicte Gulielme! may you have found the bird ever as\nyour inclination,\u2014tender! The sacred goose is an appanage of the tailors,\nand it dates from that jovial St. William whom St. Bernard hated as\ncordially as though the former had made the latter\u2019s hair-shirt too tight\nto comfortably breathe in after supper.\n\nOur tenth example is the St. William who was bishop of St. Brieux, in\nBrittany, who often pawned his robes to purchase corn for the poor.\nHere we see whence the society of tailors borrow their authority for\ndepositing pledges, in order to purchase distillations from corn, and for\nthe poor also,\u2014their poor selves. This is highly satisfactory.\n\nThere was one more William, namely, he who, English by birth, was the\nintroducer of Christianity into Denmark, and who was of such good repute\nwhen living that he was buried in the mausoleum of the Danish kings, at\nRoeskild, after death. It was remarked of him that when he was reproving\n\u201cdrunken Denmark,\u201d he invariably held his pastoral staff as though he\nwere taking measure, as he probably was of the royal bad habits; and\nperhaps on this account he has come in for a share of the patronage\nexercised over the guild whose members take measure of men.\n\nAnd now let it be observed, that although I have mentioned eleven\nWilliams, there are only _nine_ of them who really rank among the\ncanonized saints. Is not _that_ suggestive? The fraternity, of whom it\ntakes nine members to make a man, have naturally supposed that it would\ntake nine saints to make one patron. It is clear, then, that it is not\nto _one_ William, but to _nine_ combined, that the guild address, or did\nin olden times address, their vows and acknowledgments; and exactly for\nthe reason that there are nine Saint Williams have the English tailors\nchosen them, in a mass, for their one consolidated patron. _Quod erat\ndemonstrandum!_\n\nAnd now, having seen how the tailors took their patron, let us consider\nthem generally. There have been many of note, either of themselves or in\ntheir sons. Church, bar, army, navy, poetry, and the stage,\u2014they have by\nturns excelled in all.\n\nIf Barrow rose from his father\u2019s shop, where he was early initiated in\nthe mysteries of mercer and draper, to wear his well-earned dignity in\nthe Church, there was nothing wonderful in the elevation. The father\nof our present Archbishop of York kept, at Cambridge, a shop like that\nof Barrow\u2019s father. One of the most active and useful of the Yorkshire\nrectors was himself in early life of the craft; and there is no more\nzealous or efficient missionary in Ireland than the Rev. Mr. Doudney, the\nbrother of the well-known London tailor of that name.\n\nIn the olden times,\u2014that is, some two centuries ago,\u2014the boy who passed\nfrom his father\u2019s shop-board to enter, as a man, the pulpit, was of very\nHigh Church principles, if we may take Shadwell\u2019s portrait of Smirk in\nthe \u2018Lancashire Witches\u2019 as a faithful portraiture. Smirk is a little\ngiven, as Brother Ignatius advises all Roman Catholic servants in\nProtestant families to be, to inquire into the family secrets, for which\nhis patron, Sir Edward Harfort, to whom he is chaplain, reproves him. The\nfollowing sharp dialogue then ensues:\u2014\n\n    \u201c_Smirk._ Consider, Sir, the dignity of my function.\n\n    _Sir Ed._ Your father is my tailor. You are _my servant_;\n              And do you think a cassock and a girdle\n              Can alter you so much as to enable\n              You (who before were but a coxcomb, Sir)\n              To teach me?\n\n    _Smirk._  My orders give me authority to speak.\n              A power legantine I have from Heaven.\n\n    _Sir Ed._ _Show your credentials._\n              The indiscretion of such paltry fellows\n              Are scandals to the Church and cause they preach for.\n              With furious zeal you press for discipline,\n              With fire and blood maintain your great Diana,\n              Foam at the mouth when a Dissenter\u2019s named,\n              And damn them if they do not love a surplice.\n\n    _Smirk._  Had I the power I\u2019d make them wear pitcht surplices.\n\n    _Sir Ed._ Such firebrands as you but hurt the cause.\n              The learned\u2019st and the wisest of your tribe\n              Strive by good life and meekness to o\u2019ercome them.\u201d\n\nIt is worth recording that this rather high-toned chaplain Smirk, son\nof Smirk the Tailor, came under the censure and the scissors of the\nscrupulous Master of the Revels. This delicate official could tolerate\nthe Smirks of Etherege, but when Shadwell exhibited one with something\nlike sincerity dragging after his faults, the whole town, ay, and the\ncourt too, cried out _shame_! The wisdom of our ancestors does not appear\nto match with the assurance which affects to give warranty of it.\n\nTo turn from poetry to prose, I have to remark that Ingulph, the Abbot of\nCroyland, who wrote the pleasant story of his monastery, appears to me to\nhave been (possibly) a tailor\u2019s son. The good old man does not indeed say\nas much, but he intimates that he was a cockney of humble origin; and, if\n\u201cvous \u00eates orf\u00e8vre, Monsieur Josse,\u201d have a significance, why something\nof the same sort may be detected in the phrases and, I may add, in the\ndeeds of the Chronicler of Croyland.\n\nIngulph was a Westminster boy and an Oxford scholar. Speaking of his\nstudies at the latter place, he says:\u2014\u201cAfter I had made progress beyond\nmost of my fellows in mastering Aristotle, I also _clothed myself down\nto the heels_ with the first and second rhetoric of Tully. On growing\nto be a young man, I loathed the narrow means of my parents, and daily\nlonged with the most ardent desire to leave my paternal home, and sighed\nfor the palaces of kings and princes, to clothe myself in soft or pompous\nraiment.\u201d If Moli\u00e8re\u2019s Monsieur Josse was discovered to be a goldsmith by\nthe setting of his criticism, we may say that Ingulph was of a tailorish\norigin by the cut of his phrases. And so, as I have said, of his acts: in\nthese there is a strong _redolence_ of what the vulgar call \u201ccabbage.\u201d\nFor instance, when \u201ctrustworthy reports\u201d were made by local valuers of\nland and property, in order that the same should be taxed, and the said\nvaluers visited Croyland to that intent, Ingulph thus exultingly records\nwhat took place:\u2014\u201cThose persons showed a kind and benevolent feeling\ntowards our monastery, and _did not value the monastery at its true\nrevenue_, nor yet _at its exact extent_; and thus, in their compassion,\ntook due precautions against the future exactions of the kings, as well\nas other burdens, and with the most attentive benevolence made provision\nfor our welfare.\u201d It is curious to see how robbing the king\u2019s exchequer\nin favour of a monastery is called attentive benevolence; how fraudulent\nreturns are spoken of as \u201ctrustworthy reports;\u201d and how the Lord Abbot of\nCroyland, the personal favourite of William the Conqueror, cheated the\nmaster who confided in him, and practically illustrated the text, \u201cRender\nunto C\u00e6sar the things which are C\u00e6sar\u2019s.\u201d\n\nTill a very recent period it was the invariable custom, whenever a\nFrenchman appeared on our stage, to represent him ridiculously attired.\nThis was originally done out of revenge for an affront put upon us by\nCatherine de\u2019 Medici; who, instigated by the Duc de Guise, had dressed up\nher buffoons at a court entertainment, and called them English _milords_.\nElizabeth made a capital remark when she was told of this insult. She\ncalled aloud, in full court, to the French Ambassador, that when these\nFrench buffoons were declared in presence of her own Ambassador, Lord\nNorth, to be English noblemen, that envoy ought to have told those who\nwitnessed the unseemly entertainment, that the tailors of France who had\nso mimicked the costume of her great sire Henry VIII. should have better\nremembered the habiliments of that great King, since he had crossed the\nsea more than once with warlike engines displayed, and had some concern\nwith the people there.\n\nThe most fortunate, perhaps I ought to say the most successful, tailor\nof very recent times, was Mr. Brunskill, whose seat of operations\nwas at Exeter. No provincial, and not above one metropolitan, tailor\never realized such a fortune as he did: it was realized not by luck,\nbut by labour. For the first seven years that he was in business on\nhis own account he worked seventeen hours a day. And if he went to\nchurch on Sundays, he plied his needle none the less actively during\nthe other hours of that day. This is the worst feature in the case;\nbut he probably entertained a religious respect for that maxim of St.\nAugustine which tells us, \u201cqui laborat, orat.\u201d It was his boast that he\nwas the only man in Exeter who could ride forty miles a day and cut out\nwork for forty journeymen besides. This assiduity had its reward, and\nBrunskill\u2019s business soon returned above \u00a325,000 annually. Of course\nyoung heirs and youths rich only in present hopes resorted to him for\nloans; and Brunskill was as successful as a money-broker as he was in\nhis other vocation. Cent. upon cent. reared the structure of his edifice\nof fortune; and long before a quarter of a century had elapsed since he\ncommenced his career, he was proprietor of Polsloe Park, and, if not a\n\u2019squire himself, training his three lads to take station with \u2019squires.\nIn the meantime, constant labour was his dear delight, and he was ever at\nhis board or his bank, making men by a double process,\u2014some, by dressing\ntheir persons; some, by dressing their credit,\u2014and, in either case, with\ngood security for prompt payment. He was thus hard at work up to one\nMonday night not many months ago, and on the following Thursday morning\nhe was a dead man. Corporal Trim himself might here have found a theme\nwhereon to deeply philosophize. Leaving that profitable occupation to our\nold friend the Corporal, let us look at the half pleasant, half stern\nrealities of the case. Brunskill left three sons: to the two younger he\nbequeathed \u00a310,000 apiece; to the eldest, \u00a3200,000 and Polsloe Park. The\nyounger may wear their crape with satisfaction, and the eldest heir may\nbless the needle which pricked him out so pretty a condition. His sire\nhas made him first gentleman of a future race of county \u2019squires; and I\nbeg to assure heirs to come in after times from this peculiar source,\nthat they will have less to be ashamed of than have those noble gentlemen\nand ladies who descend from concubines of kings, and who exist upon the\nwages of their first mother\u2019s pollution.\n\nWe have now considered both the patron and his flock; let us now see how\nthe latter have been treated by the lively poets who have \u201cfine-drawn\u201d\nthem in immortal verse.\n\n\n\n\nTHE TAILORS MEASURED BY THE POETS.\n\n    \u201cDignum laude virum Musa vetat mori.\u201d\u2014HORACE.\n\n\nOh, Thersites, good friend, how scurvily hast thou been dealt with at the\nhands of man! Thou art emphatically _un homme incompris_, but thou art\nnot therefore _un homme m\u00e9prisable_. The poets have comprehended thee\nbetter than the people; and Homer himself has no desire to prove thee\nthe coward and boaster for which thou art taken by the world on Homeric\nauthority. I think that Ulysses, with whom, in the \u2018Iliad,\u2019 Thersites\nis brought in contact, is by far the greater brute of the two. The\nhusband of Penelope is cringing to the great, and cruel to the lowly. He\nappears much less fitted for a king than for a Poor-law Commissioner.\nHe unmercifully smites the deformed Thersites with his sceptre; but\nwhy?\u2014because the latter, so far from being a coward, had had the courage\nto attack Agamemnon himself before the whole assembled Greeks. He is\nridiculed for the tears extorted from him by pain and shame; and yet\nweeping, among the heroes of Greek epic and tragic poetry, is indulged\nin on all occasions by the bravest of the brave. There is nothing that\nthese copper-captains do more readily or more frequently, except lying,\nfor which they exhibit an alacrity that is perfectly astounding. The soft\ninfection will run through two whole armies, and then the universal,\nsolemn shower rises into the majesty of poetry; but when our poor,\nill-treated friend drops a scalding tear, in his own solitary person, it\nis then _bathos_! I concede that he talked too much; but it was generally\nclose to the purpose, and fearless of results. His last act was one\nof courage. The semi-deified bully Achilles, having slain Penthesilea,\ncried like a school-boy at his self-inflicted loss; and Thersites,\nhaving laughed at him for his folly, paid for his bold presumption with\nhis life. There is another version of his death, which says that, the\ninvincible son of Thetis having visited the dead body of the Amazon\nwith unnatural atrocities, the decent Thersites reproached him for his\nunmanly conduct, and was slain by him in rage at the well-merited rebuke.\nShakspeare, who did all things perfectly, makes of Thersites a bold and\nwitty jester, who entertains a good measure of scorn for the valiant\nignorance of Achilles. The wit of the latter, with that of his brother\nchiefs, lies in their sinews; and their talk is of such a skim-milk\ncomplexion that we are ready to exclaim, with bold Thersites himself, \u201cI\nwill see you hanged like clotpoles ere I come any more to your tents; I\nwill keep where there is wit stirring, and leave the faction of fools.\u201d\n\nAs it has been with our poor friend Thersites, so has it been with our\nuseful friends whose faculties are ever given to a consideration of the\nimportant matter \u201cDe Re Vestiari\u00e2.\u201d The poets however do not partake of\nthe popular fallacy; and the builders of lofty rhyme are not unjust, as\nwe shall see, to a race whose mission it is to take measures in order to\nsave godlike man from looking ridiculous.\n\nShakspeare of course has rendered this full justice to the tailor. In\nhis illustrations we see our ancient friend variously depicted, as\nindustrious, intelligent, honest, and full of courage, without vapouring.\nThe tailor in \u2018King John\u2019 is represented as the retailer of news, and the\nstrong handicraftsman listens with respect to the budget of the weakly\nintelligencer.\n\n    \u201cI saw a smith stand with his hammer, thus,\n    The while his iron did on the anvil cool,\n    With open mouth swallowing a tailor\u2019s news;\n    Who, with his shears and measure in his hand,\n    Standing on slippers (which his nimble haste\n    Had falsely thrust upon contrary feet),\n    Told of a many thousand warlike French\n    That were embattl\u00e8d and rank\u2019d in Kent.\u201d\n\nIt is clear that nothing less than an invasion had driven this\nhard-working artisan from his shop-board to talk of politics and perils\nwith his friend at the smithy. The German poet Heyne has something of a\nsimilar description of the tailor, in prose: in his \u2018Reisebilder\u2019 there\nis an admirably graphic account of how the Elector John William fled\nfrom D\u00fcsseldorf, and left his _ci-devant_ subjects to render allegiance\nto Murat, the grand and well-curled Duke of Berg; and how, of the\nproclamations posted in the night, the earliest readers in the grey\nmorning were an old soldier and a valiant tailor, Killian,\u2014the latter\nattired as loosely as his predecessor in \u2018King John,\u2019 and with the same\npatriotic sentimentality in the heart which beat beneath his lightly\nburdened ribs.\n\nBut, to revert to \u201cSweet Will,\u201d how modestly dignified, assured, and\nself-possessed is the tailor in \u2018Katherine and Petruchio!\u2019 The wayward\nbridegroom had ridiculed the gown brought home by the \u201cwoman\u2019s tailor\u201d\nfor the wayward bride. He had laughed at the \u201cmasking-stuff,\u201d sneered at\nthe demi-cannon of a sleeve, and profanely pronounced its vandyking (if\nthat term be here admissible) as\n\n                          \u201ccarved like an apple-tart.\n    Here\u2019s snip and nip, and cut, and slish and slash,\n    Like to a censer in a barber\u2019s shop.\u201d\n\nTo all which profanity against divine fashion, the tailor modestly\nremarks that he had made the gown, as he had been bidden,\n\n                    \u201corderly and well,\n    According to the fashion and the time.\u201d\n\nAnd when Petruchio, who is not half so much of a gentleman in this scene\nas Sartorius, calls the latter \u201cthimble,\u201d \u201cflea,\u201d \u201cskein of thread,\u201d\n\u201cremnant,\u201d and flings at him a whole vocabulary of vituperation, the\ngentle _schneider_ still simply asserts that the gown was made according\nto direction, and that the latter came from Grumio himself. Now Grumio,\nbeing a household servant, lies according to the manner of his vocation;\nand where he does not lie, he equivocates most basely; and where he\nneither lies nor equivocates, he bullies; and finally, he falls into\nan argument, which has not the logical conclusion of annihilating his\nadversary. The latter, with quiet triumph, produces Grumio\u2019s note\ncontaining the order; but it costs the valet no breath, and as little\nhesitation, to pronounce the note a liar too. But a worm will turn; and\nthe tailor, touched to the quick on a point of honour, brings his bold\nheart upon his lips, and valiantly declares, \u201cThis is true that I say; an\nI had thee in place where, thou shouldst know it;\u201d and thereupon Grumio\nfalls into bravado and uncleanness, and the tailor is finally dismissed\nwith scant courtesy, and the very poor security of Hortensio\u2019s promise to\npay for what Petruchio owed. The breach of contract was flagrant, and the\nonly honest man in the party was the tailor.\n\nSo much for honesty; as for bravery, commend me to forcible Francis\nFeeble. He too was but a \u201cwoman\u2019s tailor;\u201d but what an heroic soul was\nin that transparent frame! He reminds me of Sir Charles Napier. When\nthe latter hero was complimented by the Mayor of Portsmouth, he simply\nundertook to do his best, and counselled his worship not to expect too\nmuch. Sir Charles must have taken the idea of his speech from Francis\nFeeble; and what an honour is that for the entire profession, not of\nsailors, but of tailors! \u201cWilt thou make me,\u201d asks Falstaff, \u201cas many\nholes in an enemy\u2019s battle, as thou hast done in a woman\u2019s petticoat?\u201d\n\u201cI will do my good will, Sir,\u201d answereth gallant Feeble, adding, with\ntrue conclusiveness, \u201cyou can have no more.\u201d Well might Sir John\nenthusiastically hail him as \u201ccourageous Feeble,\u201d and compare his\nvalour to that of the wrathful dove and most magnanimous mouse,\u2014two\nanimals gentle by nature, but being worked upon not void of spirit.\nIndeed, Feeble is the only gallant man of the entire squad of famished\nrecruits. Bullcalf offers \u201cgood master corporate Bardolph\u201d a bribe\nof \u201cfour Harry ten shillings in French crowns,\u201d to be let off. Not\nthat Bullcalf is afraid! Not he, the knave; he simply does not care\nto go! He is not curious in things strategic; he seeth no attraction\nin stricken fields; but he would fain be out of harm\u2019s way, because,\nin his own words,\u2014\u201cbecause I am unwilling, and, for mine own part,\nhave a desire to stay with my friends; else, Sir, I did not care, for\nmine own part, so much.\u201d To no such craven tune runneth the song of\nstupendous Feeble! Mouldy urges affection for his old dame as ground\nof exemption from running the risk of getting decorated with a bloody\ncoxcomb. No such jeremiade is chanted by Titanic Francis. \u201cBy my troth,\u201d\ngallantly swears that lion-like soul,\u2014\u201cby my troth, _I_ care not!\u201d _He_,\nthe tailor, cares not! neither subterfuge, lie, nor excuse will _he_\ncondescend to! Moreover, he is not only courageous, but Christian-like\nand philosophical; as, for example:\u2014\u201cA man can die but once;\u2014we owe God\na death. I\u2019ll ne\u2019er bear a base mind; an it be my destiny, so; an it be\nnot, so; no man\u2019s too good to serve his prince; and, let it go which way\nit will, he that dies this year is quit for the next.\u201d This was not a\nman to march with whom through Coventry a captain need to be ashamed. So\nvaliant, and yet so modest! So conscious of peril, and yet so bold in the\nencountering of it! So clear in his logic, so profound in his philosophy,\nso loyal of heart, and so prepared in the latter to entertain any fate,\nwhatever might be its aspect, or the hour of its coming! Surely, if the\nprompter\u2019s book be correct, the _exit_ of this tailor must be directed\nto be marked with music, to the air of \u2018_A man\u2019s a man for a\u2019 that_.\u2019\nAnything less appropriate would fail to do justice to the situation.\n\nIn Francis Feeble then the spirit of the tailor is immortalized. Compared\nwith him, Starveling, in the \u2018Midsummer Night\u2019s Dream,\u2019 is simply\ntender-hearted. He is one of the actors in the play of \u2018Pyramus and\nThisbe,\u2019 and he is the most ready to second the motion that the sword\nof Pyramus should not be drawn, nor the lion be permitted to roar, lest\nthe ladies, dear souls, should be affrighted. Starveling is more of the\ncarpet knight than Feeble. The one is gallant in stricken fields, the\nother airs his gallantry in ladies\u2019 bower.\n\nIt was right that the race of Feebles should not expire. It was said\nof old, that to be the sire of sons was no great achievement, but that\nhe was a man indeed who was the father of daughters. Such no doubt was\nFeeble, one of whose spirited girls married a Sketon; and their eldest\nson it is, as I would fondly think, who figures so bravely among the\nfollowers of Perkin Warbeck, in John Ford\u2019s tragedy of that name. Sketon\nis the most daring of the company, and the blood of the Feebles suffers\nno disgrace in his person. Sketon, like the great Duke of Guise, is\nfull of dashing hope, when all his fellows are sunk in dull despair.\nWhile so august a personage as John \u00e0 Water, Mayor of Cork, is thinking\ntwice ere he acts once, Sketon thus boldly and tailor-like cuts out the\nhabit of invasion, and prepares the garb of victory:\u2014\u201c\u2019Tis but going\nto sea, and leaping ashore,\u201d saith he; \u201ccut ten or twelve thousand\nunnecessary throats, fire seven or eight towns, take half-a-dozen cities,\nget him into the market-place, crown him Richard the Fourth, and the\nbusiness is finished!\u201d Is not this a man whom Nature intended for a\ncommander-in-chief? He is not only quick of resolution, but of action;\nand yet, I dare be sworn, Sketon had read nothing of what Caius Crispus\nSallust says thereupon. And I beseech you to mark one thing more. You\nknow that when the foolish Roman Emperor would not permit the statue of\nBrutus to be borne in the funeral procession of Britannicus, lest the\npeople should think too much upon that imperatoricide, the obstinate and\nvulgar rogues thought all the more upon him and his deeds, for the very\nreason that his statue did not figure among those of other heroes. So\nin the above heart-stirring speech of valiant Sketon, we miss something\nwhich reveals to us how chaste and chivalrous a soldier was the grandson\nof Feeble. His views go to bold invasion, to the burning of towns, and\nthe sacking of cities, and to splendid victory, built upon the cutting\nof throats, which he nicely, and as it were apologetically for the act,\ndescribes as \u201c_unnecessary_ throats.\u201d A taste of the quality of the\nroystering soldier is perhaps to be found in this speech; but you are\nentreated to remark, that all the vengeance of the tailor is directed\nsolely against his enemy, _man_. The women, it is evident, have nothing\nto fear at the hands of Sketon. He does not mention rudeness to them,\njust as the ancient legislator did not provide against parricide, simply\nbecause, judging from his own heart, he deemed the crime impossible.\nSketon and Scipio deserve to go down to posterity hand in hand, as\nrespecters of timid beauty. There was a Persian victor, too, who would\nnot look upon the faces of his fair captives, lest he should be tempted\nto violate the principles of propriety. Sketon was bolder, and not less\nvirtuous. To my thinking, he is the Bayard of tailors. It would wrong him\nto compare him even with Joseph Andrews; and I will only add that if old\nTilly, at Magdeburg, had been influenced by the virtue of Sketon, there\nmight not have been less weeping for lost lovers, but there would have\nbeen more maidens left to sit down in cypress, and mourn for them.\n\nSketon, foremost in fight, is first to hail the man whom he takes for\nprince, when victory has induced the Cornish men of mettle to proclaim\nat Bodnam, Richard IV. \u201cmonarch of England, and king of hearts.\u201d Jubilant\nin success, he does not complain when Fortune veils her face. Defeat and\ncaptivity are accepted with dignity when they are compelled upon him;\nand when swift death is to be the doom of himself and companions, he\ndoes not object to the philosophical disquisition of his old leader and\nfellow-sufferer, Perkin, that death by the sword, whereby the \u201cpain is\npast ere sensibly \u2019tis felt,\u201d is far preferable to being slowly slain at\nhome by the doctors. For he says:\u2014\n\n                      \u201cTo tumble\n    From bed to bed, be massacred alive\n    By some physicians, for a month or two,\n    In hope of freedom from a fever\u2019s torments,\n    Might stagger manhood.\u201d\n\nAnd accordingly Sketon follows Warbeck to death without a remnant of\nfear; and I _must_ add, that Henry VII. showed little generosity when he\nremarked upon their executions, as he sat comfortably at home,\n\n                    \u201cThat public states,\n    As our particular bodies, taste most good\n    In health, when purged of corrupted blood.\u201d\n\nFord, the dramatic poet, offers indirect testimony to the morality of the\nEnglish tailor, by his introduction of a French member of the fraternity\nin \u2018The Sun\u2019s Darling.\u2019 The author calls his piece a moral masque; but\nMonsieur le Tailleur utters some very immoral matter in it, such, it may\nfairly be supposed, as he could not have put into the mouth of a kinsman\nof Starveling.\n\nMassinger\u2019s tailors again show that they were as much the victims of\ntheir customers as their descendants are now; and the \u201cWho suffers?\u201d\u2014the\nfacetious query of Mr. Pierce Egan\u2019s \u2018Tom and Jerry,\u2019\u2014would have been\nquite as appropriate a way of asking the name of a \u201cCorinthian\u2019s\u201d tailor\ntwo centuries ago. \u201cI am bound t\u2019ye, gentlemen,\u201d says the grateful\nbuilder of doublets and trunkhose to his lordly customers. \u201cYou are\ndeceived,\u201d is the comment of the page; \u201c_they\u2019ll_ be bound to you; you\nmust remember to trust them none.\u201d The scene here, it is true, is in\nDijon; but Massinger, like Plautus, portrayed his country\u2019s manner in\nscenes and personages drawn from other climes. This is easily to be\ndiscerned in the former author\u2019s play of \u2018The Old Law.\u2019 The scene is laid\nin Epirus. A tailor waits upon the young Simonides, who has just joyfully\ninherited the paternal estate; but the youthful courtier despises the\noperative employed by his sire.\n\n    \u201cThou mad\u2019st my father\u2019s clothes,\u201d\n\nhe says.\u2014\n\n                                \u201cThat I confess.\n    But what son and heir will have his father\u2019s tailor,\n    Unless he have a mind to be well laugh\u2019d at?\n    Thou hast been so used to wide long-side things, that, when\n    I come to truss, I shall have the waist of my doublet\n    Lie on my buttocks;\u2014a sweet sight!\u201d\n\nThis is purely descriptive, not of Epirote, but of old English costume.\nThe former never changed; our fashions have constantly varied; and the\nvery long-waisted doublet scorned by Simonides, who talks like the rakish\nheir of an old Cheapside drysalter, has descended from the saloon to the\nstables. It was once worn by lords; it is now carried by grooms.\n\nBut perhaps, on the question of fashions, the remark of the simple-minded\ntailor in Beaumont and Fletcher\u2019s \u2018Fair Maid of the Inn,\u2019 who is duped\nso consumedly by Ferabosco the mountebank, is very apt to the matter.\nHe has travelled, and is willing even to go to the moon, in search of\nstrange and exquisite new fashions; but, as he says, \u201call we can see or\ninvent are but old ones with new names to \u2019em.\u201d The poets I have last\nmentioned exhibit quite as great a contempt for chronology as any of\ntheir harmonious fellows. Thus, Blacksnout, the Roman blacksmith, in the\n\u2018Faithful Friends,\u2019 living when Titus Martius was King of Rome, tells\nSnipsnap, the Latin tailor, that he had not only been in battle, but had\nbeen shot \u201cwith a bullet as big as a penny loaf;\u201d he adds, with much\ncircumstance:\u2014\n\n    \u201c\u2019Twas at the siege of Bunnill, passing the straits\n    \u2019Twixt Mayor\u2019s-lane and Tierra del Fuego,\n    The fiery isle!\u201d\n\nSnipsnap is the tailor of the poets\u2019 own period. He calls for drink\nwith the airy freedom of a be-plumed gallant, pays magnanimously, as\nbe-plumed gallants did _not_, cuts jokes like a court-jester, and boasts\nthat he can \u201cfinish more suits in a year than any two lawyers in the\ntown.\u201d Blacksnout\u2019s remark in reply, that \u201clawyers and tailors have their\nseveral hells,\u201d is rather complimentary than otherwise to the last-named\ngentle craft; for it places the tailor, who exercises the time-honoured\nobservance of \u201ccabbage,\u201d on a level with the lawyer, who purchases his\nluxuries through the process of partially stripping his clients. The\n\u201chell\u201d here named is supposed to be the place wherein both lawyers and\ntailors put those shreds, of which Lisauro speaks in the \u2018Maid in the\nMill:\u2019\u2014\n\n    \u201cThe shreds of what he steals from us, believe it,\n    Make him a mighty man.\u201d\n\nBen Jonson alludes to this particular locality in \u2018The Staple of\nNews.\u2019 Fashioner waiting past the appointed time upon Pennyboy, Jun.,\ncompensates for his dilatoriness by perpetrating a witticism, and the\nyoung gentleman remarks thereupon:\u2014\n\n                              \u201cThat jest\n    Has gain\u2019d thy pardon; thou hadst lived condemn\u2019d\n    To thine own hell else.\u201d\n\nFashioner was like Mr. Joy, the Cambridge tailor of an olden time. If\nthat hilarious craftsman had promised a suit to be ready for a ball, and\ndid not bring it home till the next morning at breakfast, his stereotyped\nphrase ever took the form of\u2014\u201cSorrow endureth for a night, but \u2018Joy\u2019\ncometh with the morning!\u201d But, to return to the _hades_ of tailors.\nThe reader will doubtless remember that Ralph, the doughty squire of\nHudibras, had been originally of the following of the needle, and\u2014\n\n    \u201cAn equal stock of wit and valour\n    He had laid in, by birth a tailor.\u201d\n\nRalph dated his ancestry from the immediate heir of Dido, from whom\n\n        \u201cdescended _cross-legg\u2019d knights_,\n    Famed for their faith.\u201d\n\nAnd then are we told, with rich Hudibrastic humour, that Ralph, the\nex-tailor, was like \u00c6neas the Pious, for\u2014\n\n    \u201cThis sturdy squire, he had, as well\n    As the bold Trojan knight, seen _hell_;\u201d\n\nwhich locality, as connected with the handicraftsman, is described as\nbeing the place where tailors deposit their perquisites.\n\nWe have digressed a little from Snipsnap, the English tailor, whom\nBeaumont and Fletcher have placed with other thoroughly English artisans\nin the piece already named, \u2018The Faithful Friends.\u2019 Snipsnap holds his\nprofession to be above that of a soldier, but yet modestly excuses\nhimself from fighting, on the score that, although a tailor, he is _not_\na gentleman. Being provoked, however, he knocks down the rude offender,\nand has a thorough contempt for the constable,\u2014a contempt in the\nentertaining of which he is so well justified by the logical remark of\nBlacksnout:\u2014\n\n                    \u201cA constable\u2019s\n    An ass. I\u2019ve been a constable myself.\u201d\n\nThe bravery of Snipsnap is a true bravery: he is conscious of the peril\nin which he stands as a soldier, and, ere going into action, bethinks\nhim of old prophecies that he should be slain; but when he pictures to\nhimself the public scorn that ever follows cowardice, and that, if he and\nhis fellows be poltroons, every wench in Rome will fling dirt at them as\nthey pass by, saying, \u201cThere are the soldiers who durst not draw their\nblades,\u201d then is the heroic soul fired, and Snipsnap exclaims:\u2014\n\n    \u201cBut they shall find we dare, and strike home too:\n    I am now resolved, and will be valiant;\n    This bodkin quilts their skin as full of holes\n    As e\u2019er was canvas doublet.\u201d\n\n\u201cSpoke like a bold man, Snip!\u201d says Bellario, the old soldier. Ay, and\nlike a discreet and thinking man. There is no foolhardiness and rash\naction in Snipsnap; but, like the greatest of heroes, he looks his peril\ncalmly in the face, and then encounters it with a gallantry that is not\nto be resisted.\n\nAnd it is to be observed that the tailors of the poets are as generous\nas they are brave. Witness Vertigo in \u2018The Maid in the Mill;\u2019 the lords\namong whom he stands owe him money, and yet affect to have forgotten his\nname. One of them ventures, indeed, to hope that he has not come to press\nhis claims; and what says this very pearl and quintessence of tailors?\n\n    \u201cGood faith, the least thought in my heart; your love, gentlemen,\n    Your love\u2019s enough for me. Money? hang money!\n    Let me preserve your love!\u201d\n\nIncomparable Vertigo! What a trade might he drive in London upon those\nterms! A waistcoat for a good opinion, a fashionable coat for esteem, and\na full-dress suit to be paid for with the wearer\u2019s love, in a promissory\nnote made payable at sight!\n\nVertigo understands the dignity of his profession; indeed, he wears a\ndouble dignity, for he is a \u201cwoman\u2019s tailor,\u201d as well as \u201cman\u2019s;\u201d and\nwhen he is about to measure Florimel, how bravely does he bid the lords\n\u201cstand out o\u2019 th\u2019 light!\u201d How gallantly does he promise the lady when he\nswears\u2014or asserts rather (for the tailors of the poets never swear,\u2014that\nis, never swear profanely; they are like the nun in Chaucer, whose\nprettiest oath was but \u201cby St. Eloy!\u201d)\u2014when he asserts then that she has\n\u201cthe neatest body in Spain this day;\u201d and further, when Otrante, the\nSpanish Count, in love with Florimel, remarks that happily his wardrobe,\nwith the tailor\u2019s help, may fit her instantly, what self-dignity in the\nfirst line of the reply, and what philosophy in the second!\u2014\n\n    \u201cIf I fit her not, your wardrobe cannot;\n    And if the fashion be not there, you mar her.\u201d\n\nBen Jonson does the trade full justice with regard to their possession\nof generosity; thus, in \u2018Every Man Out of his Humour,\u2019 Fungoso not only\nflatters the tailor who constructed his garment out of the money due for\nits fashioning, but he borrows some ready cash of him besides. Upon this\nhint did Sheridan often act; and thus posterity suffers through the vices\nas through the weaknesses of our ancestors. But the philosophical spirit\nof the true artistic tailor has been as little neglected by rare Ben,\n\u201cthe _Canary_-bird,\u201d as the same artist\u2019s generosity. The true philosophy\nof dress is to be found in a speech of Fashioner\u2019s, in the \u2018Staple of\nNews,\u2019 and which speech is in reply to the remark of young Pennyboy, that\nthe new clothes he has on make him feel wittier than usual: \u201cBelieve it,\nSir,\u201d says Fashioner,\n\n    \u201cThat clothes do much upon the wit, as weather\n    Does on the brain; and thence, Sir, comes your proverb,\n    _The tailor makes the man_. I speak by experience\n    Of my own customers. I have had gallants,\n    Both court and country would have fool\u2019d you up,\n    In a new suit, with the best wits in being,\n    And kept their speed as long as their clothes lasted,\n    Handsome and neat; but then as they grew out\n    At the elbows again, or had a stain or spot,\n    They have sunk most wretchedly.\u201d\n\nThe policy of the tailor is as good as his philosophy, and has the same\nend in view, for Pennyboy exultingly says:\u2014\n\n                  \u201cI wonder gentlemen\n    And men of means will not maintain themselves\n    Fresher in wit, I mean in clothes, to the highest;\n    For he that\u2019s out of clothes is out of fashion;\n    And out of fashion is out of countenance;\n    And out of countenance is out of wit.\u201d\n\nAnd the moral of all is, that if a man would prosper in the world, he\nshould, at all events, not neglect his tailor.\n\nOf all the poets yet named, Ben Jonson is the only one who introduces a\nsomewhat dishonest tailor, Nick Stuff, in \u2018The New Inn;\u2019 but Apollo was\nangry at the liberty, and visited the poet with the retributive damnation\nof the piece. Stuff is a \u201cwoman\u2019s tailor;\u201d we have none such now in\nEngland, except as makers of ladies\u2019 riding habits. They are rare in\nFrance, but there are as many women\u2019s tailors as female dressmakers in\nVienna; and the latter often order the tailors to take measure for and\ncut out the dresses, which the female sewers then, to use a French term,\n_confection_. Nick Stuff used to attire his wife Pinnacia in all the new\ngowns he made; and in ever-changing and gallant bravery Pinnacia\u2014but let\nher describe Nick\u2019s ways of vanity after her own fashion:\u2014\n\n    \u201cIt is a foolish trick, madam, he has;\n    For though he be your tailor, he is my beast;\n    I may be bold with him, and tell his story.\n    When he makes any fine garment will fit me,\n    Or any rich thing that he thinks of price,\n    Then must I put it on and be his \u2018Countess,\u2019\n    Before he carry it home unto the owners.\n    A coach is hired and four horse; he runs\n    In his velvet jacket thus, to Romford, Croydon,\n    Hounslow, or Barnet.\u201d\n\nPinnacia proceeds to portray further excesses, but I think there must\nbe some exaggeration in this; and _for_ this the poet was punished\nby the condemnation of his piece. The thing is as clear as logical\ndeduction can make it. The \u2018New Inn\u2019 contained great reproach against\nthe tailors: the \u2018New Inn\u2019 was hissed off the stage: _argal_, for a poet\nto speak reproachfully of tailors, is to bring down ruin upon his head!\nThis deductive process is borrowed from Cardinal Wiseman; and if it be\nfound defective, I beg to shield myself under that gentleman\u2019s eminent\nauthority. It _is_ something like accounting for Tenterden steeple by\nGoodwin Sands; but of course _I_ cannot help _that_. Let the candidate\nfor the tiara look to it!\n\nTaking Nick Stuff as a true sample of those of his craft, who formed\nthe exception to the general rule of professional honesty, I must say\nfor such as he, that if he were a knave, it was because for years he\nhad had an evil example before his eyes in the persons of men better\noff than himself, who had not _his_ plea of small means and long credit\nas an excuse for bettering his condition at the public cost. If the\nfashioners of clothes were sometimes not so careful as they might be in\nthe application of the principle of honesty, the makers of the cloth were\ninfinitely worse. _They_ lay under the imputation of being universally\nfraudulent. We have no better, and need no better, proof on this matter,\nthan what is afforded us by the testimony of good old Latimer, who had\na sharp eye to detect vice, and a bold tongue to denounce it. In his\nthird sermon preached before King Edward VI., there is the following\ngraphic passage:\u2014\u201cI hear say that there is a certain cunning come up\nin the mixing of wares. How say you?\u2014were it not a wonder to hear\nthat clothmakers should become \u2019pothecaries, yea, and as I hear say,\nin such a place whereat they have professed the Gospel and the word of\nGod most earnestly of a long time.\u201d And then the preacher, after some\nanimadversions on the devil,\u2014whom he styles in another sermon as the\nonly prelate he knows who is never absent from his diocese, nor idle\nwhen in it,\u2014thus proceeds:\u2014\u201cIf his cloth be seventeen yards long, he\nwill set it on a rack, and stretch it out with ropes, and rack it till\nthe sinews shrink again, till he hath brought it to eighteen yards. When\nthey have brought it to that perfection, they have a pretty feat to thick\nit again. He makes me a powder for it, and plays the \u2019pothecary. They\ncall it flock-powder. They do so incorporate it to the cloth, that it is\nwonderful to consider. Truly, a good invention! Oh that so goodly wits\nshould be so ill applied! they may well deceive the people, but they\ncannot deceive God. They were wont to make beds of flock, and it was a\ngood bed, too; now they have turned the flock into powder, to play the\nfalse thieves with it. These mixtures come of covetousness. They are\nplain theft.\u201d From this singular passage it is apparent that what is\npopularly known at Manchester as \u201cdevil\u2019s dust,\u201d was an invention which\nthe cotton lords of today have inherited from their fathers in Mammon,\nthe cloth lords of some three centuries ago. That ever-active prelate,\nthe devil, is therefore as busily engaged in his diocese now as he was\nin the days whose doings are condemned by Latimer. In some respects\nhowever there is improvement, if we may believe the assertion made by\nMr. Thackeray, in his \u2018Essays on the Essayists,\u2019 to the effect that even\nhermits out at elbows would lose their respectability now if they were to\nattempt to cheat their tailors. Other men succeed in doing so, without\nforfeiting the privilege conceded by Mark Antony to Brutus of being \u201can\nhonourable man.\u201d\n\nCharles Lamb remarks, in his \u2018Essay on the Melancholy of Tailors,\u2019\nthat \u201cdrink itself does not seem to elevate him.\u201d This assertion seems\ncontrary to that in the acting tragedy of \u2018Tom Thumb,\u2019 wherein Queen\nDolalolla so enthusiastically exclaims:\u2014\n\n                  \u201cPerdition catch the railers!\n    We\u2019ll have a row, and get as drunk as tailors.\u201d\n\nIt is to be observed, however, that Fielding is not responsible for\nthis illustration, which has been made by some adapter, who has had the\ntemerity to do for the heroic tragedy in question what Cibber did for\n\u2018Richard,\u2019 and Tate for old \u2018King Lear.\u2019 The lines however were delicious\nwhen Wilkinson played Queen Dolalolla in the tragedy-style of Peg\nWoffington.\n\nThe illustration is insulting; and therefore is it anonymous. The poets\ngenerally have, as I have shown, been complimentary to the tailors. Few\nof the sons of song have reviled the true \u201cmakers of men.\u201d When they\n_have_ done so, they have not dared to expose themselves to the sartorian\nwrath by boldly avowing their name. None ever did so on so extensive\na scale as the author of the three-act piece, called \u2018The Tailors:\na Tragedy for Warm Weather;\u2019 and no author has remained so utterly\nuncomeatable by the public curiosity. What is the mystery about Junius,\ntouching whom there are a thousand guesses, compared with the greater\nimpenetrability of this secret author, about whom no man ever heard a\nconjecture?\n\nIt is now nearly ninety years ago since a manuscript was sent from\nDodsley\u2019s shop to Foote, the manager of the \u201cLittle Haymarket.\u201d The\nmanuscript was that of the Warm Weather Tragedy, and Foote was requested\nto return the copy if it were not approved of. The great comedian knew\nbetter. The burlesque play of the anonymous author was acted with a\nstrong cast. Foote himself was the Francesco; Shuter played Abrahamides,\nthe Flint; Western did justice to Jackides; old Bannister was ponderous\nas Campbello; and gay Jack Palmer was just the man to enact that Lothario\nof stage-tailors, the seductive Isaacos. Mrs. Jeffries represented the\nfalse wife Dorothea, and Mrs. Gardner the faithful maid Titillinda. It\nwas said by the critics of the period, that the radical fault of this\nburlesque play was, that \u201cin burlesque, the characters ought to be\npersons of consequence, instead of which they are here tailors;\u201d but\nthe truth is, that the fault lies in the fact, that the tailors talk as\ncorrectly as persons of consequence, and are not half so bombastic as\nNat Lee\u2019s kings and queens. The profession exhibited much unnecessary\nsusceptibility in being offended at this piece. Its tendency, if it have\nany at all, is rather to elevate than depress the public appreciation\nfor the tailor, whether in his aspect of master or of \u201cFlint\u201d out upon\nstrike. The entire action is devoted to the history of a strike for\nwages, with a supplemental love-plot annexed. The head master-tailor\nis a highly respectable individual, who has our sympathy because he\nis betrayed by his wife; and the chief Flint wins admiration, because\nhe gets hanged and is cheated out of his mistress. The strike ends\nunfavourably for those who make it; but though the author sets out with\nthe determination to render all his _dramatis person\u00e6_ ridiculous, he\ncannot do it. He is like the prophet who was compelled to vaticinate\nagainst his inclinations; and the deity of dramatic poetry and tailors\ncompels him to reverence where he would fain have committed desecration.\nThe very first sentence in this play contains an allusion to Elliott\u2019s\nbrigade, that famous band of warriors made up almost entirely of tailors.\nI must refer my readers to the piece itself, if they be curious to see\nhow the subject is treated in evident contrariety to the author\u2019s own\ndesign; he makes all the characters utter commonplace common sense, when\nhis intention was to make them lose themselves upon stilts in a sea of\ntropes, tirades, and thunderings against tyranny.\n\nThe antiquarian will not fail to notice that Bedfordbury is a locality\nset down in this piece as a place where tailors\u2019 men did congregate some\ncentury ago. They still much do congregate on the same spot. A century\nbefore the period of the piece, Frank Kynaston, the poet, resided in\na house adjacent to the \u201cBury,\u201d and the memory thereof is still kept\nup in the name Kynaston-alley, which is within that same \u201cBury\u201d of\nclassical associations. Thus do tailoring and the _belles lettres_\ncontinue to be in close connection; and where Kynaston\u2019s muse kept\nitself warm, the sacred goose of the _schneider_ still glows with fervid\nheat. The operatives of the \u201cBury,\u201d moreover, look as much like poets\nas tailors,\u2014so abstract are they of air, so romantically heedless of\npersonal appearance, and so unromantically and really \u201chalf-starved.\u201d Not\nof them can be said what Titillinda says of Abrahamides\u2014\n\n    \u201cWhose form might claim attention even from queens.\u201d\n\nFinally: want of space, and not of material, brings that troublesome\nadverb upon me. If it be objected, that the tailors of the poets _do_\nsometimes waver in critical situations, and condescend to tremble in\npresence of emergency, I have to answer, that such facts prove their\nheroism, as being akin to that of the Conqueror and C\u0153ur de Lion.\nWhen the former was being crowned at York, he heard such an uproar in\nthe streets, caused by the massacre of the inhabitants by the amiable\nNormans, that he sat upon his throne shaking with affright; \u201cvehementer\ntremens,\u201d says Orderic Vitalis, and he is very good authority. As for\nthat tinselled bully, Richard, nobody doubts his single virtue\u2014courage;\nbut bold as he was, we all know that when in Sicily, he discreetly ran\naway from a bumpkin who threatened to cudgel him for attempting a matter\nof petty larceny. Francis Feeble and his brethren may, therefore, not\nbe ashamed if they have foibles in common with William of Normandy and\nRichard of Bordeaux.\n\nDr. O. Wendell Holmes has cleverly conjectured what a tailor, poetically\ngiven, might say of the beauties that cluster about the closing day; and\nhe has thus described\n\n                    Evening.\n\n                  BY A TAILOR.\n\n    \u201cDay hath put on his jacket, and around\n    His burning bosom button\u2019d it with stars.\n    Here will I lay me on the velvet grass,\n    That is like padding to earth\u2019s meagre ribs,\n    And hold communion with the things about me.\n    Ah me! how lovely is the golden braid\n    That binds the skirt of night\u2019s descending robe!\n    The thin leaves, quivering on their silken threads,\n    Do make a music like to rustling satin,\n    As the light breezes smooth their downy nap.\n\n    \u201cHa! what is this that rises to my touch,\n    So like a cushion? Can it be a cabbage?\n    It is; it is that deeply-injured flower\n    Which boys do flout us with;\u2014but yet I love thee,\n    Thou giant rose, wrapped in a green surtout.\n    Doubtless in Eden thou didst blush as bright\n    As these, thy puny brethren; and thy breath\n    Sweeten\u2019d the fragrance of her spicy air;\n    But now, thou seemest like a bankrupt beau\n    Stripp\u2019d of his gaudy hues and essences,\n    And growing portly in his sober garments.\n\n    \u201cIs that a swan that rides upon the water?\n    Oh no! it is that other gentle bird,\n    Which is the patron of our noble calling.\n    I well remember, in my early years,\n    When these young hands first closed upon a goose;\n    I have a scar upon my thimble-finger,\n    Which chronicles the hour of young ambition.\n    My father was a tailor, and his father,\n    And my sire\u2019s grandsire,\u2014all of them were tailors;\n    They had an ancient goose,\u2014it was an heirloom\n    From some remoter tailor of our race.\n    It happen\u2019d I did see it on a time\n    When none was near, and I did deal with it,\n    And it did burn me,\u2014oh, most fearfully!\n\n    \u201cIt is a joy to straighten out one\u2019s limbs,\n    And leap elastic from the level counter,\n    Leaving the petty grievances of earth,\n    The breaking thread, the din of clashing shears,\n    And all the needles that do wound the spirit,\n    For such an hour of soothing silence.\n    Kind Nature, shuffling in her loose undress,\n    Lays bare her shady bosom; I can feel\n    With all around me; I can hail the flowers\n    That sprig earth\u2019s mantle; and yon quiet bird,\n    That rides the stream, is to me as a brother.\n    The vulgar know not all the hidden pockets,\n    Where Nature stows away her loveliness.\u2014\n    But this unnatural posture of the legs\n    Cramps my extended calves, and I must go\n    Where I can coil them in their wonted fashion.\u201d\n\nTo conclude: the poets have been quite as guilty of petty larceny as\never was poor tailor. Pope stole from Pascal, and Addison from Pope; and\nChurchill\u2019s line in his Rosciad, to the effect that\n\n    \u201cCommon sense stood trembling at the door,\u201d\n\nis a plagiarism from George Alexander Stevens\u2019s \u2018Distress upon Distress;\nor Tragedy in True Taste.\u2019 This is more of \u201ccabbage,\u201d and less of\ncoincidence, than the line in one of the \u2018Roxburgh Ballads\u2019 anent\ntailors, wherein we find an allusion in the phrase \u201cturn up my ten toes,\u201d\nwhich is, as nearly as possible, a translation of part of the ladies\u2019\nthreat in the \u2018Lysistra\u2019 of Aristophanes. Altogether a volume might be\nfilled with examples to prove that poetry and tailoring have one spirit\nin common.\n\nBut it is time to turn from poetry to prose, and come more nearly to our\nsubject \u201ctouching tailors.\u201d We will take individually those whose great\ndeeds have shed glory on the craft. First on the roll of fame is noble\nHawkwood.\n\n\n\n\nSIR JOHN HAWKWOOD, THE HEROIC TAILOR.\n\n    \u201cThe dew of grace bless our new knight today.\u201d\n\n        BEAUMONT AND FLETCHER: _Knight of Malta_.\n\n\nOn the 10th day of August, 1668, Mr. Samuel Pepys passed a portion of\nhis morning at Goring House, the mansion of Lord Arlington, a nobleman\nwho conversed with him amicably, and introduced him to other lords, with\nwhom the gallant secretary prattled after his fashion, to say nothing of\nthe flattery and compliments paid him by Lord Orrery. In the afternoon\nwe find him at Cooper\u2019s, the miniature painter\u2019s, who was painting the\nportrait of that excellent lady Mrs. Pepys. The portrait was excellent\nin every way, save that it was not like Mr. Pepys\u2019s wife, and that she\nwore a blue garment, which he could not bear. However, the courteous\nhusband paid \u00a338. 3_s._ 4_d._ for the picture, crystal, and case, that he\nmight, as he prudently says, be out of the painter\u2019s debt; and thereupon\nhe adds:\u2014\u201cHome to supper, and my wife to read a ridiculous book I bought\ntoday of the History of the Taylors\u2019 Company.\u201d\n\nThe title of the book which Mrs. Pepys read aloud to her husband, and\nwhich is a book that a lady might well blush to read either aloud or to\nherself, runs as follows:\u2014\u2018The Honour of the Merchant Taylors; wherein\nis set forth, the noble arts, valiant deeds, and heroic performances of\nMerchant Taylors in former ages; their honourable loves and knightly\nadventures, their combating of foreign enemies, and glorious successes in\nhonour of the English nation; together with their pious acts and large\nbenevolences, their building of publick structures, especially that of\nBlackwell Hall, to be a market-place for the selling of woollen cloaths.\nWritten by William Winstanley. London, 1668, 8vo. With the head of Sir\nRalph Blackwell, with a gold chain, arms of London on the right, and of\nthe Merchant Taylors on the left.\u2019\n\nJust twenty years later another volume was printed with nearly a\nsimilar title. The alleged object was to give a biography of the\nrenowned tailor and soldier, Sir John Hawkwood; and for this reason we\nwill give the later work priority of notice. There will be amusement,\nif not instruction, in remarking how exquisitely our ancestors wrote\nbiographical works in the days of dark King James.\n\nThis black-letter biography describes Hawkwood as a modest tailor lad who\nfell honestly in love with his master\u2019s daughter, Dorinda. But Dorinda\nhad a soul above buttons, and having given up her heart unasked to\nImpolite, a young, foolish heir, she cut the thread of Hawkwood\u2019s desire\nwith the shears of cruelty, and tore away from his protestations in a\nheat that even the paternal goose had never known.\n\nHawkwood, for a gallant man, committed an ungallant action; he discovered\nthe lover of Dorinda by reading the correspondence locked up in the\nlady\u2019s cabinet, and he avenged himself by writing a note in the lady\u2019s\nname which brought poor Impolite to a meeting, whereat he was seized and\nled to a madhouse as incurably insane through the sweet passion of love.\n\nThe victim was subjected to a treatment which would undoubtedly have\nrendered a sane man mad, but he prattled so respectfully of medicines to\nthe doctor, that the latter dismissed him as \u201ccured.\u201d In the meantime\nDorinda refused to ratify her bond with a discharged lunatic; and the\nuncle of Impolite, a sort of melodramatic Gaspero, hired two ruffians,\nBragwell and Daniel, to mutilate Hawkwood, as a punishment for his\nhaving been the cause of the breaking off of the match.\n\nThese gentlemen fell upon the bold young tailor as, \u201cever frolic and\ngay,\u201d he was returning from Green-Goose Fair, held at Bow, on St.\nWilielmus\u2019s day, \u201cso much honoured by the tailors as their patron.\u201d But\nthe ruffians found a Tartar, and Hawkwood incontinently slew both. The\ngallant apprentice, having slept upon the matter, resolved to go abroad,\nin order to avoid unpleasant inquiries; and having composed a score of\nexecrable verses to his mistress, wherein he committed worse murder upon\nthe Muses than before upon the ruffians, and having thrust the same under\nthe bedroom-door of the cruel Dorinda, he went his solitary way with a\nheavy heart and a small bundle under his arm.\n\nWinstanley, the author of this delectable bit of historical romance,\nexhibits a merry trait of originality by suddenly announcing that the\nmurdered ruffians were, after all, like our friend Mr. John Robinson in\nthe song, \u201cnot dead at all;\u201d and delicately does he narrate how those\nrespectable individuals, by coming to themselves, found that they were in\nthe very worst possible society. Forthwith they slew a sheep, and having\ncut out the heart thereof, they exhibited the same to Gaspero, as the\nheart of the valiant tailor, and received from their employer not only\ntheir wages of sin, but an invitation to stay and dine and spend the\nnight at his house.\n\nThe ruffians having been soon after got out of the way, Gaspero took to\nseeing ghosts and other unpleasant things, by way of showing his remorse\nfor having been accessory to the murder of a tailor. But in the meantime\nhis supposed victim was mirthfully passing from inn to inn; and as those\nestablishments were ever furnished with a haunted room, it was his humour\nto sleep in the same, and lay the ghosts and other spirits which he found\nthere.\n\nSoon, weary of this life ashore, Hawkwood took to the sea, accompanied\nby Lovewell, another young tailor, and another victim of the gentle\nvision, who had unsuccessfully endeavoured to sun himself in a Lamira\u2019s\neyes. At the conclusion of the voyage, the adventurous youths landed in\nIreland, and became \u2019squires of dames, taking up their quarrels, fighting\nin their behalf against any odds, and performing wonderful actions, such\nas could only have been imagined by the most unscrupulous of liars. When\nPelion has been mounted upon Ossa, and the heap of mendacity is reared\nto a sufficiently stupendous height, the author grows tired of romantic\nfibbing, and descends to the lie commonplace. He brings his heroes to\nEngland, and with them two pages, who had joined their slim selves to\nthe heroic tailor-knights\u2019 fortunes; and who of course turn out, as is\nperfectly natural, to be Dorinda and Lamira in disguise. Then, at the\nend of the first act of the drama, there is a double wedding, a dance of\ncharacters, and an elaborate detail of after circumstances which I will\nnot pause to relate.\n\nSuch was the treatment which Hawkwood and history received at the hands\nof an anonymous author in the year 1687. The volume in question, of which\nthere are two copies in the British Museum, is, in fact, a coarsely\nprinted black-letter tract; the paper such as even a modern grocer\nwould turn up his nose at; and the woodcuts violating every propriety,\nregardless at once of perspective and humanity.\n\nThe volume however which Mrs. Pepys read to her husband is worse in every\nrespect. There is a copy in the Guildhall Library; and I have to thank\nthe most courteous of librarians, Mr. Allchin, for the opportunity I\nhave enjoyed of perusing it. Perhaps the second edition, of which I have\nspoken above, was prepared expressly for the benefit of the youthful\nmind. The first is certainly bad enough to pollute the minds of all who\nread or listened to the reader. I will only add, that the illustrating\nartist has been so hard put to it, that he frequently makes one design\nrepresent two different events, the scenes of which are wide apart. He\nmight have alleged _one_ thing in favour of his so doing; namely, that\nthe illustration in question quite as truthfully represented one scene\nwith the actors therein, as it did the other. Of this there can be no\ndoubt; and I may further add, in behalf of the pictorial illustrations,\nthat they assuredly did not offend against the second commandment, for\nthere is nothing in them that is a likeness of anything in heaven above,\nor in the earth beneath, or in the waters under the earth; and if it be\nan old joke to say so, it is, at all events, better than any of the jokes\nto be found in the volume which Mrs. Pepys read with complacency to that\nwicked little man, her redoubtable husband.\n\nThe true story of John Hawkwood needs no romance to lend it brightness,\nor season it with wonders. It has marvels enough of its own; and these,\nredolent of romance, are, in fact, sober and incontrovertible truth.\n\nIf Essex has been famous for calves, it has also had its share of heroes;\nheroes (if one may say so) in evil as in good; with its very villages\nproducing them, and that in the humblest localities. If Frinton rejoices\nbecause of Cornelius and Tilbury, the poison swallowers, Sible Hedingham\nis glad because of John Hawkwood, the tailor and soldier.\n\nIn the village last-named, and in the reign of Edward the Second,\nthere lived a tanner called Gilbert Hawkwood. His vocation not being a\nprofitable one, he resolved that it should not be followed by his son.\nThe latter, instead of tanning hides of brutes, was taught the mystery of\ncovering those of men. In simple, honest English, he was apprenticed to a\ntailor; and did not at all like it.\n\nCornhill was at that time the stage whereon tailors most did congregate;\nand as troops were constantly passing that way, to and from the vicinity\nof the tower, John Hawkwood, wherever he met with them, sighed as he\ncontrasted their jolly swash-buckler sort of air with his own melancholy\nlook, gait, and calling. The King, Edward the Third, was then waging\na most unjust war with France, and needed soldiers to champion his\nbad cause. Hawkwood recked little of the merits of the quarrel, but\nwhen a roving party of heroes pressed him to join, he met them more\nthan half-way; and never was he more jubilant than when he changed his\n\u2019prentice muffin-cap for a peaked morrion, his dark rags for a gay suit,\nand a sword and a shield were the implements of his work, instead of a\nneedle and thimble.\n\nNow young Hawkwood was not a lad to be satisfied with being simply a\n\u201cman-at-arms.\u201d Michel, in the French play, when he recounts how he was\npressed into the service, says, \u201cMon G\u00e9n\u00e9ral me nomma soldat; mais ma\nnomination n\u2019a pas eu de suite.\u201d The boy from Sible Hedingham was made of\nother stuff than that which could make him be content with singing, like\nthe pleasant gentleman in the \u2018Dame Blanche,\u2019\u2014\u201cAh! quel plaisir d\u2019\u00eatre\nsoldat!\u201d He was resolved to lead as well as serve; and he served well,\nto give him the better chance of leading. It is the only policy that\npermanently succeeds.\n\nOfficers were not dainty in those days, either of speech or anything\nelse. Difficult as they were to satisfy, Hawkwood accomplished it. The\nman who laid on his blows with such good heart, and thwacked the foe so\nlustily and to excellent purpose, albeit in anything but an excellent\ncause, was a man whose sword was sure to carve out fortune for him.\nAccordingly, he soon passed from poor private to plumed captain. His\npurse was not much the better filled because of his brighter corslet\nand his new feathers; and as the foe he had to encounter was as badly\nfurnished as himself, he got abundance of honour, but few pistoles. The\nKing beheld him mowing down adversaries, as though he had been expressly\nengaged by Death to gather in his harvest. On the battle-field, the\nroyal Edward dubbed the tailor knight. \u201cThou art the bravest knight,\u201d\nsaid he, \u201cin all the army.\u201d \u201cUmph!\u201d murmured the cavalier of the needle,\n\u201cand the poorest too!\u201d\n\nBut he had what to a brave man was better than bezants, dearer than\ndollars, and above marks and moidores,\u2014he had praise from the Black\nPrince. That chivalric personage was perfectly ecstatic at witnessing\nthe deeds which Hawkwood enacted on the bloody, but glorious, day at\nPoitiers. The praise enriched him as though it had been pistoles. What\nbaron, standing in need of a gentleman cut-throat, would hesitate to\nengage, at any cost (it was only promising and breaking a pledge), a\nman with a sharp sword and a stout arm, who had a verbal character\nfrom such a master as he whose sword is now rusting in peace above the\ntime-honoured tomb at Canterbury?\n\nHawkwood needed some such testimony. The Peace of Bretigny had been\nratified in 1360; and they who before had not had leisure to be ill,\nwere all becoming seriously indisposed for want of action. As employment\ndid not come, they made it for themselves. If kings could be stupendous\nscamps, why not commoner men? They waited long enough, as they\nthought, for hire for their swords, till at last they put the latter\nto private use. A band was formed, and called \u201cLes Tards Venus,\u201d\u2014the\n\u201cCome-at-Lasts,\u201d\u2014as if apologetically and modestly expressive of their\npatience. Some people would have been the better pleased had the\nself-styled tardy gentlemen been content to \u201cwait a little longer.\u201d The\nmore learned members of the society, perhaps the chaplains, called the\nband the \u201cMagna Comitiva,\u201d or \u201cGreat Band.\u201d A greater band of brigands\ncertainly never existed, the chaplains included!\n\nWhen it is thus said of those worthy gentlemen, of course the expression\nis based upon the principles, and measured by the standard, of these our\nown later and degenerate days. Hawkwood and his truculent friends thought\nthey had a vested right to remain in undisturbed possession of every\ncastle, their ownership of which was founded on their having murdered the\nlast proprietor at his own hearth. We have foolish ideas on such matters;\nand we must only judge of these perfect gentlemen,\u2014so at least historians\ntell us,\u2014not by the criterion of that Christianity which they professed,\nbut by the customs which they observed. As Mr. Justice Erle remarked the\nother day, we shall soon have thieves pleading the custom of Hounslow\nHeath.\n\nHawkwood was one of the most terrible of those men who either made war\non their own account, or let out their swords and sinews in the service\nof any party who promised to pay them, and guaranteed the plunder. He\nbecame awfully renowned under the not very menacing title of \u201cJohn of the\nNeedle.\u201d But his needle was four feet long; and if to \u201csew up\u201d a person\nmeans to slay him, the phrase probably had its origin from the times and\nthe actions of this most ruthless of tailors. He swept, with his English\nfollowers, the south of France; where the sound of his bugle and the\nflutter of his pennon always heralded devastation or death. England and\nFrance were at peace at that time, and the King of France complained to\nhis brother of England. The gracious Edward, who thought as little of\nlying as the Czar Nicholas, gave his \u201cparole de gentilhomme\u201d that he was\nhighly disgusted; but privately he signalled the freebooter with a \u201cWell\ndone, Hawkwood!\u201d\n\n\u201cJohn of the Needle\u201d did not fail to prick his way according to his fancy\nand profit after this hint. He was captain of the most famous and most\nsuccessful \u201chorde\u201d that ever sang, \u201cStand and deliver!\u201d Not that he acted\nin rough highwayman fashion,\u2014not he! Meek tailor as he _had_ been, he\nhad become too much of a gentleman and soldier for that. He robbed and\nmurdered only in accordance with the rules of chivalry; and he would\nhave hung a common thief who had dared to hint that he was a brother by\nprofession.\n\nHis black-mail produced him tons of \u201cred gold,\u201d and his forays now\nextended to the banks of the Po. There _was_ something of the spirit of\nMerry Sherwood in him, for he had a sort of jolly delight in attacking\nthe palace and stripping the person of a bishop. This kind of gentle\namusement however was not at all to the taste of the Bishop of bishops\nat Rome; and the appeal made by the Vatican to the King of England had\nbetter success than that which had been made by the King of France.\n\nHawkwood submitted both to his own sovereign and to the Church. From the\nlatter he purchased peace,\u2014making large gifts, which were thought nothing\nthe worse of that they were the product of robbery. John thereupon took\nto regular service: he first entered that of the Pisans, in 1364, and\nthose roystering individuals soon furnished him with as much fighting\nas he could reasonably have stomach for: when they were not inclined\nto fight, he hired out his sword and person to powers willing to fight\nagainst them. Sometimes a single baron, having a quarrel with another\nbaron, and wishing to get possession of his goods, engaged Hawkwood to\ntransact the little business for him. He of the needle went at it with\na will; and when he had secured the castle and property of the fallen\nnoble, he generally defied the other to take them from him, with a \u201cCome,\nif you dare!\u201d\n\nThis system was never objected to: an arrangement _\u00e0 l\u2019amiable_ was\nentered into, and Hawkwood was accounted as honest a man as before. In\ntwenty-three years\u2019 service in Italy he thus fought on any and every\nside. It was only when he got satiated with variety that he settled\ndown to constancy, and swore stable allegiance to the Florentines. One\nincident of the style of warfare, and his skill in carrying it on, will\nsuffice to show of what metal our Essex needle was fashioned.\n\nOne of the most creditable pieces of work ever accomplished by Sir John,\nwas in the course of the war which Florence carried on against Milan in\n1391. No one of the Condottiere captains hired to lead mercenaries to\nbattle ever achieved such glory as our old Essex tailor on this occasion,\nand Florence deemed the cause safe that was entrusted to his management.\nIn the present case, Milan was to be assailed on two opposite sides. The\nnoble Count d\u2019Armagnac attacked it from the west, and got thoroughly\nbeaten ere Hawkwood had sufficiently advanced to make his onslaught by\nthe east. The latter with his army was about five leagues from the city\nwhen he heard that his colleague had been routed: he became thoughtful,\nbut not dismayed.\n\nThe country in which he found himself was like one of the pattern-books\nonce so well-known to him. It was all patches of land, and between those\npatches intersections of streams. Indeed, the country had nothing of the\nregularity of a tailor\u2019s pattern-book, for the patches were of various\nshapes, and the intersecting streams running in all directions: the\ncountry between the Alps and the Po has ever been a doubtful and spongy\nsort of land whereon to struggle for the award of victory.\n\nHawkwood was retreating, but the Adige, the Mincio, and the Oglio were\nyet to be crossed when the Governor of Milan, Giacopo del Verme, came\nupon him with his conquering legions. He sat mute and observant: the\nhazard was extreme. He could not cross the rivers without first beating a\nvastly superior enemy: to attempt it after a defeat would have been utter\ndestruction. He therefore did nothing but bide his time; and when the\nenemy had become weary of looking on at him, and had learned to despise\nhim, he suddenly fell upon them with a power against which there was so\nlittle preparation that, having thrashed his foe into a condition that\nmade immediate pursuit impossible, he struck his tents and crossed the\nOglio, under no worse fire than the sarcasms of his sore and helpless\nantagonists.\n\nHe went on, picking his way, until he reached a plain which was\nsurrounded by the dykes of the Po, the Mincio, and the Adige, and lying\nbelow the level of those rivers. The dykes of the last river had been\npre-occupied and fortified by the foe; the stream of the river too was\nbroad and rapid, and when Hawkwood had surmounted all other obstacles he\nwas terribly puzzled as to how he was to overcome this. The puzzle was\nnot made easier to him when, from the little eminence on which he and his\nlittle army were stationed, like rats upon a brick in a flooded sewer, he\nbeheld the entire plain turning into a lake. The progress of the change\nworked like a dissolving view at the Polytechnic; and, when the ex-tailor\nfelt the water percolating through the lower chinks of his leg-armour, he\nwas thoroughly satisfied, or rather dissatisfied, that his opponent was\nplaying him a sorry joke. \u201cNay,\u201d cried he, on second thoughts, \u201cit is not\nso; the men shall not catch so much as a cold!\u201d\n\nThe dykes had been cut, and he forthwith began himself to cut out a\nplan of triumph. He would neither be starved, nor beaten, nor moistened\ninto submission. So he averred; and he had just declared as much when a\nmessenger from the hostile leader, who occupied the only strip of land\non which a man could walk dry-shod, sent by that road and messenger a\npresent, which was delivered into Hawkwood\u2019s own hands: it was a fox shut\nup in a cage! \u201cUmph!\u201d lowed the Essex calf, \u201cit may be that I am a bit of\na fox, and Reynard may know a trail that will take him safe home, and may\nspoil the sport of his pursuers by a \u2018stole away.\u2019\u201d\n\nHe at all events went boldly in the darkness of that same night to look\nfor one. He and his men plunged into the water, and waded through it in\na direction parallel to the dykes of the Adige. Through mud and water up\nto the horse-girths, and across trenches, which engulfed the heavier men,\nwho could not clear them, they all waded on; and, when the second night\nhad nearly been spent, and numbers had been lost by cold, fatigue, and\nhunger, the survivors\u2014the almost despairing infantry\u2014clinging on to the\ntails of the horses which floundered before them, at length emerged again\non to dry ground, upon the Paduan frontier.\n\nThe enemy did not dare to follow him in this hazardous undertaking,\nwhich had, as it deserved, so successful an issue. But even that enemy\nacknowledged that there was not a commander in Italy who, for bravery and\nfor resources in moments of difficulty, could for a moment compare with\nHawkwood the Tailor.\n\nIf Florence enjoyed an unusually lengthened term of peace and prosperity,\nthe happy result was chiefly owing to the gallantry of Hawkwood and his\nmen. The value which the State set upon his services was exemplified when\nFlorence disbanded all her foreign mercenaries, save John of the Needle\nand one thousand men, the Macedonian phalanx of the land.\n\nHis unwonted ease however was not to the taste of the active soldier. He\nhad ever been in turmoil, and could not exist without it. What says the\nold naval captain in the French song?\u2014\n\n    \u201cA pr\u00e9sent, que je suis en retraite,\n    Je me vois forc\u00e9 de v\u00e9g\u00e9ter;\n    Et bien souvent tout seul je temp\u00eate\n    De n\u2019avoir jamais \u00e0 temp\u00eater.\n    Un vieux compagnon de lame,\n    Aussi fol\u00e2tre que moi,\n    Me dit de prendre une femme;\n    Eh! mais pas si mal, ma foi!\n            Car j\u2019aime le tapage\u2014\n              Et je suis tapageur.\u201d\n\nJust so with honest John. He had passed the best years of his life in\nwar, and he could not do without at least a little healthy skirmishing;\nand he provided that which he had hitherto lacked, by taking a wife,\nand that wife a dark-eyed, lightning-tongued Italian. The lady, Bianca\nSforza, and domestic controversy, kept him from \u201cgrowing pursy,\u201d like Sir\nGiles; and there was ever a very hot fire at the hearth of the tanner\u2019s\ngallant son of Sible Hedingham.\n\nIn his later days he did what retired veterans are apt to do, and are\nwise in their aptness. He took to meditation, and, not to attending Bible\nsocieties, as hearty old admirals do now, but to not less praiseworthy\nservice, a sample of which may be seen in his foundation of the English\nhospital at Rome for the reception of poor travellers. The funds,\nI believe, still exist, though they are diverted from the purpose\ncontemplated by the founder.\n\nIt would serve, he thought, to balance much of a heavy account with\nHeaven; and he was comforted in that direction by those most skilful\ndrawers of wills, the Romish priests. Having settled this matter, and\nfeeling, like the Irish gentleman on his death-bed, that he had nothing\nto lay to his charge, for he had never denied himself anything, he\ncalmly died in the Strada Pulverosa, in Florence, in the year 1393. He\nwas buried with a magnificence that perhaps has never been surpassed.\nThe very details of it dazzle the mental vision; and I will therefore\nleave my readers to conceive of it under the shadow of imagination. He\nwas finally laid to rest in the Church of the _Reparata_, beneath a tomb\nin which there is metal enough to make thimbles for all the tailors in\nChristendom.\n\nThere is a cenotaph in honour of the hero in Sible Hedingham church. It\nis a profusely ornamented memorial, with the pretty conceit of the sort\nso dear to our forefathers, of _hawks_ flying through a _wood_. It is due\nto him in whose honour it was erected, to say that if friends declared\nhis almost superhuman courage and ability, hostile writers conceded with\nalacrity to the eulogy flung upon him in showers.\n\nThere is in Essex a manor of Hawkwood, which is supposed to owe its\nname to the gallant tailor-soldier; and the house on which, was reputed\nto have been built by his heirs. It is ascertained, however, that this\nmanor of Hawkwood was so known in the reign of King John; and perhaps the\nrenowned John\u2019s ancestors originally came from its vicinity, and took its\nname for a surname, when surnames were rare, and they hardly knew what to\ncall themselves. One author indeed has suggested that the received story\nof the lowly origin of Hawkwood is all fiction, and that he was really of\ngentle blood. But I protest against any such suggestion, for in that case\nwhat would become of all this history I have been telling?\n\nIn sober seriousness, the main facts are doubtless as they have been\ntold. They are not mere romantic details of romantic times. In much later\ndays we have heard of tailors turning out heroes. There is no worthier\nillustration of this fact that I can remember, than \u201cdaring D\u00f6rfling;\u201d\nand his little story I will briefly tell, if my readers will only\nvouchsafe me ear and patience; as Crispin says, \u201cCela ne sera pas long.\u201d\n\n\n\n\nGEORGE D\u00d6RFLING, THE MARTIAL TAILOR.\n\n    \u201cOf stature tall, and straightly fashion\u2019d;\n    Like his desire, lift upwards, and divine.\u201d\n\n                        MARLOWE: _Tamburlaine_.\n\n\nGeorge D\u00f6rfling was born in Bohemia, in the year 1606. It is popularly\nsaid in that country, that when a child is born there, a fairy presents\nherself at his side and offers him a purse and a violin, leaving to\nhim to choose which gift most pleases him. According as he makes his\nselection, is his future character determined. If he takes the fiddle, he\nturns out a musician. If he grasps at the purse, he invariably becomes a\nthief. Every Bohemian is declared to be either the one or the other. I\nmay add, that under the shadow of the Hradschin, I have met with \u201cCzeks\u201d\nwho were both, and with very many who were neither.\n\nI fancy that at D\u00f6rfling\u2019s birth there was much confusion, both in\nthe domestic and the magic circle. In the former there must have been\nsomething peculiarly wrong. George could make no Shandean calculations\ntouching his birth, for he never knew his parents\u2019 names; and as he\nturned out neither player nor robber, except on a very heroic scale,\nthe fairies do not appear to have afforded him the usual exercise of\njudgement which they commonly permitted to discriminating infants.\n\nThere _was_ one thing, however, of which young George would _not_ doubt.\nHe felt quite sure that he was born. He had no hesitation upon that\nquestion; and he was a philosopher of the Descartes school, without ever\nhaving heard anything of the Cartesian philosophy. He soon gave himself,\nor had given to him, a name. He had first seen light in a village; and\nhe was accordingly called George Villager, or Little Villager. \u201cDorf\u201d\nimplies _village_, and \u201cD\u00f6rfling,\u201d _villager_; and accordingly the little\nBohemian took that humble name,\u2014nobody having the slightest idea that he\nwould ever make it famous, and upon it place a baron\u2019s coronet.\n\nThe village authorities had no coronets wherewith to grace his head, and\nin place thereof they put a thimble on his finger and a needle in his\nhand. Greatness could hardly have begun with smaller pretensions. The boy\nwas apprenticed to a tailor, and a very excellent tailor he made.\n\nBut what he did _not_ make was money. In his village he could acquire\nlittle cash and no fame. The boy was ambitious, and he declared that he\nwould walk to Berlin, and build wide-skirted coats for the army generals.\nThe villagers thought him mad; and the melancholy sexton\u2019s laughing\ndaughter ceased to laugh when the handsome lad spoke of his resolve. He\nwas not to be turned from his resolution by Katinka the fair; and so,\nwith a light bundle, a lighter heart, and a purse lighter than all, he\nkissed his Ariadne, with the easy air of a dragoon leaving garrison, and\nwith hope in his heart, turned his face towards Berlin.\n\nHe walked on uninterruptedly until he reached the banks of the Elbe;\nthere he found the waters out, and his purse in the same condition. And\nyet not in the same condition; for the waters had overflowed, and his\npurse had not. He had reckoned upon fording the stream, but if he would\ncross he must needs ferry it. The Styx itself is not to be traversed\nwithout a fee, and in that respect the Elbe was like the Styx. Charon\nwas inflexible. D\u00f6rfling solicited aid from a group of young officers.\nLike Lieutenant Perry, he was called \u201ca fool for his pains.\u201d The police\nstanding near, finding him penniless, deemed him disreputable. They\nasked for his papers; and when one little official, a mere starveling,\nread aloud that the stalwart lad was only a tailor, the crowd pushed him\naside with contempt, and bade him stand out of the way of better men.\n\nOne of the officers nevertheless approached him, with more of a seductive\nthan a contemptuous look about him. \u201cAt your age,\u201d said he, \u201ca handsome\nfellow like yourself should have handsome clothes to help his looks, and\na well-furnished purse to give dignity to his clothes. If you want to\nstarve, by all means continue tailoring; but if you would become a man,\nand a gay one too, throw away that accursed bundle of rags, and cross the\nferry in a better service.\u201d\n\n\u201cWell,\u201d said D\u00f6rfling, \u201chere have I been dreaming of nothing more than\nsewing button-holes in Berlin, and now have I a prospect of a marshal\u2019s\n_b\u00e2ton_. It\u2019s a long road however from a recruit\u2019s barracks to a\nmarshal\u2019s saddle. I doubt I had better stick to the needle.\u201d\n\nThe fact however was that he had little or no doubt about the matter. He\ndid not fling his bundle away, as he was enjoined to do. He turned its\ncontents into a knapsack that was offered to him, and in five minutes\nhe was crossing the ferry, a recruited soldier in the service of the\nElector of Brandenburg. He was quick-witted, docile, and zealous; and\nthe handsome and able recruit was not only speedily noticed, but he made\nhimself worthy of the observation devoted to him. He performed every duty\nof his station without a demur; was the first on parade after _r\u00e9veill\u00e9_,\nand the last in the military class of instruction as long as teaching\nwas going on there. That he was the neatest man of his corps was his\nleast merit, for his old habit helped him to keep tidiness in his new.\nTherewith was his good humour unimpeachable and unruffled. Like all truly\nbrave men, he was of a sunny disposition, loved children and music, and,\nif he had a somewhat dangerous tongue and rather too winning ways on\nsome occasions, why the Fr\u00e4uleins never complained of either; and if they\nwho were the most concerned did not, I do not know that any one else has\na right to reproach him.\n\nPromotion was rapid, and with promotion he gained celebrity. He was\ntalked about near other watchfires than those of Brandenburg, and in\nother camps than the one in which the once private soldier now served\nas captain. His merit may be judged of when I say that the great Count\nThurn solicited his co-operation; and that, under that renowned leader,\nthe ex-tailor in epaulettes fought like a lion at Prague, and won golden\nopinions, not only from friends who witnessed, but from foes who suffered\nby his bravery.\n\nHe was not a mere fire-eater; he had a clear head as well as a heavy\nhand, and was as apt in planning enterprises sure of success, as he was\nready to serve in the enterprises projected by others. There was a spice\nof Major Dalgetty about him too. He loved, next to a good cause, touching\nwhich the major was indifferent, good living; and knowing that he should\nfind the one, and hoping to enjoy the other, under the banner of the\ngreat Gustavus, he served as \u201cGeneral-Major\u201d in the Swedish army, in\n1642, and never once sheathed his sword during the Thirty Years\u2019 War.\n\nAt that time he certainly possessed the advantage of shedding his blood\non the righteous side of the quarrel; but, as for good living, why,\nif by that be meant light diet, he had that daily. Visionary theories\nhe said he could endure well enough, but visionary dinners were an\nabhorrence. It often happened that in his own quarters there was not\neven the _vision_ of a dinner: in that case he had no objection to head\na species of _razzia_, and carry off the supplies from the commissariat\nof the enemy. On one of these occasions the hungry foragers encountered\nstrong opposition, and in the struggle which ensued D\u00f6rfling\u2019s lieutenant\nwas shot dead by an arquebusier. He was the most nearly famished of the\nlot, and had contended for the meal with all the ardour which appetite\ncan give. \u201cYoung Naumann is dead,\u201d remarked an aide to D\u00f6rfling. \u201cPoor\nfellow!\u201d rejoined D\u00f6rfling, \u201che would have cared for it less had it only\nbeen after he had dined.\u201d\n\nThe swiftly slain got but scanty epitaphs and shallow graves in those\ntimes; and if any mourned the loss of the lieutenant, they found\nconsolation in the fact that his absence from the mess left one share\nmore to be divided among the hungry members. They drank out of the\nenemies\u2019 flasks to the memory of their ill-fated comrade, who had\nperished before dinner; and that done, they hurried to a work the issues\nof which prevented several of them from ever again seeing supper-time.\nD\u00f6rfling however was not among the missing. _He_ was ever active, happy,\nand energetic; most at home where the fire was thickest and the fray\nhottest, and too busy to be unhappy, until the Peace of Westphalia, which\nput so many notched swords that need never have been drawn back into\ntheir scabbards, and laid down temporary arrangements, which might have\nbeen permanent had the parties concerned used reason before resorting to\nramrods.\n\nIn rusty inaction however neither could D\u00f6rfling nor his sword\ningloriously lie. To cut throats was accounted a more honourable\noccupation than to cut cloth, and the \u201cGeneral\u201d was not at all disposed\nto retire as yet from business; particularly as his renown increased\nwith the number of his fields. He was absent from scarcely one, if from\none, of Frederick William\u2019s great battles, fought up to the year 1695,\nagainst Swedes, Poles, and French. As he grew old He grew less nice as\nto the complexion of the quarrel in which he was engaged; nor would\nthe circumstances of the time admit of this. At the best a soldier is\nbut a legalized and hired _bravo_, bound to sustain all the quarrels\nof the master whose livery he wears. Such servants must serve and be\nsilent; strike hard, and speak little, except to the purpose in hand.\nTo do D\u00f6rfling justice, he performed this sort of duty after a most\nexemplary fashion. He preferred feeling that the cause in which he fought\nwas a good one; and if it were not, he threw the responsibility on his\nemployers, and took his share of the plunder with an easy conscience.\nHis share was often to a very considerable amount; and long before he\ndied, he was accounted as rich as all the retired tailors and living\nfield-marshals in Europe put together.\n\nAs morality then went, he had fairly earned it all; and truth to\ntell, it had not all been won on the battle-field, or in towns given\nup to plunder, or at hearths devoted to devastation. He gained no\ninconsiderable portion by diplomacy; that is, not by mendacity in\ncourteous phrases and elegant circumventing of the truth, but by serving\nthe monarch by whom he was accredited with honest fidelity, irrespective\nof how he might offend those _to_ whom he was commissioned.\n\nNot that he ever gave offence to man or woman, prince or peasant girl,\nwillingly or knowingly. The gentle tailor lad of the remote Bohemian\nvillage was ever gentle, yet not undetermined, at the council boards and\nlev\u00e9es of kings. Never was there man more gallant. It is said of the late\nDuke of Wellington that, at past fourscore, he, in one day, attended\nearly morning prayer, gave away two brides, transacted business at the\nHorse Guards, took his usual rides, made his ordinary visits, was present\nat a council and a \u201cDrawing-room,\u201d looked in at one or two exhibitions,\nentertained forty people at dinner, gave a ball after it, and escorted\nthe last of the fair dancers to her carriage, gallantly saluting her as\nshe stepped therein at sunrise! This was a well-spent day for a veteran;\nand it was just such a day as D\u00f6rfling loved to pass, full of mingled\npastime and business. For it was his maxim, as it was the Duke\u2019s, that\na man must be _doing_ something, unless he wished to become the devil\u2019s\nman. And so, at various courts, the gallant old D\u00f6rfling was an example\nof activity courteously performed, to all who cared to profit by it. As\nambassador, he was highly welcome whithersoever his credentials took\nhim; and it was said of him that his suavity was such, that an unwelcome\nmissive delivered by him fell less harshly on the ears, than a compliment\nfrom the lips of messengers not so exquisitely trained in the school\nof _biens\u00e9ance_. Not that D\u00f6rfling lacked language to apply properly\nto acts which displeased him. Had the Czar stolen his \u201ccarpet-bag,\u201d as\nthat stupendous felon did Sir G. H. Seymour\u2019s, the German soldier would\nhave called him an arrant knave, and not a \u201cgracious sovereign,\u201d as the\nBritish diplomatist did, in his excessive good-nature.\n\nD\u00f6rfling lived to enter his ninetieth year! When he passed from the\nshop-board to the barracks, people accounted of him as a man who, in\nabandoning a peaceful calling for a perilous vocation, had committed a\nsort of early suicide. There were plenty of old tailors, it was said,\nbut very few aged soldiers,\u2014at least, sound ones. It may be doubted\nhowever, humanly speaking, whether he would have lived half so long as a\nquiet, meditative tailor, as he did by exposing himself to be shot at,\nmoderately computated, once an hour during nearly three-quarters of a\ncentury of his subsequent life.\n\nDuring that term he never met reproach but once. It was at the hands of\nthe officer who had induced him to enter the army, and who could never\nforgive the recruit for rising to a very superior greatness to that\nachieved by the recruiter. They were both old men, when the officer in\nquestion sneeringly alluded to D\u00f6rfling\u2019s origin. \u201cTrue!\u201d roared the\nhearty veteran, not a bit ashamed of the fact (the less perhaps that it\nwas known to everybody),\u2014\u201cTrue! I have been a tailor, and have cut cloth;\nbut harkye, the sword at my side is the instrument with which I shall cut\nthe ears of those who are audacious enough to make of that fact a ground\nfor mockery or reproach!\u201d\n\nWell said, brave tailor! nobody raised a sneer at thy expense after that,\nI warrant! No wonder that at thy grave tailors, soldiers, and honest men\nyet repair, as to the shrine of a saint whose memory is worthy of respect.\n\nBut if Germany has one, we have a hundred of such heroes. When the\nSpanish Armada was threatening our shores, the tailors were among the\nfirst to enrol themselves among the patriotic defenders of the country.\nThey are said to have been mounted on mules, and, when intelligence was\nonce brought to Queen Elizabeth,\u2014intelligence as false as though it had\ncome by Electric Telegraph,\u2014that a brigade of tailors and their mules had\nbeen destroyed, \u201cLet us be consoled,\u201d said the royal lady, \u201cwe have lost\nneither man nor horse.\u201d\n\nI may also again notice the fact, that, at the siege of Gibraltar, the\nbrigade which did Elliott best service against the enemy consisted almost\nexclusively of tailors from London. Really the profession is overdone\nwith heroes! It has its one in the navy, and of him I will now speak,\nthough more briefly than of his predecessors.\n\n\n\n\nADMIRAL HOBSON, THE NAVAL TAILOR.\n\n    \u201cCommend us to the Admiral, and say,\n    The King will visit him, and bring health.\u201d\n\n                             SHIRLEY: _Chabot_.\n\n\nIn the reign of Queen Anne, in the pleasant village of Bonchurch, in\nthe Isle of Wight, there lived an honest villager, whose son he had\napprenticed to a tailor in the not less pleasant insular locality of\nNiton.\n\nYoung Hobson was here engaged at his humble craft, when he heard that a\nBritish fleet was passing the back of the Wight; and he went with his\nfellow-workmen to view that goodly sight. It was a spectacle which fired\nhis youthful breast with naval ardour; and, abandoning his articles of\nindenture to serve the Queen under the articles of war, he proclaimed\nhimself a volunteer, jumped into a boat, and was taken on board one of\nthe ships of the fleet, where likely lads, such as he was, met with warm\nwelcome and hard usage.\n\nThe youthful volunteer rejoiced at the first, and defied the second. He\nwas just of the stuff of which sailors should be made; and when, the\nday after he joined, they fell in with a French squadron, the Niton\ntailor exhibited such undaunted valour, such self-possession, and such\njoyousness of spirit, that his promotion was at once commenced, nor did\nit stop until he had attained the rank of admiral.\n\nHe was an upright and gallant English sailor. Less actively employed\nthan the other brave ocean chiefs of this stirring period, his name\nis less familiar to us; but he was never wanting when called upon, and\nwas always rejoiced to find his services were required. The Company of\nCordwainers however, it must be confessed, have more fair reason to be\nproud of their admiral than the tailors of estimable Hobson. The latter\nhad not the chance, like Sir Cloudesley Shovel, the son of a shoemaker,\nto whom the future admiral was bound apprentice, to take Gibraltar in\nbold companionship with such a comrade as Rooke; and accordingly his\neffigy is not to be found in Westminster Abbey like that of Shovel. Not\nthat the shoemaking admiral has much to boast of. Addison truly remarks\nof the figure of the latter, that \u201cinstead of the brave rough English\nAdmiral, which was the distinguishing character of that plain, gallant\nman, he is represented on his tomb by the figure of a beau, dressed in\na long periwig, and reposing himself on velvet cushions under a canopy\nof state. The inscription is answerable to the monument; for, instead of\ncelebrating the many remarkable actions he had performed in the service\nof his country, it acquaints us only with the manner of his death, in\nwhich it was impossible for him to reap any honour.\u201d Horace Walpole,\nin alluding to the tailoring and upholstering spirit of the statuary,\nremarks that \u201cBird bestowed busts and bas-reliefs on those he decorated;\nbut Sir Cloudesley Shovel\u2019s, and other monuments by him, made men of\ntaste dread such honours.\u201d\n\nI have dealt with the naval tailor here, in order that he might not be\nseparated from his gallant brethren ashore. We will now pass to the\ncivilians; and first, of a brace of worthies who wore their honours\nmeekly, but whose labours deserve no less eulogy than posterity has\nawarded to them: I allude to the tailors and antiquarians, Stow and\nSpeed.\n\n\n\n\nJOHN STOW, THE ANTIQUARIAN TAILOR.\n\n                              \u201cSuch a man\n    Might be a copy to these younger times.\u201d\n\n                 ALL\u2019S WELL THAT ENDS WELL.\n\n\nIt has been well said of John Stow, that he was, in his way, a sort of\nHebrew of the Hebrews; a citizen born of a citizen; like his father, a\ntailor; but he was in himself a tailor, \u201cand something more.\u201d\n\nHe was born in Cornhill, the year that the gossips there were admiringly\neloquent on the glories of the royal tournament and ball at Greenwich,\nwhere Henry VIII. helped to break three hundred lances before supper; and\nthen, attired as a Venetian nobleman, led out Anne Boleyn to dance, and\nset all present calculating on the coming events shadowed forth beneath\nthe lights, by such a pair of dancers. The year was that not uneventful\none of 1527.\n\nIt was a jovial place, that Cornhill, at the time I speak of; less so,\nperhaps, than some dozen years before, when Chantry priests lounged\nat the open stalls and talked as familiarly with the tailors\u2019 wives,\nas French abb\u00e9s of later days with jocund lady duchesses. The Chantry\npriests were the Giovannis of the district,\u2014the abhorrence of grave\nhusbands, and the especial favourites of their wives. In 1527 something\nof this had ceased, but Cornhill was still the emporium of jokes as\nwell as jackets; and many were the witticisms which the apprentices,\nfrom their unfronted shops, exchanged with the passers-by, and more\nparticularly with the damsels.\n\nThe household of our ancient friend John must necessarily have been a\njovial one; for when the female head thereof was at the point of death,\nleaving four sons, three daughters, and an ex-husband to follow her to\nSt. Michael\u2019s, Cornhill, she made a bequest which tends to show the\npredilections of her family,\u2014perhaps the fashion of the time. She left\nthem ten shillings to be spent in drink, on the day of her funeral; while\nshe bequeathed but half that sum to be laid out in the purchase of bread\nfor the poor.\n\nThese were only incidental bequests. John Stow, the father, was, like\nJohn Gilpin, a citizen of credit and renown; and if he had a place of\nbusiness in Cornhill, he did not sleep there, as vulgar tailors might.\nNot he! he had his country house, Sir, and that where you now might look\nfor one in vain\u2014\u201cat the backside of Throgmorton-street.\u201d It was then\na rural district, and the old tailor tabernacled with gentility. His\nimmediate neighbour was no less a man than the minister Cromwell. John\nhad a garden forty-four feet long, for which he paid \u201csix and eightpence\u201d\nannual rent; but Cromwell forcibly took possession of a portion of it,\nand refused to pay for what he had stolen. Honest John submitted, for the\nreason that he knew he could get no redress; and perhaps he was residing\nin dudgeon in Cornhill when his eminent son was compensatingly sent to\nshed a halo round his name.\n\nThere is an establishment in the City, drafts on which are not so much\ncoveted as on Jones, Lloyd, and Co. I allude to the venerable Aldgate\nPump. Adjacent to the well, to which the \u201cone-arm\u2019d City cow\u201d is now the\ncrown, Stowe, the son, was driving his double trade of hopeful student\nand rather indifferent tailor, in 1549. A stirring little incident took\nplace in front of his house, which caused him to deeply reflect as to the\nway in which men wrote history.\n\nThere had been an insurrection in Norfolk and Suffolk. It was the\nchronic malady of our constitution at that time to be always suffering\nfrom \u201cbreakings-out.\u201d As many lying reports thereof reached the\nCity, as if London enjoyed, as we do now, electric telegraphs, \u201cown\ncorrespondents,\u201d and unpurchasable newspapers rather interested in the\nstocks. Indeed, truth was as perilous as gunpowder. Thus, the Bailiff of\nRumford had kissed his wife in the morning ere he came to London market.\nHe was standing at his stall in the latter place, running his fingers\nthrough samples of corn, when \u201cSir Stephen,\u201d a priest, asked, \u201cWhat\nnews?\u201d \u201cWell,\u201d said the Bailiff, \u201cmen are rising, even in Essex. Thank\nGod, all is quiet however, my way.\u201d\n\nNow Sir Stephen was a casuist; and he had a case and an accident, by\nwhich he argufied a conclusion in no time that the Bailiff was a traitor.\n\u201cMen are rising even in Essex, thank God!\u2014be that thy speech, then,\nnaughty traitor? Have him away to the Sheriff!\u201d The market having been\ndull, the standers-by were delighted to find something wherewith to\nenliven it. They would not listen to the offered explanations of the\nbewildered Bailiff; he _must_ be a rebel; and they hoped for a fine day\nfor the hanging. The poor fellow was examined, tried, pronounced guilty\nupon the deposition of the priest, and sentenced to be hanged, opposite\nStow\u2019s house. The convict entered a meek protest against being put in so\npainful a state of suspense, which they promised to attend to after the\nceremony.\n\nWell, the man was put to death, and it was a most fortunate thing that\nStow, the tailor, was there to see it. He beheld the composure of the\nvictim, believed his denial of guilt; and when he heard him proclaimed\nas a traitor, he was struck with the fact, that, if such proclamations\nwere the documentary ground-work of history, the latter was very pretty\nreading indeed for those who loved fiction. He forthwith removed to\nLime-street Ward, where he undertook to repair records as well as what\nhe had hitherto put his hand to. For nearly half a century he passed\nhis days, and good portion of his nights, in the search after that most\nticklish of virgins to catch\u2014historical truth. The natural consequences\nensued. He did not make money as an author, and he starved as a tailor.\nTailor and author! double the ordinary woe of men! The little he made\nat his trade he devoted to the purchase of books useful to him in his\nprofession.\n\nNow honest John was of a Romish family, albeit the _gaillardise_ of the\nChantry priests had helped to make a convert of him. But he had a respect\nfor the antiquity of things, if not of facts, connected with the old\nfaith; and when mention was made of a tailor who worked little, but who\nstudied much, who professed a reverence for truth, and yet who spoke\nalmost lovingly of antiquated ceremonies, he was at once suspected of\nbeing suspicious. The suspicion was heightened by the false accusations\nof a younger brother; and down came Ecclesiastical Commissioners upon his\nlittle library, to see if out of it they could not prove him a Papist and\nrebel, worthy the scourge and the stake. They made sad havoc among his\ndearly-beloved books; and were more than once on the point of committing\nhim to prison, when a volume with an incomprehensible title came under\ntheir thumb. But John answered so wisely and so well, that they could\nfind no guile in him; and they left him in some little peace, and up to\nhis ears in papers.\n\nHe was thus visited more than once, and always at the instigation of\nhis vagabond brother. It was after one of these harassing, and to him\nperilous perquisitions, that he happened to be reading an account of some\nsorry knave who was hanged at the Elms in Smithfield; the comment which\nhe himself hung upon the text was significant, and to this effect:\u2014\u201cGod\namend, or send like end to, all such false brothers!\u201d But he was rewarded\nfor many of his vexations by the honour which he reaped out of the\nharvest of criticism which sprang out of the publication of his first\ngreat work, the \u2018Chronicles\u2019 of England from the coming of that uncertain\ngentleman Brute, to the accession of his certain descendant, bluff Harry\nthe Eighth. John did not hurry over this work; he took his time; thought\nover it when making liveries for the corporation, walked miles for it,\nread libraries for it, and spent all the cash thereon which he possessed,\ncould beg, or could borrow. O ye gentlemen literateurs, who turn out\nsuccessive volumes of history faster than John Stow could make jerkins,\nthink of a plodding forty years spent in perfecting this one work!\n\nThe author was poorer when he completed his novel, painfully elaborate,\nyet clear and useful book, than he was when he commenced it. He was\nnot a better tailor than before; and altogether his prospects were\nnot brilliant. But he wore a stout heart, lived upon hope, and fondly\nthought, good old man! (I trust that no \u201cd\u2014d good-natured friend\u201d\ndisturbed that thought), that every phrase he wrote was rich in truth.\nNow some of it is as true as Robinson Crusoe, and yet quite as veracious\nas much with which we trouble ourselves under the venerated name of\n\u201chistory.\u201d\n\nTowards the end of the sixteenth century the now feeble old tailor, but\ncheerful scholar, produced his \u2018Annals of England,\u2019 the dedication of\nwhich had been accepted by Archbishop Whitgift. He had asked the City,\nproud to call him her \u201cChronicler,\u201d to help him in his heavy charges, by\nbestowing on him two freedoms. I do not remember that the application\nwas successful, but I do retain in my memory how truth-loving John was\ntreated by the Vintners\u2019 Company. The modest author, to support his\npetition for some slight favour prayed of them, read to those jolly\nfellows in court assembled some sheets of his great work. They were bored\nto death, and treated him like a beggar. They would neither help him, nor\nlet him help himself by examining the records in their possession.\n\nHe kept a cheerful heart through it all. He winced indeed under the\nignorant additions made to his works by other editors, but he not the\nless cordially aided them in perfecting their own contributions to\nantiquarian history; and when he met with crosses in either his literary\nor his sartorial aspect, the old man calmed his irritation by reading and\nby annotating \u2018Chaucer.\u2019 But he was growing old and helpless. Although he\nwas called the City\u2019s fee\u2019d Chronicler, it is not certain whether this\nwas or was not a mere \u201cfa\u00e7on de parler.\u201d Of one thing there is no doubt\nwhatever. That ill-dressed king, James I., contemplating Stow rather as a\ntailor than an author, granted him a license whereby he was empowered to\ngo about and collect charity,\u2014gather benevolences, a chartered Bedesman.\nBut as he happened to be so afflicted with gout in the feet that he could\nnot perambulate with his petition, the license was next to useless. Stow\nlooked at his willing but helpless legs, and said with a melancholy smile\nthat he was maimed in the members wherewith he had most offended; for\nthat no man had walked as many miles as he had in search of material\nfor his books. Nevertheless, strengthened by the royal license, he set\nup for a weary day or two as a beggar; and all that he gained was seven\nand sixpence from St. Mary\u2019s Wolnoth. Magnificent alms for a veteran\nantiquary!\n\nAnd yet the fourscore years which had just passed from the day of his\nbirth, when he was finally deposited in the consecrated ground of St.\nAndrew Undershaft, were not unhappy years. Under trial, next to trust in\nGod, I do not know of any better anodyne, more potent balm, than literary\noccupation; and of that, Stow, that tall, thin, cheerful, pleasant,\nbright-eyed, strong-memoried, sober, mild, courteous, truth-loving tailor\nand antiquary, had his fill.\n\nHe loved truth above everything, and quite as intense was his hatred of\nquacks, pretenders, and those stupendous \u201cshams\u201d which have so often made\neloquent and bilious the energetic Carlyle. He loved one thing with as\nstrong a love as he felt for truth,\u2014antiquarian pursuits. If ever old\ntimes should come round again, the Society of Antiquaries should feel\nthemselves in duty bound to adopt him, properly authorized, as a patron\nsaint; and appeal to him at much-perplexed meetings with a \u201cSancte\nJohanne de Stow, ora pro nobis!\u201d to which he will doubtless answer \u201cSto,\nadjutorius!\u201d\n\nWhat a sifter he was of old legends! And what truths he, after all, did\nsave from much rubbish! How well he proved that the sword in the City\narms was not there because of the Lord Mayor\u2019s having struck down Jack\nStraw or Wat Tyler, but that it stood there as the Sword of St. Paul,\nin honour of the apostle. He swept away the fables of old London with\nherculean power, clearing them away as Niebuhr has those of ancient Rome,\nyet leaving nothing half so pretty in their place. He was the first who\ninsisted that Richard the Third was by no means such a deformed fiend as\nhe was painted by those who had written under his enemy Henry VII. and\nhis successors.\n\nJames IV. of Scotland owes it to Stow that his head found a burial-place,\nafter a world of adventure quite enough to turn it. James the Fourth, as\nmy readers doubtless remember, was slain in the fatal fight at Flodden\nField. At the end of the day of bloody arbitrement there brought to a\nclose, the body of the unlucky monarch was found among a heap of the\nfallen. The discoverers made prize of the corpse, wrapped it up in\nlead, and transmitted it as a thanksgiving offering to the monastery\nat Sheen, in Surrey. It was well taken care of by the honest people\nthere as long as the monastery stood; but when the dissolution of these\nreligious establishments took place, and the edifice was converted into\na mansion for the Duke of Suffolk and his warm-hearted spouse, Mary, the\nsister of Henry VIII. and the widow of Louis XII. of France, the new\noccupants put their royal cousin\u2019s body into a fresh wrapping of lead,\nand unceremoniously rolled it into an upper lumber-room. There it served\nfor sundry vile purposes, until some rude workmen engaged in the house\nlopped off its head out of sheer wantonness. Their master, a glazier\nof Wood-street, Cheapside, anxious for as much of a king\u2019s company as\na glazier could possibly get, carried the head with him into the City.\nThere, on the man of putty\u2019s sideboard, the dried remnant of a crowned\nking, with its red hair and beard, and a \u201csweet savour\u201d thence springing,\nwas long the admiration of the glazier\u2019s evening parties, and a\nnever-ending subject of conversation for his guests. There Stow saw this\nskull of the anointed James, but at a time when the savour had ceased to\nbe sweet, and when it had become a too familiar bore at the _soir\u00e9es_ of\nits proprietor.\n\nThe soul of the honest and refined tailor, the sentiment of the zealous\nantiquary, was shocked at the spectacle of gallants, emancipated\napprentices, and giggling City girls, knocking about the mazzard of the\ngallant king, as they sipped their muscadel or tasted their cakes and\nale. John Stow expostulated, and the glazier consented to ransom the\nroyal sconce. The tailor quietly and decently interred it within the old\nChurch of St. Michael\u2019s, Wood-street, the site of which is now occupied\nby Wren\u2019s edifice; and the dust of the once-crowned brow of James of\nScotland forms a portion of a path daily trodden by the unconscious\nlieges of Wood-street.\n\nI have already noticed what incident induced our literary tailor to\nmeditate upon the delusions of history. Another incident taught him that\nappeals to the passions are destructive in their results, and confirmed\nhim in his opinion that gentleness has more real power for good than\nviolence.\n\nNearly opposite the East India House stands the Church of St. Andrew\nUndershaft, \u201cbecause that of old time, every year,\u201d says Stow in that\nadmirable \u2018Survey of London\u2019 with which his name is associated, \u201con\nMay-day in the morning, it was used that an high or long shaft or\nMay-pole was set up there before the south door of the said church.\u201d\nThe church was not so high as the pole or shaft, and it received, in\nconsequence, its name of \u201cUndershaft,\u201d to distinguish it from other\nedifices dedicated to St. Andrew. Chaucer, describing a lofty braggart,\nsays he \u201cbears his head as high as the great shaft of Cornhill.\u201d The\npride of the shaft fell, and the shaft too, on the evil May-day of the\nyear 1517.\n\nEdward III. had confirmed the enactment of Edward I., permissory to\nthe unrestrained settlement of foreigners in this country. The first\nmonarch especially encouraged the Flemish cloth-workers, whose looms were\nshortly equal to the manufacture of the whole wool England could produce.\nThereupon the exportation of English wool, and the importation of foreign\nwoollen cloths, were alike prohibited; and Cornhill and tailors had a\nparadisiacal time of it. But in course of years, foreigners poured in\nto traffic in this country, and as they took no English wares away with\nthem, but heaps of English gold and silver, a very general discontent\nwas engendered, gradually grew, and had reached its height in 1517. In\nthe Lent of that year, John Lincoln, a citizen and demagogue, called\nupon Dr. Bell, who was engaged to preach the Spital sermon at Easter,\nand so worked upon him, that Bell denounced the foreigners from the\npulpit, with a fanatic fervour that might be envied by Dr. Cahill, when\ndescanting on the never-to-be-forgotten \u201cglorious idea\u201d of massacring\nEnglish Protestants. \u201cThe heavens,\u201d thus rang the Bell, \u201cbelong to the\nLord of Heaven, but the earth he hath given to the children of men.\nEngland is the spot which he has given to Englishmen; and as birds defend\ntheir nests, so ought Englishmen to defend their soil from the intrusion\nof aliens. Yea, even as the swallow repelleth the usurper from her\nancient abode, should they drive out those who would divide with them\nthe inheritance of their fathers.\u201d On this hint, the valiant tailors\u2019\napprentices, and others of like kidney, began to insult all foreigners\nwhom they encountered in the streets; and on the eve of May-day, an\nencounter, foolishly brought about by the authorities and some lads\nplaying at bucklers in Cheapside, and who objected to disperse at rude\nbidding, swelled to a tumult, in which the foreigners\u2019 dwellings were\nplundered and burned; but no personal hurt inflicted. Down descended\nthe troops upon the rioters; some hundreds were captured; Lincoln, the\nleader, was hanged; and the King was reconciled to the City at a banquet\nof grace, given in Guildhall. Two-and-thirty years elapsed before the\nMay-poles were again erected, as signals for those light of foot and of\nheart to come and dance and be merry.\n\nWhen the old pole was once more erected, decked with ribbons and spring\nflowers, in front of St. Andrew\u2019s, the holy wrath of a curate, \u201cSir\nStephen\u201d of old, was fired against it. He flew into the stone pulpit\nat Paul\u2019s Cross, and he denounced the parishioners of St. Andrew\u2019s as\naccursed idolaters, inasmuch as they had set up an idol, and by naming\ntheir church \u201cunder the shaft,\u201d they had done honour to the pole as well\nas to the apostle. Stow, who appears to have been ubiquitous, was among\nthe listeners, but not among that portion of them who were subsequently\nactors, and who rushed from beneath the pulpit, swept along St. Mary\nAxe, and seizing the idolatrous shaft, righteously hewed the same into\nfragments, and then religiously burnt the whole at the very church door.\nAh, thought honest John with a sigh, if they thus destroy what was old\nyet lovely, I will take more pains than ever to preserve the memory of\nwhat perishes;\u2014and he faithfully did so.\n\nIt was the over-zeal of members of adverse parties that made of this\nlearned tailor a Christian, rather than a Romanist or a Reformer; and\nhe was too gentle of heart to feel unlimited wrath against any but the\ndefacers of monuments: his own was as little free from assault however\nas his own stall had been, when he was alive. The idle deboshed fellows\nabout Cornhill used foully to assail him and his apprentices, for no\nbetter reason than that he would not share in their naughtiness. He\nreceived the battery of their heavy tongues without reply, and even bade\nhis loving helpmate to be quiet when the queans on the _pav\u00e9_ mocked her\nas the spouse of a poor scholar. For be it said, Cornhill was frequented\nby the lowest as well as the highest in the land, and its prison \u201cTun\u201d\nfor night-brawlers, and its pillory for other offenders, bespoke a\nneighbouring lawless population; and this is further proved by Lydgate,\nwho says, in his \u2018London Lick-Penny:\u2019\u2014\n\n    \u201cThen into Corn Hil anon I rode,\n    Where was much stolen gear among;\n    I saw where hung mine own fair hood,\n    That I had lost among the throng.\n    To buy my own hood, I thought it wrong;\n    I knew it well, as I did my creed,\n    But for lack of money I could not speed.\u201d\n\nStow\u2019s monument was ostensibly raised to his memory by his widow, but\nthere is no doubt that it was by subscription. It is of terra cotta;\nand the figure, once painted to represent life, is seen as the original\nused to be seen, seated at a table, engaged with pen and book. Maitland\nstates that the remains were disturbed, and even removed, but he does not\nsay whither nor wherefore, in the year 1732. Like the mortal remains of\nFernand Cortes, no man can speak decisively of their resting-place.\n\nLeaving those who love such research to make due inquiry after them, we\nwill now hold brief converse touching another celebrated \u201cJohn of the\nNeedle,\u201d the Chronicler Speed.\n\n\n\n\nJOHN SPEED, THE ANTIQUARIAN TAILOR.\n\n    \u201cSummus et eruditus Antiquarius.\u201d\u2014SHERINGHAM.\n\n\nSo said a learned antiquary of a humble, but also learned, and a\npains-taking brother. Far more reluctant was Nicolson to give praise\nwhere praise was due. The latter person does indeed say of the laborious\nJohn, that he had a head the best disposed towards history of any of\nour writers. \u201cSpeed,\u201d says Nicolson, \u201cwould certainly have outdone\nhimself, as far as he has gone, beyond the rest of his profession, if the\nadvantages of his education had been answerable to those of his natural\ngenius. But what,\u201d he adds most impertinently, \u201cwhat could be expected\nfrom a tailor? However,\u201d reluctantly continues this costive eulogist,\n\u201cwe may boldly say that his chronicle is the largest and best we have\nhitherto extant;\u201d\u2014nay, he even adds that Sheringham was right in speaking\nof honest John Speed as \u201csummus et eruditus antiquarius.\u201d\n\nSo, go on, little Farington, in pleasant Cheshire, to be proud of your\nson. Just three centuries have dissolved in the abyss of Time, since his\nfather, on his shop-board, heard the boy\u2019s first cry from an inner room;\nand if any one could have _then_ asked, \u201cWhat could be expected from a\ntailor?\u201d he might have pointed to the little stranger, and exclaimed,\n_Ecce filius!_\n\nStow was an indifferent tailor, yet excellent author. Speed was both;\nand he was more fortunate than his brother antiquary and tailor. After\nhe had _served_ in Cheshire, he settled in London as master, and he\nhad Sir Fulke Greville for a customer. The men, wide as they were apart\nsocially, were brothers intellectually; and both loved and comprehended\nliterature. Sir Fulke paid his tailor after a better fashion than that\nof most fine gentlemen of his day. He took the artisan from his board,\nand set him a student at his books. The result was profitable not only to\nthose then present living, but also to posterity. Speed nobly inaugurated\nthe opening years of the seventeenth century by producing his \u2018Theatre\nof Great Britain,\u2019 wherein the three kingdoms of our own empire are\npresented in their exact geography, and there is an elaborate detail not\nonly of counties, but of county towns. The maps were designed by the\nauthor, who applied to his use, in the text, much scattered matter from\nother sources.\n\nSome few years after, he published his \u2018History of Great Britain under\nthe Conquests of the Romans, Saxons, Danes, and Normans; their originals,\nmanners, wars, coins, and seals, with the successions, lives, acts, and\nissues of the English Monarchs, from Julius C\u00e6sar to our most gracious\nSovereign King James.\u2019 In this work, he judiciously borrowed from Camden,\nand was supplied with materials by Sir Henry Spelman, Sir Robert Cotton,\nand other eminent antiquarians. The book very much raised a reputation\nthat was already of no mean height.\n\nNor did he confine himself to antiquities. Two years had scarcely elapsed\nsince the appearance of his last work, when he produced his octavo volume\non a religious subject:\u2014\u2018The Cloud of Witnesses, or the Genealogies of\nScripture, confirming the truth of holy history and humanity of Christ.\u2019\nFor many a long year was this essay prefixed to the English translation\nof the Bible and King James vested the copyright of it in the author and\nhis heirs _for ever_;\u2014we emphatically say \u201cfor ever,\u201d as a hint to the\npirate publishers.\n\n\u201cWhat could be expected from a tailor, Master Nicolson?\u201d Well, were you\nyourself a better man? Did you live half a century and seven years in\nharmony with your wife? and did eighteen children\u2014twelve sons and six\ndaughters\u2014call you father? What could be expected from a tailor? Why,\nthou sorry slanderer, John Speed excelled thee in all things. A dozen\nand a half of his children stood at his grave-side, in St. Giles\u2019s,\nCripplegate, in 1629; and above that grave his name lives, whereas thine\nis forgotten.\n\n\u201cWhat could be expected of a tailor?\u201d Whatever might be expected, he\nperformed much. The most famous of his many sons was that Dr. John\nSpeed, who was patronized by Laud; and from him, through Colonel Speed,\ndescended that Countess de Viri, wife of a Sardinian ambassador in\nLondon, whom Lord Cobham adopted as his child, after the death of her\nown father the Colonel. To her visit to Gray we owe that charming \u2018Long\nStory\u2019 narrated by Gray, and which consequently would never have been\nwritten but for John Speed, the tailor and antiquary, of Farington. The\nladies are described as\n\n    \u201cA brace of warriors not in buff,\n    But rustling in their silks and tissues.\u201d\n\nOf Speed\u2019s fair descendant the poet sings:\u2014\n\n    \u201cThe other Amazon, kind Heaven\n      Had arm\u2019d with spirit, wit, and satire;\n    But Cobham had the polish given,\n      And tipp\u2019d her arrows with good-nature.\u201d\n\nBeing on the subject of dress, I may add, that Speed\u2019s\ngreat-granddaughter was attired \u201cin bonnet blue and capuchine;\u201d and\nI may further and finally remark, that to have written history and\ndivinity with a learned pen, and to have been remotely the cause of\nthe authorship of Gray\u2019s \u2018Long Story,\u2019 may fairly save Speed, and\nindeed the fellow-craftsmen who should hold him in honour, from such\na _nez-retrouss\u00e9_ sort of sarcasm as \u201cWhat could be expected from a\ntailor?\u201d\n\nSpeed the tailor is remembered when Bishop Nicolson is forgotten. We will\npass from him to consider a tailor\u2019s son of another kidney,\u2014garrulous,\nvain, rakish, clever, and ever-welcome Samuel Pepys.\n\n\n\n\nSAMUEL PEPYS, THE OFFICIAL TAILOR.\n\n                      \u201cAll gentlemen\n    That love society, love me; all purses\n    That wit and pleasure opens, are my tenants.\u201d\n\n                   FLETCHER: _Wit without Money_.\n\n\nSamuel Pepys was the son of a tailor of the city of London; and although\nhe affected much gentility when he himself prospered, he was honest\nenough to confess, in cipher and short-hand which he thought nobody could\nread, that let others say of his family what they might, he for his\nown part did not believe that it was of anything like gentle descent.\nNotwithstanding this confession, our friend Samuel had something within\nhim of the aristocratic cobbler who, in the \u2018Taming of the Shrew,\u2019 makes\ninebriate boast that \u201cthe Slys came in with Richard Conqueror!\u201d\n\nAs Pepys was born in 1632, and his sartorial sire did not retire from his\nuseful occupation until 1660, Samuel, the elder surviving son of a family\nwhich reckoned of offspring a dozen save one, must have had considerable\nhomely experience of a humble life. The elder Pepys, having inherited a\nsmall landed property at Brampton, near Huntingdon, of some forty pounds\na year, enjoyed his condition of modified squireship for the liberal term\nof twenty years. It was but a poor condition after all, and the retired\ntailor was often compelled to have recourse to his son, who sometimes\ngave him money, now and then bestowed upon him an innutritive compassion,\nand on one occasion magnifically endowed him with a pair of old shoes!\n\nOld Pepys was still a tailor in the City when Samuel was a sizar at\nCambridge, at which seat of learning he obtained the distinction of\nbeing reprimanded for being \u201cscandalously overserved with drink y\u1d49 night\nbefore.\u201d It is further remarkable that while his sire was still behind\nhis counter or upon it, the ambitious son, at the age of twenty-three,\nmarried a portionless girl of fifteen, with no other possession than the\npride of being descended, on the mother\u2019s side, from the Cliffords of\nCumberland, and consequently from Henry VII., whose daughter Mary, after\nbeing Queen of France, espoused the Duke of Brandon, and from the latter\nunion had issue those two daughters, one of whom became mother of Lady\nJane Grey, and the other became wife and mother in the honoured household\nof the great Cumberland Cliffords. When Aladdin, the tailor\u2019s son of\nBagdad, married that sweet princess with the never-to-be-remembered\nname, two wider extremes scarcely met than when Samuel joined hands with\nElizabeth de St. Michael, who brought the blood of Tudor to mingle with\nthat of Pepys.\n\nAfter all, Pepys the tailor was allied to good blood before, in spite\nof the self-denying modesty of the son. Sir Edward Montague, afterwards\nLord Sandwich, was the cousin of Samuel, and a kinsman worth having;\nfor he lifted young Pepys from his father\u2019s shop-board to the Board\nof Admiralty. In our own days it would be difficult to find an Earl\nat the West End who had for his cousin a tailor, or tailor\u2019s son, in\nthe East; and if such relationship did now exist, the occidental noble\nwould show scant alacrity in benefiting his oriental and hard-working\nkinsman,\u2014unless indeed the latter were an illegitimate son: then the\nillicit relative would be sure of a post in a public office. It is\nwonderful how legitimately in some of those offices the interests of\nEngland are now served by illegitimate gentlemen,\u2014gentlemen who owe\nnothing to their scampish sires but the disgrace of their birth, and the\ngood luck of a very desirable appointment.\n\nThe career of the old tailor\u2019s son was a remarkable one. He left a yet\nquiet home, and a not yet jealous wife, to attend Sir Edward Montague\nupon his expedition to the Sound, in March, 1658.\n\nOn his return from this expedition he became a clerk in the Army Pay\nOffice, and commenced keeping his incomparable Diary,\u2014the record of\nhis profitable toil, his immoderate vanity, and his little rogueries.\nAs secretary to the two \u201cgenerals\u201d of the fleet, he was on board the\nflag-ship which brought back Charles II., and which bestowed on England a\ngift for which the Church is annually thankful. In 1660 he was promoted\nto the office of Clerk of the Acts of the Navy; and if to the scenes of\nhis labour, like Charles Lamb at the South Sea Office, he repaired very\nlate in the morning, but compensated for _that_ by retiring very early in\nthe afternoon, it must be also confessed that he accomplished much useful\nwork in a short time, and achieved objects for which his superiors got\nall the honour.\n\nIn the time of a disastrous war, this tailor\u2019s son continued to exercise\nhope and energy when all around him was despair. Samuel Pepys then\nstood amid desponding officials, like the great Guise amid the sullen\nFrench officers in Italy ere victory had consented to sit upon their\nhelms. In the time of the Plague too, the little man (he was as tall as\nEpaminondas) ungrudgingly took his turn of the pestilence as others had\ndone of the sword; and when nine-tenths of the healthy but craven people\nhad fled from town, he remained at his office and daily stood face to\nface with grimmest death.\n\nHe held temporarily the appointment of Treasurer to the Commissioners\nfor the Affairs of Tangier, and also that of Surveyor-General of the\nVictualling Department. He had been passively engaged during the Great\nPlague; he was actively and usefully so during the Great Fire; and when\nthe Officers of the Navy Board were summoned to answer before Parliament\nfor the enterprise of De Ruyter against Chatham in 1668, his bold\neloquence procured an acquittal for himself and colleagues. He occupied\na seat in Parliament, where he, at different times, represented Castle\nRising and Harwich; and when excess of toil induced him to undertake a\ntour through Holland and France, he devoted much of his time to making\ncollections respecting the affairs of the navies of those countries.\nPepys was a widower, when his powerful enemies, envying the greatness\nachieved by a tailor\u2019s son, twice endeavoured unsuccessfully to bring him\ninto grievous trouble on the alleged ground of his being a Papist. The\naccusation did him no disservice in the eyes of Charles, who appointed\nhim Secretary for the Affairs of the Navy; which appointment he retained\nfrom 1673 until the constitution of the Admiralty was changed in 1680.\nThree years after, he accompanied Lord Dartmouth on the expedition for\ndemolishing Tangier; and shortly after his return was appointed Secretary\nof the Admiralty, with a salary of \u00a3500 per annum,\u2014an appointment which\nhe retained till the period of the accession of William and Mary, when\nhe suffered temporary imprisonment in the Tower, and subsequent brief\ncaptivity in the Gatehouse, on the charge of being attached to the\nroyal family of the Stuarts, and especially to the ex-King James II.,\nat whose coronation he had served as one of the Barons of the Cinque\nPorts. In his dignified retirement at Clapham he led a life of some\nluxury and considerable usefulness. Christ\u2019s Hospital reckons him among\nits benefactors, and the Royal Society among its honoured Presidents. He\ndied in 1703, leaving behind him more books than money-bags; but yet,\nas he bade his heirs remember, \u201cmore than what either myself or they\nwere born to.\u201d He best deserves to live in our grateful memories as\nthe renovator of the navy of England. James II. long got for this the\ncredit that was due to the gay yet efficient secretary; but we now know\nthat to a tailor\u2019s son is due the merit of once more raising the naval\nbulwarks of Britain to be a defence for those at home, and a terror to\nher assailants. When the Company of Clothworkers drink \u201cthe memory of\nSamuel Pepys\u201d out of the splendid cup which he conferred on that Company\nin honour of his father\u2019s calling, let them never forget why that memory\nespecially deserves to be honoured. When the elder Pepys refused to bind\nhis son to his own vocation, he was unconsciously helping his country to\nachieve future naval victories. Of such a man then the profession may\nbe proud; and we will now proceed to collect from the son\u2019s diary some\nevidences as to how tailors lived, moved, and had their being some two\ncenturies agone.\n\nThe first glimpse we have of Pepys and his father is pleasant enough. On\nthe 26th January, 1659-60, he writes:\u2014\u201cHome from my office to my Lord\u2019s\nlodgings, where my wife had got ready a very fine dinner, viz. a dish\nof marrow-bones, a leg of mutton, a loin of veal, a dish of fowl, three\npullets, and a dozen of larks all in a dish; a great tart, a neat\u2019s\ntongue, a dish of anchovies, a dish of prawns, and cheese. My company\nwas my father, my uncle Fenner, his two sons, Mr. Pierse, and all their\nwives, and my brother Tom.\u201d The old man was still a tailor in the City,\nwhen his son, on the 12th of the following February, records:\u2014\u201cWalking\nwith Mr. Kirton\u2019s apprentice during evening church, and looking for\na tavern to drink at, but not finding any we durst not knock: to my\nfather\u2019s,\u201d\u2014whom he found rejoicing that \u201cthe boys had last night broke\nBarebones\u2019 windows.\u201d Pepys was not ashamed of the old tailor, but, a\nfortnight later, took him with him \u201cto Mr. Weddrington, at Christ\u2019s\nCollege, who received me very civilly, and caused my brother to be\nadmitted.\u201d And indeed the old tailor saw very good company at home. In\nJune, 1660, while yet in business, Pepys and his wife, on repairing\nthither, found \u201cSir Thomas Honeywood and his family were come of a\nsudden, and so we forced to be altogether in a little chamber, three\nstories high.\u201d The old tailor moreover was a match-maker, in his way,\nfor in August we find him \u201cpropounding Mr. John Pickering for Sir Thomas\nHoneywood\u2019s daughter;\u201d a propounding that was certainly made by one of\nthe most singular of agents that ever undertook the business of the\nold firm of Cupid, Hymen, and Co. The father too appears to have been\nemployed by the son; the latter got him to make \u201ca black cloth coat out\nof a short cloak, to walk up and down in,\u201d when London was in mourning,\nin September, for the Duke of Gloucester; and in October we find him\nagain patronizing the paternal establishment, where he calls on a Sunday\n\u201cto change my long black cloak for a short one (long cloaks being now\nquite out), but, he being gone to church, I could not get one.\u201d When the\nold house was broken up, Pepys consented to take his sister from off the\nnow ex-tailor\u2019s hands. \u201cI told him plainly,\u201d he says, \u201cthat my mind was\nto take her not as a sister, but as a servant, which she promised me\nthat she would, and with many thanks did weep for joy,\u201d though it may\nhave been for something else. Pepys was more generous to the old man\nhimself. \u201cMy father,\u201d he writes in December of this year, \u201cdid offer me\nsix pieces of gold in lieu of six pounds that he borrowed of me the other\nday, but it went against me to take of him, and therefore did not.\u201d He\nseems to have occasionally had a joyous dinner or two out of his ancient\nsire to compensate for the sacrifice. The death of Uncle Robert in the\nfollowing year made a sort of country gentleman of our tailor, who needed\nthe advancement, for the son, on balancing his father\u2019s affairs as a\ntradesman, found \u00a345 due to him, with debts to the same amount, and the\nbalance of _zero_ showing all that he possessed of his own in the world;\nand yet the good old workman had sent his sons to college, and _that_\nmay account for his poverty. In his retirement the elder Pepys exercised\nhis taste on alterations of his house at Brampton,\u2014changes which his\nson speaks of as being \u201cvery handsome:\u201d in other respects he was like\ngreat men in their retirement, and amused himself by writing letters,\nwhich appear to have been real \u201cletters of news:\u201d having his crosses\nhowever, as country gentlemen will have, and those chiefly from legal\ndisputes touching his inheritance, which happily came, nevertheless, to\na favourable conclusion. Pepys the junior warned Pepys senior against\nthe sin of extravagance, and that with such unction that both counsellor\nand counselled and domestic listeners were melted to tears. The end of\nthe advice thus given was that the sartorius emeritus should keep the\nexpenses of himself and family \u201cwithin the compass of \u00a350 a year,\u201d\u2014no\nvery princely income, it must be confessed, and one that ought to have\nsaved them from the subsequent reproach of the official son, or rather\nof his lady wife, touching \u201cthe ill, improvident, disquiet, and sluttish\nmanner that my father, and mother, and Poll do live in the country, which\ntroubles me mightily, and I must seek to remedy it.\u201d The remedy adopted\nto restore gentility to the hearth of the old tailor was one of some\nsingularity. \u201cAll the morning,\u201d says Pepys, under the date of September\n4, 1664, \u201call the morning looking over my old wardrobe, and laying by\nthings for my brother John and my father, by which I shall leave myself\nvery bare of clothes, but yet as much as I need, and the rest could but\nspoil in the keeping.\u201d Magnificent benevolence! But the old man doubtless\nlooked modish in the son\u2019s cast-off suit, and the influence it had on\nthe locality is perhaps seen in the subsequent offer of marriage made\nto \u201cPoll,\u201d the tailor\u2019s daughter, by one who had \u201cseven score and odd\npounds land per annum in possession, and expects \u00a31000 in money upon the\ndeath of an old aunt.\u201d This expectation was, I suppose, never realized,\nfor \u201cold aunts\u201d are proverbially immortal, or given to cheat, after\ntormenting, their heirs, when they do condescend to pay the long-standing\ndebt of nature. The wooer had however some positive advantages, for he\npossessed neither father, mother, sister, nor brother; and the value\nof such a man cannot be too strongly impressed upon speculating young\nladies. To balance these advantages he had the slight drawback of being\n\u201ca drunken, ill-favoured, ill-bred country fellow.\u201d On the strength\nof a prospect of increased gentility, the elder Pepys, now half-blind\nand parcel-deaf, rode up to town on horseback, and saw the glories of\nthe city, and had his picture taken, to hang in the dining-room of his\nillustrious son, who enthusiastically records of him that he loved\nthat son, \u201cand hath ever done so, and is at this day one of the most\ncareful and innocent men in the world.\u201d Pepys sent him back on a new\nhorse, and with \u00a320 for the general use of the family. \u201cIt rejoiceth my\nheart,\u201d says the journalist, \u201cthat I am in a condition to do anything to\ncomfort him,\u2014he is such innocent company.\u201d The old house of business in\nFleet-street perished in the Great Fire; and up rode the ancient occupier\nof it on his new horse, to view the spot where he had long toiled and\nwhich he could no longer recognize. The journey was too much for the man\nof fine feeling, and he returned home only to wrestle with long illness;\nbut we find him again in town in the following year, where, with his son\nand daughter-in-law, he dined at no less a table than \u201cSir W. Pen\u2019s,\nwhich they invited us to out of respect to my father, as a stranger,\nthough I know them as false as the devil himself.\u201d By which remark we may\nsee that society, two centuries ago, was not better than it is now, which\nmust be a vast comfort to all who make the reflection. As Pepys records\nof his father that he was the simplest of men, we may fairly wonder that\nin the year of troubles, present and expectant, 1667, he entrusted the\nold gentleman and his own wife with the mission of privately burying his\ngold. \u201cMy father\u2019s method made me mad,\u201d says the son. \u201cMy father and my\nwife did it on Sunday, when they were gone to church, in open daylight,\nin the midst of the garden, where, for aught they knew, many eyes might\nsee them.\u201d But Pepys found remedy for this exquisite process; and he\nafterwards spent some happy hours in the low-roofed cottage at Brampton,\nwherein the secretary expected to pass his own days of retirement, and\ntherefore loved to adorn it and to see it growing in prettiness.\n\nFinally, the honest old tailor made a will, in which he wrote himself\n\u201cGent\u207f,\u201d as though he were too modest to make the assertion in the full\ndignity of the complete word. And in this will, which could not have\nbeen drawn up by a lawyer, for it is easily understood and leaves no\nopenings for legal objections, he bequeaths the lands and goods to which\nhe succeeded at Brampton, to his son \u201cSamuel Pepys, Esq\u02b3\u1d49.\u201d He left seven\npounds to the poor; ten pounds to each of his two grandsons; his largest\nsilver tankard to Pauline,\u2014an appropriate legacy, for \u201cPall\u201d married the\ntoper; a gold seal-ring to his son John; and if anything remained over\nand above these bequests, he left the same to be divided among his three\nchildren, amicably. He left no debts; and on that score, the honest old\ntailor of Brampton may rank before many a baron, who neither paid his\ntailor\u2019s bills when living, nor left wherewith to honestly discharge\nthem, after his decease.\n\nIf there was one thing Pepys loved best, next to good wine and good\ncompany, it was the stage. Let us see if we cannot find him a brother\namong the actors.\n\n\n\n\nRICHARD RYAN, THE THEATRICAL TAILOR.\n\n                        \u201cHonest man;\n    Here\u2019s all the words that thou art worth.\u201d\n\n               DAVENPORT: _The City Nightcap_.\n\n\nDignum and Moses Kean, the latter the uncle of Edmund Kean, were one day\nstanding employed in jovial converse under the Piazza in Covent Garden,\nwhen Charles Bannister passed by with a friend. Dignum and Moses had been\nbut indifferent tailors, before the one turned vocalist and the other\nmimic. \u201cI never see those two fellows together,\u201d said Charles, \u201cwithout\nthinking of one of Shakspeare\u2019s plays.\u201d \u201cAnd which is that?\u201d inquired his\nfriend. \u201c_Measure for Measure_,\u201d said Charles.\n\nIt is a custom with some Arab tribes for a man, when he becomes a father,\nto take his name from his son. Thus the bachelor Mahmoud ben Youssef,\nor Mahmoud son of Joseph, if he marries, no sooner has a boy, whom we\nwill call Taleb, then he becomes Mahmoud Abu Taleb, or Mahmoud father of\nTaleb. In some such fashion the poor tailor Aaron Kean has no other name\nin history than that of the father of Edmund,\u2014the greatest of our actors\nsince the days of Garrick. The family of the Trees has, from as humble a\nsource, been as bountiful, in its way, to the stage.\n\nThe ever-youthful Harley,\u2014who looks almost as young now as he did when\nin 1815 he first appeared in London, at the Lyceum, as Marcelli in \u2018The\nDevil\u2019s Bridge,\u2019\u2014is not far removed from the profession on which I have\nbeen touching. His sire was a draper, and he himself is said to have\nbeen initiated into the mysteries of stay-making, and to have tried those\nof physic and the law, ere he settled down to comic acting and delighting\nthe town.\n\nBut I must go further back than this, for my illustration of one who\npassed from a humble calling to add dignity to and gain credit in the\nexercise of a difficult vocation. When the manager was busy \u201ccasting\u201d a\nnew tragedy called \u2018Cato,\u2019 written by a gentleman about town, whose name\nis connected with the \u2018Spectator,\u2019 and lives in the \u201cAddison\u201d roads and\nterraces about Kensington, there was some hesitation as to the actor who\nshould represent Marcus. A youthful and aspiring player looked blushingly\non as the hesitation occurred. \u201cThere is hope, ay, and promise too, in\nthat blush,\u201d said Addison; \u201cDick Ryan shall be my lover.\u201d \u201cWhy, a year\nago he was only a tailor,\u201d whispered Booth, who played the principal\ncharacter. \u201cA London tailor,\u201d said the manager, Syphax Cibber. \u201cAnd a\npresent pretty fellow,\u201d murmured Maria Oldfield. \u201cAnd _my_ Marcus,\u201d said\nAddison, \u201cor I do not make over the profits to the house.\u201d And it was so.\nIt may be a legitimate boast for the profession, that Addison selected a\nyoung tailor to play Marcus in his tragedy of \u2018Cato,\u2019 and that Garrick\ntook from the same source some hints for the improvement of his Richard.\n\nIn the latter case, Garrick and Woodward went together to see Ryan\u2019s\nRichard, thinking to be merry at witnessing such a character played by\nsuch a person. Ryan was then ungraceful in carriage, slovenly in style,\nand exceedingly ill-dressed; but Garrick discerned, in spite of all, some\noriginal ideas, to which he gave development, and therewith he struck out\nnew beauties which he perhaps fairly claimed as his own. Foote alluded to\nthis in a prologue spoke by him at Ryan\u2019s benefit in 1754, in which he\nsaid, in allusion to Ryan himself,\n\n    \u201cFrom him succeeding Richard took the cue;\n    And hence the style, if not the colour, drew.\u201d\n\nGarrick, however, was not generous enough to allow of the young tailor\u2019s\nexcellence; and in Bayes he used to caricature Ryan\u2019s manner by\ndelivering the passage beginning with\n\n    \u201cYour bed of love from dangers will I free,\u201d\n\nin a sharp tone and lengthened, hesitating manner. Quin showed more\nregard for the ex-tailor, by giving his farewell performance on the\nBath stage (in \u2018Falstaff:\u2019 Henry IV.), not for his own, but for Ryan\u2019s\nbenefit. This was in 1752. The receipts were so great, that Ryan applied\nto Quin, in a subsequent year, to repeat the performance. \u201cI would play\nfor you, if I could,\u201d wrote the generous old fellow in reply, \u201cbut I will\nnot _whistle_ Falstaff for you. I have willed you \u00a31000. If you want\nmoney, you may have that; and so save my executors trouble.\u201d\n\nRyan had years before this met with an accident, which is so\ncharacteristic of the times that I may here recount it without apology.\nIt was an accident which made such services as those rendered him by\nQuin highly acceptable. He had been playing Scipio, in \u2018Sophonisba,\u2019 at\nCovent Garden, and was passing down Great Queen-street, about midnight,\nwhen one from among a group of footmen stepped off the pavement, followed\nhim into the road, and, as the actor turned round, discharged a pistol\nclose to his face, bidding him at the same time \u201cStand and deliver!\u201d The\nrobber plundered the player only of his sword, and _that_ he dropped in\nthe street. As he was unbuckling it from Ryan\u2019s side, the latter said,\n\u201cFriend, you have killed me, but I forgive you.\u201d The watch, too polite\nto intrude upon the pleasures of the thieves, picked up their victim,\nand conveyed him to the house of a neighbouring surgeon, who found that\nhis patient had half his teeth shot out, and his face and jawbone much\nshattered. Of course, he was incapable of playing Loveless, in \u2018Love\u2019s\nLast Shift,\u2019 as he was announced to do, on the 17th of the same month.\n\nA benefit was got up for the wounded ex-tailor on the 19th. Everybody\nloved him, and public and players exerted themselves in his behalf. The\nplay was \u2018The Provoked Husband.\u2019 Royalty patronized it; and many who\ncould not attend, sent cheques on their bankers as their representatives.\nRyan lay for some little time in a deplorable state, and it was very much\ndoubted whether he would ever be able to articulate again. The public\nlooked with sympathy upon their favourite actor; and when, on the 26th of\nthe following month, April, he made his appearance in a new part, that of\nBellair, in the \u2018Double Deceit,\u2019 great was the delight of the playgoers\nto find that \u201ctheir esteemed Ryan,\u201d as he was called, was little, if any,\nthe worse in speech, spirits, or gracefulness, and that the footpad\u2019s\npistol had not destroyed the man for whom Garrick himself had shown\nrespect, by at once imitating and caricaturing him. Ryan however never\ndid perfectly recover, although he retained his position on the stage for\nmany years longer.\n\nIt was probably more necessity than inclination that kept him on the\nstage till 1760, in which year he died, after playing the lovers in\nTragedy and the fine gentlemen in Comedy for more than thirty years. The\nline which he took was subsequently ably filled by Charles Kemble, and\nfor something like the same period. But Charles Kemble had, naturally,\nadvantages which Ryan did not at first possess, and which he only slowly\nacquired. The former however was the subject of much critical ridicule\nwhen he first appeared, so awkward was he in spite of his natural\nadvantages. If Ryan never became thoroughly graceful, he was always\nperfectly easy; and, notwithstanding a harsh and dissonant voice, he\ncould, like Edmund Kean, so manage that organ as to create good effect\nout of its very defects. He had, with some slight extravagance, excellent\njudgement, sense, and feeling; and Johnson could not have said to the\nhonest tailor turned actor, as he did sneeringly to Garrick, that Punch\nhad _no_ feeling. In scenes where Comedy trenched upon the domain of the\nsister Muse by the exhibition of profound emotion, Ryan was very great;\nand probably no actor has so nearly resembled him in this respect as Mr.\nRobson, whose origin is as modestly respectable as Ryan\u2019s was. They who\ncan recollect Elliston, as he played, in his latter days, the genial\nRover, may have some idea of what Ryan was, when he grew old, in Captain\nPlume,\u2014namely, defiant of age, and full of the natural assumption of a\nspirit that seemed backed by the strength which was not there, but which\nhad a substitute in irresistible goodwill.\n\nThe gay and graceful Woodward was a contemporary of Ryan\u2019s; and though he\nwas not originally a tailor, he was a pupil of \u201cMerchant Tailors\u2019,\u201d and,\nif I mistake not, head scholar there in his youth. One good consequence\nresulting therefrom was, that Woodward never had a benefit without\nactive and liberal patronage on the part of that establishment, which\nfelt itself honoured at ranking so distinguished an actor among its\ncelebrities; and distinguished indeed was Harry Woodward. Since his time\nthe part of Bobadil has never been justly represented; it may be said\nto have died with him. At a period when correct costume was not cared\nfor, he was ever careful regarding the proprieties of dress; and, more\nfortunate than Ryan, he sustained the assaults of Time without letting\nthe consequent ravages be seen. Charles Mathews is, in many respects,\nexactly what Woodward is said to have been; but Woodward could play a\nfar wider range of characters. His scamps were perfect for their cool\nimpudence; his modern fops, for their brazen impertinence; his fops of\nearlier days, for their elegant rascality; his every-day simpletons, for\ntheir vulgar stolidity; his mock-brave heroes, for their stupendous but\never-suspected courage; and his Shakspearian light characters, for their\ntruly Shakspearian spirit. He was gracefully shaped, and bore a serious\ndignity of countenance, but he was no sooner before the foot-lights than\na ripple of funny emotion seemed to roll over his face; and this, with\nthe tones of a capital stage voice, never failed to arouse a laughter\nwhich was inextinguishable until the green curtain separated the old\npupil of Merchant Tailors\u2019 from his ecstatic audience.\n\nThe younger Rich used, like Foote, to ridicule actors who had abandoned\nother professions for the stage, and generally on the ground of their\nignorance. But neither Ryan the actual tailor, nor Woodward the \u201cMerchant\nTailor,\u201d ever exhibited so much ignorance as Rich and Foote themselves.\nRich always confounded the words _turbot_ and _turban_; and he was once\nheard to insist upon the necessity of \u201claying the _empharsis_ on the\n_adjutant_.\u201d Foote had more wit than Rich, but not more wisdom. \u201cI almost\nforget my own name,\u201d said the latter, by way of apology for calling Foote\nby no other appellation than \u201cMr.\u201d \u201cWell,\u201d remarked Foote, \u201cI knew you\ncouldn\u2019t write your name, but I didn\u2019t suppose you could forget it.\u201d The\nlatter displayed his own ignorance when he laughed at the idea of a ghost\ntaking a corporal oath. He forgot that such an oath was so called because\nit was taken on the _corporale_, or cloth which covers the elements in\nthe Sacrament.\n\nBut even tailors on the stage would be nothing if the poets did not write\nfor them; and here is a poet-tailor to our hand, doing honour to two\ncrafts.\n\n\n\n\nPAUL WHITEHEAD, THE POET TAILOR.\n\n                  \u201cHe lived a poet in this town\n    (If we may term our modern writers poets),\n    Sharp-witted, bitter-tongued, his pen of steel.\n    His ink was temper\u2019d with the biting juice,\n    And extracts of the bitterest weeds that grew.\n    He never wrote but when the elements\n    Of fire and water tilted in his brain.\u201d\n\n              HEYWOOD: _Fair Maid of the Exchange_.\n\n\nAmong the tailors who have been authors, Paul Whitehead takes a very\nrespectable rank; which is more, I am sorry to say, than he does among\nmen. The career of the two Whiteheads has a moral in it. William, the\nson of a Cambridge baker, was, like Paul, the tailor\u2019s son, a most\nsuccessful tuft-hunter; but then he hunted chiefly after patricians of\nprinciple,\u2014of good principle. William was a gentle lad; he walked through\nthe university of his native city with quiet credit, and passed into\nLord Grey\u2019s family as private tutor; where he taught mildly, and wrote\nclassical tragedies of so soporific a nature, that the reading of them\nmight safely be recommended to the sleepless by hypnologists. William\nthe baker was a highly respectable and never-too-soon-to-be-forgotten\nindividual.\n\nIt is otherwise with roystering Paul the tailor. Chapel-yard, Holborn,\nwas the cradle (in 1709) of this boisterous and biting poet. His father\nwould have been content to see him take measures to follow his example;\nbut as Hervagault, the first pseudo-Dauphin, quitted his father\u2019s board\nto make assault upon the throne of Capet, so Paul, backed by his friends,\naimed at the realm of rhyme, and would wear his father\u2019s coats, but would\nnot make them. His sire apprenticed him to a mercer; the ambitious son\nwent and entered himself at the Temple.\n\nPaul was one of those daring wits whom profane men most admire; and as\nthe young tailor\u2019s style was one which had respect for neither Olympus\nnor the mortals, he became a laureate, like William the Baker, but not,\nlike him, poet-laureate to the King.\n\nPaul of Castle-yard was laureate to the \u201cBucks.\u201d He was a member of the\nmost reprobate clubs of the day. He was a member of the brotherhood of\nMedenham Abbey,\u2014not of the pious and pot-heaving Cistercians, who gurgled\ntheir throats with good old wine, but of the God-denying and profligate\ncrew that had Sir Francis Dashwood for their prior. Paul was the Parny\nof this and similar sets; and when his patrons required a lay against\nloyalty, a rhyme against royalty, a metrical kick at kings, songs against\nstatesmen, or diatribes against dunces, the Muse of the tailor\u2019s clever\nboy was ever ready for the nonce. For clever he was, despite the abuse\nof Churchill\u2014himself very far from immaculate. If Paul was a reprobate,\nChurchill was that, and a parson to boot,\u2014two professions which should\nnever be united in one and the same individual. And yet Churchill wrote\u2014\n\n    \u201cMay I (can worse disgrace on manhood fall?)\n    Be born a Whitehead, and baptized a Paul!\u201d\n\nThe man who wrote these lines was in every way inferior to him against\nwhom they were levelled; certainly inferior to him in talent, though it\nperhaps may be conceded that he excelled him in vice, power of abuse, and\nill-nature.\n\nPaul the tailor was to Churchill, the reverend bruiser, what Cobbett\nwas to Hunt. The first had argument in his assertions; the latter had\nas little logic as humanity. Paul, too, had taste, and imitated only\nmodels of the rarest beauty; and this imitation was better than a low\noriginality without taste at all. His thoughts were marked by a manly\nstrength, and his phrases abound in a rich vein of poetical expression.\nHis quarry was folly wherever found, and particularly \u201cthe big, rich,\nmighty dunces of the State.\u201d Not that dunces, as he said, were to be\nfound there only:\u2014\n\n    \u201cDulness no more roosts only near the sky,\n    But senates, drawing-rooms, with garrets vie;\n    Plump Peers and breadless bards alike are dull,\n    St. James\u2019s and Rag Fair club fool for fool.\u201d\n\nAnd here is a pattern of the fashion after which Paul laid his yard about\nthe ears of one who was \u201cby birth a senator, by fate a fool:\u201d\u2014\n\n    \u201cFull placed and pension\u2019d, see Horatio stands!\n    Begrimed his face, unpurified his hands.\n    To decency he scorns all nice pretence,\n    And reigns firm foe to cleanliness and sense.\n    How did Horatio Britain\u2019s cause advance!\n    How shines the sloven and buffoon of France!\n    In senates now, how scold, how rave, how roar,\n    Of treaties run the tedious train-trow o\u2019er!\n    How blunder out whate\u2019er should be conceal\u2019d,\n    And how keep secret what should be reveal\u2019d!\n    True child of dulness! see him, Goddess, claim\n    Power next thyself, as next in birth and fame.\u201d\n\nThe author was a persecuted man, rather that he was considered a tailor,\nwho had no authority to sit at home and comment on what was done \u201ci\u2019 the\nCapitol,\u201d than that he was a satirist. Pope was more severe; but Pope\nwas a gentleman, and was held unassailable. If Paul was prosecuted, it\nwas that Pope, in the penalties inflicted on the humbler bard, might see\nthe perils which did himself environ. Poor Paul nevertheless grumbled at\nbeing thus made a scapegoat, and he said thereupon:\u2014\n\n    \u201cPope writes unhurt; but know \u2019tis different quite\n    To beard the lion, and to crush the mite.\n    Safe may he dash the statesman in each line;\n    Those dread his satire who dare punish mine!\u201d\n\nSo wrote the Tory tailor who abused the Whigs, who were at that time\nmost flourishing at court, and most arrogant in drawing-rooms. The day\ncame when the Tories took root at court, and swaggered in saloons: and\nthen, sooth to say, court life and lounging in boudoirs seemed no longer\nreprehensible in the eyes of the satirist. When he abused the throne,\nhe never expected to be allowed to make a _cong\u00e9_ at the foot of it.\nBenedick, in a similar style, when he abused matrimony, never expected to\nbe a married man. And, besides, we may allow in well-abused Paul,\u2014once\npillowed on his sire\u2019s sleeve-board,\u2014the tergiversation of principle\nwhich was so coolly practised by such mighty fine gentlemen as Dryden,\nand that insufferably impudent and dishonest fop, Waller.\n\nOne at least of Paul\u2019s works led to a public demonstration of some\nimportance; and I may as well notice it here as where it would otherwise\nas naturally come\u2014under the head of \u201cMasks.\u201d Walpole, writing to Sir\nHorace Mann, in November, 1741, says:\u2014\u201cI believe I told you that Vernon\u2019s\nbirthday passed quietly; but it was not designed to be pacific, for at\ntwelve at night, eight gentlemen, dressed like sailors, _and masked_,\nwent round Covent Garden with a drum, beating for a volunteer mob; but\nit did not take, and they retired to a great supper, that was prepared\nfor them at the Bedford Head, and ordered by Whitehead, the author of\n\u2018Manners.\u2019\u201d\n\nIn this last piece the author had committed onslaught on some members\nof the House of Lords; the latter assembly summoned and imprisoned\nDodsley the publisher, Whitehead himself having absconded. The publisher\nconfessed that he had not read the tailor\u2019s strains, but that, as the\nwork was a satire, he had compelled the author to affix his name to the\ntitle-page, and take the responsibility. One of the libelled Lords,\nEssex, moved the discharge of Dodsley; and not only Whitehead, but Pope,\nwas kept quiet by fear of prosecution.\n\nWhitehead had already known what imprisonment was. He had, like many a\nfoolish youth, been ambitious of maintaining an acquaintance with the\nactors, and he was particularly intimate with Fleetwood the manager. He\nhad not read the admonitory remark of the Wise King, that he who goeth\nsecurity for his neighbour shall smart for it; and the consequence of\nputting his name to a bond ultimately placed his person in bonds also,\nand he expiated in the Fleet his act of generous folly.\n\nBut he soon recovered from the effects of this. He was something of a\nbeau, and he did what beaux were wont to do,\u2014married an heiress. The lady\nwas Anne Dyer, daughter of an Essex baronet, Sir Swinnerton Dyer. She\nwas homely and somewhat imbecile, but she had ten thousand pounds,\u2014\u201cdix\nmilles vertus en louis bien compt\u00e9s,\u201d\u2014and Paul always regarded her as\na woman who had rendered him some little service. As duty was then\naccounted of, this was acting with most singular uprightness.\n\nHe now took to what Mrs. Partington calls his \u201copium cum digitalis,\u201d and\nceased to publish, though not to write. His republican friends attacked\nhim as a renegade; his royalist foes assailed him as an atheist; and Paul\nlaughed at both. To show however that he had strength if he chose to\nexert it, he wrote his \u2018Gymnasiad,\u2019 a punching philippic against boxing;\nand he dedicated it to Boughton the \u201cbruiser,\u201d\u2014and all this in the face\nof fashion, which then took prize-fighters by the arm, and walked with\nthem in the Mall, proud of the acquaintance.\n\nThe atheistical gentleman who turned his satire from the Cabinet to the\n\u201cropes,\u201d was well rewarded by Ministers; and Lord le Despenser gave\nPaul the post of Deputy-Treasurer of the Chamber, with \u00a3800 a year to\nreconcile the patriot to becoming a placeman. He now took his annual\ntours like a nobleman, and in the course of one of them he found himself\nat Deal. There, in a little literary circle, Mrs. Carter met him, to\nthat pious and learned lady\u2019s profound horror. She had scarcely patience\nto hear him read one of his productions; and she who had translated\n\u2018Epictetus,\u2019 in order to gain consolation from his philosophy for being\nthe native of a place so dull, dreary, dirty, dear, and dismal as Deal,\ncould hardly recall a maxim or two to her mind to fortify her against\nthe annoyance of playing second fiddle to the atheistical son of an old\nLondon tailor!\n\nYet Paul was one of the finest of gentlemen in his way, and associated\nwith the very finest of the same class. He not only had his country-house\nat Twickenham, but a coruscant circle about him of wits whose brilliancy\nwas not considered as tarnished by the most mouldy blasphemy. He was, as\nI have said, the choice spirit of that club which met at Medenham Abbey.\nWe are struck with a species of horror when we contemplate Augustus and\nhis friends reclining at a banquet dressed out as, and named after, the\ngods whom they professed to adore. It was a thousand times worse with\nthe atheistical wits who met at Medenham to drown themselves in drink,\nto wallow in every inconceivable extravagance of vice, and amid it all\nto laugh at Heaven\u2019s lightning. To crown the horror, these exemplary\nindividuals took the guise and names of the Apostles; and nude Marthas\nand Marys held the bowl to the lips of Simon Peter and of Jude. But\nenough of this awful habit of the day. Suffice it to say, that Paul\nWhitehead and Wilkes, the immaculate patriot, were the most licentious of\nthese pseudo-apostles, and gloried in their shame.\n\nThe hour in which the former was called to answer for the crime, struck\nin 1774. Paul was then residing in Henrietta-street, Covent-garden;\nand, when he felt the hand of the Inevitable upon him, he burned all his\nerotic and infidel poetry, as if _that_ could hide his sins from the\neye of his Judge. He added to this the heathenish folly of bequeathing\nhis heart to Lord le Despenser. That exemplary nobleman accepted the\nlegacy; and the precious bequest, solemnly inurned, was pompously borne\nto West Wycombe Church, attended by a procession of minstrels, singers,\nand admiring friends. As to the quality of the clergy present, it may\nbe judged of by the fact that they stood unprotestingly by while the\nvocalists, engaged by the Medenham apostles, sang, with rapt expression,\nthe following strophe:\u2014\n\n    \u201cFrom earth to heaven Whitehead\u2019s soul is fled;\n    Refulgent glories beam about his head;\n    His Muse, concording with resounding strings,\n    Gives angels words to praise the King of Kings.\u201d\n\nWhen such things were sung of a Medenham apostle, in presence of an\nunprotesting clergy, we need not wonder that there were a few serious\nmen, with a certain John Wesley at the head of them, anxiously seeking\nfor a \u201cmethod\u201d to remedy the enormous evils of the times.\n\nWe perhaps have deferred too long to notice the establishment of which\nsuch men as Stow and Speed were members, and which has furnished many a\nscholar or gallant gentleman to illustrate arts or arms. Let us then say\na word of honoured \u201cMerchant Tailors\u2019.\u201d\n\n\n\n\nMEMS. OF \u201cMERCHANT TAILORS.\u201d\n\n                              \u201cMy heart is yours,\n    And you shall see it spring, and shoot forth leaves\n    Worthy your eye; and the oppressed sap\n    Ascend to ev\u2019ry part, to make it green\n    And pay your love with fruit, when harvest comes.\u201d\n\n           LOVE TRICKS, _by Shirley, a pupil of M. T._\n\n\nI regret to say it, but the Rev. H. B. Wilson, the reverend author of\nthat half-hundredweight quarto which gives the history of the Merchant\nTailors, and which the author hoped would find its way into our villages,\nis ashamed of the origin of his heroes. He has even enough of false pride\nto beg that writers will spell Merchant Ta_y_lors with a _y_, and not\nwith an _i_! Tailors with an _i_, he says, may be mistaken for a trade;\nwhile Taylors with a _y_ may be taken for a name! So was Sir Piercie\nShafton ever blushing at the idea of his father\u2019s calling; and so do the\nSmiths with an _i_, fancy that they glide into gentility and euphony by\nbecoming Smyths with a _y_.\n\nHow long the City guild of tailors has sustained a corporate dignity\nit would be hard to say; we know however that Edward I. confirmed the\nguild under their old name of \u201cMerchant Tailors and Linen Armourers.\u201d\nTheir symbolic shield bore a tent between two mantles, denoting that the\nhonest men of the guild made cloaks for all customers, and tents for\nthe royal army. Many a marquis has not half so delicate a device; and\nthe _Mercatores Scissores_ have been worthily translated by those far\nless useful gentlemen,\u2014the members of the College of Arms. The oath of\nthe livery bound the new brother to the utmost possible respectability\nof life; but the oath was not broken when the taker of it, in a fit of\nenthusiastic pride, broke the head of a \u201cMerchant Skinner\u201d who dared\nclaim precedency over the \u201cTailor.\u201d A \u201cbloody coxcomb\u201d was too often the\ncrest of the valiant Mercatores Scissores.\n\nOf the members of the company, in the olden time, the most illustrious\nwas Hawkwood, to whom I have assigned a chapter, as becoming his\nsuper-sartorial dignity. Here I will only briefly speak of the school,\nand the more illustrious men whom it has furnished to the public service.\nThe latter are bound to drink the immortal memory of the royal founder of\nthe \u201cMerchant Tailors and Linen Armourers.\u201d\n\nThe school was established by the company in 1560-1, \u201cfor children of\nall nations and countries indifferently;\u201d a liberal provision, which\nwas contracted in 1731 by an order of court, whereby express exclusion\nwas made of the children of Jews. Among the statutes, there is especial\ninjunction that, \u201cin the schoole, at noe time of the yere, they shall\nuse tallow candle in noe wise, but wax candles only;\u201d an injunction\nwhich shows less regard for grammar than gentility. The school rather\ntripped at the beginning; for though Mulcaster, the head master, was an\naccomplished scholar, the ushers brought with them from the north such a\nB\u0153otian accent, that the boys went home talking \u201cbroad Yorkshire!\u201d\n\nMulcaster, the master, too could occasionally indulge in very harsh\nEnglish of the vulgar tongue, abusing the \u201cvisitors\u201d roundly,\u2014a rudeness\nthat ought not to have been seen at a school lit only with wax candles,\nand having six or seven and thirty scholarships at St. John\u2019s. Mulcaster\nwas a choleric man; but in his mastership of a quarter of a century he\n\u201cturned out\u201d four bishops. These, when boys, had been the widest awake,\nwhile the master slept; for, as Fuller tells us, \u201che slept his hour\n(custom made him critical to proportion it) in his desk in the school,\nbut woe be to the scholar that slept the while. Awaking, he heard them\naccurately; and Atropos might be persuaded to pity, as soon as he to\npardon. The prayers of cockering mothers prevailed with him as much as\nthe requests of indulgent fathers, rather increasing than mitigating his\nseverity on their offending children.\u201d In our days, Dr. Hessey can make\ngood scholars by a more merciful and dignified process.\n\nWilkinson, the successor of Mulcaster, had the famous Whitelock for a\npupil; and under the third master, Smith, we find at the school a boy\nnamed Juxon, who afterwards stood on the scaffold with Charles I., and\nsmoothed the sovereign\u2019s path from time into eternity. Boyle and Dee\nwere also at this time young \u201cMerchant Tailors,\u201d whose subsequent manly\nmerits reflected lustre on the old foundation. Smith\u2019s successor, Haynes,\nwas, like Mulcaster, rather ready with his tongue and heavy with his\nhand. He chastised unmercifully; and, on being menaced with complaint\nto the wardens, he was so audacious as to declare that he did not care\na \u201cphillip\u201d for them. His ushers, too, appear to have been rough of\nspeech; and \u201cBridewell rogue\u201d was the tutorial epithet for a rebellious\npupil. Haynes too was accused of encouraging little lotteries for his\nown profit, and not for the recreation of the pupils. \u201cFor,\u201d says the\ncomplaint, \u201cyou suffer none to drawe any one lott, but those that bring\nxii\u1d48. or above. Your biggest lot is one grammer of x\u1d48. which is the\ngreate lott; the rest are ink-hornes, hobby-horses, gingerbread, paints,\nand puddings of very small value.\u201d The master of Merchant Tailors\u2019 is\nindignant thereat, and protests that not only is the matter one of\npure entertainment, but that he makes nothing by it, and that he finds\nthe drawers in \u201cdyett bread, comfitts of all sorts, ffiggs, raysonnes,\nallmonds, stewed prunes, wiggs, beare, and some wine, and all kinds of\nffrute, which the season of the yeare affordes.\u201d\n\nA story is told of one of Haynes\u2019s pupils, which, like many other\nstories, has had different individuals for its hero. It is to this\neffect. A very proud and an intolerably ignorant gentleman was constantly\nboasting that he enjoyed the advantage of having been a member of both\nUniversities. \u201cYou remind me,\u201d said the old Merchant Tailors\u2019 pupil, \u201cof\na circumstance worth narrating. I have two cows at home which calved\nat the same time. One calf died, but I let the other calf suck both\nthe cows.\u201d \u201cWell,\u201d said the member of two Universities, \u201cwhat was the\nconsequence?\u201d \u201cA prodigiously great calf indeed, Sir.\u201d\n\nFor many years the scholastic portion of Merchant Tailors\u2019 appears to\nhave suffered by repeated visitations of the Plague. Then came the Great\nRebellion, with a modifying of the rules, which were made excessively\nstringent, and under which the pupils were converted to as sour a series\nof classes as if they were enrolled in Dotheboys Hall. But then came the\nRestoration, and therewith relaxation; and the young \u201ctailors\u201d pushed\nup their beavers from off their eyes, turned up their lank hair into\nseductive curls, put their hands on their hips, and looked saucily at the\nmaids of Cheapside. In the midst of it all burst forth the Great Fire;\nand the \u201ctailors,\u201d for a time houseless, got their lessons by fits and\nstarts, till they were once more tabernacled, in high spirits, within a\ncomfortable dwelling.\n\nOne would have thought that all would have been harmony in the new\nhouse; but such was not the case. For some time, indeed, nobody could\ndiscover a grievance; but having looked everywhere to find one, and all\nin vain, recourse was had to religion, and of course a few were created\n_instanter_. Good, the master, continued to pray as heretofore in Latin.\nThe boys roared out for plain English precations. The City took various\nsides of the question,\u2014for, against, and a little of both languages. The\nLatinists at last prevailed, and the orthodox declared that the heel of\nthe Apocalyptic Beast was on the brow of the scholars, and that the\nsun of England had set for ever. It is a sun however that hitherto has\nexhibited a great alacrity in rising again.\n\nOf course the zealous party ousted Good in time. The members of it\nheld that daily prayers and much devotion after a ceremonious manner\nsavoured of Popery, and poor Good was turned out as a Papist; the boys\nmarvellously improved, and became very remarkable for their habits of\n\u201cprofane swearing and debauchery, and misdemeanours.\u201d St. Lawrence\nPountney was imitating Whitehall. A good deal of irregularity prevailed\nthroughout the periods of James II. and William and Mary. One instance\nmay be cited, namely, that of treating the boys who missed their election\nto St. John\u2019s College with canary and cake. It was like teaching them\nthat drink was a solace for disappointment. To be sure they had a sermon\nfirst from the chaplain; but chaplains in those days were particularly\naddicted to punch.\n\nSee the consequence! The school-kitchen was enlarged; the boys were\ndivided into the \u201ctable\u201d and the \u201cbench;\u201d and, as an illustration of\nthese jolly juvenile \u201ctailors,\u201d it may be stated that Sam Phillips, a\n\u201ctailor\u201d of the \u201ctable,\u201d seduced little Will Nash, a \u201ctailor\u201d of the\n\u201cbench,\u201d and took him to taverns, and playhouses, and gaming-houses,\nand was tried for the same before the school authorities, who found him\nguilty indeed, but construed mild of human frailty, and condoned him\non promise of his mending his naughty ways,\u2014which he, like a gallant\n\u201ctailor,\u201d scorned to do, and turned out a reprobate accordingly.\n\nNot that the pupils were generally reprobate, but the masters unwise,\nand regardless of their own regulations. Thus, when young Buckingham,\nwho was a very worthy juvenile \u201cMerchant Tailor,\u201d wrote the play of\nScipio Africanus, and had it represented, the masters, who denounced\nstage representations, suspended the duties of the school, and sent all\nthe boys into the pit to clap the piece. It was like the British Senate\nsolemnly adjourning, as both Houses once did, in order to see Master\nBetty play Hamlet.\n\nBut let me do all justice to the masters. If they turned their Christian\npupils into the pit of a very licentious theatre (Lincoln\u2019s Inn Fields),\nthey exhibited their anxiety for pure morality by again turning all the\nJewish pupils out of the school. Israel was their scapegoat.\n\nQuin\u2019s \u2018Scipio\u2019 inoculated the boys and masters too with a scenic furor;\nand the latter individuals consistently upheld the morals of the _alumni_\nby permitting them to perform the most beastly of the beastly pieces of\nTerence,\u2014the \u2018Eunuchus.\u2019 Thus Merchant Tailors\u2019 sank or rose to the nasty\npractice of Westminster; and again I say, \u201cSee the consequence!\u201d Garrick,\nwho used to patronize the performances, enticed Silvester, who played\nin the epilogue to the \u2018Phormio,\u2019 to a wider stage; and Silvester\u2019s\nreadiness to play anything, from Hamlet to harlequin, was subsequently\nimmortalized by Bannister, Junior, in the character of Sylvester\nDaggerwood.\n\nNor can excuse be taken under the plea that the masters only patronized\nthe classic drama in a tongue defunct. One of the masters, himself a\nclergyman, the Rev. P. Townley, wrote one of the most lively farces in\nthe English language, namely, \u2018High Life below Stairs.\u2019 This, too, was\nlong before the Terence period of the Merchant Tailor plays. It has had\ntwo very lively results. Mrs. Abington\u2019s Lady Bab fired many a \u201ctailor\u201d\nyouth, and the whole piece caused an insurrection among the liveried\ngentlemen in the free list who waited for their masters in the Edinburgh\ngallery. As for Dublin, when _the_ Abington went there and played Kitty,\nthe fashion of her cap set the whole town in a fever; and nothing else\nwas seen on fashionable heads but one made after that illustrious fashion.\n\nThe matter was not mended at Merchant Tailors\u2019 when musical performances\nwere subsequently introduced, and the satires in Ruggles\u2019s \u2018Ignoramus\u2019\nwere sung by the boys to sacred airs by Soper, by Hasse, and by Handel.\nThe mothers of some of these lads had to regret, like Niobe, that\nthe gods had made their children vocal. These operatic displays were\nultimately suppressed.\n\nFinally, under the mastership of Cherry, Townley\u2019s successor, a scene\nof another description took place, which caused infinite commotion.\nWhen the French Revolution broke out, the \u201cTailors\u201d became infected;\nand inscriptions scrawled on the walls of the school-passages proved\nhow disloyalty pervaded the breasts of the youthful writers. But from\nwriting they proceeded to action. On the 13th of January, 1796, the\nQueen\u2019s birthday, a tricoloured flag was hoisted on the Tower Walls,\nwhere, strange enough, it was allowed to remain for three hours, side\nby side with the royal standard. The City burst forth into a tumult of\nindignation or delight. When the authorities, acting on information,\nproceeded to the fortress, the insulting emblem had disappeared; but it\nwas traced to a hiding-place beneath the bed of the son of the Rev. Mr.\nGrose, assistant chaplain at Merchant Tailors\u2019. The horrified sire burnt\nthe rag of rebellion to ashes, while his son confessed his guilt, and\nimplicated in the raising of the insurrectionary standard a fellow-pupil\nnamed Hayward, under whose suggestions young Grose professed to have\nacted. Their fellow-pupils showed the vigour of _their_ loyalty by\nnearly pounding Hayward to a pulpy consistence like that of the men whom\nProfessor Whewell, as I have elsewhere noticed, concedes as possibly\nexisting in the wide plane of Jupiter. The offenders were solemnly\nexpelled; and since that period, the establishment has flourished in\nusefulness to the public and credit to its conductors.\n\nIt is an establishment which, despite some drawbacks, has produced not\na few eminent \u201cMerchant Tailors.\u201d I can cite but a few, and, among the\nmany, name the good and modest Bishop Andrews, and the learned Dove, who\nin the reign of James preached the funeral sermon of Mary Queen of Scots,\nat Peterborough. Spenser the Greek scholar, and the three virtuous sons\nof the virtuous Sandys, Bishop of London; Fox, the son and biographer\nof the Martyrologist; Heth, who logically tranquillized the public in\n1582, when Harvey of Cambridge informed the world that it was coming to\nan end; the pious Bowsfield and Gwinne, who renewed a love for Church\nmusic after the Reformation, were all \u201cMerchant Tailors.\u201d So too were\nthose eminent Oxford men, Searchfield and Perin; Paddin, the physician at\nJames\u2019s death-bed; Ravens and Buckridge, Latewar, Whitelocke, and Boyle;\nPrice, Tomson, and Lymby, Rawlinson, Rainsbee, Sansbury, Lauson, and\nTuer; with Wren and Campin, who upheld the honour of Merchant Tailors\u2019\nat Cambridge. What they did in general learning, in divinity, poetry,\nor law, in the Hampton Court Conference, in the student\u2019s closet, in\nambassadorial councils or the tented field, behold, is it not written in\nthe dictionaries of biographers?\n\nTo them may be added Hutton the controversialist, and the clever and\nprofligate Hill, who lived an Epicurean and died a Romanist, and to whose\nopinions Ben Jonson alludes when he says:\u2014\n\n                \u201cThou Atomi ridiculous,\n    Whereof old Democrite and Hill Nicholas,\n    One said, the other swore, the world consists.\u201d\n\nGlancing our eye adown the long roll, we distinguish the name of\nWhitelocke, who was indebted for much of his education to Laud, and who,\nwhen that prelate was in difficulty, refused to act on the committee\nwhose members had determined to push that difficulty to death. Pious\nJuxon, the poetic Lodge, and honest Foster, the country clergyman,\u2014who\nwrote a treatise called \u2018_Hoplocrissma Spongus_, or a sponge to wipe away\nthe weapon-salve, wherein is proved that the cure taken up among us by\napplying the salve to the weapon is magical and unlawful,\u2019\u2014these follow;\nand, not less honoured, succeed the names of Sutton and Buckland,\u2014the\nfirst, zealous Reformer; the second, as zealous Romanist. To these\nmay be added Wilde, the dramatist; Jones, the ornament of the English\nBenedictines; tuneful Shirley, a greater dramatist than Wilde; and\nHutton, who was distinguished for his learning in French and Italian as\nwell as in classical literature. Further we find Dr. Speed, the son of\nthe chronologist; William Meaux or Meuse, who is described as having\n\u201centered in the physick line;\u201d the loyal divines Walwyn, Good, and\nEdwards; and a host of men less known to fame, and who were expelled the\nUniversity for being consistent in their political opinions. Calamy is\na name not to be omitted; and Archdeacon Layfield is remembered as the\nclergyman who was punished for having the letters I. H. S. in his church,\nby being dragged in his surplice through the City, and who refused to pay\neither fifteen hundred pounds or five to save himself from being sold to\nthe Algerines or the Plantations.\n\nSnelling, the tragic writer; Howe, the naturalist; Frank Goldsmith, who\nwrote for love and not for hire; Gayten, pleasant author of \u2018Pleasant\nNotes upon Don Quixote;\u2019 Hewit, the clergyman, executed for loyalty to\nthe cause of Charles, and whom his old schoolfellow Wilde attended on the\nscaffold; and perhaps greater than all, Davenant the commentator, brother\nto the laureate, and son to Shakspeare\u2019s melancholic host at Oxford, were\nothers of the _alumni_ of our house.\n\nNor must I omit the name of Will Quarles; Calamy and Shirley, men even\nmore noted, I have already incidentally mentioned: they both died\nwithin the same week, of fright caused by the Great Fire of London,\na catastrophe which made a poet of another \u201cMerchant Tailor,\u201d the\nwell-known Markland. Indeed a great many of the pupils became at least\nrespectable poets, which is, after all, no great praise, as applied to\nthe sons of song.\n\nPepys and Evelyn record no more interesting incidents connected with the\nGreat Fire than are to be found in the reports, given by other writers,\nof the deaths of these two distinguished pupils of Merchant Tailors\u2019.\nShirley had exceeded by two years the allotted aggregate of \u201cthreescore\nyears and ten\u201d when he and his second wife, Frances, were driven from\ntheir habitation in Fleet-street. They took refuge from the flames in the\nneighbouring parish of St. Giles\u2019s in the Fields. But so overcome were\nthis much-tried and ancient pair, that they both died on the same day,\nand within a month of the great calamity. The hapless couple were buried\nin one grave in St. Giles\u2019s, and became the associates of a goodly but\nsilent company,\u2014among others, Chapman, the poet, and translator of Homer,\nand Lord Herbert of Cherbury; a company that was afterwards enlarged\nby the mute presence of Charles the Second\u2019s \u201cDick Penderell,\u201d Andrew\nMarvell, the infamous Countess of Shrewsbury, who held Buckingham\u2019s horse\nwhile the Duke slew her husband in a duel, and Sir Roger L\u2019Estrange, who\nis called \u201cthe wit,\u201d upon the principle of naming ill-painted animals\non village sign-boards,\u2014you would not have made the necessary discovery\nwithout the explanatory \u2018legend.\u2019\n\nAs for poor Calamy, he too died of the Fire. He was driven through the\nburning ruins, and so shocked was he at the sight of the destruction that\nhad fallen on the great theatre of his popularity, that he never again\nquitted the room at Enfield, whither he was conveyed, but died on the day\nthat Shirley and his wife were buried. Thus perished two of the greatest\nof the _alumni_ of whom Merchant Tailors\u2019 can boast. To the roll of those\npupils we will again resort.\n\nFirst among them we find handsome Ezekiel Hopkins, with whom all the\nwomen were in love,\u2014in love both with his preaching and his person.\nOh, happy Ezekiel! cunning Hopkins! Presbyterian when Presbytery was\nin power; Independent when to be so was to be \u201cNo. 1;\u201d and winning all\nhearts from the episcopal pulpit of St Mary\u2019s, Exeter, and subsequently\nSt. Mary\u2019s, Aldermanbury, when Episcopacy and Royalty walked hand-in-hand\namong the lieges. Excellent Ezekiel! But, if he had his conceits, his\nschoolfellow Webb had his hobby; and nothing could convince _him_ that\nthe Chinese language was not the language spoken by Adam and Eve before\nthe Fall.\n\nMoreover there was the penniless and threadbare student Bonwicke; and the\nwell-paid Bernard, tutor to the Dukes of Grafton and Northumberland, sons\nof Charles II. and the Duchess of Cleveland; but for his employers he was\ntoo pure and grave a man. And there was Wells, the Nonconformist and, sad\nblot in the school escutcheon, Titus Oates, who was also a nonconformist\nto morality and religion; and Needler, fit name for pupil of such house,\nand who wrote in defence of the Trinity when half England had more\ndelight in the argument than the end for which the argument was raised.\nSeveral others of the pupils, now grown men, in the reign of James II.,\nwere hanging over their pulpits, half Romanists, half Reformers. Like\nthe tomb of the old prelate at Canterbury, they were neither in the\nChurch nor out of it, but a little of both. Indeed many of these men\nwere singularly constituted; and we may cite as an instance the case of\nyoung Dawes, who began his poetical career by composing a poem, which I\nshould not like to read, entitled the \u2018Anatomy of Atheism.\u2019 Nevertheless\nMerchant Tailors\u2019 School boasted of Dawes, and of Boulter and Wilcox,\nwhose election to Magdalen was called by Dr. Hough, the President, the\n\u201cGolden Election,\u201d as the Charterhouse boasted of Addison. The \u201csmall\nchange\u201d here hardly represented the value of the larger piece.\n\nSayer and Oliver, two fellow-pupils of the school, were successive\nArchdeacons of Surrey; Joshua Barnes and Peter Heylin were also of the\n\u201cTable\u201d or the \u201cBench;\u201d and Wright, Vicar of Okeham, was of the latter,\nand not less famed for his steady refusal of all preferment. Like \u2018Silver\nPenny,\u2019 so named for his pure eloquence, though it might have been\nalso for his liberality, and who has made so exquisite a restoration\nof Mongeham Church, near Deal, he loved the temple of which he was the\npriest too well to wish to change his office. Then there were botanical\nSherrard; Torriano, of Italian blood; Dee, descended from that Dr. Dee\nwho fooled Elizabeth so \u201cconsumedly;\u201d and William Bridge, himself the son\nof a tailor and draper, and who contributed a Threnodia to the cairn of\nmelodious mourning heaped upon the dead body of William the Third.\n\nMerchant Tailors\u2019 had peculiar joy in the accession of Anne, for it was\nthrough one of the pupils that the succession of this sovereign lady\nwas undisputed. Crowther had married her mother, Anne Hyde, to the Duke\nof York; and he did this so cautiously and entirely according to law,\nwith ample proof to support it, that James strove in vain to procure an\nannulling of the marriage, and Merchant Tailors\u2019 looked on the position\nof the female monarch as one which had been achieved for her by one of\nthe popular scholars of the house. It was expected that she would have\nshown her royal gratitude by conferring the Bishopric of Lincoln on\nlittle Doctor Dawes, another scholar; but Dawes preached unpalatable\ntruths to her, and Anne would not move him from an honorary chaplaincy.\n\u201cYou have lost a bishopric by your preaching,\u201d said a good-natured friend\nto him. \u201cI do not know how that may be,\u201d said Dawes, \u201cbut I certainly\nnever mean to try to gain one by preaching.\u201d Divinely well said, O\ndoughty Dawes! You well deserved what you afterwards attained, the See of\nChester.\n\nAmong the pupils who _were_ raised to the Bench, Mews, of Winchester,\nwas perhaps as remarkable as any. His death certainly was so. He was\nsubject to fainting fits, from which he was used to recover by smelling\nhartshorn. He was once in conversation with a clerical friend, when\nhe was suddenly attacked by one of these fits. He was speechless,\nbut he pointed to the bottle of hartshorn on his table. The friend\nseized the bottle, and, opening the prelate\u2019s mouth, poured the whole\nof the contents down his throat, by which the bishop was suffocated.\nNotwithstanding this neat achievement, the zealous clerical friend did\nnot succeed to the vacant see.\n\nI could name many more \u201cprelates\u201d and \u201cparsons,\u201d who were all good men\nand true, and who did honour to the establishment wherein they had\nreceived their earlier education; but the glory of all these pales\nbefore the brighter reputation of Ambrose Bonwicke, that \u201cpattern for\na student,\u201d who was ever so mild, save when he helped his father, the\nschoolmaster, to flog the boys; so loyal, save when he refused to read\nthe prayer for the prosperity of the House of Hanover; and so wise, save\nwhen, in honour of religion, he brought on death by his austerities. He\nlacked no eulogists after his decease; and it is suggestive as to what\nwas considered early rising in the days of the first George, when we find\nyoung Bonwicke praised for getting up at half-past six! Merchant Tailors\u2019\nSchool was prouder of him than it ever was of the greatly intellectual\nLowth. On the other hand, it was ashamed of Tooley, of St. John\u2019s, who\nedited Tully\u2019s \u2018Offices,\u2019 for the good reason that he was a namesake\nof the author; and this, his poor qualification, was also his solitary\none. He effected one other deed,\u2014the seducing of Amhurst to such bad\nways, that the latter ex-alumnus of Merchant Tailors\u2019 was expelled the\nUniversity. Amhurst, in a preface to his poems, declared that he was so\npunished because he was said to \u201clove foreign turnips and Presbyterian\nbishops; and to believe that steeples and organs were not necessary to\nsalvation.\u201d\n\nAmhurst was among the \u201codd fellows\u201d of the school. So was Leigh, who died\nat Gravelines, and whom the Roman Catholics proved to have died in their\nfaith, by burying him within the church in that lively locality. Duncan\nDee belongs rather to the bold than the odd fellows. He will ever be\nremembered as the intrepid defender of Sacheverel. Among the worthiest\nfellows was Wheatly, for ever famous for his immortal illustration of\nthe Book of Common Prayer. Among the stout-hearted fellows was that\nparadoxical Dr. Byrom, of short-hand notoriety, who was loved for his\nwit and worth, and whose diary has lately been published by the Chetham\nSociety. He was the son of a linendraper; married for love; struggled\nfor life at his leisure; earned a decent maintenance by teaching and\npractising the system of short-hand which he had invented; spent his last\ndays in well-earned ease; and is famous for his epigrammatic epitaph on\nthat irregular and chemical genius and jolly fellow, Dr. Byfield, who\ninvented the _sal volatile oleosum_, and who was thus celebrated by Byrom\nover a flask at the Rainbow:\u2014\n\n    \u201cHic jacet Dr. Byfield, diu volatilis, tandem fixus!\u201d\n\nI may add, as being worthy to be classed among the clever fellows,\nDerham, whose ability was honoured by a sneer from Voltaire; and finally,\namong the audacious fellows was Zinzano, a conscientious clergyman, who\nthought to make Milton be forgotten by writing \u201can entirely new poem\nentitled \u2018Paradise Regained,\u2019\u201d which turned out to be a treatise on the\nart of gardening! But the pupil whose name conferred most glory (so it\nis alleged) upon the records of the school during the Georgian days, was\nClive,\u2014that young hero who began by climbing church-spouts, and ended\nso miserably after he had added a wide empire to our little kingdom. If\nthe celebrated Cline, another \u201cMerchant Tailor,\u201d killed more men in the\npractice of his profession, Clive, who was by no means contemptible as\na slayer of legions, added millions of living subjects to our imperial\nsway. The only pupil who has been \u201cdistinguished from the crowd by being\nremembered to his infamy,\u201d is Luke Milbourne, the antagonist of Dryden.\n\nIt has been said that Dr. South was a pupil of Merchant Tailors\u2019, but\nthis is not the case. He was however appointed chaplain to the Company;\nand he showed how he appreciated the honour, by taking for the text of\nhis inauguration sermon the words, \u201cA _remnant_ shall be saved!\u201d\n\nThe greater portion of the men of whom the Merchant Tailors are proud,\nare men who made themselves, so to speak, and were not indebted in\nany way for fortune to their tailors. There was another class of men\nhowever, of whom the contrary may rather be said,\u2014men who assumed the\npoor vocation of the beau, and found it a bankrupt calling. They have\nexisted in all ages, and we will go back to those of old times. _Seniores\npriores._\n\n\n\n\nChapters on Beaux.\n\n\n\n\nTHE BEAUX OF THE OLDEN TIME.\n\n    \u201cLe Beau ne pla\u00eet qu\u2019un jour, si le Beau n\u2019est utile.\u201d\u2014ST. LAMBERT.\n\n\nDress, like all other things, has been amply used and abused in all ages;\nbut there is this to be said for man, that he is the only animal born\nwithout being provided with a necessary costume. This shows that he is a\nmigratory animal; and if he be not naturally covered so as to suit all\nclimates and himself, he has reason given him to meet all exigencies, and\nit is only a pity that he exhibits so little taste in the application of\nit. His storehouse, or rough wardrobe, is in the vegetable and animal\nkingdom; and plants die that man may live, and animals are skinned that\nthe lord of creation may be covered.\n\nThe passion for fine dressing commenced undoubtedly with the ladies.\nWhen the Tyrian Alcides was one night loitering by the sea-side, his\narm encircling one of those nymphs whom demigods and boatswains\u2019 mates\nfind in every port, and their eyes, when not looking into each other,\nwere fixed on the shadowy splendour of the western star, his dog, a\nlank and hungry hound, came upon a shell, which he immediately began\ncrunching. Thereupon there issued a liquid from the expiring fish\nwithin, so exquisite in colour that it attracted the eyes of the lady,\nwho immediately declared that never again should she know peace of\nmind until she had a dress of that self-same hue. She bade the hero\nnever to appear in her presence again until the garment was procured;\nand poor Hercules, who appears to have had as much perplexity about\nladies\u2019 petticoats as lions\u2019 hides, was sadly puzzled before he and an\neminent firm succeeded in procuring a dye which produced a garment of\nthe hue required, and would have made the fortune of the discoverers,\nhad they not been accustomed to the same sort of extravagances which\nmake bankrupts of London tradesmen. In spite of this, the Tyrian purple\nlong held on Fashion\u2019s throne an undisputed sway; and no beau of old\nappeared in the world without a mantle of this colour hanging from his\nivory shoulders. Agesilaus was one of this fashion-determining class;\nbut unlike modern followers of the philosophy of the mode, he turned\nhis ideas of dress to good account. For instance, when he was combating\nin Pontus against the barbarians, as the finely-clad and tender-hearted\ngentlemen there were called by their enemies, Agesilaus saw that they\nwere most superbly attired, but that they also were very delicate of\nbody. He accordingly gave orders that all the captains should be brought\nin naked, and be sold by the public crier; but that their garments should\nbe sold separately. And this he did that the allies might know that they\nhad to fight for rich spoils with a poor enemy, and so might rush to the\nattack with greater ardour. He had the picking of the spoil for his own\nwardrobe.\n\nAlexander and his friends were probably the best-dressed men of all\nthe Greeks at any period. Of one of these friends, Agnon, it is said\nhe wore gold nails in both his slippers and sandals,\u2014a piece of pride\nwhich was like that of the English farmer during the late war, who went\nto a market-dinner in a coat garnished with gold buttons. The vanity of\nthe farmer was wounded at finding that they attracted no notice; and he\nclumsily tried to feed his pride and win observation by remarking, that\n\u201cit certainly weer very warm work to wear goold buttons in the dog-days!\u201d\n\nAlexander of course slept on a couch of gold. Great Ammon\u2019s son\ndeserved no less a bed; but I can hardly credit the assertion that\nthe sovereign\u2019s tent contained a hundred such beds, and that the tent\nitself was supported by fifty columns of gold. The beds however may\nnot have been for one individual\u2019s use, and the tent was as vast as a\nbarracks: the couches may therefore have been for the general officers.\nFive hundred Persians kept guard therein. These were the _Melophores_,\nthe \u201capple-bearers,\u201d who carried a golden apple on the points of their\nlances, and who were the admiration of all the maid-servants of the\ndistrict, attired as the Melophores were in uniforms of purple and\nyellow. These were surpassed by the thousand archers, in their mantles\nof flame-colour, violet, or celestial blue. These were irresistible; the\nladies at least said so, if the enemy did _not_; but even they achieved\nfewer conquests (I allude less to the field than the bower) than the five\nhundred Macedonian Argyraspides, the corps of \u201csilver bucklers,\u201d behind\nwhose shields however beat hearts more easily reached by the feathered\nshafts of Dan Cupido than by the javelins of the foe.\n\nThe purple-robed guard of Alexander was his chosen troop, his\n_cent-garde_, charged with watching over his personal safety, and seeing\nthat he got safely to bed when his divinity was exceedingly drunk. They\nwere terrible coxcombs, were these guards, and would condescend to the\nfolly of flinging eggs at the passers-by, as though they knew no better\nthan military gentlemen returning from Epsom, or a wrathful curate of the\ndistrict of St. Barnabas pelting an anti-puseyite. These men cared little\nwhether Alexander were a god or not, but they had a firmly fixed idea\nthat their tailor had a family claim upon Olympus.\n\nBut what were these to Alcisthenes the Sybarite, who has been\nimmortalized by Aristotle? This rather fast individual had a coat of\nsuch magnificent material,\u2014the coat worn by Prince Esterhazy, and which\nthat magnate never put on without losing I really _do not_ know how many\nhundred pounds\u2019 worth of pearls and diamonds, was, in comparison, a\ncoat for the Sybarite\u2019s valet,\u2014Alcisthenes had a habit, I say, of such\nrichness, that, on the day of the festival of Juno, it was exposed on\nMount Lacinium, to the veneration of the crowds who annually repaired\nthither from all parts of Italy. It became the most attractive feature\nof the festival; and the shrines were passed by, that the pilgrims might\nfall into ecstasy in presence of Alcisthenes\u2019 coat. It subsequently fell\ninto the hands of old Dionysius,\u2014a Jew in his way, as we all know,\u2014and he\nsold it for one hundred and twenty talents to the Carthaginians: it was\nthe highest price ever realized for such a garment.\n\nBut it was not the only coat exalted, like the serpent of old, to win\ninsane worship from imbecile idolators. Gibbon smiles with warrantable\ncontempt upon the Roman priests who, behind the altar, were preparing\nmiracles wherewith to astound the people. A deeper contempt attaches to\nthe several priests who compelled two poor honest tailors, or weavers\nrather, to produce the duplicate coats, without a seam, each warranted to\nhave been worn by the Great Victim ere He passed to Calvary, and before\neach of which, as the only one genuine, thousands, ay millions, have\nflung themselves down in speechless ecstasy.\n\nThere is _the_ one Holy Coat at Treves, and _the_ one Holy Coat at\nMoscow; and the priests at either place will tell you that there were\nnever two. The Empress Helena discovered that of Treves, says the legend.\nA Shah of Persia made a present of the Moscow garment to the Czar. Its\ngenuineness was warranted by a Russian archbishop, who declared that, in\na church in Georgia, a golden box placed upon a column had long contained\nthis coat, and that it was doubtless the seamless coat of our Lord. A\nMuscovite monk standing by clinched the lie, by adding, that when the\nsoldiers cast lots for the possession of the coat, it fell to one who\nlived in Georgia, and that this was the identical garment. Really, when\nwe think seriously of these things, we must not be too hard upon those\nwho reverenced the coat of the Sybarite.\n\nTo return to Alexander: he was the despair of all men who, desirous\nof following the fashion as he gave it, lacked means to realize the\ndesire. He was to his generals, what very rich Hussar colonels are to\nthe younger and poorer officers; or what Count D\u2019Orsay used to be to the\ncounter-dandies of the Metropolis.\n\nEphippus lived in the time of Commodus; and in allusion to that Emperor,\nwho used to dress himself as Hercules, and go out daily in his car with\nthe hero\u2019s club, like a gold-headed cane, between his legs, he says:\u2014\u201cIs\nit extraordinary that in our days Commodus does this, when Alexander, a\npupil of Aristotle, did worse in the olden time?\u201d\n\nCertainly, in the article of dress, the son of Philip was as different\nfrom the simplicity of his father, as the Prince Regent from George III.\nNot only did he wear the lion\u2019s skin, and call himself Hercules, but,\nin private intercourse with his friends, he put on the winged cap and\nthe ankle-pinions of Mercury. If I may say so without profanity, I would\nremark, that if Prince Albert were to walk through Kensington Gardens\nattired like David, with a sling and a stone in his hand to fling at the\nfirst fat gentleman he might encounter, he would not be committing a more\nunseemly act than Alexander was doing when he decked himself out to look\nlike Mercury.\n\nBut when this wretched madman, the Macedonian I mean, rode out in his\nchariot, and forgetful of his wry neck\u2014for he _had_ a wry neck, and\nlimped to boot,\u2014and despite his very red nose and his blood-shot eyes,\ndressed like Diana, the goddess of Chastity, a Persian purple robe about\nhim, and over his naked shoulder a bow and a quiver,\u2014he must have looked\nas ridiculous in the eyes of the beholders, as if the late Sir William\nCurtis, who was so solemnly ridiculous in kilts, had exhibited himself\ndaily in front of the Mansion-house in the dress and attitude of the\nMagdalene of Correggio.\n\nIn more modern days, we _have_ had the gods and goddesses assumed by\nmortal men; but then it has been to amuse, and not to awe the multitude.\nThey were often introduced in the medi\u00e6val shows when Burgundy exulted in\nher Dukes. I may cite, as an instance, the solemnity of the first entry\ninto Lille of Charles the Bold, in his character of Duke of Burgundy.\nThe delicate citizens got up a \u201cmystery\u201d whereby to do honour to the\nrefined prince, which excited great amusement. It was \u201cThe Judgement of\nParis.\u201d To represent Venus, a tall and enormous woman had been selected,\nwho weighed some twenty stone; Juno was as tall as Venus, but she was\nwithered and lean; Minerva bore a hump both before and behind; while all\nthree goddesses were naked, only wearing rich crowns upon their heads.\nCharles the Bold must have been as much pleased with pastime like this,\nas Dr. Pusey would doubtless be were he, in company with Father Newman,\nto take advantage of an order for two, and go and see Mr. Paul Bedford in\nthe part of Norma.\n\nMark Antony was, despite his habit of getting drunk by daylight, so\ncareful a dresser that he may be ranked among the _beaux_. Indeed he was\nspecially fantastic in some of his fashions; and, by way of proof that\nhe was the very \u201cfirst fine gentleman\u201d of his day, it is only necessary\nto cite what Textor says of him in the preface to the \u2018Cornucopia,\u2019\nnamely, \u201cM. Antonius, Triumvir, corporis excrementa non nisi vasis aureis\nexcipiebat.\u201d\n\nThe Scandinavian _beaux_ were as fantastically nice in some of _their_\nfashions. Rough as they were, there were many who wasted some amount\nof thought on the adornment of their persons. Such an individual was\nthe pride of his relatives, and by these he was called, not the flower,\nbut the _leek_ of the family: he generally smelt a good deal stronger.\nOf such a dandy, his kindred were as proud as the \u201cblood\u201d of Caffarelli\nwas of that smartly-dressed singer. But Caffarelli was a vocal beau who\nsang to some tune. He lived in a palace of his own building. Over the\ngate was this inscription:\u2014\u201cAmphion Thebas, ego domum;\u201d and he purchased\nfor his nephew and heir the Dukedom of Sante Dorato. That _was_ a\nwell-dressed uncle, of whom his nephew might well be\u2014what he was not, of\ncourse\u2014gratefully proud. Scandinavia reminds me of the great Gustavus\nAdolphus. He was not indeed himself a _beau_, but he was the first who\nmade modern soldiers such. It was a consequence of his insisting on the\nnecessity of the men being well clothed, and kept clean and warm. Except\namong Pompey\u2019s cohort, this was not the custom of the ancients, with\nwhom prevailed the maxim, \u201chorridum militem esse decet.\u201d So too thought\nTilly, whose doctrine on the matter was comprised in the phrase, \u201cA\nragged soldier and a bright musket.\u201d Some of Gustavus\u2019s officers became\nthe tightest-laced \u201cexquisites\u201d of suffering humanity, and reduced\ntheir outward surface to such a degree, that, had they lived in remoter\ntimes, they might have passed for those unhappy persons who had entered\nthe temple of Jupiter in Arcadia, despite prohibition. The well-known\nconsequence of such an act was, that the offender became for ever\nshadowless.\n\nThere is a race of men, not at all thin, and as rich dressers as\nGustavus\u2019s captains; I mean the Cardinals. There is a _reason_ for their\nwearing red garments. Persons of early Church days used to draw Christian\nzodiacs and solar systems. In the former, the saints took the place of\nthe old signs. In the latter, the planets were allotted to different\nreligions. The sun belongs to Christianity; _ergo_, _Sunday_ is the\nsabbath. Rome is the solar, and therefore the holy city; and accordingly\nthe Cardinals wear red, because it is the colour of the sun.\n\nTo revert once more to the pupil of Aristotle, there remains but to be\nsaid that it was only on state occasions that he appeared in the mantle,\nsandals, and horns of Ammon. His ordinary dress was a chlamys of purple,\na striped tunic (white on a coloured ground), and a wide-flapped hat or\ncap, with the royal diadem girt around it. He was in fact King of Fashion\nas well as King of Men; and, like Count D\u2019Orsay, he not only patronized\ntailors, but, unlike the Count, paid their bills. The two men, in all\nother respects, were very different; and it cannot be said of them, as\nof Mr. Hunt\u2019s \u2018Light of the World,\u2019 and his fast man in the \u2018Awakened\nConscience,\u2019 that they are one and the same person in two costumes.\n\nThe Greeks generally were remarkable for possessing tailors who worked\nmore according to the locality of their birth than to their merits;\nthus, Xenophon tells us, in his Life of Socrates, that Demeas, being a\nCollytensean, supported his household by making cassocks; while Menon,\nwhose birthplace is not given, effected the same object by making\ncloaks. The custom however is more clearly defined when he adds that\nthe Megarensians supported _their_ families by making short jackets.\nAristophanes, in his \u2018Acharnians,\u2019 alludes to this fashion when he\nmakes the jovial Dicaopolis say, \u201cCertain rascally fellows, base coin,\nunfranchised, and counterfeit, and alien citizens, were in the habit of\ninforming against the small cloaks of the Megarians.\u201d Between \u201ccloak\u201d and\n\u201cjacket,\u201d we may conclude that the article was a vest, or an \u201calmaviva,\u201d\nor mantle, and that it was no more lawful to wear it in Athens when the\nstate was at war with Megara than it was in accordance with our \u201ccustoms\u201d\na century ago to wear garments embroidered with gold-lace from France.\nThis barbarous habit of denouncing the employment of an article, simply\nbecause it is the production of, or named from, an enemy, is still\nprevalent in the dominions of the Czar. _If_ the thing be used, the name\nmust be changed. Were we to follow the same fashion, no Englishman would\ncondescend to put on a pair of \u201cRussia ducks.\u201d\n\nBut I have fallen into modern illustrations of the beau. When that\nsuperb animal is being treated of by Dryden, the poet names the various\ncharacteristics of divers beaux, from whom Sir Fopling Flutter had\nderived his own united excellences, which made of him the recognized \u201cMan\nof Mode.\u201d These are among them:\u2014\n\n    \u201cHis various modes from various fathers follow:\n    One taught the toss, and one the new French wallow;\n    His sword-knot, this; his cravat, this design\u2019d;\n    And this, the yard-long snake he twirls behind.\n    From one the sacred periwig he gain\u2019d,\n    Which wind ne\u2019er blew, nor touch of hat profaned.\n    Another\u2019s diving bow he did adore,\n    Which, with a bag, casts all the hair before;\u2014\n    Till he with full decorum brings it back,\n    And rises with a water-spaniel shake.\u201d\n\nI have elsewhere noticed that for a \u201cbeau\u201d to comb his peruke was a\nmatter of serious business; but it was even more. To do so in presence\nof a \u201cbelle\u201d was to behave to her as became the very pink of politeness.\n\u201cA wit\u2019s wig,\u201d says Wycherly\u2019s \u2018Ranger,\u2019 \u201chas the privilege of being\nuncombed in the very playhouse, or in the presence\u2e3a\u201d \u201cAy,\u201d interrupts\nDapperwit, \u201cbut not in the presence of his mistress; \u2019tis a greater\nneglect of her than himself. If she has smugg\u2019d herself up for me, let\nme plume and flounce my peruke a little for her; there\u2019s ne\u2019er a young\nfellow in town but will do as much for a mere stranger in the playhouse.\nPray lend me your comb.\u201d \u201cWell,\u201d says Ranger, \u201cI would not have men of\nwit and courage make use of every fop\u2019s mean arts to keep or gain a\nmistress.\u201d _Dapperwit_. \u201cBut don\u2019t you see every day, though a man have\nne\u2019er so much wit and courage, his mistress will revolt to those fops\nwho wear and comb perukes well? She comes! she comes! pray, your comb!\u201d\nand thereupon, snatching Ranger\u2019s comb, he commences drawing it through\nthe wavy honours of his wig, in order to do honour to, and be seen\ndoing it by, his \u201cdear Miss Lucy.\u201d In such wise did Wycherly hold the\nmirror up to nature, as I find it in his Comedies, published by Richard\nBentley, not of New Burlington-street, but by his good ancestor, who,\nin 1694, tabernacled \u201cat the Post House, in Russell-street, in Covent\nGarden, near the _Piazza\u2019s_,\u201d as it is written; and who delighted the\nthen novel-reading world with such delectable novels as \u2018Zelinda,\u2019 \u2018Count\nBrion,\u2019 \u2018The Happy Slave,\u2019 \u2018The Disorders of Love,\u2019 \u2018The Pilgrim,\u2019 in\ntwo parts, and \u2018The Princess of Montferrat.\u2019 And I can only express my\nadmiration at the courage of our great-grandmothers, who learned what was\nunprofitable and not amusing at so vast an outlay of most patient labour.\n\nTo one or two modern \u201cbeaux\u201d of great celebrity I will now introduce\nyou. Here is a jaunty, impudent, over-dressed gentleman approaching, who\nwill admirably suit our purpose. Pray allow me:\u2014\u201cGentle Reader, Beau\nFielding.\u201d \u201cBeau Fielding, Gentle Reader.\u201d\n\n\n\n\nBEAU FIELDING.\n\n    \u201cHe pass\u2019d his easy hours, instead of prayer,\n    In madrigals and Philising the fair.\u201d\u2014GARTH\u2019S _Dispensary_.\n\n\nGoldsmith once shed tears from his simple, unsophisticated eyes, as\nhe passed through a village at night, and thought that the sleeping\ninhabitants were unconscious how great a man was journeying that way. I\nfancy that most people who pass the Reigate station are in a similarly\nignorant state of unconsciousness, and are not at all aware that they are\nclose upon the cradle of Orlando the Fair.\n\nI have heard the pleasant author of that pleasant story, \u2018Crewe Rise,\u2019\nremark that the worthies of Suffolk count in greater numbers than the\nworthies of any other county. If worthiness be \u201cgreatness,\u201d in the sense\nof Jonathan Wild, Suffolk may envy Surrey such a son as Robert Fielding.\n\nThe father of this incomparable youth was a cavalier squire, with\nsomething like \u00a3500 per annum to nourish his dignity. \u201cBob\u201d was early\nentered at the Temple, where he behaved like a Templar; was too idle to\nstudy the constitution of England, but very actively worked at the ruin\nof his own. He thought Fleet-street vulgar, and removed to Scotland-yard,\nnext door to the court, which then rioted at Whitehall.\n\nThe \u201cbeauty\u201d of his neighbour attracted the notice of that other scamp,\nCharles II.; and as Fielding was too handsome for anything, the King only\nmade him a Justice of the Peace.\n\nThe women however left him none; and their importunities induced him\nto abandon justice, and devote himself to wine, love-making, and living\nupon pensions from female purses. In a succeeding reign he gave up the\nChurch, as he had before surrendered justice; and when James II. was\nKing, Fielding assumed Romanism as a good speculation, and was especially\nzealous not only in protecting Popish chapels from the populace, but in\ngiving asylum to the prettiest devotees of that faith who flew to his\nbosom for refuge.\n\nHe stuck to his profession under William III.; that is, he made none\nat all; and as he was accounted of no religion, his friends had no\ndifficulty in getting him nominated Major-General. I think this must have\nbeen in the Horse Marines. The gallant officer was, at all events, never\nin fray more serious than with sleepy watchmen and slip-shod waiters,\nwhom he ran through (he was an excellent runner, when peril pursued) with\nthe most astonishing alacrity.\n\nHe was the handsomest man and the most extravagantly splendid dresser of\nhis day. When he passed down the Mall at the fashionable hour, there was\na universal flutter and sensation. \u201cO\u2019Carroll,\u201d he would then say to his\nservant, \u201cdoes my sword touch my right heel? Do the ladies ogle me?\u201d\n\n\u201cIt does, Sir. They do, Sir.\u201d\n\n\u201cThen, O\u2019Carroll,\u201d would the beau exclaim aloud, \u201clet them die of love,\nand be d\u2014d!\u201d\n\n\u201cWhat a perfect gentleman! what a delicious creature!\u201d chorused the\nladies.\n\n\u201cAy, ay,\u201d said the beau, \u201clook and die! look and die!\u201d\n\nHe was not kicked off the public promenade, but he was occasionally so\nejected from the public stage. It was the habit or the fashion then\nfor a portion of the audience to stand upon the stage, and the actors\nplayed, like mountebanks, in a crowd. It was further the habit of this\nsuperlative _beau_ to make remarks aloud upon the ladies in the boxes.\nThe latter,\u2014not the boxes, but the ladies,\u2014were not slow in flinging back\nretorts; and the players, enraged at being unheeded, would then fairly\nturn upon Fielding and turn him out, with the ceremony, or want of it,\nobserved in ejecting ill-bred curs.\n\nBut the beau was amply compensated for such treatment as this by the\nfavour dealt to him by \u201cofficers and gentlemen.\u201d He was once being\npursued by bailiffs sent after him by tailors whom he had ruined. As hare\nand hounds approached St. James\u2019s Palace, the officers on guard turned\nout, attacked the myrmidons of the law, pinked them all over till they\nlooked like ribbed peppermint, and finally bore Fielding in triumph into\nthe Palace!\n\nThe equipage of \u201cOrlando\u201d was not less singular than he was himself.\nHe kept a hired chariot, drawn by his own horses, and attended by two\nfootmen in bright yellow coats and black sarsnet sashes. Maidens sighed\nas he rode by, and murmured \u201cAdonis!\u201d Admiring widows looked at him and\nexclaimed, \u201cHandsome as Hercules!\u201d He really did unite the most exquisite\nbeauty both of feature and stature, with the most gigantic strength. Boys\nfollowed him in crowds, and hailed him _father_. He showered among them\nas many curses as blessings. \u201cDid you never see a man before?\u201d he once\nasked the foremost urchin of a youthful mob. \u201cNever such a one as you,\nnoble general,\u201d answered the lad, an embryo beau from Westminster School.\n\u201cSirrah, I believe thee; there is a crown for thy wit.\u201d\n\nMr. Isaac Bickerstaff states that the beau called himself an\nantediluvian, in respect of the insects which appeared in the world as\nmen; and the \u2018Tatler\u2019 further says, that \u201che sometimes rode in an open\ntumbril of less size than ordinary, to show the largeness of his limbs\nand the grandeur of his personage to the greater advantage. At other\nseasons all his appointments had a magnificence, as if it were formed by\nthe genius of Trimalchio of old, which showed itself in doing ordinary\nthings with an air of pomp and grandeur. Orlando therefore called for tea\nby beat of drum; his valet got ready to shave him by a trumpet to horse;\nand water was brought for his teeth when the sound was changed to boot\nand saddle.\u201d\n\nAmid all this, the prince of beaux was speculatively looking abroad. At\nDoctors\u2019 Commons he had seen the will of a Mr. Deleau, who left to his\nwidow a town residence in Copthall-court, a country mansion at Waddon,\nin Surrey, and sixty thousand pounds, at the lady\u2019s absolute disposal.\nFielding resolved to woo, and of course to win her.\n\nHis first application was made through an agent, to a Mrs. Villars, who\nused to act as hair-dresser to the much-sought-after widow. Her services\nwere asked for, under promise of great reward, to bring matters about so\nthat Mrs. Deleau should see Fielding, if it were only, as it were, by\naccident. The beau thought that if the widow saw, _he_ would conquer.\nWere a marriage to follow, Fielding promised hundreds out of his wife\u2019s\nmoney.\n\nThe worthy agents failed to do their hirer\u2019s bidding. He even called at\nWaddon, under the name of Major-General Villars, and was allowed to see\nthe gardens. He mistook a lady at a window of the house for _the_ lady\nof whom he was in search, and as she smiled when he put his hand to the\nleft side of his laced waistcoat, and made a bow till his vertebra was\nhorizontal, he concluded that his fortune was made; and the next day he\nsent letters in his own name, which the servants, knowing the writer, and\nhaving their orders, dropped into the fire,\u2014after reading them in the\nservants\u2019 hall.\n\nThe next move was an application to see the grounds at Waddon,\nprofessedly from the famous or infamous Duchess of Cleveland, Fielding\u2019s\nchief patroness,\u2014so low had fallen the mother of dukes and the concubine\nof a king. Permission was granted, but nothing came of the concession.\n\nIn the meantime Mrs. Villars, by no means disposed to lose the promised\nrecompense, persuaded Fielding that the widow had yielded, and would pay\nhim a visit. He was in a state of delight at the intelligence. The lady,\nhowever, who was to pass as Mrs. Deleau, was a \u201cMistress Mary Wadsworth,\u201d\nwho was ready for any joke, and thought the one proposed the best she had\never shared in,\u2014and she had been an actress in many. These two sensitive\ncreatures accordingly repaired to Fielding\u2019s lodgings one soft autumnal\neve. The beau was in a flutter of ecstasy, was continually on his knees,\nand devoted himself to the lowest position in hades if he ever had loved\nany woman before. The assumed Mrs. Deleau was coy, as became a widow with\nsixty thousand pounds and no encumbrances. The lover pressed her to be\nmarried that night, if she would not have him perish; but she playfully\ntouched his cheek with her fan, and bade him wait and hope,\u2014sad, naughty\nfellow that he was!\n\nAfter two more such visits, the soft and tender creature was seduced\nto sacrifice her scruples, and consented to a private marriage at\nher lover\u2019s chambers. The party supped joyously together, and then\nthe bridegroom sallied forth in search of a priest. He found one at\nthe Emperor of Germany\u2019s ambassador\u2019s; and his reverence having been\nintroduced to the lady, satisfied her of the reality of his vocation,\nand in a twinkling buckled beau and belle together in a way, he said,\nthat defied undoing. All the after-ceremonies religiously observed in\nthose refined days ensued; indeed the marriage would not have been\nhalf a marriage without them, and so all parties but the dupers were\nsatisfied,\u2014and in fact even _they_ did not complain.\n\nThe bride left for home next morning unattended; for family reasons, she\naverred, it was necessary to keep the union unrevealed, and accordingly\nshe only repaired now and then to see \u201cthe Count,\u201d as her husband styled\nhimself, and to eat toasted cheese and drink port and vat-ale with a man\nwho had married her, as he exclaimed at the sacred ceremony, \u201cwith all\nhis heart, soul, blood, and everything else!\u201d\n\nThere is no comedy of the last century, however absurd the plot, and\ncoarse and ridiculous the incidents, that is more absurd, coarse, and\nridiculous than this comedy in which Fielding was the hero and Mistress\nWadsworth and the Duchess of Cleveland the heroines. The beau was\nconvinced he had married a widow with a jointure of a golden character.\nThe letters he addressed to the residence of Mrs. Deleau must have\ncaused infinite astonishment to that calm relict of the citizen of\nCopthall-court; but she held the writer as mad, and thought little more\nof the matter. In the meantime Fielding, who had patronized half-a-dozen\ntailors on the strength of his expectations, mysteriously alluded to,\nacted the strangest of parts. He married her Grace the noble Barbara\nwithin three weeks of his union with Mary Wadsworth. He provided himself\nwith two stools for the support of his dignity; and in the very fashion\nof the proverb, he got very terribly bruised indeed.\n\nThe wretched duper turned out to be the dupe. He had expended his cake\nand wine, his _petit soupers_, wax-lights, and sconces all to no purpose;\nhe had run in debt for a ring with a posy of his own choosing, \u201c_Tibi\nSoli_;\u201d and he had paid an Italian singer Margaretta to come and sing to\nhis beloved, \u201cIanthe the lovely,\u201d translated by himself from the Greek.\nHe had looked for threescore thousand pounds, and had been deluded into\nthe idea that he was about to be the sire of a little \u201cLord Tunbridge,\u201d\nand at the end of all, the bride proves a common jilt; goes boldly to\nFielding\u2019s lodgings in Whitehall, claims him, as he walks into the\nstreet, by the title of \u201clawful wife,\u201d and gets an unsavoury name by way\nof reply, and a thorough thrashing into the bargain.\n\nThe affair soon came into the courts. Fielding, a few weeks after his\nunion with Mistress Mary Wadsworth, had espoused _les beaux restes_ of\nBarbara Duchess of Cleveland. Till he began to beat the Duchess as well\nas the Dulcinea, he appears to have transferred his \u201cgreen nightcap\nand slippers\u201d by the hands of a servant from the bower of one beauty\nto the boudoir of another. The Duchess, at length, offered the first\nwife \u00a3200 down and \u00a3100 annually for fifteen years, if she succeeded\nin establishing the first marriage. Accordingly, the Beau was indicted\nfor bigamy at the Old Bailey. He endeavoured to prove that his supposed\nwidow had been married to one Brady, who was living at the time of her\nmarriage with Fielding, and something like a forged certificate in\nthe Fleet Register was produced to support it. But with Montague for\nopposing counsel (Fielding was his own) and Powell for a judge, the\nBeau could make nothing of a very bad case; and, being found guilty, he\nwas sentenced to be burnt in the hand,\u2014a sentence which he escaped by\nproducing Queen Anne\u2019s warrant to stay execution. He was accordingly set\nfree; and the Duchess of Cleveland, being now also freed from him and\nhis very heavy hand, the ex-beauty, but now be-rouged old flirt, lived\nunmolested by anything more unpleasant than a very gentle remorse for her\n_p\u00e9ch\u00e9s mignons_.\n\nThe Beau soon fell into dire distress; and a sketch of the complexion of\nthis phasis of life will be found in Bulwer\u2019s \u2018Devereux.\u2019 He is there\ndescribed as \u201cterribly fallen, as to fortune, since the day when he\ndrove about in a car like a sea-shell, with a dozen tall fellows in the\nAustrian livery, black and yellow, running before and behind him. You\nknow he claims relationship to the House of Hapsburg. As for the present,\nhe writes poems, makes love, is still good-natured, humorous, and odd;\nis rather unhappily addicted to wine and borrowing, and rigidly keeps\nthe oath of the Carthusians, which never suffers them to carry any money\nabout them.\u201d\n\nThe Austrian livery however had disappeared after the break with the\nDuchess. The Beau\u2019s den is probably more correct in its details. \u201cThe\nchamber looked like a place in the other world, set apart for the ghosts\nof departed furniture. The hangings were wan and colourless; the chairs\nand sofas were most spiritually unsubstantial; the mirrors reflected all\nthings in a sepulchral sea-green; even a huge picture of Mr. Fielding\nhimself, placed over the chimney-piece, seemed like the apparition of a\nportrait, so dim, watery, and indistinct had it been rendered by neglect\nand damp. On a huge, tomb-like table in the middle of the room lay two\npencilled profiles of Mr. Fielding, a pair of ruffles, a very little\nmuff, an immense broadsword, a Wycherly comb, a jack-boot, and an old\nplumed hat; to these were added, a cracked pomatum pot, containing ink,\nand a scrap of paper, ornamented with sundry paintings of hearts and\ntorches. Upon the ground lay a box of patches, a periwig, and two or\nthree well-thumbed books of songs.\u201d The Beau himself, half bully, half\nfribble, a poet, a fop, a fighter, a beauty, is described as wearing an\nold morning dressing-gown of once gorgeous material; a little velvet cap\nwith tarnished gold tassel, military boots, and with a coarse and florid\ncomplexion as the remains of a beauty, the expression of which \u201chad\nsettled into a broad, hardy, farcical mixture of effrontery, humour, and\nconceit.\u201d\n\nBut all his effrontery could not keep him afloat, and he finally\ndisappeared altogether from the \u201cworld;\u201d and so little was known of his\nend that men disputed of his burial-place, as of another Atala, and it\nwas quite undetermined whether he died in Hampshire or in Holland. The\nestimation, however, in which he was held is amply demonstrated in the\nannexed epitaph by a friend:\u2014\n\n    \u201cIf Fielding is dead,\n      And rests under this stone,\n    Then he is not alive,\n      You may bet two to one.\n    But if he\u2019s alive,\n      And does not lie here,\n    Let him live till he\u2019s hang\u2019d,\n      For which no man will care.\u201d\n\nIn the 113th number of the \u2018Tatler,\u2019 under the motto of \u201cEcce iterum\nCrispinus,\u201d the catalogue is given of the effects of a defunct beau:\nand probably with some allusion to Fielding. Among the articles cited\nare \u201cA very rich tweezer case, containing twelve instruments for the\nuse of each hour in the day.\u201d To this succeed gilt snuff-boxes, with\nlooking-glasses in the lid, or portraits of equivocal ladies; \u201ca sword\nwith a steel-diamond hilt, never drawn but once at May Fair;\u201d eyebrow\nbrushes, a \u201cpocket perspective,\u201d a dozen pair of red-heeled shoes, three\npair of red silk stockings, and an amber-headed cane. The beau\u2019s \u201cstrong\nbox\u201d contains \u201cfive billets-doux, a Bath shilling, a crooked sixpence,\na silk garter, a lock of hair, and three broken fans.\u201d His book-case is\ninstructive: on the upper shelf there are three bottles of diet-drink,\ntwo boxes of pills, a syringe, and _other_ mathematical instruments;\non the second, there is a miscellaneous collection of lampoons, plays,\ntailors\u2019 bills, and an almanack for the year 1700; the third shelf holds\na bundle of unopened letters, indorsed \u201cfrom the old gentleman,\u201d with\nToland\u2019s \u2018Christianity not Mysterious,\u2019 and a paper of \u201cpatterns of\nseveral fashionable stuffs,\u201d\u2014Toland\u2019s \u2018Christianity\u2019 being _stuff_ that\nwas very fashionable at _that_ time. The lowest shelf of all reveals an\nodd shoe, a pair of snuffers, a French grammar, a mourning hatband, and\nhalf a bottle of usquebagh. These \u201ceffects\u201d paint the beau of a by-gone\ntime; and Fielding was the grand master of the _petits-ma\u00eetres_, who were\nthe proprietors of this very varied property.\n\nThere was however as great, as impudent, and as renowned a beau as he. He\ncomes this way in a white hat, and his name is Nash.\n\n\n\n\nBEAU NASH.\n\n    \u201cN\u2019achetez pas vos principes chez ce _Gentis homo_, homme de la\n    nation.\u201d\u2014DE BONALD.\n\n\nThe gaudiest flies spring from the most unsavoury of cradles, and Beau\nNash was born in ill-odoured Swansea. He used to say, he \u201ccould not help\nit.\u201d Like Liston, it had been his own intention to be born in Shropshire;\nbut he and the grotesque comedian possessed not the privilege of the\nembryo saint, whose prayers procured his birth in the locality and at\nthe period which best suited himself. Accordingly, Richard Nash was born\nat Swansea in the stirring year 1674. His very boyhood was brassy, as\nbefitted so metallic a locality.\n\nIn after years, when Nash was at the most brilliant epoch of his\nbutterfly period, and it had for some time been remarked that, much as\nthe Beau talked of other people, he never mentioned his own father, the\nDuchess of Queensberry, in her Grace\u2019s usual familiar style, asked the\nmeek Richard if he were ashamed of his sire, that he never mentioned\nhim. \u201cNay, madam,\u201d said Nash, \u201cif I never name him, it is because he has\nreason to be ashamed of _me_.\u201d It was the only humble speech which Nash\never uttered, and it had truth for its foundation.\n\nThe sire of the gay Richard was a quiet individual, a partner in one\nof the Bristol glass-houses. He had more ambition than wisdom; and he\ncommenced blowing his son into a gentleman by sending him to Jesus\nCollege, Oxford, at the age of sixteen. \u201cI hope, Dick,\u201d said the honest\nman, \u201cyou will distinguish yourself before you are a year older.\u201d \u201cDad,\u201d\nreplied Dick, \u201cI will astonish you _within_ that period.\u201d And he kept\nhis word. Before a year had expired he had taken first-class honours\nin puppyism, had become the terror or temptation of half the women in\nOxford, made an offer of marriage to a young lady as modest as himself;\nand had got expelled. He _did_ astonish his father!\n\nThe good man, on recovering from his surprise, began to perceive that\nhis first attempt at making Dick a gentleman had failed; but he was a\ndetermined individual, and had resolved to succeed. Accordingly he bought\nfor young Master Hopeful an ensign\u2019s commission. \u201cNow, Dick,\u201d said he,\n\u201cthe thing is done; you are \u2018an officer and a gentleman\u2019 by right of your\ncommission.\u201d Poor old citizen! he might as well have said that the zenith\nwas also the nadir by power of astronomy.\n\nI believe Nash entered the 46th. I am inclined to think so, from the\ncircumstance that he seemed to have lost his memory as soon as he\n\u201cjoined.\u201d He certainly forgot everything but what he had done well not\nto remember. He forgot to get up to parade; could never remember, when\nhe did rise, the events of the preceding night; even what the chaplain\nhad said to him, over the punch, had gone out of his memory, as it had\nfrom that of the reverend gentleman. He was oblivious of every point\nof duty, never recollected to pay his bills, and was in all things a\nconsummate scamp. The colonel, who might have endured a young fellow who\nwas a more unprincipled scamp than himself, could not tolerate one who\nwas a greater wit. He made the ensign\u2019s life miserable; and as the ensign\nhad determined that his life should not be of that quality, he sold his\ncommission, and, having spent the money, did his father the honour of\nreturning home.\n\n\u201cGo to the devil!\u201d said his sire; and Dick accordingly came up to town,\nand entered at the Temple. Having done this, he went to the gaming table.\nIt was impossible for son to show more alacrity in setting out on the\njourney whither his father had sent him.\n\nThe ancient gentleman to whom his sire had consigned him must have been\nproud of his young friend. The latter was at dice one half the night, at\nballs and assemblies the other half; and he was in bed all day. His gains\nwere devoted not to the comfort of his appetite or the nourishment of his\nintellect, but almost exclusively to dress. He eclipsed every beau of\nwhatever rank: the women adored, the men hated him, but all acknowledged\nthat a spirited young fellow, who had been expelled college, had found it\nconvenient to withdraw from the army, who was a Templar \u201cfor the fun of\nthe thing,\u201d and who was all gold lace and gallantry, was worthy of being\nthe leader of the \u201c_ton_;\u201d and for that matter they were perfectly right.\n\nHe was the conductor of the entertainments given by the Middle Temple\nto William the Third. The Monarch was so pleased with the Master of the\nCeremonies that he offered to make him a knight. \u201cThat depends,\u201d said the\nimpudent beau, \u201cupon what sort of a chevalier your Majesty would make of\nme. If it were a \u2018poor knight of Windsor,\u2019 I should be rich at once, and\nwell content.\u201d The King shook his head, and Nash lost the honour.\n\nHe made up for it by gaining them at whist; and he was so good-tempered\na player that even his adversaries bore his triumphs without cursing\nhim\u2014much. The truth is, that he was a terrible rake; but he was not a\ndishonourable fellow, according to the then existing code of honour. The\nTemplars entrusted him with some portion of their funds. His accounts\nwere once ten pounds short of correctness, and he accounted for its\ndeficit by saying, that he had heard a poor fellow say that ten pounds\nwould make him happy, and he could not resist giving him that sum.\nThe charity was something like that of Mrs. Haller, who gave away her\nmaster\u2019s wine to the sick, and got a character for generosity thereby.\nHowever, the Templar auditors passed the accounts. The beau\u2019s story was\nprobably true, for he was quick to feel for others, and the readiest man\nat a lie of his own or any other period.\n\nNash never frittered away his money in paying his debts. \u201cDoing that\nvulgar sort of thing,\u201d said he, \u201cnever procures you a friend; lending\nmoney _does_!\u201d and he was ready to lend to the great when the dice\nfavoured him. The young gentleman\u2019s maxim was quite worthy of one whose\n\u201cindignant parient\u201d had constituted him a ward of the devil.\n\nHis relaxations from town and Temple studies further showed the respect\nhe had for his eminent guardian. During a country excursion he stood in a\nblanket at the door of York Minster. He professed to be doing penance for\nhis sins, and the clergy cut jokes with him as they passed. He performed\nthis pretty trick for a poor wager of half-a-dozen guineas, and he\nperformed a worse for a bet more trifling; he rode stark-naked through a\nquiet and astonished village,\u2014an achievement in which he was subsequently\nimitated by the father of Louis Philippe. But these were little foibles\nthe most readily forgiven by the ladies: how could they be angry with a\nfine gentleman, whose gallantry was so great that when he sat next one at\ntable he made love to her then and there, and swore with the most liberal\nparade of oaths that he never drank any wine but such as had been \u201cfirst\nstrained through his mistress\u2019s smock!\u201d\n\nAnd then the pretty process was gone through, amid a world of wild talk\nthat would nowadays somewhat ruffle even the Vestas of Cremorne; but the\nfair creatures of William\u2019s age declared him to be \u201ca dear, delicate,\u201d\nand some Lady Bettys added, in their grapy enthusiasm, \u201ca d\u2014d gallant\nfellow.\u201d His friend Satan must have chuckled at the word.\n\nIt is quite possible that after some one of these orgies, he was, by\nway of a good practical joke, carried off, by a captain as drunk as\nhimself, on board a ship to the Mediterranean. It is quite certain that\nhe disappeared for a considerable period; and when he turned up again,\nhe not only told the tale of his abduction, but averred that he had been\nin a naval battle, and had received a ball in the leg. He was one night\nrepeating the oft-told tale in the Bath rooms, when a countess boldly\nexpressed her disbelief of the alleged fact. Nash imprecated upon her\nthe disease which very fine people who quarrelled used to fling at one\nanother, and then said, as he put up his leg on her lap, \u201cThe ball is\nthere, Madam; and if you will, you may feel it!\u201d\n\nSuch was the Beau in the Bath rooms; but at that period, the women went\nthither in aprons, the squires in top-boots, with pipes in their mouths.\nThe longer they kept them there the better, for they were no sooner out\nthan forth flowed a torrent of filthiness. But all Bath, from the days\nof the farewell to it of the Romans, down to a later period than this of\nwhich I am speaking, was a mere _cloaca_; and they who resorted thither\nwere too often as dirty as the place. Its unsavouriness elicited some\nvery stringent remarks from Queen Elizabeth, and a contribution from the\nroyal purse for constructing a common sewer.\n\nIt is the custom to look upon Nash as the first of the dynasty of the\nBath Masters of the Ceremonies. The true founder of that highly august\ndynasty however was the Duke of Beaufort himself. For the invalids who\nresorted to the healing springs, there were but two houses fitted for the\nreception of a \u201crespectable,\u201d that is, a _moneyed_ class of visitors;\nnamely, the Abbey House and Westgate House. It was not till long after\nthat there was either a ball-room, or any place of public amusement in\nthe city. Sometimes a convivial party of invalids, or their friends, got\nup a dance on the open bowling-green. But such inconveniences attended\nthis, that the Duke of Beaufort gave up the town-hall for both the\ndancers and gamblers. His Grace placed the conduct of the amusements\nunder the superintendence of Captain Webster; and that gentleman having\nrespectably inaugurated them, the sceptre of Master was made over to Nash.\n\nThe passion for play was long the ruling passion here, among the sick, as\nwell as among the sound. The passion is well illustrated in the epigram,\nwritten when subscription books were opened for providing for the\nexpenses of Church service, and for opening a new card-room:\u2014\n\n    \u201cThe books were open\u2019d t\u2019other day,\n    At all the shops, for Church and Play.\n    The Church got _six_; Hoyle _sixty-seven_:\n    How great the chance for Hell \u2019gainst Heaven!\u201d\n\nNash\u2019s great enemy he found in the doctors. They disliked him for helping\nto cure invalids too quickly, by the general cheerfulness and gaiety\nwhich he essayed to establish in the city. They moreover bore him little\nlove for his abolition of the sword, a general and not too deadly use of\nwhich was wont to procure for them endless patients, and continual profit.\n\nThe profession pursued its vocation at Bath at this period with little\ndelicacy. The carriages of invalids, and the public stage-coach, which\nreached the city on the third day after its departure from town, were\nassailed at the outskirts by hosts of \u201ctouters,\u201d who were engaged by\nthe physicians to publish their respective merits (they now do that for\nthemselves, thus saving expense), and to carry off as many patients as\nthey could respectively secure. For these the doctors paid the touters a\npercentage; and as the touters were, in most cases, the husbands of the\nnurses, all parties played into each other\u2019s hands.\n\n    \u201cAnd so, as I grew ev\u2019ry day worse and worse,\n    The doctor advised me to send for a nurse;\n    And the nurse was so willing my health to restore,\n    She begg\u2019d me to send for a few doctors more.\u201d\n\nAs the vivacity which Nash put into the place very much injured the\nlatter gentlemen, one, more angry than the rest, threatened to \u201cthrow a\ntoad into the spring,\u201d by writing against the waters. \u201cFling away!\u201d cried\nNash; \u201cwe\u2019ll charm him out again by an additional band of music!\u201d And\nhe dealt another blow at them, by decreeing that, in future, the balls\nshould commence at six, and terminate at eleven, instead of lasting, as\nheretofore, till daybreak.\n\nHis code of laws for these balls was the code of a terrible despot, and\nI can hardly account for the ready obedience which was paid to it. His\nforce of impudence and blaze of dress, with some superiority of mind,\nperhaps awed the sensual and stupid peers, peeresses, squires, and dames.\nOne of the articles of the code was to the effect, that \u201cvery young, and\nalso the \u2018elder ladies,\u2019 be content with the second benches at the balls,\nthe one not yet having arrived at, the other being past, perfection.\u201d The\nrule was obeyed!\n\nPrecisely at six the magnificent fellow gave the signal, and the couple\npresent highest in rank, advanced submissively, and walked a minuet.\nAfter every couple had gone through the same solemnity, the splendid\n\u201cMaster\u201d gave the word for country-dances. How the ladies and gentlemen\nwent at it in those days, may be seen from what took place when the dial\nshowed eleven o\u2019clock. The jewelled finger of Nash was then raised in\nthe air, the music ceased, and, \u201cNow,\u201d said he, \u201clet the ladies sit down\n_to cool_, before they go to their chairs!\u201d On one occasion the Princess\nAmelia begged for another dance after eleven had struck. Nash shook all\nthe powder out of his hair in mute horror at the bare idea of such a\nsolecism.\n\nThe Duchess of Queensberry was also once daring enough to infringe his\nrules by appearing in the rooms in a laced apron. He tore it off, and\nthrew it among the servants; and to the richest squire of the county,\nwho presumed to appear, contrary to Nash\u2019s own decree, in boots, he\nexclaimed, \u201cHolloa, Hog\u2019s Norton, haven\u2019t you forgot to bring your\nhorse?\u201d The squire talked of swords. \u201cNo, no,\u201d replied Nash, \u201cI have put\nan end to duels; and thereby, Squire, I have prevented people from doing\nwhat they have no mind to.\u201d\n\nThis sort of coarseness was refinement in Elizabethan days. I may cite in\nproof thereof, that when the valiant Welsh commander, Sir Roger Williams,\nknelt to Queen Elizabeth, in his rough untanned leather boots, to present\na petition she was determined not to grant, she only remarked, \u201cWilliams,\nhow your boots stink!\u201d \u201cTut, Madam!\u201d answered the Welshman, \u201cit is my\nsuit, and not my boots, that stink!\u201d So did she affect to annoy Cecil,\nby wearing his portrait for a day tied to her shoe. On another occasion\nshe admitted to her presence a whole bevy of country-cousins named Brown.\nThey were of the kindred of Anne Boleyn; but when Elizabeth saw them in\ntheir queer old-fashioned dresses, she fairly frightened them by her\ncoarse remarks, from ever coming to court again. Perhaps hence is derived\nthe popular saying, in which allusion is made to \u201c_astonishing the\nBrowns_.\u201d It is an Elizabethan phrase!\n\nIn the recess, Nash used to cross the country to Tunbridge. His\nequipage was a flaming carriage, drawn by six greys; with outriders all\nembroidery, and French horns all brass and bluster. He wore a white hat,\nof which he was the introducer; and he did so, he said, that, it being\nthe only one of the sort, his hat might never be stolen.\n\nIn his dress he combined the fashions of two centuries; and, thanks to\nhis luck at play, he lived as grandly as half-a-dozen kings. But none\nknew better than he the folly of gambling. He once lost a considerable\nsum to an Oxford lad who had just come into a large fortune. \u201cBoy,\u201d said\nhe, \u201ctake my advice. You are a young Cr\u0153sus; play no more.\u201d Nash himself\nwould not play with him, but the _millionnaire_ collegian found men less\nscrupulous; and the prodigal, ere he had attained his twenty-fifth year,\ncould, like the gentleman in Shakspeare, \u201cThank Heaven that he was not\nworth a ducat.\u201d\n\nNash was the same sort of Mentor to the gambling Duke of Bedford; and\nthe Duke entered with the Beau into a gambling compact, whereby he bound\nhimself to put restraint upon his spirit of gambling. Nash gave him \u00a3100,\nto receive \u00a31000 whenever the Duke lost the latter sum at one sitting.\nNash came upon his Grace a month after, just as he had lost \u00a38000, and\nwas about to throw for \u00a33000 more. Nash reminded him of the compact.\nThe Duke paid the forfeit, threw his main, and lost. Perhaps the Beau\nexpected some such profitable result of his little investment.\n\nHe may not however have deserved this remark; for Nash could be most\nromantically generous. Thus, Lord Townsend lost to him a sum which he\ncould not conveniently pay; the Beau forgave the debt, some \u00a320,000, on\ncondition that the Peer should give him \u00a35000 whenever asked to do so.\nNash never troubled Lord Townsend further; but, after the Lord\u2019s decease,\nwhen the Beau had fallen into adversity, he applied to the Peer\u2019s\nrepresentatives, exhibited his vouchers, and was paid his claim. This is\nhonourable to both parties.\n\nThe Peers and the Parliament generally were a singularly inconsistent\nset of people at this time. They passed a law which suppressed gambling\neverywhere, _except in the royal palace_, under a penalty of \u00a350; and\nthey no sooner passed this law than they hurried to many places, and\nto Bath especially, to break it. Nash said _he_ was King of Bath, and\nthat playing in his palace was _not_ infringing the ordinances; but\nthe Parliament was too much even for him in the long run, and, by the\nultimate suppression of all \u201ctables,\u201d in whatsoever locality, they\ndeprived the Beau of much of his power to put gold lace on his coat, and\nguineas in his pocket.\n\nStill he was the despot of the rooms; and again I say, that the secret of\nhis power almost defies conjecture. He was indeed a splendid decker of\nhis person; but that person was clumsy, large, and awkward. His features\nwere harsh. It is to be remembered however, that he not only had fine\nclothes, but a stupendous gift of \u201cflattering;\u201d and he had, besides, more\nwit than most of the ladies he cajoled. \u201cRichard,\u201d said a modest young\ncreature to him one day (and it is painful to think that she might have\nbeen our grandmother;\u2014that is, yours, reader, or mine): \u201cRichard, you\nhave a tongue that would debauch a nunnery!\u201d\n\nHe assumed an airy sort of \u201cindifference\u201d in his method of gallantry,\nand the ladies found this deliciously provoking. It set the fashion; and\nit became the characteristic of the Georgian beaux. It was a contrast,\nmuch welcomed, after the smartness and pertness of the beaux of the\nreign of Queen Anne; and it was preferable to the slimy solemnity of the\nbeaux of the age of King Charles. And Dick, be it said for him, always\nkept hold of a rag of dignity, whereby to help himself; and when he\nfound that he could not be a seducer, he became a champion. He loved to\nrescue damsels from the suit of adventurers, and he _did_ save many. He\nchastised scandal; would not tolerate it even in the elder ladies who\nsat on his sacred benches. The King of Bath made a royal monopoly of the\narticle, as the King of France did of tobacco. He had capital opportunity\nof indulging in his favourite dish, when he used to consult with the old\nDuchess of Marlborough upon the fashion of her liveries.\n\nLike Florian, who used to hunt out distressed subjects for his patron,\nthe Duc de Penthi\u00e8vre, to relieve, he took a praiseworthy delight in\ndiscovering worth in adversity, and then compelling the wealthy to do\nsomething to lighten that adversity. It is perfectly true that, having\ngained \u00a3200 at picquet, and hearing a bystander remark, \u201cHow happy that\nsum would make me!\u201d Nash threw him the money, saying, \u201cThere, then, go\nand be happy!\u201d\n\nAmong the poor patients at the springs, the Beau once discovered a poor\ncurate, named Cullender. He had a wife, of course six children, and\nnaturally only thirty pounds a year. Nash donned his best suit, polished\nup the persuasive end of his irresistible tongue, went to a \u201cpatron\u201d who\nhad a living to give, and did not leave him till he had given it to Dr.\nCullender. It was worth \u00a3160 per annum. \u201cThere, Doctor,\u201d said Nash, \u201cI\u2019ve\nbrought you half Potosi.\u201d \u201cBy G\u2014d!\u201d said the divine, \u201cso you have!\u201d Such\nwas patronage, pity, and piety, in the days of Beau Nash.\n\nIt is not to be supposed that so general a wooer escaped altogether\nheart-free. He had a heart; as good a one (as was said in Fontenelle\u2019s\ncase) as could be made out of brains; and he once proposed marriage to\nthe lady of his transitory affections. The lady pleaded her devotion to\nanother lover, and even asked for Nash\u2019s mediation with her father to\nconsent to the marriage. The honest fellow consented, and went through\ninfinite trouble before he succeeded. He himself joined the hands of the\naffianced pair, and gave them his blessing. Six months afterwards, the\nlady eloped with her footman!\n\nNash ought not to have been disgusted with human nature, for ladies\noccasionally were given, in his time, to the observance of this little\nfashion; but it did disgust Nash. He turned misogynist, and gave himself\nmore to philanthropy in its restricted sense. He hated women, he said,\nbut still had charity for men; and accordingly he was foremost in\nfounding the Bath Hospital, and alone in raising obelisks to rheumatic\nprinces,\u2014obelisks for which Pope furnished very inferior superscriptions.\n\nChesterfield exhibited a \u201cstatuary wit\u201d which Pope despised, when the\nstatue of Nash was placed, a full length, between the busts of Newton\nand Pope himself. The epigram is well known, but it is worth repeating:\u2014\n\n    \u201cThis statue placed the busts between,\n      Adds to the satire strength;\n    Wisdom and Wit are little seen,\n      But Folly at full length.\u201d\n\nThis is neat, and also original. The idea was applied by the Paris wits\nin an epigram on the group in Paris which represented the equestrian\nfigure of Louis XV. on a pedestal, the angles of the upper slab of which\nwere supported by bronze caryatides, representing Faith, Temperance,\nPrudence, and Justice. The cardinal virtues thus placed gave good point\nto the epigram, which said:\u2014\n\n    \u201cOh, la belle statue! le beau pi\u00e9destal!\n    Les Vertus sont \u00e0 pied, le Vice est \u00e0 cheval!\u201d\n\nAs long as Nash exhibited splendour in his outward man, the public homage\nnever failed him. Literary musicians, literary cooks, and biographical\nhighwaymen dedicated their works to him. Was he sick? the entire army\nof poetasters invoked the Muse to give him ease. For all of which they\nlooked for their respective guineas.\n\nHe had too another set of worshipers, who used to congregate about him\nat his favourite tavern, to listen to his favourite stories,\u2014few and not\nwell told,\u2014to which they had listened till they could themselves have\nnarrated them backwards. He recounted them ever _\u00e0 propos des bottes_,\nand he was the hero of every one of them. Therein he shows as outdoing\nFortunatus and all his servants. He was the swiftest runner, the most\nexpert swimmer, the best swordsman, and\u2014\u201cUpon my soul, it\u2019s true! D\u2014n me!\nhem! egad!\u201d\n\nHe really had more wit than his stories would authorize us to suppose.\nWitness his suggestion at a county-town ball. The county ladies refused\nto dance in the same set with the town ladies. The rich tradesmen were\nindignant at the slight put upon their spouses, but the suggestive wit\nof Nash saved them. They made it known that if the county ladies and\nsquires would not dance with the town wives and traders, the latter would\nrefuse all further credit, and would call in their debts. The proud party\nimmediately yielded, and a grand country-dance of reconciliation followed\nto the tune of \u2018Money Musk.\u2019\n\nStill, despite his wit and his dazzling dress, Nash was naturally\ncoarse. Fancy a modern master of the ceremonies saying aloud to a lady\nsomewhat misshapen, and who, in reply to a question from him, had stated\nthat she had come to Bath straight from London,\u2014fancy such a dignitary\nexclaiming, \u201cYou may have come \u2018straight\u2019 from London, Madam, but you\nhave got d\u2014nably warped by the way!\u201d The squires were bigger brutes than\nhe, and so did not kick him; nay, they only laughed when this glittering\npotentate used to ask the ladies who declined to dance, \u201cIf by chance\nthey had bandy legs, and were afraid of showing them?\u201d\n\nThe truth is, he feared nobody. He had refused knighthood at the hands\nof King William; and he did the same at the hands of Queen Anne. \u201cI will\nhave none of it, most gracious Madam,\u201d said Nash, as if he were refusing\nto grant a favour; \u201cbut there is Sir William Read, the mountebank, whom\nyour Majesty has knighted,\u2014I shall be very happy to call him \u2018brother.\u2019\u201d\nThe Queen smiled, and passed on.\n\nThis species of rudeness, which came over him in his later days, helped\nto empty the rooms. He no longer could boast of seventeen duchesses and\ncountesses standing up in his first country-dance. He sometimes too got\nvexatiously repulsed, as in the case of a young lady whom he met in the\nGrove, leading a spaniel, and whom he asked if she knew the name of\nTobit\u2019s dog. \u201cI know it well enough,\u201d said the lady; \u201chis name is Nash,\nand a very impudent dog he is.\u201d\n\nAnd at length came the \u201cend of an auld sang;\u201d old-age, and with\nit infirmity and distress. He could still talk of not following\nprescriptions, because he had thrown them out of window; but the clergy\nat length took possession of the Beau, and so belaboured him with\npamphlets, visits, exhortations to repentance, and menaces of the devil,\nthat Nash, who, like Gallio, had cared for none of these things, became\nfairly bewildered, and feared death more than ever he had done. He was an\nawful coward in presence of that especial antagonist of beaux; but his\ncowardice of course was not respected, and he died in abject terror of\ndying.\n\nThe year was that of 1761, and his age was then hard upon the patriarchal\none of ninety years. He had few of the patriarchal virtues; but Bath,\nto whose corporation he bequeathed a \u201cfifty pounds,\u201d which I very much\nwish they may have got, honoured him with a public funeral, with more\ncircumstantial pomp about it than if he had been an incarnation of all\nvirtue, patriarchal, princely, and of every other degree. The multitude\ngazed weepingly, as though another dead Tasso were passing by to cold\nobstruction, and had left them a legacy of intellectual worth. The poor\nwretch had little to leave, save some _gaillard_ books, and some women\u2019s\ntoys and trinkets,\u2014the relics of his beauhood, and the testimonies of\nhis past power. As for the poets, they spoke of the defunct dandy as the\n\u201cconstellation of a heavenly sphere;\u201d and he had epitaphs enough to make\nthe very earth lie heavy upon the breast of Beau Nash.\n\nAnd now, good reader, having sojourned with two exclusively English\nbeaux, like Fielding and Nash, we will, if you please, to Vienna, and\ntarry awhile with a sparkling beau of European reputation. \u201cPlace pour le\nPrince de Ligne!\u201d\n\n\n\n\nTHE PRINCE DE LIGNE.\n\n                      \u201cThis chub-faced fop\n    Shines sleek with full cramm\u2019d fat of happiness.\u201d\n\n                   JOHN MARSTON: _Antonio\u2019s Revenge_.\n\n\nThe Prince de Ligne has, at least, the merit of being not only a \u201cbeau,\u201d\nbut a \u201cbrave.\u201d The two professions are seldom united, but they were\ncertainly to be found in this gallant coxcomb.\n\nThe Prince, although ever faithful to the fortunes of the House of\nHapsburg, was not himself of Austrian lineage. His patrimonial house,\nthe Castle of Belveil, still stands in quaint supremacy over the modest\nvillage of Ligne, about six miles from Alt, in Belgium. It has endured\nseven centuries of change; and its gothic peculiarities, with its\nold-world garden, and its ancient hornbeam hedges, yet answer to the\nprolix description thereof given in the Prince\u2019s published letters, as\nwell as to the concise, if little majestic, line of Delille, who says of\nit in his \u2018Jardins,\u2019\n\n    \u201cBelveil, tout \u00e0 la fois magnifique et champ\u00eatre.\u201d\n\nHere, in 1734, the Prince first saw the light; and the soldiers of his\nfather\u2019s regiment \u2018de Ligne,\u2019 loved to carry the infant son of their\nprince-colonel in their arms. The lengthened life of this once celebrated\ndandy, author, diplomatist, and soldier, made him the contemporary of\nmen of many generations. The man who once fraternally embraced our own\nWellington, Prince of Waterloo, had sat on the knee of the famous Prince\nEugene, and had looked upon the matured greatness of Marlborough. Thus\nhe was contemporary with men who had been born under the son of James I.,\nand with others now living under Queen Victoria, whom God preserve!\n\nAfter, as a boy, carrying the colours of his father\u2019s regiment with\nhonour, he entered the dragoons of Ligne, and won distinction at\nthe point of his sword. He was practically a noble soldier, and he\nslaughtered as courteously as Bayard. His day was not the day of\ncarpet-knights, for Europe was then given to settle all her quarrels in\nthe field; and when cabinets cooled, warriors looked to their corslets.\nTheoretically, the Prince does not shine. Nobody reads his \u2018Commentaries\non the Art of War;\u2019 and I have no doubt that the martial portion of\nhis departed spirit is sorely vexed, at seeing his own highly-prized\ninstructions for infantry man\u0153uvres less cared for by posterity than the\nold Greek\u2019s dissertation upon the forming of the phalanx.\n\nFor more than half a century he lived in camps, and was daily familiar\nwith every dread circumstance of war. He bore himself bravely at the\nbloody siege of fatal Ismael, and was among the most active at that\ntaking of Belgrade, which Storace put so pleasantly to music for the\ndelight of our fathers. In the fields of death, whereon, with varied\nfortune, the Great Frederick and the crafty Maria Theresa fought out\ntheir envenomed quarrels, there he was ever present, the finest, the\nforemost, and the fiercest in the fray. And most of all, on that famous\nday at Maxen, when the Austrian Daun caught Frederick\u2019s general, Finck,\nin the defiles, and took bloody advantage of the opportunity,\u2014on that day\nof untold horrors, courage and murder reigned supreme. Ere night came on,\nthe Black Eagle of Brandenburg had yielded to his double-necked cousin\nfrom the Danube. Every Prussian who survived the fight, surrendered.\nThe _mat\u00e9riel_ for a hundred such fields passed into the hands of the\nAustrians, and the museums of Vienna still hold the countless trophies of\nthat day.\n\nIt was a day on which compensation was taken for the adverse fields of\nStringau, Reichemberg, and Johr; for the defeats at Pirna, Rosbach, and\nLissa. The women of Berlin were rendered widows and childless, while\nthe flaunting dames of Vienna shouted \u201c_Hoch!_\u201d and declared that their\nvictorious lovers at Maxen had surpassed all the glories connected with\nold triumphs at Kolin, Gabel, and Zittau; at Liegnitz, Schweidnitz, and\nHochkirchen.\n\nMaria Theresa dubbed the young Prince knight of that order of chivalry\nwhich bore her name,\u2014an Order into which no aspirant could find\nadmittance unless he had achieved some conquest which he had no positive\norder to undertake. She further honoured him by despatching him to France\nwith the news of the great victory; and there he became the intimate\nfriend of Jean Jacques Rousseau, the cavalier of the basely brilliant Du\nBarry, and the cynosure of all the hooped ladies and red-heeled gallants\nwho killed Time on the verdant lawns of the Trianon or in the gilded\nsaloons of Versailles. He became at once the King of Fashion, as he _was_\nthe favourite of a dozen kings. Two Louises named him \u201cfriend;\u201d and he\nsat, a gallant servitor, at the feet of Marie Antoinette. The great\nFrederick showed his affection for him by bestowing on him that very\nbad pen with which the King wrote very bad poetry, and the Prince still\nworse. The great Catherine he served in many acceptable offices. She\nloved the man and his humour. Once, when accompanying the imperial mother\nof All the Russias in a progress through her southern dominions, they\nskirted, in a yacht, the coast of Old Tauris. On passing the promontory\nof Iphigenia, the Empress made present of it to the Prince, who thereon,\naccoutred as he was, leaped overboard, and, with sword drawn, swam\nashore, to take formal possession of the territorial gift. He was indeed\na sort of cousin to the living heads of kingly houses; and, at one time,\nwas looked upon as the probable occupant of the uneasy throne of Poland.\nLike many a kingly contemporary, he might for a long time have thanked\nHeaven that he was without a crown. But he was equal to the difficulties\nconsequent upon a light purse. On one occasion he wished to proceed from\nParis to Brussels; but, prince as he was, he lacked the means. Hearing\nthat the Duke d\u2019Aremberg was about to travel that way, he presented\nhimself at the post-house as his courier, rode the journey through in\nthat character, and so got to his destination\u2014_gratis_.\n\nSuch, in his early days, was the gay gentleman who, at the last Congress\nof Vienna, bore still gaily the weight of eighty summers. His lean horses\nused to gallop through that city with his ancient carriage behind them,\non which was inscribed the punning device\u2014\u201cQuo res cumque cadunt, stat\n_linea_ recta.\u201d This vehicle was almost as large as his house. The latter\nwas of the smallest dimensions; and in that small dwelling, he gave small\ndinners to small parties. The dishes served were in strict keeping with\nthe size of the table, and he generally ate four-fifths of what they\ncontained. This superbly-dressed Amphitryon actually expected that his\nguests would let their hunger be appeased on the supply he liberally\npoured forth of brilliant but unsubstantial wit.\n\nAccording to Johnson, who says that quotation is the watchword of\nliterary men, he was a literary man, for he had ever ready a magazine of\ncitations adapted to all purposes. The variety was some warrant of wide\nreading; and the Prince was, at all events, not like Pozzo di Borgo,\nwho made the same triad of quotations endure a three-months\u2019 duty. At\nthe side of the Prince\u2019s little bed, in the very least of libraries,\nhis little commonplace book, on an almost invisible desk, received the\nbrief record of ideas that visited his gossamer brain. All around this\nroom were strewn, in most admired disorder, a mountain of manuscripts,\nand a wilderness of works on love, philosophy, poetry, and war. Amidst\nthis mass, the old Prince would leap about with the agility of a monkey.\nFatigue he never acknowledged, and sleep he little cared for. He would\nsit up whole nights, half a week through, to read dry works on strategy;\nand then fall asleep over erotic songs, of which he commenced many, and\nfinished few. Those that he did terminate have as little of the echo of\nnature as Watteau\u2019s shepherdesses have of its aspect. One of the most\ninnocent of his pursuits was to attend at the Opera, and applaud Frederic\nVenua\u2019s pretty music to the pretty ballet of \u2018Flore et Z\u00e9phyre.\u2019\n\nThe once young leader of fashion would not lay down his sceptre when he\ngrew old; and as an octogenarian he played, in the eyes of Vienna, an\nairier \u201cci-devant jeune homme\u201d than was ever conceived or executed by the\ninimitable Potier. He could be a boy with the boys; and the old gentleman\nplayed heartily at soldiers with the little King of Rome, before that\nshadow of a monarch grew up to welcome those other favourites, one of\nwhom especially was as fatal to him as the Fornarina to the gifted\nRaphael.\n\nBut the Prince loved to be with young men, and to be thought of by\nthem; and did not love to be reminded either of old-age or of death.\nHis little summer residence at the Kalemberg was the locality whence\nSobieski departed to save Austria from the infidel, and to earn for it,\nwhat Austria has ever paid to her benefactors, eternal ingratitude. The\nspirit of the heroic no longer resided there at the period of which I\nam treating. The walls of the house were covered with the portraits\nof ladies whose hearts, or what they called such, had yielded to the\nassaults of De Ligne; and above the portal was inscribed this motto of\nmingled impiety, mendacity, and impudence:\u2014\n\n    \u201cSans remords, sans regret, sans crainte, sans envie.\u201d\n\nThe slippered soldier who, in his decrepitude, flung out his banner with\nthis device upon it, belied at least a portion thereof. He caught cold,\nby keeping an assignation near the bastion, on one of the coldest nights\nof the Congress-winter, and while waiting vainly for the _innamorata_\nwho had fooled him. The consequent symptoms soon assumed a fatal aspect;\nand straightway \u201cthis god did shake,\u201d and made his motto pointless, save\nagainst himself. His remorse might have been small, and doubtless no\none envied a dying dandy; but the latter was himself no longer without\nfear or regret. He feared the slow approach of death; and his regret\nwas not that life had been misspent, but that it had come to its limit.\nHe aggravated his malady by defying it, and appearing at a ball. It was\nthe last occasion on which he was seen in public, and it killed him.\nHe took to his couch, and, in ignoble prostration, he bewailed that he\ncould not die like Petronius Arbiter, that accomplished _rou\u00e9_, base as\nman and great as consul, who played with death; now pricked a vein, and\nnow bandaged it; now whipped a slave, and now freed one; now listened\nto gay music, now trilled a gay song; anon, cursed the whole world, and\nforthwith fell dead, like a dog in his uncleanness.\n\n\u201cAfter all,\u201d said the Prince, \u201cI shall be better off than Petronius; and\nfriends and dear ones will receive my last sigh. Not,\u201d said poor fearful\nnature, speaking through the Prince,\u2014\u201cnot that I am going to die just\nyet. There is no cause for fear. Let us banish sadness. I am living,\nand I _will_ live!\u201d And then the moribund beau made puns, as if death\ncould be delayed by playing upon words. Or he called up old souvenirs,\nand gossiped about the famous \u201cfine eyes\u201d of the Countess de Witt. \u201cYou\nshould have seen her,\u201d said the dying Prince; \u201cher eyes were so bepraised\nthat she at length never spoke of them but as her \u2018fine eyes.\u2019\u201d Once\nthe admirable Marie Antoinette expressed regret at her looking unwell,\nand asked from what she suffered. \u201cMay it please your Majesty,\u201d answered\nthe simple Countess, \u201cI am suffering from cold _in my fine eyes!_\u201d\u2014and\nthen the dying prater laughed, and they who stood around him smiled in\nmelancholy accord.\n\nAt length, the arrow of the Inevitable Angel was poised, but the sinking\nPrince still formed projects for the future. He would see the Czar\nAlexander upon affairs of state; and many a gay day, he averred, should\nyet make glad the gardens of Belveil. His medical attendant, Malfati,\ncame in for a share of observation; and the whole profession of which\nMalfati was a member was made subject for satire. \u201cWhen he was with\nthe great Catherine,\u201d he remarked, \u201che could do more for himself than\nthe doctors were then doing for him.\u201d Malfati inquired, \u201cIn what way?\u201d\n\u201cWhenever I was well,\u201d said the son of fashion, \u201cI used to invite S\u00e9gur\nand Cobentzel to my quarters. I gave medicine to one, and bled the other;\nand thereupon I got well!\u201d And as the sinking octogenarian laughed, Death\nsteadied his javelin for the throw.\n\nMalfati delicately hinted that age opposed greater difficulties now than\nbefore; and in gentle spirit, he essayed to prepare the Prince for the\ncoming and irresistible change. But no! the Prince had work yet to do,\nand must live to do it. \u201cI have no intention yet,\u201d he said, \u201cnor shall\nhave for a long time to come, to make use of the epitaph written for me\nby my old friend, the Marquis de Bonney:\u2014\n\n    \u201c\u2018Ci g\u00eet le Prince de Ligne,\n    Il est tout de son long couch\u00e9.\n    Jadis il a beaucoup _p\u00e9ch\u00e9_,\u2014\n    Mais ce n\u2019etait pas \u00e0 la ligne!\u2019\u201d\n\nWe may excuse Malfati for smiling at the refined wit of the once famous\n_jeu d\u2019esprit_; but it did not restrain him from making the Prince aware\nof the danger of his position. The latter received the intelligence with\ndisgust, ill-concealed under a few light words; and with the assurance\nthat, like Adrian, he had verses to write to his soul, but that he had\nnot time just then!\n\nIt was true; for Death, at that moment, laid upon him that hand which\nmortal may not resist. The Prince not only felt, but he beheld, the\nterrible and unconquerable aggressor. The hour was dull midnight when\nthe old warrior and \u201cmacaroni\u201d frantically fought his last battle,\nand succumbed ingloriously. He sprang from a recumbent into a sitting\nposition, shrieked aloud, ordered the door to be closed; and as Death\npressed upon him, he struggled and wrestled with the calm, strong\nphantom, as though a substantial foe was before him, who might be\nstrangled by bodily effort. But it was fruitless, for the decree had\ngone forth, and doom had come. In the midst of cries for help, and\nwrithing efforts to get free, the stroke was given, and the Prince fell\ndead. The day was the 13th of December, 1814. What was mortal of him was\nmagnificently entombed, and the terms of his epitaph were more poetical\nthan veracious. But, beneath it all,\u2014brass, marble, and mendacity,\u2014the\ndandy of two centuries was left to sleep as undisturbedly as the curses\nof unpaid tailors would allow him to do.\n\nOn the day of the Prince\u2019s decease, a very fine gentleman indeed was\nsunning himself on the Steyne at Brighton. He was the cynosure of all\nobservers, and his magnificent shadow glides this way. Do not mistake him\nfor Romeo Coates. It is the famous Mr. Brummell. _Chapeau bas_ at that\nillustrious name!\n\n\n\n\nBEAU BRUMMELL.\n\n    \u201cI scorn\u2019d to crowd among the muddy throng\n    Of the rank multitude, whose thicken\u2019d breath\n    (Like to condensed fogs) do choke that beauty\n    Which else would dwell in every kingdom\u2019s cheek.\n    No: I still boldly stepp\u2019d into kings\u2019 courts,\n    For there to live is rare.\u201d\n\n                               DECKER\u2019S _Fortunatus_.\n\n\nThe distinction of Nash was his impertinence; the characteristic of\nOrlando the Fair, his affectation. To make a third, Jove joined the other\ntwo; and George Bryan Brummell was, as the elder Mr. Weller says, \u201cthe\nconsikence of the man\u0153uvre.\u201d Had he only possessed intellect rightly\ndirected, and even an infinitesimal degree of principle, he might have\nachieved a better reputation. The Greek sage who declared that man needed\nbut three things whereby to prosper,\u2014first, impudence; second, impudence;\nthird, impudence,\u2014rather overrated his \u1f00\u03c5\u03b1\u03b4\u03b5\u03b9\u03b1. It is true that a modest\nman runs great risk of being overwhelmed in this mortal \u201cpassage of the\nBeresina,\u201d but he usually has principle to float him; whereas the knave\nwho swims or struggles near him, be he never so impudent, ultimately\nexhibits an alacrity in sinking. It is in the immortal fitness of things\nthat it should be so ordained.\n\nI think Brummell must have been a descendant of the little tailor who\nis said by another tailor, Stow, to have whined himself to death for\nthe love of Queen Elizabeth. I mean him of whom Lord Charles Cavendish\nwrote:\u2014\n\n            \u201cI would not willingly\n    Be pointed at in every company,\n    As was the little tailor that to death\n    Was hot in love with Queen Elizabeth.\u201d\n\nBrummell, like that audacious _schneider_, had a soul that was at once\ngiven to the \u201cconfectioning of costume,\u201d and consorting with the great.\n\nBrummell, like many a steward\u2019s son, was partly the victim of his\nfather\u2019s ambition. His sire was smitten with more desire to see him\na gentleman than an honest man. The lad was brought up with as much\nreference to his future condition of gentility, as Miss Killmansegge\nwas with respect to her present and future prospects of Pactolian hue.\nBrummell was not a baby to suck a coral of less aristocratic value than\nthat old mouthpiece of the unfortunate Monmouth which for years has given\nsolace to the gums of the babies of Buccleuch. He was a lad who had an\naversion for steel forks long before silver implements were familiar\nfurniture at the tables of the middle classes, of which his father was a\nmember; and scarcely was he a youth _ex ephebis_, and felt himself free\nfrom home restraints in gentle Henry\u2019s shades at Eton, when he not only\nmodernized the white cravat or stock which marks the Eton boy, but he put\na gold buckle to it; and all the school \u201cconfessed the present god.\u201d\n\nThe _condiscipuli_ of that time and place have as much realized Hood\u2019s as\nGray\u2019s \u2018Ode on a Distant Prospect of Eton College.\u2019 The most rollicking\ntumbled into discretion, and became bishops; the most gentle were drafted\ninto the army, and became blackguards. Some took to the stage, and some\ntook portraits. A few achieved greatness; the majority have died away\nand are forgotten. \u201cBlithe Carew was hung,\u201d and Brummell \u201cwent up like a\nrocket and came down like the stick.\u201d\n\nBrummell was like Goldsmith. Do not smile: I do not mean that he had\nthe great writer\u2019s simplicity, industry, or goodness of heart. He was,\nnevertheless, like him in one respect. Poor Oliver, at Trinity College,\nDublin, went in for honours, and failed. So Brummell, who, in 1793, was\nan undergraduate at Oxford, was a competitor for the Newdegate Prize,\nand lost it. From that hour he abhorred books and bookish men. He had\ncondescended to exert himself so far as to faintly run for the laurel.\nWhen he saw it awarded to a better man, he declared that he would never\nrun again, but walk over the course of the world and win his prizes\nwithout effort. He had already indicated the paths by which he meant to\ngain the honours dimly alluded to. His example at college had already\nabolished cotton stockings, and made dingy cravats vulgar. Even D.D.\u2019s\nlooked at the audacious innovator, and ceased to be, what the initials\ndesignated, \u201cdeucedly dirty.\u201d\n\nThe unsuccessful student was soon in possession of what he considered\nfar better than \u201cbook learning,\u201d a third of \u00a365,000. It was no great\ninheritance for a cornet in the 10th Hussars. That illustrious regiment\nhad not yet achieved that renown of folly and of shame for which Croly\npilloried it nightly, to the delight of assembled thousands, in his\n\u2018Pride shall have a Fall.\u2019 It was however the aspiration and the terror\nof all young heroes who longed to be enrolled in the sacred cohort,\nand who dreaded the fabulous cost of the luxury. The officers, like\ntheir ancestors at the Field of the Cloth of Gold, wore their estates\nupon their backs,\u2014some of them before they had inherited the paternal\nacres. If the gorgeous costume and its never-ending variations did not\neffect this consummation, the expenses of the mess, where the mild\nwarriors banqueted like barbaric sovereigns, and the cost of the delicate\namusements of those perfumed knights, rarely failed to accomplish it.\nAt the head of all, glittering example of the \u201cgentleman,\u201d careful of\ncarriage, courteous of speech, not ungenerous by impulse, but icy-cold\nof heart, was the Prince-Colonel, George, afterwards Fourth of the name.\nThe Prince\u2019s chief intimate was Lord James Murray, subsequently Lord\nGlenlyon; at whose house at Datchet, old Queen Charlotte \u201cdid _never_\ncounsel take, _but_ sometimes tea.\u201d\n\nThe new cornet superseded the old friend. The latter was a mild,\ngentleman-like man, popular with everybody but his creditors, _quorum\npars fui_; and I may add, that he is pleasantly and gratefully remembered\nby _one_ at least of them. Brummell however took the Regent by storm.\nThere was no resisting him. The Prince was fascinated. Brummell might\nbe absent from parade, neglect duties even more important, and laugh at\nall suggestion and reproach,\u2014\u201cour general\u2019s friend was now the general.\u201d\nHe did precisely what he pleased, nothing that he ought; and in three\nyears he was full captain, to the as full disgust of older officers, who\nenviously admired while they deeply cursed him.\n\nNever probably was the Beau in such full-blown glory as at this period of\nhis gold-lace, best jokes, and increasing sway. He was in the very height\nof his ecstatic enjoyment, luxuriating in the gentility of a \u201cgentil\nHussard,\u201d and mastering his profession, not exactly after the fashion\nof Marlborough;\u2014he was in the very paradisiacal state of aristocratic\nsoldiership, when the regiment was ordered to Manchester. Brummell\nnearly fainted at the idea of such vulgarity, and he left the regiment\nin infinite disgust. The step gained for him an immense increase of\nreputation\u2014among fools!\n\nThe world had not been to him hitherto as to our old friend, Pistol,\u2014an\noyster, which he with sword could open. He may be said to have failed,\nboth by book and blade. He was now to really soar by other means. Now\ncame the period when he evinced his disgust of vegetables by confessing\nthat he had once eaten\u2014a pea. Then was the funny time when his slavish\nhearers laughed at the joke wherein he wrapped an excuse for being\nhoarse, on the ground, that he had slept in a house with a damp stranger.\nIt was not half so excellent a joke as that enunciated, unwittingly, by\nthe poor old Irishwoman suffering from catarrh, and who accounted for\nthe same by stating that she \u201cslept last night in a field and forgot to\nshut the gate.\u201d However, it was good enough for a man who really fancied\nthat he manifested humour when he expressed unconsciousness of there\nbeing such a place as Bloomsbury-square; and we may add, that it was good\nenough for his hearers also.\n\nIt was at this period that he patronized the late George Lane Fox, of\nBramham Park, Yorkshire; and the patronage cost the latter a superb gold\nbox, set with diamonds,\u2014a present, if I remember rightly,\u2014for I have\nheard Mr. Fox tell the story as often as Diggory heard Mr. Hardcastle\ntell his one story, from the Czar Alexander. Mr. Fox and Brummell had\nbeen seriously engaged, for some hours, on matters of dress, after which\nthey discussed the not less serious question of dinner. At the banquet,\nthe first-named gentleman showed his golden and glittering gift to the\nselect company, who were loud in their praise, and unbounded in their\nadmiration. As the party were to adjourn to the Opera, to hear Ambrogetti\nand Camporese, Mr. Fox announced his intention of depositing his box,\nby the way, at his house in Albemarle-street. \u201cThe whole court,\u201d said\nhe, \u201cwill be at the Opera, and I may get robbed of my _souvenir_!\u201d The\ncompany laughed at the _saillie_, and the wine span round.\n\nAfter a _sederunt_ of some continuance, the select society departed for\n\u201cthe old house in the Haymarket.\u201d Mr. Fox and Brummell rode together.\nThe carriage stopped in Albemarle-street, according to directions given\nto the coachman; but what with the wine, and a new dispute touching the\ndepth of cravats and the height of collars, the gentlemen had forgotten\nwhy they had ordered the driver to pull up; and after striving for some\ntime, in vain, to remember, they grew tired of conjecturing, and sped\naway to hear \u201cFin ch\u2019 han del Vino!\u201d\n\nThey had been perhaps an hour in the house, when Brummell, in the\nvery middle of \u201cIl mio tesoro,\u201d came to the end of a dissertation on\npantaloons. The gentlemen with thin legs, and no calves to them, were\ngreat patrons of what had not hitherto been admitted into the category of\n\u201cdress,\u201d\u2014namely, trousers. Conservatives and Irish gentlemen advocated\npantaloons. Brummell had given his judgement with the sententious\nelaboration of Dr. Chalmers on a question of Erastianism; and to refresh\nhimself after the fatigue of the process, he begged of Fox to furnish him\nwith a \u201c_prise de tabac!_\u201d\n\nThe request for a pinch of snuff reminded the then heir of Bramham Park\nof the fact, that it was his much-prized box which he had designed to\nleave in Albemarle-street. He proceeded however to perform the required\nact of hospitality; but on putting his hand to his pocket he found the\nlatter empty, and the box gone. In two minutes he was in the passage\nbelow, recounting his loss to Leadbitter and Townsend, and asking from\nthem what hope existed of his recovering the abstracted property.\nWhen they learned that an hour had elapsed since it had been stolen,\nLeadbitter gave the opinion of himself and brother that the loss was\nirreparable.\n\n\u201cBy this time,\u201d said Townsend, \u201cit\u2019s in the melting-pot of Slack Sam, the\nJew _Gonoff_.\u201d\n\n\u201cWhat\u2019s a _Gonoff_?\u201d asked Mr. Fox.\n\n\u201cOh!\u201d said Townsend, with an air of learning and superiority, \u201c_Gonoff_\nis Hebrew for a \u2018thief.\u2019 Did you pass any suspicious character on going\nupstairs?\u201d\n\n\u201cI passed nobody but Lady Cork,\u201d said Mr. Fox.\n\n\u201cAnd Lady Cork, George,\u201d said that vivacious lady, who was coming out,\n\u201cdoes not pick gentlemen\u2019s pockets of snuff-boxes.\u201d\n\n\u201cNo,\u201d replied the young Yorkshire squire, \u201cLady Cork is only a _voleuse\nde c\u0153urs_. In the meantime, I have the satisfaction of knowing that my\ngold box is gone to a _Gonoff_.\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd that _Gonoff_,\u201d said Townsend, with his familiar laugh, \u201cis Hebrew\nfor \u2018thief.\u2019\u201d\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nCaptain Jesse has limned Brummell at elaborate full length, and the\ngallant artist has done his spiriting very impartially, considering the\nCruikshank sort of portraiture with which the beau once affected to\nrepresent the captain. \u201cMy dear Jesse,\u201d said the dandy once to him,\u2014\u201cMy\ndear Jesse, excuse me, but you look very much like a magpie!\u201d\n\nThis impertinence was not met in a vindictive spirit. The biographer of\nBrummell describes him as a _beau_, but not a beau of the Sir Fopling\nFlutter or Fieldingschool, That is, he was not so nastily nice as the\nfirst, nor so irretrievably nasty as the second. The captain thinks\nthat _his_ beau would not have been guilty, like Charles James Fox, of\nwearing red-heeled shoes. I am not so sure of this. Fox was, like all\ndemocrats, proud of spirit, and he wore red heels, because these were the\ndistinctive marks of nobility in the galleries of Versailles. Brummell\nwas more original, and he would not have adopted the _talons rouges_,\nsimply because they were the productions of the inventive genius of\nanother. He had at first a taste that was not unimpeachable. There was\ntoo much _variety_ about him. He dealt in contrasts, and he was given to\njewellery. His example in the latter way was seized, not by the young\naristocracy of England, so unlike their Elizabethan ancestors, who not\nonly covered themselves with gold and jewellery, but took gold-dust,\nliquid pearls, and coral draughts for their medicine; Brummel\u2019s example\nwas not adopted by these, but it was by their men-cooks. These latter\nblazed in the pit of the Opera like the caballeros at a Chilian theatre\nwhen the chief magistrate retires to the back of his box; and flint,\nsteel, _allumettes_, and cigars are all in a glow, or helping to produce\nit. I have heard abundant wonder expressed at the amount of jewellery and\nprecious stones which were then worn by culinary artists who loved music\nand patronized the Opera. It was, however, all borrowed finery. The pins\nand brooches, the chains, the breloques, the virgin gold and the diamonds\npure, were the property of Ude, who realized a good share of the thirty\nthousand pounds he bequeathed to his disconsolate widow, by letting the\nfinery out nightly, at sums varying from two to five shillings!\n\nBrummell, with his usually acute perception,\u2014that is, acute in one\ndirection,\u2014saw that fame was to be achieved by simplicity; and, as\nCaptain Jesse remarks, \u201cscorning to share his fame with his tailor, he\nsoon shunned all external peculiarity, and trusted alone to that ease\nand grace of manner which he possessed in a remarkable degree. His chief\naim,\u201d adds the biographer, \u201cwas to avoid anything marked: one of his\naphorisms being, that the severest mortification a gentleman could incur,\nwas to attract observation in the street by his outward appearance.\nHe exercised the most correct taste in the selection of each article\nof apparel of a form and colour harmonious with all the rest, for the\npurpose of producing a perfectly elegant general effect; and no doubt he\nspent much time and pains in the attainment of his object.\u201d This is no\ndoubt true. Brummell put in practice, he hardly knew why, the principles\nof harmony and contrast of colours, long before Monsieur Chevreul wrote\nhis theory and explanation of those principles.\n\nHe had quite as correct an eye with regard to harmony of shape as to that\nof colour. The highest in the land were not ashamed to seek a sort of\nprofessional opinion from this man as to the propriety of their costume.\nThe Duke of Bedford once did this touching a coat. Brummell examined his\nGrace with the cool impertinence which was his Grace\u2019s due. He turned him\nabout, scanned him with scrutinizing, contemptuous eye, and then taking\nthe lappel between his dainty finger and thumb, he exclaimed in a tone of\npitying wonder, \u201cBedford! do you call this thing a coat?\u201d\n\nBut he did not spare his own relations. He was one day standing in the\nbow-window at White\u2019s, amid a knot of well-dressed admirers, when one\nof them remarked, \u201cBrummell, your brother William is in town. Is he\nnot coming here?\u201d \u201cYes,\u201d said Brummell, \u201cin a day or two; but I have\nrecommended him to walk the back streets till his new clothes come home.\u201d\n\nBrummell however may be excused if he became vain of his power. For a\nseason he was undoubtedly the very King of Fashion, and a terrible despot\nhe was; but he was flattered by kings, or by their representatives. The\nPrince of Wales passed long matutinal hours in Brummell\u2019s dressing-room\nin Chesterfield-street, watching the progress of his friend\u2019s toilet. The\nprogress was occasionally so extended that the Prince would dismiss his\nequipage, invite himself to dinner, and the master and pupil, _Arcades\nambo_, set to; and \u201cfore gad, they made a night of it!\u201d\n\nNever had tailor two such patrons as these two. The young lord, who\nnumbered among what the \u201cClerical Tap-Tub\u201d\u2014as the clergy call a certain\n\u201creligious\u201d print, famous for its nasty advertisements\u2014styles \u201cperverts,\u201d\nwas nothing to these illustrious two. When the young lord of whom I\nspeak was at Oxford, and got, as young lords sometimes _will_, into\ndifficulties,\u2014on the overhauling of his wardrobe, it was found that\nhe had ordered, in seven months, upwards of three hundred and seventy\nwaistcoats! The youthful aristocrat however was a follower of the two\nGeorges, only \u201clongo intervallo.\u201d George Brummell\u2019s wardrobe, indeed,\ndwindled down to the suit in which he died; but the wardrobe of the other\nGeorge sold, after his death, for upwards of fifteen thousand pounds. How\nmany a poor man might have been warmed beneath the cloth the Sovereign\nnever used! The original cost of the wardrobe would not have surprised\nAlexander, but we do not live in the days of the Macedonian; and in the\nera of high-priced bread, England was half-appalled at the thought that a\nhundred thousand pounds had scarcely purchased what was sold for fifteen.\nAmong it all was a celebrated cloak, the sable lining of which alone\nhad originally cost eight hundred pounds. Lord Chesterfield, as little\nnice about wearing a cheap cast-off garment as one of his own lacqueys,\nprocured this mantle for little more than a fourth of the original price\nof the lining.\n\nBrummell never recovered the effects of the wager which he won by telling\n\u201cWales\u201d to \u201cring the bell,\u201d and which order, although obeyed, was\nfollowed by another for \u201cMr. Brummell\u2019s carriage.\u201d He struggled indeed\nlong, and not unsuccessfully, to retain his place among dandies and wits;\nbut his _prestige_ gradually failed, play went against him, liabilities\nincreased, and creditors were clamorous. He put a bold face on his ugly\nposition, and was never more brilliant or at his ease than the last night\nhe appeared at the Opera,\u2014one Saturday night, when, with the Sunday\nbefore him, he had determined to fly leisurely to the Continent, and\nleave his creditors to regret their confidence in him.\n\nHe was eloquent that night with an anecdote having reference to Weston,\nthe famous tailor of Bond-street. \u201cThat fellow Weston,\u201d said Brummell,\n\u201cis an inimitable fellow,\u2014a little defective perhaps in his \u2018linings,\u2019\nbut irreproachable for principle and button-holes. He came to London,\nSir, without a shilling; and he counts more realized thousands than\nour fat friend does \u2018frogs\u2019 on his Brandenburg. He is not only rich,\nbut brave; not only brave, but courteous; and not alone courteous, but\ncandid. The other day he was coming up from some d\u2014d place on the coast,\nby that thing, the\u2014the\u2014stage-coach.\u201d (It was Brummell\u2019s boast,\u2014not a\ntrue one, as it was with the last Marquis of Bath, who died full of\nyears,\u2014that he had never ridden by a \u201cpublic\u201d conveyance of any kind,\nwhether by sea or land.) But to resume: \u201cThere were two women in the\ncoach,\u201d said Brummell, \u201ctwo deucedly pretty women, and an over-dressed\nfellow, who was of course an ass; and who was so over-civil to the\nprettier of the two, that the persecuted creature appealed to quiet\nlittle Weston for protection. Weston, Sir, talked to the fellow with\nan _aplomb_ that would have done honour to either of my friends the\nLord Primate or the Lord Chancellor. The brute,\u2014not the tailor, but the\n\u2018gentleman,\u2019\u2014was deaf to remonstrance, and ruder than ever. Thereupon,\nWeston, without losing his self-possession, stopped the coach, dragged\nthe astonished fellow out, explained to the outside passengers the state\nof the case, and found his challenge to fight received with acclamations\nby everybody but his designated opponent. He compelled his unwilling\nadversary, however, to stand upon the defensive, and a most terrible\nthrashing he gave him. But his _coup de gr\u00e2ce_, Sir,\u201d said Brummell, \u201cwas\nthe most finished thing I ever heard of. Weston, Sir, picked him up from\nthe ground, held him at arm\u2019s length, and in a cruel loud voice exclaimed\nto him, \u2018Now, Sir, it may be a pleasure to you and to your friends, to\nknow that you have not only been well licked, but you have been licked by\na tailor! \u2019\n\n\u201cFrom this time forth,\u201d continued Brummell, after the generally excited\nlaugh had subsided, \u201cI shall religiously pay my tailors\u2019 bills. The act\nof Weston has heroified the profession.\u201d\n\nAlas! poor fallen potentate! he could not have paid his share of the\n_table d\u2019h\u00f4te_, had he sat down at that at which Candide encountered\nhalf-a-dozen dethroned kings in Venice. A few hours after he was an\nAdullamite in Calais, warming the poor palette afterwards to be occupied\nby Romeo Coates.\n\nSome half-century to come, the grandson of Mr. Millais perhaps may limn\nthe scene when George IV., on his Hanover trip, suddenly observing at\nCalais his ex-friend making his way, pale and serious, through the crowd,\nsank back in his carriage with a \u201cGood God,\u2014Brummell!\u201d and almost fainted\nat the recognition.\n\nDuring fourteen years did the fallen dandy impatiently support his\nexile, and very patiently endure the disgrace of living on the charity\nof his friends and on that of compassionate and, too often, insulted\nacquaintances. He abused the fare set before him with delicate courtesy,\nand ridiculed the hosts who had gone to some expense to make his misery\ntolerable. He never learned modesty; never had a heart; not even one\nmade out of brains, as in the case of Fontenelle. In his fallen state\nhe annoyed his hearers with repetitions of abuse, levied against those\nhe had known in the period of his spangled vanity. He was particularly\nbitter against the Duke of Clarence, whom he described as \u201ca man who did\nvery well to wear a cocked hat and walk about the quarter-deck crying\n\u2018luff!\u2019\u201d and who was so rough and uncivilized, according to the narrator,\nthat the latter was compelled to \u201ccut\u201d him!\n\nDestitute, idle, and in debt, his position at Calais was one that would\nhave appalled any honest and industrious man. It simply annoyed our hero,\nbecause he was no longer imperious master. His impudence however did\nnot forsake him, but his independence _did_; and when he accepted the\nconsulship at Caen, with its poor \u00a380 per annum set apart to provide for\nhis necessities, the remainder to be devoted to the liquidation of his\nCalais debts, he was as much a pensioned slave as the veriest lacquey\n_could_ be.\n\nHis pride was wounded, but his arrogance flourished. This too was shaken\nwhen the consulship was suppressed; and pride and arrogance were crushed\nwhen his friends had died off, contributions ceased, debts increased,\nand the solid door of the gloomiest of prisons stood barred and locked\nbetween him and the world.\n\nRetributive justice fell upon this splendidly-useless human being. He\nhad been proud of two things, his extreme refinement and his mental\nqualifications. He was terribly smitten in both directions. After his\nrelease from prison he fell into the tender keeping of the Sisters of\nCharity of the \u201cBon Sauveur\u201d at Caen. He was an abject pauper, and worse.\nHis infirmities were of that sort at which a nice and healthy nature\nis repelled; and he who had detected vulgarity in the odour of a rose\nbecame, in his degraded hours, ere death relieved him, offensive to a\ndegree that turned sick and disgusted the charity of all but of the\nSisters who nursed him.\n\nThere was something again awful in the direction in which his mind\n\u201cdrove,\u201d while his soul itself was fast drifting over the turbulent\ncataracts of time into the boundless lake of calm eternity. He was for\never imagining himself among the scenes and companions of his days\nof noisy but empty triumph. It was his custom of an afternoon, when\nconvalescent and clean, to arrange the furniture of his little room as\nfor expected company. There all alone sat the spectral fop waiting for\nspectres; and as to his mind\u2019s diseased eye these glided in, and to his\ndeceived ear were duly announced, that ghastly shattered beau arose and\nwent into mock raptures: he received his \u201cdear duchess\u201d with delight;\nand favoured shadowy countesses were led by him to the visionary sofa;\nand intangible lords were touched familiarly upon their non-existent\nshoulders; and the whole phantom _soir\u00e9e_ was gone through with a solemn\ntrifling, till the shadows which came had as shadows departed, leaving\nwith the solitary host just sufficient reason to enable him to appreciate\nthe utter nothingness of all the scene, and to burst into childish tears\nat the recollection of the stupendous folly.\n\nThe flattered guest of princes died in a workhouse. He who had sat at\npalace-banquets would have died of starvation and uncleanness but for the\nalms and the hearts of the charitable Sisters, to whom, rare occurrence!\nhe was not ungrateful. At the period of his decease, in the month of\nMarch, 1840, he was in his sixty-second year; and the \u201cold man\u201d had\nnot died within him ere he breathed his last. After his death, we are\ntold that several packets of letters,\u2014tied up with different-coloured\nribbons, and carefully numbered,\u2014a miniature, a silver shaving-dish, a\ngold ring, and a few silver spoons, were found in a trunk at the h\u00f4tel.\nThe miniature and letters were taken possession of by the vice-consul,\nand the remaining effects by the landlord, in liquidation of an account\nwhich had only been partially cancelled. This person said, that in the\nsame parcel with the letters was another containing a great many locks\nof hair. Oh, poor human nature! what demoniacal vanity was here! But let\nus be just to this once-glittering simpleton. If he kept letters, he at\nleast kept them sacred. He never published one to injure even a living\nenemy. Vain as he was, he was not revengeful; and no provocation could\nhave worked upon him as a fancied provocation did upon \u201cthe Right Hon.\nJohn Wilson Croker,\u201d who red-taped the open-hearted notes of Moore, and\nproduced them as _petards_ to blow to pieces the poet\u2019s reputation when\nthat once gayest of bards lay mute and defenceless in his grave.\n\nHugh Miller, in his excellent Autobiography, remarks that the _Loligo\nvulgaris_, or cuttle-fish, swims with its feet foremost,\u2014in other words,\n_follows its tail_, and often gets \u201cgravelled,\u201d by darting blindly\nashore, whence it cannot regain its home within the waters. Something\nlike this has ever been the fate of the \u201cbeau;\u201d for he who follows rather\nthe animal than the intellectual propensities, is sure to rush, sooner or\nlater, upon his own destruction.\n\nBesides, how great is the outlay required to make a \u201cbeau,\u201d\u2014well-scented\nand useless, though perhaps temporarily agreeable! The sacrifices are\ngreater than I have space to enumerate; the result in proportion is\ninfinitesimally small. It reminds me of the six hundred pounds\u2019 weight of\nrose-leaves required to produce a single ounce of the _attar_. Sad waste\nof many values in order to achieve a fashionable smell!\n\nNot that a man should be indifferent to dress or to personal appearance.\nDr. Chalmers himself illustrates the fact that some care about costume\nis consistent with the occupations of the mightiest intellect. In his\n\u2018Journal\u2019 (July, 1824), he says:\u2014\u201cDressed for dinner. Have got a new way\nof folding up my coat, which I shall teach you when I get home, as it is\nof great use to a traveller. I am about as fond of it as I was of the new\nmethod of washing my hands.\u201d From Chalmers to Chifney is perhaps going\na long way for another illustration. They however who remember the late\ncelebrated jockey in the days of his retirement will admit its propriety.\nHow glossily patriarchal the old rider used to look, when, turned\npedestrian, he was wont to pace Regent-street, in broad-brimmed hat and a\nclerical-looking surtout! Had he only been less grave of aspect, and more\nfrolicsome of action, one might have taken him for Wilberforce.\n\nIt is really pleasant to trace how celebrated men in other climes\nthan that of England make of costume a means to an end. I am reminded\nof this by a passage in one of the late Lord Metcalfe\u2019s letters, in\nwhich he records his visit to the camp of Holkar, and notices one of\nthat chief\u2019s dandy captains, Ameer Khan. \u201cAmeer Khan,\u201d he says, \u201cis\nblackguard in his looks, and affected on the occasion of my reception\nto be particularly fierce, by rubbing his coat over with gunpowder,\nand assuming in every way the air of a common soldier.\u201d This was only\nBrummell \u201cwith a difference;\u201d the Beau used to anoint himself with the\noil of impudence in order to impose on the world, as Ameer Khan rubbed\nhis coat with gunpowder that he might excite admiration in the breast of\nthe civilian-soldier of Deeg.\n\nFor the reason that induced Miss Agnes Strickland to close her record\nof the Queens with the reign of Queen Anne, so do I close that of the\nbeaux with the biography of Brummell. D\u2019Orsay was indeed a greater\nthan he; but he has too recently shuffled off this mortal coil to be\nstrictly dealt with, and the truth concerning him might hurt the feelings\nof those of his followers who continue to wear deep stocks with long\nends. His career only furnished a further proof that the profession of\na \u201cbeau\u201d is not a paying one. He was _great_ in a Fielding-ian sense,\nand according to the poet\u2019s maxim which says, \u201cBase is the slave that\npays.\u201d Mere generosity does not make a gentleman; and even generosity\nthat is oblivious of justice is of no value. There was really nothing\nto admire in him. A recent \u201cfriend and acquaintance\u201d indeed has been so\nhard put to it to find out a virtue in D\u2019Orsay, that he has fixed upon\nhis neglect of paying his creditors as one; and the \u201cfriend\u201d thinks that\nit was sufficient honour for tradesmen to have him for their debtor! He\nresided at Gore House; gave dinners to Louis Napoleon, which cost the\ngiver nothing in money, and the hungry recipient as little in gratitude;\nhe drew caricature portraits of his \u201cfamiliars;\u201d proposed a public\nsubscription for the polluting Paul de Kock; and was the author of a\nportrait or figure of our Saviour, the idea of which seemed to be taken\nfrom that of Decker in the old comedy, who dared to say of Him that He\nwas\u2014\n\n    \u201cThe first true gentleman that ever breathed.\u201d\n\nFinally, the worst thing that could happen for the reputation of the\ndeceased Count is, that he should have so mistaken an advocate as the\nauthor of \u2018Friends and Acquaintances.\u2019 Better would it have been for the\nirreproachably-dressed D\u2019Orsay, if he could have said as the Psalmist\ndid:\u2014\u201cMy lovers and friends hast thou put away from me, and hid mine\nacquaintance out of my sight.\u201d\n\nIn the annals of dress however, the doctors of the olden time claim as\nmuch notice as the beaux. If my readers be sick of the latter, here are a\nfew medical gentlemen, in full costume, ready to be consulted.\n\n\n\n\nDOCTORS READY DRESSED.\n\n                          \u201cThese, Sir,\n    Are Death\u2019s Masters of the Ceremonies;\n    More strangely-clad officials never yet\n    Usher\u2019d the way to Death\u2019s cold festival.\u201d\n\n                                    OLD PLAY.\n\n\nOf all the doctors on the learned _rota_, there may have been more\nfamous, but none more deserving, than Freake. He was regardless of\nnothing but dress; and he had a capital appreciation of fun, and a strong\npredilection for matters of fantasy.\n\nDr. Freake of St. Bartholomew\u2019s, and his cousin the Justice, were not\nonly given to dreaming, but to publish their dreams. They deemed their\nvisions not only important to themselves and the public generally,\nbut to the sovereigns of Europe especially. The dreams were wildly\nunintelligible, and the interpretations unintelligibly wild. But the\nJustice had active common-sense about him when he was awake. He was a\ncareful dresser, which is more than can be said for the Doctor, and he\npresented the Bodleian Library with a collection of medals. Their tricksy\nspirits added the word _freak_ to the vocabulary of the English language.\n\nThe Doctor\u2019s cousin, like the Doctor, was not a fop; and as much could\nscarcely be said of the profession generally. Granger says indeed of Dr.\nCol that he was _not_ a coxcomb. This was at a time when the physicians\n_were_ coxcombs; and the apothecaries, who followed and copied the more\ndignified brethren, were coxcombs and _meta_-physicians. The medical\ncoxcomb of the day has thus been dressed up by a popular poet:\u2014\n\n    \u201cEach son of Sol, to make him look more big,\n    Had on a large, grave, decent, three-tail\u2019d wig;\n    His clothes full-trimm\u2019d, with button-holes behind;\n    Stiff were the skirts with buckram stoutly lined;\n    The cloth, cut velvet, or more reverend black,\n    Full made, and powder\u2019d, half-way down his back;\n    Large decent cuffs, which near the ground did reach,\n    With half-a-dozen buttons fix\u2019d on each.\n    Grave were their faces, fix\u2019d in solemn state!\n    These men struck awe, their presence carried weight;\n    In reverend wigs, old heads young shoulders bore,\n    And twenty-five or thirty seem\u2019d threescore.\u201d\n\nSuch was the learned and able individual by whose help we became the\nheirs of our forefathers,\u2014helping the one into life, the other out\nof it. I will add a sketch of a German doctor, and then of a French\ndoctor of some celebrity, both for his costume and his professional and\npersonal qualities. And first, of the professional dress of the _Medicus\nGermanicus_.\n\nMadame Schopenhauer says of the German doctors of the last century that\nthey were all aged\u2014not so much by weight of years as of preconceived\nopinions. She could not imagine that any of them had ever been young, or\nhad ever condescended to the sports of the young. For many years of her\nlife she never either saw or heard of a young physician. These vice-lords\nof human life, incomparably clever at guessing, were addressed by the\nstyle and title of \u201cExcellency;\u201d and even as Falstaff was \u201cJack Falstaff\u201d\nonly with his familiars, so he must have been a very intimate friend\nindeed who ventured to call a German physician \u201cHerr Doctor.\u201d\n\nHe who has seen Bundle in the \u2018Waterman\u2019 may have a very good idea of a\nGerman medico\u2019s wig:\u2014snow white, thickly powdered, and excruciatingly\ncurled. It had further the distinction of resting, one portion on the\nback and two descending in front of the shoulders. A scarlet cloth coat\nadorned with gold lace, ruffles deeper plaited than Lord Ogilvie\u2019s,\na shirt-frill as wide as a mainsail, silk stockings, knee-breeches,\nand an acre of buckles on the shoes enriched with gold and gems, a\nlow-crowned cocked hat under the arm, too small for the head, and a stout\nwalking-stick or fancy cane, with clouded or carved head-pieces,\u2014and ever\napplied to prop the chin in cases where it was necessary to let it be\nthought that the physician was thinking,\u2014it was thus attired that these\npatented murderers went forth to slay. What should we think _now_ of Dr.\nLocock in a gold-laced scarlet coat, like Lablache in \u2018Dulcamara\u2019?\n\nThe \u2018Connoisseur,\u2019 speaking of the medical dress in England, says:\u2014\u201cWhen\nwe see a snuff-coloured suit of ditto, with bolus-buttons, a metal-headed\ncane, and an enormous bushy grizzle, we as readily know the wearer to be\na dispenser of life and death, as if we had seen him pounding a mortar\nor\u2e3a, etc.\u201d\n\nIn France, the medical costume of the last century and of the preceding\none was quite as singular. At an earlier period the dress of the\n\u201cmire,\u201d that primitive healer of the people, was a familiar sight to\nthe Parisians, especially in the neighbourhood of the Rue de la Harpe.\nA long black robe covered the dirt, and stood for dignity in this once\nremarkable personage, who traversed the streets, vending dreadful\nunctions. He was always escorted by a boy bearing a monkey, and this\nmonkey was bled a dozen times a day by the learned gentleman, to satisfy\nthe passers-by that he, the professor, and not the monkey, was a skilful\nhand at phlebotomy.\n\nIn a street adjacent to the Rue de la Harpe resided, during a portion of\nthe troubled reign of Louis XVI., the celebrated Dr. Audry. He had lived\nthere for twenty years without being able to achieve any of the renown\nwhich he subsequently acquired. He had fallen in love, but _that_ did\nnot help him. He lacked one indispensable thing, wanting which nobody\ntrusted him. He wore no wig. He had a magnificent head of hair of his\nown; but to retain that was only wearing a testimonial of incapacity.\nThe fair lady, who was his heart\u2019s familiar friend, resided in a house\nopposite his own; and when she heard that her Samson was about to be\nshorn, she burst into tears, and reproached him with infidelity. \u201cSuch\nsplendid curls!\u201d sobbed the damsel.\n\n\u201cMy colleagues do not wear them!\u201d said Audry.\n\n\u201cYou in a peruke!\u201d exclaimed the lady, hardly knowing whether to laugh or\nto cry at the idea of her lover in a wig.\n\n\u201cIt is the symbol and livery of science. Without it, it appears, I cannot\nbe a doctor.\u201d\n\nThe lady insisted, by way of compromise, that she should be permitted to\nselect the wig; and she expressly made choice of one of such colossal\ndimensions and of so easy a fit, that poor Audry looked more like a\nfool than a physician in it. But it helped to bring him into fashion.\nHe was considered as an old gentleman; and young ladies admitted him to\ntheir circles and _causeries_, from which they affected to banish youth\nof aspect less mature. His popularity was on the increase, just as an\nadventure happened to him, which might have shaken a reputation more\nfirmly established.\n\nHe was one evening summoned to attend a wealthy English Peer, whose\nmansion was in the Rue Tournon. His way thither led him beneath the\nwindow of his fair friend, who had been rather piqued by his success\namong the ladies, and who had previously resolved to overthrow both cause\nand effect connected therewith. She was a pretty, sparkling, and joyously\nmischievous girl of some three-and-twenty years; and her father loved her\nnearly as much as he did fishing, which, for an enthusiastic angler as he\nwas, was no small proof of paternal affection. The damsel contrived so\nwell that, as the doctor passed, she flung her line, with the paternal\nfish-hook at the end of it, and caught up the wig therewith as lightly\nas her father would have picked up a trout.\n\nDr. Audry looked up in astonishment, and prayed for his professional\nperuke in vain. Being hurried, moreover, he passed on his way, and\nrepaired to his patient with a head like Mr. Buckstone\u2019s in Scrub.\n\nWhen Lord A\u2e3a beheld him he exclaimed, \u201cWhat! waited upon by the\nassistant, when I sent for the principal?\u2014by a student, when I needed a\npractitioner?\u2014but perhaps you are Doctor Audry\u2019s nephew:\u2014well, my groom\nhas the same sort of rheumatism that I have; be kind enough to go and\nlook after him.\u201d\n\nAudry, in his memoirs, in telling the tale, does not forget the sequel.\nThus insulted, he rushed, in a rage, to the offending lady, who met him\nwith open arms and laughing eyes. \u201cMy dear doctor,\u201d said she, \u201cdo not\nstorm; Papa was just on the point of securing to you something better\nthan a peruke,\u2014a fortune!\u201d\n\n\u201cYou are a light\u2014\u201d\n\n\u201cThing to be loved, as you love me: I know it,\u201d said the lady archly,\n\u201cbut St. Severin is our parish nevertheless.\u201d\n\n\u201cSt. Severin our parish? I do not comprehend; unless I am authorized to\ngo there and arrange for our marriage.\u201d\n\n\u201cTake all that papa prescribes upon that head; and, talking of heads, you\nshall have your peruke again after the honeymoon.\u201d Audry was content;\nand the wedding went off as merrily as though it had been the last act\nin an old comedy; though the newly-espoused couple did not lead quite so\nangelical a life afterwards, as either St. Severin of Cologne, or his\nnamesake of Bordeaux. But it was neither to be expected nor required of\nthem. They would not have been half as profitable to the state if they\nhad followed, throughout, the example set them by the saint whose name\ngraced the church wherein they were united.\n\nA Dacota doctor is perhaps, neither in costume nor practice, more absurd\nthan his European brethren of the early part of the last century. His fee\nis a blanket, a buffalo robe, or a pipe; his dress is chiefly composed of\nthe first two articles; and his cunning lies in his sacred rattle, which\nhe shakes as Christian doctors do their heads, and there is no doubt as\nmuch in one as in the other. Wherever he goes he carries with him his\nmedicine-bag; and to ask him what that mysterious article contains, and\nupon what grounds he applies its contents, would be an insult as profound\nas if you asked your own medical man for the reasons of his practice, and\nexpected that he would (or could) give you an answer. The Winnebagoes are\nattired like their learned brethren among the Dacotas; but dress is not\nthought so much of by them as possession of the medicine-bag: to lose\nthis is to lose reputation. But, savages as these are, they have some\nvery wise observances. The chief of these is the medicine-dance. This\nis a grand solemnity, given by the doctors, for two reasons: one, for\nthe increase of practice, just as we find the fashion to be at home; the\nother reason is, in order to appease the dead who have died under medical\ntreatment. And perhaps _that_ is also the reason why our own medicine-men\ngive such neat dinners, such splendid balls, or such enjoyable quadrilles\non the carpet and _soir\u00e9es dansantes_. These entertainments are born\nof remorse; and when next you join the saltatory throng at the house\nof your medical friend, ponder gravely, good reader, on the solemnity\nof the occasion, and impress upon that fair girl, with her hair _\u00e0\nl\u2019Imp\u00e9ratrice_, that the object for which you mutually point the light\nfantastic toe, is to rescue the medical master of the house from the\nrevengeful visits of the unskilfully slain at his hands. That understood,\nplunge with frantic velocity into the _valse \u00e0 deux temps_. The sacred\nrattles of the Dacotas and Winnebagoes are always shaken with maddening\nrapidity on these occasions, and you are the rattles by which doctors\nlive. The more you are shaken, the better they live; and should you have\nthe honour of perishing by their prescription, find comfort in knowing\nthat other waltzers will perform, not in your memory, but that you may be\npeacefully forgotten, the \u201cmedicine-dance\u201d of the medically murdered.\n\nIt will be found only another division of this subject to treat of odd\ndressers and dresses, after touching upon doctors and costume,\u2014doctors\nwho so often looked like the Laird of Cockpen, of whom we are told that\n\n    \u201cHis wig was well powther\u2019d and as good as new,\n    His jacket was red, and his hose they were blue;\n    He put on a ring, a sword, and cock\u2019d hat;\n    Ah, who could refuse the Laird wi\u2019 a\u2019 that?\u201d\n\nIf the doctors were sometimes queerly costumed, their matches might be\noccasionally found among the laity. For these I open the last scene, and\n\u201cEnter mob variously attired.\u201d\n\n\n\n\nODD FASHIONS.\n\n    \u201cAvec ceci finit la com\u00e9die; allez-vous-en, gens de la noce, et\n    dites du bien de l\u2019auteur.\u201d\u2014_Crispin \u00e0 la Foire._\n\n\nThe fashion of tattooing has a singular origin. We are indebted for our\nknowledge thereof to Clearchus, who tells us that the women of Scythia,\nhaving seized upon some Thracian women who dwelt in their vicinity,\ntraced on their bodies, by means of needles, certain marks, which the\nlatter could not contemplate without being made very angry. The lady who\nwent down Regent-street the other day with the shop-ticket affixed to\nher new shawl, and which contained the announcement, \u201cVery chaste, \u00a31.\n5_s._,\u201d was not half so ridiculous as these poor Thracian ladies, with\nthe etchings about them drawn by their dear Scythian cousins. It does not\nseem ever to have entered the heads of the victims that they might have\nconcealed their annoyance beneath a garment. They did not wear garments\nat that time. They however hit upon a device not unworthy of that page of\nthe Duke de Vend\u00f4me who, losing his shoulder-knot of ribbons, on being\npursued as he was leaving the boudoir of a maid of honour, hurried to\nthe room where his fellow-pages were sleeping and cut the knots off from\nevery laced coat in the apartment, and so escaped detection.\n\nThe Thracian women fixed upon as happy an expedient. They so mixed up\nthe tattooed marks with other designs, that the original drawings were\nentirely lost in the embellishments, like Handel\u2019s airs in a certain\nlady\u2019s cadences. By this means the characteristic sign of their shame and\nignominy was no longer discernible, and the mode of tattooing became a\nmode indeed in Thrace. A young lady there could not have had a greater\ncompliment paid to her at a ball than to be told that, front and back,\nher tattooing was in the true style of the Thracian improvement on the\nScythian design. The dear creature might blush, but she would feel\nhappily sure that she had made a conquest, and would make all her young\nfriends savage by telling them the secret.\n\nAmong the odd dressers of the last century was the celebrated French\nphilosopher and poet, Monsieur de la Condamine. Like George Selwyn, he\nwas an indefatigable attendant at executions. He of course did not forget\nthat of Damiens, the most horrible butchery ever enacted on the Gr\u00e8ve,\nand at which French ladies were present with opera glasses, the better to\nenjoy the spectacle. Even so wits, philosophers, and \u201cfemales\u201d honoured\nthe Mannings with their presence, in front of Horsemonger-lane gaol.\n\nCondamine went for ever in search of truth, like Diogenes looking for a\nman. At the execution of Damiens, he pushed his way close to the dread\nofficers of the law, and there, with his trumpet fastened to his ear (for\nhe was \u201cas deaf as a post\u201d), and his pencil and tablets in his hands,\nhe watched and recorded progress. At each tearing of the flesh by the\npincers, or at each blow dealt by the bar which crushed the limbs on\nwhich it fell, Condamine exclaimed, \u201cWhat does he say now? what does he\nsay now?\u201d The satellites of Charlot, the hangman, wished to drive him\naway as a troublesome fellow, but the executioner civilly remarked that\n\u201cthe gentleman was an amateur, and might stay if he liked.\u201d With all\nthis, De la Condamine was a simple-minded and humane man. In our London\nstreets he produced a great effect; there he walked, dressed as laxly as\nSir Simon Slack, and carrying with him a huge umbrella, almost as huge\nan ear-trumpet, a telescope, a compass, and a map of London permanently\nunfolded. He questioned everybody he met, but as he did this in English,\nas he thought, of which he did not comprehend a word, he was exceedingly\nlike a metaphysician, who necessarily does not understand either what\nhe says or what is said to him. His singular appearance in the streets\nspeedily brought a counterfeit presentment of him on the stage, and, from\nKing downwards, all the English actors who played Frenchmen dressed them\nafter the pattern of M. De la Condamine.\n\nAs I have above noticed the Paris executioner,\u2014\u201cMonsieur de Paris,\u201d\nas he used to be called,\u2014I may further remark that the personage who\nfilled that office some twenty years ago was one of the best-dressed\nand best-informed men I ever met with. He might have been taken for a\nreverend abb\u00e9, who did not deem that the dignity of priest was hurt by\nuniting with it the joviality of man. He was a man indeed of bloody\nhands, but he had gentle affections too; and he loved his children, ay,\nreader, as well as thou lovest thine own.\n\nThe Earl of Ferrers, who murdered his steward in 1760, was condemned to\nbe executed for his crime. He had been originally married in a suit of\nwhite kerseymere and silver; and he chose to be hung in the same suit,\nit being as appropriate to one occasion, he said, as the other. Walpole,\ndiscerning the effect this might have on fashion, remarks, \u201cI suppose\nevery highwayman will preserve the blue handkerchief he has about his\nneck when he is married, that he may die like a lord.\u201d\n\nThe Earl dated his misfortunes from the day on which he married the\nsister of Sir William Meredith. He accused the lady of having _met_ him\ndrunk at an assembly, and having kept him so till the ceremony was over.\nHad he charged her with making him drunk, the lady, who was a faithful\nwife, might have been more to blame; and as for keeping him drunk\nafterwards, he was seldom subsequently sober, and had only himself to\nblame.\n\nThis coroneted brute, who was remarkable for his taste in dress, was at\nonce fond and faithless. He kept his Countess in continual fear of her\nlife, beating her by day and threatening to shoot her at night. They\nwere separated; and it was because Johnson, his steward, advanced her\nsome portion of her allowance without the knowledge of the Earl, that\nthe latter shot him at three o\u2019clock in the afternoon, and continued\ntormenting him till one in the morning, rejoicing to kill him slowly!\n\nAfter being sentenced by a unanimous vote of the House of Lords, he\npassed his time in the Tower in playing picquet with the warders; and,\nlike Jerome Cardan, he would not play for pastime, but for money. He\ndrank as much wine as he could get, and then took to beer, for want of\nsomething better.\n\nIn the procession, which moved from the Tower to Tyburn, this doomed\nman, in his wedding clothes, was the only person who did not appear\naffected. His coachman blubbered and the officials looked grave, but the\nindifferent Lord made comments on the crowd, alluded now and then to the\npurpose in hand, and had the condescension to acknowledge that he _did_\nbelieve in a God.\n\nAs connected with fashion, it may be noticed that the Earl was the first\nman who suffered by the \u201cnew drop.\u201d To travel to the other world by the\n\u201cFerrers\u2019 Stage,\u201d of course had its popular and peculiar signification.\nLet me add, that while he was hanging in white, the sheriffs, in mourning\nand robes of office, were coolly standing on the scaffold, eating\nand drinking, and helping up their friends to drink with them. The\nexecutioners fought for the rope, and he who lost it cried; \u201cbut,\u201d says\nWalpole, who was not there to see, \u201cthe universal crowd behaved with\ngreat decency and admiration.\u201d\n\nThere is another act to this tragedy. Lady Ferrers subsequently married\nLord Frederick Campbell, brother of the Duke of Argyle, at whose seat,\nCombe Bank, Kent, she was unfortunately burnt to death.\n\nThere was about this time another celebrated personage remarkable for\nher style of dress. We have all heard of \u201cSappho\u2019s diamonds on her dirty\nsmock,\u201d and Pope\u2019s line does not seem overcharged. \u201cI have seen Lady Mary\nWortley Montague,\u201d writes Walpole in 1762; \u201cI think her avarice, her\ndirt, and her vivacity are all increased. Her dress, like her languages,\nis a _galimatias_ of several countries; the ground-work rags, and the\nembroidery nastiness. She needs no cap, no handkerchief, no gown, no\npetticoat, no shoes. An old black-lace hood represents the first; the fur\nof a horseman\u2019s coat, which replaces the third, serves for the second; a\ndimity petticoat is deputy, and officiates for the fourth; and slippers\nact the part of the last. When I was at Florence, and she was expected\nthere, we drew _Sortes Virgilianas_ for her; we literally drew\n\n    \u2018Insanam vatem aspicies.\u2019\n\nIt would have been a stronger prophecy now even than it was then.\u201d\n\nI think it was said of Lady Mary, that, on being once at the French\nOpera, some one remarked to her, \u201cMon dieu, Miladi, que vous avez les\nmains sales!\u201d \u201cAh!\u201d exclaimed the dirty lady with a conscious pride, \u201csi\nvous voyiez mes pieds!\u201d This story however is something apocryphal.\n\nThe worst feature in Lady Mary was that she was not only dirty as an\nelderly woman, but had been so as a young one. Two-and-twenty years\nbefore Walpole wrote the above account of her, he thus photographed the\nnymph whom Pope had transiently adored. Walpole met her at Florence in\n1740, and there, he says, she was \u201claughed at by the whole town. Her\ndress, her avarice, and her impudence must amaze any one that never\nheard her name. She wears a foul mob that does not cover her greasy\nblack locks, that hang loose, never combed or curled; an old mazarine\nblue wrapper, that gapes open and discovers a canvas petticoat. Her face\nswelled violently on one side, with the remains of a \u2e3a partly covered\nwith a plaister, and partly with white paint, which, for cheapness, she\nhas bought so coarse, that you would not use it to wash a chimney.\u201d\n\nSpence, who saw this clever and eccentric lady during the following\nyear at Rome, describes her as brilliant, irregular, and erratic as a\ncomet; at once wise and imprudent, \u201cthe loveliest, most disagreeable,\nbest-natured, cruellest woman in the world; all things by turns, and\nnothing long.\u201d\n\nThree foreign travellers in England have pleasantly remarked upon an old\ncustom which would now be considered more honoured in the breach than\nthe observance. The custom alluded to is that of kissing. Chalcondyles,\nthe Greek, who visited our respected ancestors between four and five\ncenturies ago, was highly surprised, delighted, and edified with this\nnovel mode. He says of it:\u2014\u201cAs for English females and children, their\ncustoms are liberal in the extreme. For instance, when a visitor calls\nat a friend\u2019s house, his first act is to kiss his friend\u2019s wife; he is\nthen a duly installed guest. Persons meeting in the street follow the\nsame custom, and no one sees anything improper in the action.\u201d Nicander\nNucius, another Greek traveller, of a century later, also adverts to this\noscillatory fashion. \u201cThe English,\u201d he says, \u201cmanifest much simplicity\nand lack of jealousy in their habits and customs as regards females; for\nnot only do members of the same family and household kiss them on the\nlips with complimentary salutations and enfolding of the arms round the\nwaist, but even strangers when introduced follow the same mode; and it is\none which does not appear to them in any degree unbecoming.\u201d\n\nThe third commentator is Erasmus, and it is astonishing how lively the\nDutchman becomes when expatiating on this ticklish subject. Writing from\nEngland to Andrelinus in 1499, he says unctuously:\u2014\u201cThey have a custom\ntoo which can never be sufficiently commended. On your arrival, you are\nwelcomed with kisses. On your departure, you are sent off with kisses. If\nyou return, the embraces are repeated. Do you receive a visit, your first\nentertainment is of kisses. Do your guests depart, you distribute kisses\namongst them. Wherever you meet them they greet you with a kiss. In\nshort, whichever way you turn, there is nothing but kissing. Ah! Faustus,\nif you had once tasted the tenderness, the fragrance of these kisses, you\nwould wish to stay in England, not for a ten years\u2019 voyage, like Solon\u2019s,\nbut as long as you lived.\u201d\n\nI leave to the bachelors to pronounce upon the merits of this\ncustom\u2014which must have had its disadvantages too;\u2014a qualified remark\nwhich I the more feel bound to make, as, were I to join in the ecstatic\nlaudation of the grave Dutchman,\u2014why, to use Hood\u2019s words,\n\n    \u201cI have my fears about my ears, I\u2019m not a single man!\u201d\n\nLet us now turn from English fashions to French incidents. Some years\nago, the summer evening _habitu\u00e9s_ of the Champs Elys\u00e9es used to find\namusement in listening to an open-air entertainment of some singularity.\nA pale, thin, fragile, but bright-eyed and intellectual-looking girl of\nperhaps ten or twelve years of age used to appear in the most crowded\npart of the walk, an hour or so before sunset, attended by an old woman\nwho carried a violin, a tin cup, and a carpet. While the girl stood apart\nfor a moment, with something of a rapt look, the old woman spread the\ncarpet, put down the cup at one corner, and scraped a preliminary air\nupon the violin. The air was not always appropriate to the drama that was\nto follow, for the favourite overture of the performer was \u201cMa\u2019m\u2019selle\nPinson est une blonde!\u201d\u2014and that was like making \u201cYankee Doodle\u201d or\n\u201cNancy Dawson\u201d pass as introductory symphonies to \u2018Hamlet\u2019 or \u2018Macbeth.\u2019\n\nHowever, the orchestra having terminated the prelude, the girl stepped\non to the carpet, with the air of a little tragedy queen, and recited\nlong tirades from Racine and Corneille. But then she recited them\nsuperbly; and despite her air of suffering and her exceedingly poor\nattire, she produced such an effect upon her hearers that while she\nrested, the audience were never weary of filling the cup carried round\nby the old woman, with sous and half-franc pieces, in order to encourage\nher to new efforts. The collection was always a large one; and when the\ndelicate-looking child retired, all palpitating and with a flush upon\nher cheek, of which it were difficult to say whether it were the flush\nof her own triumph or that of death destined to triumph over her, the\nacclamations and cordial compliments of her hearers greeted her as she\npassed.\n\nWell, a winter had gone, and a summer had come, but with it did not come\nto the loiterers in the Elysian fields the Tragic Muse whom they were\ndisposed and eager to welcome. But during the year a marvellous child\nappeared on the stage of the Gymnase Dramatique. She came like a meteor\nand so departed. The truth was, that her friends saw at once that she\nwas too good for that stage, and she was withdrawn, in order to appear\non one more classical. Well do I remember that we loiterers in the shady\navenues that lead to Neuilly used to dispute, and we youths the loudest\nof all, as to whether the _d\u00e9butante_ of the Gymnase was or was not the\ninspired nymph that used in the public highway to create as much delight\nas Duchesnois herself before the critical pit of the \u201cFran\u00e7ais.\u201d\n\nThe dispute was not to be determined by us, and in the meantime we spoke\nof our absent delight as of a lost Pleiad, and so the year wore away.\nAnd then came the eventful night on which a girl, of whom no one had\npreviously heard by the name which she now wore, glided on to the stage\nof the Th\u00e9\u00e2tre Fran\u00e7ais, and in a moment awoke French Tragedy out of\nthe shroud in which she had been decently enveloped since Duchesnois\nhad laid her down to die. The name of the girl was RACHEL; and so pale\nand unearthly was she, yet so inspired in her look, so commanding, so\nirresistible, that every one was not only ready to acknowledge the new\nsovereign of the tragic throne, but all Paris declared that the Rachel\nwho was now famous for ever was no other than the poor girl who used to\nstand on a carpet in the Champs Elys\u00e9es and recite Racine for sous and\nhalf-franc pieces.\n\nThe lady most concerned maintained a discreet silence, and various were\nopinions as to the identity. In course of time, however, she seems\nherself to have cleared up the mystery by one of the prettiest possible\nand most practical of confessions. As this is a question of evidence, I\nthink it better to let my witness speak rather than myself condense the\ntestimony, and here is the deposition\u2014_ce dont il s\u2019agit_. I have only\nfirst to premise that it is given by Madame Colmache in one of those\npleasant Paris letters which used to appear in the \u2018Atlas,\u2019 to the great\namusement and edification of the readers. The following is a portion of a\nletter which appeared in February, 1851.\n\n\u201cRachel\u2019s h\u00f4tel in the Rue Trudon is gradually growing into the most\nexquisite little palace in the world. The long-talked of _f\u00eate_, which\nwas to have been given by the Tragedian upon the occasion of the Mardi\nGras, and to which all Paris was intriguing and disputing to get invited,\nhas been postponed _sine die_, and a literary and poetical festival was\noffered to her friends instead, on Sunday last. The inauguration of the\nh\u00f4tel took place under the most brilliant auspices. The vast number of\nrooms contained in the h\u00f4tel excited some surprise; the more so as it is\nformally announced that the fair owner intends for the future to reside\nentirely alone. \u2018By whom will all these apartments be occupied?\u2019 said\nAlexandre Dumas to Viennet, as they strolled through the long suite of\nsaloons and boudoirs. \u2018By the owner\u2019s _souvenirs_, of course,\u2019 replied\nthe latter. \u2018Oh! then I fear they will be terribly crowded,\u2019 replied\nAlexandre laughing. To those who complain of the sadness of the times\nand of the sad neglect of art manifested by the public of our own day, a\nwalk through that exquisitely adorned temple, which certainly may rival,\nboth in elegance and richness, the dwelling of Aspasia and the villa of\nLais, would be productive of an immediate change of opinion. No expense\nhas been spared upon the decoration of the h\u00f4tel; some of the artists\nwho stand highest have not disdained to furnish some of the designs for\nthe moulding; the ceilings are all painted by the greatest masters; and\nthe rich draperies which conceal the walls have all been taught to hang,\naccording to the strictest rules of symmetry, by the great master hand.\u201d\n\nThe _f\u00eate_, says the writer, was concluded by an epilogue of great\ninterest; and it is this epilogue which connects the Trag\u00e9dienne of the\n\u201cFran\u00e7ais,\u201d with the little Thespian of the Champs Elys\u00e9es. The epilogue\nis truly described as one displaying a strange and singular aspect of the\nhuman heart.\n\n\u201cThe _soir\u00e9e_ had been accepted as one of a purely literary character,\nand every celebrity appertaining to every branch of literature came,\nof course. The fair hostess recited in costume every one of her\nprincipal _tirades_, from all the great tragedies wherein she has\nacquired undying fame, and then withdrew amid the hearty applause\nand unfeigned expressions of delight of the whole company. Presently\nshe returned before them in a new character to them, but of an old\none to herself,\u2014that of a street-singer, her head bound by a Madras\nhandkerchief, her shoulders enveloped in an old Tartan shawl, a cotton\npetticoat descending just below the knee, and an old guitar slung across\nher bosom. Her appearance caused an almost painful interest. There\nwas poetry in the whole scene\u2014in the very clatter of her sabots as she\npassed up the splendid gallery, all hung with looking-glass, and adorned\nwith gilt tripods\u2014in the wooden bowl with the sou at the bottom, which\nshe rattled as she stepped forward with a melancholy smile. She walked\nstraight to the head of the gallery, and standing motionless for a\nmoment, began the ballad which she had sung the last of all before she\nwas summoned from the street to the stage, from rags and poverty, to\nglory, influence, and riches. By a singular coincidence, this ballad\nhappened to be the same formerly sung in \u2018Fanchon la Veilleuse,\u2019\u2014\u2018Elle\na quitt\u00e9,\u2019\u2014relating how Fanchon had left her humble home for wealth\nand grandeur, and how she was gradually pining amidst the splendour of\nher lot for the love and liberty she had once enjoyed. The voice of\nthe singer, perhaps from fatigue, perhaps from emotion, was low and\nfaltering, and produced an effect such as not the most powerful of her\n_tirades_ from Racine or Corneille has ever been able to produce,\u2014_tears_\nfrom her audience. This incident will long be remembered by those who\nwitnessed it.\u201d\n\nNo doubt; and the writer might have added a closing incident which is\nsaid to have followed the song, namely, that the singer, or reciter,\nfor even her songs were recited, as every one will remember who has\nwitnessed her \u2018Lycisca\u2019 in the high-coloured tragedy of \u2018Valeria,\u2019\u2014having\nterminated her song, carried round the little cup or bowl, as of yore,\nonly this time intimating to those to whom her trembling hand extended\nit\u2014\u201cIt is for the poor!\u201d But to revert to older, as well as odder\nfashions.\n\nThe consequences of the treaty which the Colophonians made with\nthe Lydians, will serve to show that alliances are not necessarily\nadvantageous to the weaker party. The Colophonians were an austere\npeople. They were the Quakers of antiquity, and Mr. Bright himself\nmight admire them. But no sooner were they united with the Lydians than\nColophon became full of Lydian milliners, tailors, jewellers, and\nhairdressers, and the reign of simplicity was over for ever. Prior to\nthis a Colophonian woman no more thought about her dress than did Maria\nTheresa, who, on being told that she was a grandmother, rushed into the\nneighbouring Opera-house, in her flannel nightdress and huge nightcap, in\nwhich she looked like Mrs. Gamp, and announced to the ecstatic audience\nthat an heir was born to the greatness of Hapsburg Lorraine.\n\nThe Colophonians were once as careless of appearances, but now, men and\nwomen, they all adopted Lydian fashions. In one day, a thousand of the\nformer, who had never known what a mantle was before, were seen on the\npublic place, as proud of their jaunty purple cloaks as Rubini of his\n\u2018Almaviva.\u2019 Men and women alike had a gold ornament at the end of every\nlock of hair; and as for perfume, it was used to such an extent that for\nmiles round the air was full of it, and the Lydian Atkinsons toiled in\nvain to meet the demand by supply.\n\nExtravagance in dress has brought many a family to two-and-sixpence in\nthe pound, but it ruined Miletus outright. The rich people there not\nonly impoverished themselves by their incredible extravagance in finery,\nworse than our ancestors at the Field of the Cloth of Gold, who wore\nwhole estates upon their backs, but they despised the poor, who were\noffensive to them for their homely fashions and rough tongues. Well,\nthese extravagant persons became insolent and helpless, or what we should\nnow call so; and the poor then sued them after the fashion of men who\nknew not of Bankruptcy Courts. They expelled the old oppressors, but\nthey seized their children; and confining them in different granges,\ncaused them to be trodden to death by the oxen used for treading out\nthe corn. The rich however returned in strength, and seizing the poor\nmen, women, and children, they covered them with pitch and put light to\nthem,\u2014so leaving them to perish. The sacred olive-tree in the Temple\nwas so disgusted at both parties that it set fire to itself, and died\nof spontaneous combustion. The colour of its crackling leaves became a\nfavourite one with religious persons; and a \u201crobe feuille-morte\u201d was as\nmuch in vogue in the district as it more recently was in Paris and the\nprovinces.\n\nThere are some very odd \u201chabits\u201d about some of the swarthy potentates\nof torrid Africa. Of these I can however mention but the following:\u2014The\nterritory of Damagram, in Central Africa, is inhabited by the wildest\nof the African races. The method of supplying the slave-market there is\ntruly nefarious. If the Sultan of Zinder wants goar nuts for his dessert,\nor calico to make what the good King Dagobert had so much difficulty in\nadjusting to his royal person, and if he has no money to purchase them,\nhe sends his officials to a neighbouring village, in open day, to steal\ntwo or three families and bring them to the Sultan. These families are\nimmediately exchanged for the goar nuts or the calico, and the swarthy\ntailor who makes up the royal suit perhaps reflects, as he sews, that\nthe stuff has cost two or three living cousins, whose fate it is to be\nsent beyond the Atlantic to raise more cotton, that shall find its way\nagain to the African tailors\u2019 hands, after it has been paid for with\nmore human flesh. It is not _all_ the African chiefs that care to be\ndressed in calico. The Marghi, for instance, give little employment for\ntailors: their dress consists of a simple band of leather passed between\ntheir loins and fixed round their girdle. When this and a profusion of\nneatly-made rings of iron and ivory are fixed on the arms and legs, the\nMarghi gentlemen are dressed for the day.\n\nThe oddest of fashions or dresses was one which was once adopted by the\nrich but parsimonious Fountayn Wilson, the wealthy but thrifty landowner\nof Yorkshire. When loyal gentlemen were raising militia companies\nduring the late war, Mr. Wilson not only followed the fashion, but he\nbought, at a low rate, a quantity of grey cloth, in the expectation that\nGovernment would purchase it at an advanced price, and so put a profit\ninto Fountayn\u2019s pocket. He was disappointed, but he consoled himself by\nwearing nothing for years but dresses made out of this coarse militia\ngrey. But London once saw him in a stranger dress than this.\n\nMr. Wilson, having accepted an invitation to dinner on a day whereon he\nhad to attend as member of a committee of the House of Commons, ordered\nhis servant to bring down to the house at six o\u2019clock, a change of dress,\nand a hackney coach, in which he said he would effect the change as he\nrode in it. Ablution he did not think about; but if his old black coat\nwould do to dine in, he felt bound to change his nether garment. He had\njust reached the Horse Guards, and he had just taken off his trousers,\nand was about to put his legs into the other pair, when _crack!_ went\nthe axle-tree, and down came the coach! An officious mob assembled to\nlend help; but when they beheld an embarrassed gentleman with two pairs\nof trousers, and neither of them on, great was their astonishment,\nand loudly did they publish the fact. Poor Fountayn sat helpless and\nvictimized, till a good-natured officer who was passing, and knew the\neccentric M.P., released him, by claiming him as a relative; and as he\nled him covered with a cloak through the shrieking crowd, he calmed the\nlaughers into silence by significantly pointing with his finger to his\nforehead,\u2014which seemed to imply that they ought to have compassion on the\ninfirmity of an imbecile gentleman, so well provided with garments and so\napparently indifferent as to their use.\n\nIf Oliver Goldsmith went up in red plush breeches to be ordained by a\nbishop, the celebrated Daniel Webster once appeared in as singular a\ncostume, considering the occasion on which he wore it. The time had\ncome when he was required to leave his old home at Elms Farm, to visit\nDartmouth College, for the purpose of being matriculated. A neighbour,\nin honest zeal for his credit, made for him a complete new suit of\nclothes,\u2014all of homespun cloth,\u2014the colour \u201cdeeply, darkly, beautifully\nblue.\u201d Thus attired, he set off on horseback; and he had not got far on\nhis way when a storm suddenly overtook him, to which he was exposed for\nmany hours. The river in his way became swollen, the bridge was destroyed\nby the freshet, and he was obliged to ride many miles round ere he could\nagain strike into a direct path. The rain descended in ceaseless torrents\nduring the whole time. The homespun suit was not made of fast colour. The\nrain sank into the cloth, and the indigo-blue, politely making way for\nit, soaked off into the shirt and skin of the young student. His features\ntoo partook of the general hue, and when the scholar reached Hanover, he\nwas dyed blue from head to foot. Like Essex, when he came travel-soiled\nfrom Ireland, and proceeded to an interview with Queen Elizabeth, he\nwent straight before the college authorities; without wiping\u2014indeed he\ncould _not_ wipe the now fixed cerulean from his face, neck, and hands.\nEvery shade of blue, and all moist, could be seen upon his clothes, the\ndarker deposit upon his flesh. \u201cWho is he?\u201d asked one. \u201cAt home,\u201d said\nhe, laughing, \u201cthey call me _black_ Dan; here I appear as _blue_ Dan!\u2014and\ntrouble enough have I had to arrive among you; but you see me as I am, in\na condition which, if it does not entitle me to your approbation, should\nat least secure for me your sympathy.\u201d Daniel suffered no disparagement\nby appearing before his grave seniors like a man who had been dyeing all\nhis life. He passed the dreaded ordeal with honour, and the wits said\nthat he had no reason to be discontented with the storm which _blew_ him\ninto a port where honour and welcome attended him; at the same time they\nadvised him not to stick to the colour, and proposed to him a thesis,\nwhich should have for its device, \u201cNimium ne fide colori.\u201d \u201cNe fide\ncolori!\u201d I hear re-echoed by my readers; \u201c\u2018Ne fide nimium patienti\u00e6,\u2019\nSirrah; do not super-abuse our patience.\u201d Be it so, ever-courteous\nPublic. _Pauca verba_, as Pistol has it, is a good maxim, particularly\nwhen one has nothing more to say. I will conclude, not only with the\nsentiment I promised, but also with something more valuable,\u2014a recipe to\nkeep you from ever getting wet through. A barrister was once bewailing to\nMr. Cresswell, when the latter was also at the Bar, that on going down\nto Salisbury, outside the mail, he had got his clothes completely wet\nthrough. \u201cThat calamity need never befall a man, however exposed,\u201d said\nMr. Cresswell. \u201cWhy,\u201d said the other, \u201cwhat is he to do?\u201d \u201cDo!\u201d exclaimed\nthe elder practitioner, \u201cwhy, he has nothing in the world to do but to\ntake off his clothes and sit upon them!\u201d\n\nAnd now for the sentiment, in which my readers will find a value greater\nthan that which attaches to the recipe for keeping a suit dry. Hear what\nCowper says:\u2014\n\n    \u201cWe sacrifice to dress, till household joys\n    And comforts cease. Dress drains our cellars dry,\n    And keeps our larder bare; puts out our fires,\n    And introduces hunger, frost, and woe,\n    Where peace and hospitality might reign.\u201d\n\nWell, I will not moralize upon this truth. I should become more unwelcome\nthan Joseph Surface himself; but I will say this, that Cowper\u2019s lines\nare as applicable now as they were of old, and in that they are so do I\ndistinguish the cause why on many careers joyously begun, there descends\nso dismal and so dreary a\n\n\nFINIS.\n\n\n                       JOHN EDWARD TAYLOR, PRINTER,\n                LITTLE QUEEN STREET, LINCOLN\u2019S INN FIELDS.\n\n\n\n\nNEW AND CHEAP PUBLICATIONS.\n\n\n_The Volumes now Ready are_:\n\n                                 I.\n\n  SAM SLICK, THE CLOCKMAKER. 1 Vol. Price 5_s._\n\n                                 II.\n\n  SAM SLICK, THE ATTACH\u00c9. 1 Vol. Price 5_s._\n\n                                III.\n\n  SAM SLICK\u2019S LETTER-BAG OF THE GREAT WESTERN. 1 Vol. Price 2_s._ 6_d._\n\n                                 IV.\n\n  CAPTAIN MARRYAT\u2019S MONSIEUR VIOLET. 1 Vol. Price 3_s._ 6_d._\n\n                                 V.\n\n  CAPTAIN MARRYAT\u2019S OLLA PODRIDA. 1 Vol. Price 3_s._ 6_d._\n\n                                 VI.\n\n  MRS. 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DORAN\u2019S TABLE TRAITS, WITH SOMETHING ON THEM. 1 Vol. Price 6_s._\n\n                                XXII.\n\n  RADCLIFFE\u2019S FIENDS, GHOSTS, AND SPRITES. 1 Vol. Price 3_s._ 6_d._\n\n                 RICHARD BENTLEY, NEW BURLINGTON STREET.","title":"Habits and men, with remnants of record touching the makers of both","tradition":"philosophy-ethics","translated_text":null,"word_count":132739}