the Beau used to anoint himself with the oil of impudence in order to impose on the world, as Ameer Khan rubbed his coat with gunpowder that he might excite admiration in the breast of the civilian-soldier of Deeg.

For the reason that induced Miss Agnes Strickland to close her record of the Queens with the reign of Queen Anne, so do I close that of the beaux with the biography of Brummell. D'Orsay was indeed a greater than he; but he has too recently shuffled off this mortal coil to be strictly dealt with, and the truth concerning him might hurt the feelings of those of his followers who continue to wear deep stocks with long ends. His career only furnished a further proof that the profession of a "beau" is not a paying one. He was great in a Fielding-ian sense, and according to the poet's maxim which says, "Base is the slave that pays." Mere generosity does not make a gentleman; and even generosity that is oblivious of justice is of no value. There was really nothing to admire in him. A recent "friend and acquaintance" indeed has been so hard put to it to find out a virtue in D'Orsay, that he has fixed upon his neglect of paying his creditors as one; and the "friend" thinks that it was sufficient honour for tradesmen to have him for their debtor! He resided at Gore House; gave dinners to Louis Napoleon, which cost the giver nothing in money, and the hungry recipient as little in gratitude; he drew caricature portraits of his "familiars;" proposed a public subscription for the polluting Paul de Kock; and was the author of a portrait or figure of our Saviour, the idea of which seemed to be taken from that of Decker in the old comedy, who dared to say of Him that He was—

"The first true gentleman that ever breathed."

Finally, the worst thing that could happen for the reputation of the deceased Count is, that he should have so mistaken an advocate of the author of 'Friends and Acquaintances.' Better would it have been for the irreproachably-dressed D'Orsay, if he could have

said as the Psalmist did :-" My lovers and friends hast thou put away from me, and hid mine acquaintance out of my sight."

In the annals of dress however, the doctors of the olden time claim as much notice as the beaux. If my readers be sick of the latter, here are a few medical gentlemen, in full costume, ready to be consulted.

DOCTORS READY DRESSED.

"These, Sir,

Are Death's Masters of the Ceremonies;
More strangely-clad officials never yet
Ushered the way to Death's cold festival."

Or all the doctors on the learned rota, there

OLD PLAY.

may

have been more

He was regardless

famous, but none more deserving than Freake. of nothing but dress; and he had a capital appreciation of fun, and a strong predilection for matters of fantasy.

Dr. Freake of St. Bartholomew's, and his cousin the justice, were not only given to dreaming, but to publish their dreams. They deemed their visions not only important to themselves and the public generally, but to the sovereigns of Europe especially. The dreams were wildly unintelligible, and the interpretations unintelligibly wild. But the Justice had active common-sense about him when he was awake. He was a careful dresser, which is more than can be said for the Doctor, and he presented the Bodleian Library with a collection of medals. Their tricksy spirits added the word freak to the vocabulary of the English language.

The Doctor's cousin, like the Doctor, was not a fop; and as much could scarcely be said of the profession generally. Granger says indeed of Dr. Col that he was not a coxcomb. This was at a time when the physicians were coxcombs; and the apothecaries, who followed and copied the more dignified brethren, were coxcombs and meta-physicians. The medical coxcomb of the day has thus been dressed up by a popular poet :—

"Each son of Sol, to make him look more big,

Had on a large, grave, decent, three-tail'd wig ;

His clothes full-trimm'd, with button-holes behind;
Stiff were the skirts, with buckram stoutly lined;
The cloth, cut velvet, or more reverend black,
Full made, and powder'd, half-way down his back;
Large decent cuffs, which near the ground did reach,
With half-a-dozen buttons fix'd on each.

Grave were their faces, fix'd in solemn state!
These men struck awe, their presence carried weight;
In reverend wigs, old heads young shoulders bore,
And twenty-five or thirty seem'd threescore."

Such was the learned and able individual by whose help we became the heirs of our forefathers, helping the one into life, the other out of it. I will add a sketch of a German doctor, and then of a French doctor of some celebrity, both for his costume and his professional and personal qualities. And first, of the professional dress of the Medicus Germanicus.

Madame Schopenhauer says of the German doctors of the last century that they were all aged--not so much by weight of years as of preconceived opinions. She could not imagine that any of them had ever been young, or had ever condescended to the sports of the young. For many years of her life she never either saw or heard of a young physician. These vice-lords of human life, incomparably clever at guessing, were addressed by the style and title of "Excellency;" and even as Falstaff was "Jack Falstaff” only with his familiars, so he must have been a very intimate friend indeed who ventured to call a German physician "Herr Doctor."

He who has seen Bundle in the Waterman' may have a very good idea of a German medico's wig:--snow white, thickly powdered, and excruciatingly curled. It had further the distinction of resting, one portion on the back and two descending in front of the shoulders. A scarlet cloth coat adorned with gold lace, ruffles deeper plaited than Lord Ogilvie's, a shirt-frill as wide as a mainsail, silk stockings, knee-breeches, and an acre of buckles on the shoes enriched with gold and gems, a low-crowned cocked hat

under the arm, too small for the head, and a stout walking-stick or fancy cane, with clouded or carved head-pieces, and ever applied to prop the chin in cases where it was necessary to let it be thought that the physician was thinking,-it was thus attired that these patented murderers went forth to slay. What should we think now of Dr. Locock in a gold-laced scarlet coat, like Lablache in 'Dulcamara?"

6

The Connoisseur,' speaking of the medical dress in England, says:-"When we see a snuff-colored suit of ditto, with bolusbuttons, a metal headed cane, and an enormous bushy grizzle, we as readily know the wearer to be a dispenser of life and death, as if we had seen him pounding a mortar or etc."

In France the medical costume of the last century and of the preceding one was quite as singular. At an earlier period the dress of the "mire," that primitive healer of the people, was a familiar sight to the Parisians, especially in the neighbourhood of the Rue de la Harpe. A long black robe covered the dirt, and stood for dignity in this once remarkable personage, who traversed the streets vending dreadful unctions. He was always escorted by a boy bearing a monkey, and this monkey was bled a dozen times a day by the learned gentleman, to satisfy the passers-by that he, the professor, and not the monkey, was a skilful hand at phlebotomy.

In a street adjacent to the Rue de la Harpe resided, during a portion of the troubled reign of Louis XVI., the celebrated Dr. Audry. He had lived there for twenty years without being able to achieve any of the renown which he subsequently acquired. He had fallen in love, but that did not help him. He lacked one indispensable thing, wanting which nobody trusted him. He wore no wig. He had a magnificent head of hair of his own; but to retain that was only wearing a testimonial of incapacity. The fair lady, who was his heart's familiar friend, resided in a house opposite his own; and when she heard that her Samson was about to be shorn, she burst into tears, and reproached him with infidelity. "Such splendid curls!" sobbed the damsel.