regain its home within the waters. Something like this has ever been the fate of the "beau;" for he who follows rather the animal than the intellectual propensities, is sure to rush, sooner or later, upon his own destruction.

Besides, how great is the outlay required to make a "beau,"-well-scented and useless, though perhaps temporarily agreeable! The sacrifices are greater than I have space to enumerate; the result in proportion is infinitesimally small. It reminds me of the six hundred pounds' weight of rose-leaves required to produce a single ounce of the attar. Sad waste of many values in order to achieve a fashionable smell!

Not that a man should be indifferent to dress or to personal appearance. Dr. Chalmers himself illustrates the fact that some care about costume is consistent with the occupations of the mightiest intellect. In his 'Journal' (July, 1824), he says:-"Dressed for dinner. Have got a new way of folding up my coat, which I shall teach you when I get home, as it is of great use to a traveller. I am about as fond of it as I was of the new method of washing my hands." From Chalmers to Chifney is perhaps going a long way for another illustration. They however who remember the late celebrated jockey in the days of his retirement will admit its propriety. How glossily patriarchal the old rider used to look, when, turned pedestrian, he was wont to pace Regent-street, in broad-brimmed hat and a clerical-looking surtout! Had he only been less grave of aspect, and more frolicsome of action, one might have taken him for Wilberforce.

It is really pleasant to trace how celebrated men in other climes than that of England make of costume a means to an end. I am reminded of this by a passage in one of the late Lord Metcalfe's letters, in which he records his visit to the camp of Holkar, and notices one of that chief's dandy captains, Ameer Khan. "Ameer Khan," he says, "is

blackguard in his looks, and affected on the occasion of my reception to be particularly fierce, by rubbing his coat over with gunpowder, and assuming in every way the air of a common soldier." This was only Brummell "with a difference;" 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 as the author of 'Friends and Acquaintances.' Better would it have been for the irreproachablydressed 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
Usher'd the way to Death's cold festival."

OLD PLAY.

Of all the doctors on the learned rota, there may have been more famous, but none more deserving, than Freake. He was regardless 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