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He who half buries his eyes beneath his castor, is a peevish grumbler. A smartlybrushed hat indicates orderly and regular ways; a hat with a very broad brim sometimes covers equally narrow principles.
The butcher, the baker, and the tailor, encased in holiday attire, exhibit a strong partiality for long-preserved long-napped beavers of long-forgotten shapes.
Hats often decide wagers. We have seen many a dispute settled by an appeal to the head, if not to the brain. Tom bets Joe a new hat he can't tell the distance between London Bridge and the 1st of August, 1900. Joe agrees, and loses—of course. Tom expected a guinea Christie ; but Joe retaliates in a Bread Street "four-and-nine."
Open-air and park preachers sport hats differing in first principles, even more than their doctrines. When a hearty shower of rain descends to weaken the spiritual flow, and by a sudden increase of the cold without disperses the numerous auditories, some of the unreverend fathers (they despise degrees) cover the fragile gossamer with a handkerchief, and, tucking
the ends in their mouths, take quickly to their heels. Others put their little faith in the strength and breadth of their castors, over which the rain passes harmless.
The form the hat has maintained during the present century, contrasted with the shapes of past times, is incommodious, and far from elegant. The slightest deviation from the conventional castor is sure to meet with rebuke from the multitude: hence our elegants, on quitting the opera or the theatres, are occasionally
saluted with the remark :
THE HAIR AND BEARD.
Long matted hair, to which Sir Peter Laurie and the Dover jailors have evinced such a cutting dislike, and Colonel Sibthorpe and Mr. Muntz such a decided partiality, denotes, when in company with a very greasy coat-collar, the artist whose talent the Royal Academy does not appreciate (and who never forgets to return the compliment), the eccentric musician, the heterodox preacher, the amateur theatrical, the socialist lecturer, and the lawyer's clerk.
The perruquier (for we have no barbers now-a-days), the dandy, the "literary lion" of the Newgate Calendar school, and “walking gents," wear their hair combed, brushed, oiled, frizzled, and parted into sets of curls, like the fashionable dolls in the “ Magazin de Modes."
Some persons arrange their locks in the styles adopted by remarkable individuals ; as George the Fourth, Dusty Bob, Prince Albert, Jack Ketch, Count D'Orsay, and M. Jullien. A man who gets into the model-prison is not at liberty to adopt either of these varied styles, but his locks are cut upon government principles, to the air of "Croppies, lie down.”
Stiff bristly hair generally denotes stubbornness, whilst the soft and silky implies great patience and love of amusement. Light hair appears to indicate sensuality ; black, ardour ; and brown, moderation. Grey hair, before age, arises from misanthropy, physical or moral
sufferings, and excess of nocturnal labours or pleasures. Baldness is as frequently the sign of active intelligence as of active dissipation.
Whiskers should never be worn à la Cumberland; they are far from elegant or symmetrical, and invoke comparison in form with a crumb brush, a half-opened razor, or the white-faced baboon.
Moustachios, which convention has exclusively assigned to military men, are infringed upon by west-end loungers-gentlemen who have recently left the Bench or the Fleetgambling-house and billiard-table keepers. Tenth-rate artists occasionally adopt them in company with a Vandyke beard. Some persons sport an imperial (the tuft, not the carriage), reminding us of a sow with one ear, and inducing the charitable supposition, they have gone half-way towards making apes of themselves, and wisely stopped short.
All these vary with our age. The neck is comparatively free from encumbrance until the tenth year. From thence until eighteen, the handkerchief is an article of absolute utility; from twenty to twenty-five the stock is adopted, becomes an ornament, and we select the colours that best set off our countenance, proud to support the newly-acquired yoke in lieu of the ease we have discarded. At thirty the stock becomes a study; at forty 't is a trouble, and is often exchanged for the cravat, for we seek comfort and repose. After this age our pretensions to personal appearance gradually cease, and the cravat becomes what you
for we, reader, are still too young to care. A loose, soft, and negligently-tied cravat is indicative of the class that haunts publichouses. A black stock, that hard service has bronzed about the edges, when stiffly and tightly tied around a neck guiltless of linen or cambric, induces a surmise that the wearer is
not on the best terms with his laundress. Professional men are generally remarkable for their taste in choosing, and neatness in tying, the cravat. Churchwardens, overseers, guardians, and, in fact, almost all parochial and municipal authorities luxuriate in white neckkerchiefs which bear so great a resemblance to jack-towels in length, and to turbans
in tie and form, that it is impossible to dignify them with the name of cravats. Look, reader, at our friend ! the type of his class ! and say if his head, ensconced in that infinity of linen, does not remind you of a macaroon floating on the top of a dish of whipped-cream !
The fop imprisons his neck in a tight-fitting stock of flaming colours and large pattern. It is evidently an object of great solicitude to him, from his pinioning it down with an union