The Man of the period — Drinking habits — Dandies — Lord Petersham — A Dandy's diary — Gaming — Prize fighting — Country Sports.

And what was the man of the period like? Well! there is no concealing the fact that he was narrow-minded—because he had no opportunity of mixing much with his other fellow creatures either abroad or at home—war stopping the former, and means of communication the latter, and so, the necessary rubbing off of his angles did not take place. The Middle Class gentleman was not too well read. Latin, of course, he knew, or had learnt. Perhaps a little Greek—his French was very "Stratforde at y^e Bowe," and German was to him "unknowe." His English, too, was shaky. The Peninsular War over, the Officers brought back with them a smattering of Spanish, the Guitar, and the Cigar. Personally, he had plenty of Courage which found its vent in the Army and Navy, and, in Civil life, in duelling and boxing. As to duelling, it was so common that you can scarcely take up a London Newspaper of the time without some "affair of honour" being chronicled; and, as to boxing, every man learnt it, put his teaching into practice, and talked it. It was, except pedestrianism, the only athletic sport known. Rowing was not; of riding there was plenty, with a good breed of horses fit to carry a man. Cricket was played—but there was no football, nor cycling, if we except the short-lived dandy horse.

They worked longer hours at their divers businesses than we do, but they did far less work; they dined early, and had suppers, and, for evening amusements there were the theatre, and the social meeting at the Inn, where much Rum Punch and Brown Brandy was drunk, and the affairs of the Nation duly discussed, among a select Coterie. Those old boys could drink, too. A three-or four-bottle man, then common, would now be a phenomenon—and, mind you, it was not Claret or other light wines they drank—the war with France made that too great a luxury; but it was the stronger wines of Portugal and Spain, well fortified with brandy. I wonder how many died in "making their heads," and whether it was always "the survival of the fittest"!

They were of Convivial habits, and did not "join the ladies" after dinner, or, if they did, they were slightly inebriate, and the accompanying illustrations are no caricature of an advanced stage of a symposium. No. 1 is, "Are you all charged, Gentlemen?" No. 2 is, "A Song, Gentlemen, if you please." No. 3 is, "Sing Old Rose and burn the bellows."[36] No. 4 says, "I humbly move to throw the waiter out of the window, and charge him in the bill!"

Very little need be said about their dress, the illustrations throughout the book show its different phases. The Regent, of course, set the fashions, for tailoring, and building, were his hobbies; but even he could not do anything against the dictum of George Bryan Brummell. When he retired in poverty to Calais, in 1816, he left the field entirely to the Regent. There were some who gained a nickname from some eccentricity in costume as "Blue Hanger" (Lord Coleraine), or "Pea-green Haynes"—but they were not many.

The principal variation in men's attire, at this period, was the way in which they clothed their legs. Breeches and boots were now eschewed by fashionable men, and their place was taken by the pantaloon, made of some elastic stuff, generally "stockinette," fitting tightly to the leg, and after 1814 by the Cossack trouser: an example of both being given in two pictures of Lord Petersham, a distinguished leader of fashion, who married Miss Foote, the actress, and afterwards became Earl of Harrington. Over the trousered picture are these lines:—

This was that Lord Petersham who never went out of doors till six p.m., and whose horses, carriage, and harness, were all of the same shade of brown. He had other foibles which are amusingly told by Capt. Gronow. "The room into which we were ushered was more like a shop than a gentleman's sitting room; all round the walls were shelves, upon which were placed the canisters, containing Congou, Pekoe, Souchong, Bohea, Gunpowder, Russian, and many other teas, all the best of their kind; on the other side of the room were beautiful jars, with names, in gilt letters, of innumerable kinds of snuff, and all the necessary apparatus for moistening and mixing. Lord Petersham's mixture is still well known to all tobacconists. Other shelves, and many of the tables were covered with a great number of magnificent snuff-boxes; for Lord Petersham had, perhaps, the finest collection in England, and was supposed to have a fresh box for every day in the year. I heard him, on the occasion of a delightful old light blue SÈvres box he was using, being admired, say, in his lisping way—'Yes, it is a nice summer box, but would not do for winter wear.' In this museum there were also innumerable canes of very great value. The Viscount was likewise a great MÆcenas among the tailors, and a particular kind of great coat, when I was a young man, was called a Petersham."

These trousers later on (see illustration, Nov., 1818) were worn, instead of breeches and boots, on horseback, but this was only affected by the "Dandy," a term which came into vogue two or three years before this time, and which, according to Webster, is derived from the French dandin, "a ninny, a silly fellow." The Dandy at his toilet is of the same date, and here we see him in his evening dress. The huge cocked hat is exaggerated, but it was the shape of the chapeau bras, which folded flat, and was carried as we now do a Gibus. The looking-glass, wash-stand, &c., are very meagre according to our ideas, but much ornament was not lavished on bedroom furniture. Here is the Diary of a Dandy (Sept., 1818):—

"Saturday.—Rose at twelve, with a d——d headache. Mem. Not to drink the Regent's Punch after supper.—The green tea keeps one awake.

"Breakfasted at one.—Read the Morning Post—the best Paper after all—always full of wit, fine writing, and good news.

"Sent for the tailor and staymaker—ordered a morning demi surtout of the last Parisian cut, with the collar À la Guillotine, to show the neck behind—a pair of Petersham Pantaloons, with striped flounces at bottom—and a pair of Cumberland corsets with a whale-bone back.—A caution to the unwary. The last pair gave way in stooping to pick up Lady B.'s glove.—The Duke of C——e vulgar enough to laugh, and asked me in the sea slang, if I had not missed stays in tacking. Find this is an old joke stolen from the Fudge Family.—Query. Who is this Tom Brown? Not known at Long's or the Clarendon.

"Three o'clock.—Drove out in the Dennet—took a few turns in Pall Mall, St. James's Street, and Piccadilly.—Got out at Grange's—was told the thermometer in the ice cellar was at 80. Prodigious! Had three glasses of pine and one of CuraÇoa—the Prince's Fancy, as P—— calls it.—P. is a wag in his way.

"Five to seven. Dressed for the evening—dined at half-past eight, 'nobody with me but myself,' as the old Duke of Cumberland said—a neat dinner, in Long's best style, viz., A tureen of turtle, a small turbot, a dish of Carlton House Cutlets.—Remove—a turkey poult, and an apricot tart.—Dessert—Pine apple and brandy cherries.

"Drank two tumblers of the Regent's Punch, iced, and a pint of Madeira.—Went to the Opera in high spirits—just over—forgot the curtain drops on Saturdays before twelve.—Mem. To dine at seven on Saturdays.

"Supped at the Clarendon with the Dandy Club—cold collation—played a few rounds of Chicken Hazard, and went to bed quite cool.

"Sunday. Breakfasted at three—ordered the Tilbury—took a round of Rotten Row, and the Squeeze, in Hyde Park—cursedly annoyed with dust in all directions—dined soberly with P——m and went to the Marchioness of S——y's Conversatione in the evening—dull but genteel—P. calls it the Sunday School.

"N.B. P——m, who is curious in his snuff as well as in his snuff boxes, has invented a new mixture, Wellington's and BlÜcher's, which he has named, in honour of the meeting of the two heroes, after the battle of Waterloo—La belle Alliance—a good hit—not to be sneezed at."

"A DANDY

I do remember me in Hertford streets
Walking at noon, I met an exquisite,
A thing, whose neck in Oriental tie,
Where not a crease is seen, so stiff withal
The powers of starch had rendered it, tho' made
Of finest muslin, that to my wondering gaze,
(Unlike the ease of Nature's masterpiece),
It seem'd as 'twere a mere automaton;
And then its shape, so all unlike a man,
So tightly laced that 'twas self-evident
He walk'd in pain, if walking 't could be call'd,
Since from the earth to raise his languid foot,
It seem'd a labour too Herculean;
But, still, thus mincingly, he reached the Bell—
There stopped. I, being anxious to o'erhear
The sounds this creature, nicknam'd man, would utter,
Entered the room apologizing to it;
No answer I receiv'd, save a low murmur,
For too fatiguing 'twas to articulate.
Finding it useless farther to intrude,
I asked the waiter who and whence he was?
'One of our College[37] Dandies,' he replied.
No longer wondering, straight I left the Inn."