DRESS.

My dear young Friends:—

As you are already, to some extent, acquainted with the design and scope of the Letters I propose to address to you, there is no necessity for an elaborate prelude at the commencement of the series.

We will, with your permission, devote our attention first to Dress—to the external man—and advance, in accordance with the true rules of Art, gradually, towards more important subjects.

Whatever may be the abstract opinions individually entertained respecting the taste and regard for comfort evinced in the costume now, with trifling variations, almost universally adopted by men in all civilized lands, few will dispute the practical utility of conforming to the general requisitions of Fashion.

Happily for the gratification of fancy, however, the all-potent goddess, arbitrary and imperative as are her laws, permits, at least to some extent, such variations from her general standard as personal convenience, physical peculiarities, or varying circumstances may require.

But a due regard for these and similar considerations by no means involves the exhibition of eccentricity, which I hold to be inconsistent with good taste, whether displayed in dress or manner.

A violation of the established rules of Convention cannot easily be defended, except when required by our obligations to the more strenuous requirements of duty. Usually, however, departures from conventional propriety evince simply an ill-regulated character. The Laws of Convention, like all wise laws, are instituted to promote "the greatest good of the greatest number." They constitute a Code of Politeness and Propriety, adapted to the promotion of social convenience, varying somewhat with local circumstances, it may be, but everywhere substantially the same. It is common to talk of the eccentricities of genius, as though they are essential concomitants of genius itself. Nothing can be more unfounded and pernicious than this impression. The eccentricities that sometimes characterize the intellectually gifted, are but so many humiliating proofs of the imperfection of human nature, even when exhibiting its highest attributes. Hence the affectation of such peculiarities simply subjects one to ridicule, and, in many instances, to the contempt of sensible people.

Some years since, when Byron was the "bright, particular star" worshipped by young Sophs, it was quite a habit among our juvenile collegians to drink gin, wear their collars À la mode de Byron, cultivate misanthropy upon system, and manifest the most concentrated horror of seeing women eat! In too many instances, the sublimity of genius was meagerly illustrated by these aspirants for notoriety. In place of catching an inspiration, they only caught cold; their gloomy indifference to the hopes, the enjoyments, and pursuits of ordinary life, distressed no one, save, perhaps, their ci-devant nurses, or the "most tender of mothers;" their "killing" peculiarities of costume were scarcely daguerreotyped even upon the impressible hearts of the school-girls whose smiling observance they might chance passingly to arrest; women of sense and education pertinaciously adhered to a liking for roast beef, with variations, and manifested an equally decided partiality for the society and attention of men who were not indebted for the activity of their intellects to the agency of the juniper berry! Falling into such absurdities as these, a man cannot hope to escape the obnoxious imputation of being very young!

But while care is taken to avoid the display of undue attention to the adornment of the outer man, everything approaching to indifference or neglect, in that regard, should be considered equally reprehensible. No one entertains a more profound respect for the prodigious learning of Dr. Johnson, from knowing that he often refused to dine out rather than change his linen; nor are we more impressed by the gallant tribute to kindred genius that induced his attending Mrs.Siddons to her carriage, when she visited him in the third-floor rooms he continued to occupy even in his old age, because his trunk-hose were dangling about his heels, as he descended the stairs with his fair guest. One does not envy Porson, the greatest of modern Greek scholars, his habitually dirty and shabby dress, because it is forever associated with his learned celebrity! Neither is Greeley a better, or more influential editor, that he is believed to be invisible to mortal eyes except when encased in a long drab-colored overcoat. He, however, seems to have adopted an axiom laid down in a now almost-forgotten novel much admired in my youth—"Thaddeus of Warsaw," I think—"Acquire the character of an oddity, and you seat yourself in an easy-chair for life." The supposition of monomania most charitably explains the indulgence in habits so disgusting as those well-known to have characterized the distinguished savant ——, who died recently at Paris. Had he slept in a clean bed, and observed the decencies of life, generally, the race would have been equally benefited by his additions to scientific lore, and his country the more honored that he left a name in no degree in bad odor with the world!

But to return:—No better uninspired model for young Americans exists than that afforded, in the most minute details, of the life and character of Washington; and even upon a point comparatively so insignificant as that we are at present discussing, he has left us his recorded opinion: "Always," he writes to his nephew, "have your clothes made of the best materials, by the most accomplished persons in their business, whose services you can command, and in the prevailing fashion."

With such illustrious authority for the advice, then, I unhesitatingly counsel you to dress in the fashion.

To descend to particulars designed to include all the minutiÆ of a gentleman's wardrobe, were as futile as useless; but a few hints upon this point, may, nevertheless, not be wholly out of place in epistles so frank, practical and familiar as these are intended to be.

The universal partiality of our countrymen for black, as the color of dress clothes, at least, is frequently remarked upon by foreigners. Among the best dressed men on the continent, as well as in England, black, though not confined to the clergy, is in much less general use than here. They adopt the darker shades of blue, brown and green, and for undress almost as great diversity of colors as of fabrics. An English gentleman, for instance, is never seen in the morning (which means abroad all that portion of the twenty-four hours devoted to business, out-door amusements and pursuits, &c.;—it is always morning until the late dinner hour has passed) in the half-worn coat of fine black cloth, that so inevitably gives a man a sort of shabby-genteel look; but in some strong-looking, rough, knock-about "fixin," frequently of nondescript form and fashion, but admirably adapted both in shape and material for use—for work. Of this, by the way, every man, worthy of the name, has a daily portion to perform, in some shape or other—from the Duke of Devonshire, with a fortune that would purchase half-a-dozen consort-king-growing German principalities, and leave a princely inheritance for his successors, to the youngest son of a youngest son, who, though proud of the "gentle blood" in his veins, earns, as an employÉ in the service of the government,—in some one of its ten thousand forms of patronage and power—the limited salary that barely suffices, when eked out by the most ingenious economy, to supply the hereditary necessities of a gentleman. But this is a digression. As I was saying in the morning, during work-hours, whatever be a man's employment, and wherever, his outside garb should be suited to ease and convenience, its only distinctive marks being the most scrupulous cleanliness, and the invariable accompaniment of fresh linen.

Coming to the discussion of matters appertaining to a toilette elaborate enough for occasions of ceremony, I think of no better general rule than that laid down by Dr. Johnson (in his character of a shrewd observer of men and manners, rather than as himself affording an illustration of the axiom, perhaps)—"the best dressed persons are those in whose attire nothing in particular attracts attention."

There is an indescribable air of refinement, a je ne sais quoi, as the French have it, at an equal remove from the over-washed look of your thorough Englishman (their close-cropped hair always reminds me of the incipient stage of preparation for assuming a strait-jacket!) and the walking tailor's advertisement that perambulates Fifth Avenue, Chestnut-street, the Boston Mall, and other fashionable promenades in our cis-Atlantic cities, in attendance upon the locomotive milliner's show-cases, yclept "belles"—God save the mark!

The essentials of a gentleman's dress, for occasions of ceremony are—a stylish, well-fitting cloth coat, of some dark color, and of unexceptionable quality; nether garments to correspond, or in warm weather, or under other suitable circumstances, white pants of a fashionable material and make; the finest and purest linen, embroidered in white, if at all; a cravat and vest, of some dark or neutral tint, according to the physiognomical peculiarities of the wearer, and the prevailing mode; a fresh-looking, fashionable black hat and carefully-fitted, modish boots, light-colored gloves, and a soft, thin, white handkerchief.

Perhaps, the most arbitrary of earthly divinities permits her subjects more license in regard to the arrangement of the hair and beard, than with respect to any other matter of the outer man. A real artist, and such every man should be, who meddles with the "human face divine" or its adjuncts, will discern at a glance the capabilities of each head submitted to his manipulation. Defects will thus be lessened, or wholly concealed, and good points brought out.

If you wear your beard, wear it in moderation—extremes are always vulgar! Avoid all fantastic arrangements of the hair—turning it under in a huge roll, smooth as the cylinder of a steam-engine, and as little suggestive of good taste and comfort as would be the coil of a boa constrictor similarly located, parting it in Miss Nancy style, and twisting it into love [soap?] locks with a curling-tongs, or allowing it to straggle in long and often, seemingly, "uncombed and unkempt" masses over the coat-collar. This last outrage of good-taste is so gross a violation of what is technically called "keeping," as to excite in me extreme disgust. Ill, indeed, does it accord with the trim, compact, easily-portable costume of our day, and a miserable imitation, it is of the flowing hair that, in days of yore, fell naturally and gracefully upon the broad lace collar turned down over the velvet or satin short-cloak of the cavaliers and appropriately adorning shoulders upon which, with equal fitness, drooped a long, waving plume, from the wide-brimmed, steeple-crowned, picturesque hat that completed the costume.

While on this subject of collars, etc., let us stop to discuss for a moment the nice matter of their size and shape. Just now, like the "life" of a "poor old man," they have "dwindled to the shortest span," under the pruning shears of the operatives of the mode. Whether this is the result of a necessity growing with the lengthening beards that threaten wholly to ignore their existence, you must determine for yourselves, but I must enter my protest against the total extinction of this relieving line of white, so long, at least, as the broad wristband, now so appropriately accompanying the wide coat-sleeve, shall remain in vogue.

The mention of this last tasteful appendage naturally brings to mind the highly ornate style of sleeve-buttons now so generally adopted. Eschew, I pray you, all flash stones for these or any other personal ornament. Nothing is more unexceptionable for sleeve-buttons and the fastenings of the front of a shirt, than fine gold, fashioned in some simple form, sufficiently massive to indicate use and durability, and skillfully and handsomely wrought, if ornamented at all. Few young men can consistently wear diamonds, and they are, if not positively exceptionable, in no degree requisite to the completion of the most elaborate toilette. But those who do sport them, should confine themselves to genuine stones of unmistakable water, and never let their number induce in the minds of beholders the recollection that a travelling Jew—whether from hereditary distrust of the stability of circumstances, or from some other consideration of personal convenience, usually carries his entire fortune about his person! Better the simplest fastenings of mother-of-pearl than such staring vulgarity of display. And so of a watch and its appendages. A gentleman carries a watch for convenience, and secures it safely upon his person, wearing with it no useless ornament, paraded to the eye. It is, like his pencil and purse, good of its kind, and if he can afford it, handsome, but it is never flashy!

The fashion of sporting signet-rings is not so general, perhaps, as it was a little while since, but it still retains a place among the minutiÆ of our present theme. Here, again, the same general rules of good taste apply as to other ornaments. When worn at all, everything of this sort should be most unexceptionably and unmistakably tasteful and genuine. Any deviation from good ton, in this regard, will as inevitably give a man the air of a loafer as an ill-fitting boot will, or the slightest declension from the perpendicular in his hat!

In connection with my earnest advice in regard to all flash ornaments, to whatever purpose applied, I must not omit to record my protest against staring patterns in pants, cravats, vests, etc. Carefully avoid all the large, many-colored plaids and stripes, of which (as Punch has demonstrated) it takes more than one ordinary-sized man to show the pattern; and all glaring colors as well. I have no partiality, as I believe I have intimated, for the eternal dead black which, abroad at least, belongs, by usage, primarily to the clergy; but this is a better extreme than that which has for its original type the sign-board getting-up of a horse-jockey.

A fashion has of late years obtained extensively, which has always, within my remembrance, had its admirers—that of a white suit throughout, for very warm weather. This has the great merit of comfort, and some occupations permit its adoption without inconvenience. But even the use of thin summer cravats (which should always be of some unconspicuous color) wonderfully mitigates the sufferings incident to the dog-days, and these are admissible for dress occasions, when corresponding with the general effect of the vest and nether investments.

To recur once more to the important item of body linen;—never wear a colored[1] shirt—have no such article in your wardrobe. Figures and stripes do not conceal impurity, nor should this be a desideratum with any decent man. The now almost obsolete German author, Kotzebue—whose plays were very much admired when I was young, and whom your modern students of German should read in the original—I remember, makes one of his female characters, a sensible, observing woman, say that she detected a gentleman in the disguise of a menial by observing the fineness of his linen! If your occupation be such as to require strong, rough-and-tumble garments, wear them, unhesitatingly, when you are at work, but have them good of their kind, and keep them clean. While your dress handkerchief should not look, either for size or quality, as if you had, for the nonce, perverted the proper use of bed-linen—in the woods, for pioneer travelling, rough riding, etc., a bandanna is more sensible, as is a cut-away coat, or something of that sort, with ample pockets, loose, strong, and warm, and a "soft" broad-brimmed, durable hat, or cap, as the case may be—not an old, fine black cloth dress-coat, surmounted by a narrow-rimmed "segment of a stove-pipe," with a satin cravat, though it be half-worn! In short, my dear boys, study fitness and propriety in all things. This is the legitimate result of a well regulated mind, the characteristic of a true Gentleman—which every American should aim to be—not a thing made up of dress, perfumery, and "boos," as Sir Archy McSycophant styled them; but a right-minded, self-respecting man, with Excelsior for his motto, and our broad, free, glorious land "all before him, where to choose" the theatre of a useful, honorable life. Matters like those I have dwelt on in this letter, are trifles, comparatively; but trifles, in the aggregate, make life, and, thus viewed, are not unworthy the subordinate attention of a man of sense. They are collateral, I admit, but they go to make up the perfect whole—to assist in the attainment of the true standard which every young man should keep steadily in view. And, insignificant as the effect of attention to such matters may appear to you, depend upon it, that habits of propriety and refinement in regard to such personal details, have more than a negative influence upon character in general. The man who preserves inviolable his self-respect, in regard to all personal habits and surroundings, is, ceteris paribus, far less likely to acquire a relish for low company and profligate indulgences, and to cultivate correspondent mental and moral attributes. It occurs to me that, going into detail, as I have, your attention should, in the proper connection, have been called to a little matter of dress etiquette, of which you moderns are strangely neglectful, as it appears to an old stickler for propriety like me. To have offered an ungloved hand to a lady, in the dance, would, in days when I courted the graces, have been esteemed a peccadillo, and over-punctilious as you may think me, it seems very unhandsome to me. A dress costume is no more complete without gloves than without boots, and to touch the pure glove of a lady with uncovered fingers is—impertinent!

Here, again, let me condemn all fancy display. A fresh white, or, what amounts at night to the same thing, pale yellow glove, is the only admissible thing for balls, other large evening parties, ceremonious dinners, and wedding receptions; but for making ordinary morning visits, or for the street, some dark, unnoticeable color is in quite as good taste and ton. Bright-colored gloves bring the hands into too much conspicuousness for good effect, and, to my mind, give the whole man a plebeian air. I remember once being, for a long time, unable to divine what a finely-dressed young fellow, in whom I thought I recognised the son of an old college chum, could be carrying in each hand, as he walked towards me across the Albany Park; of similar size and color, he seemed, John Gilpin like, to have

When I could, in sailor phrase, "make him out," behold a pair of great fat hands, incased in tight-fitting gloves, closely resembling in hue the brightest orange-colored wrapping-paper!

You will expect me not entirely to overlook the important topic of over-garments.

As in all similar matters, it is the best taste not to deviate so much from the prevailing modes as to make one's self remarkable. Fortunately, however, for the infinite diversity presented by the human form, a sufficient variety in this respect is offered by fashion to gratify the greatest fastidiousness. And no point of dress, perhaps, more imperatively demands discrimination, with regard to its selection. Thus, a tall, slender figure, with narrow shoulders and ill-developed arms, is displayed to little advantage in the close-fitting, long-skirted overcoat that would give desirable compactness to the rotund person of our short, portly friend, Alderman D., while the defects of the same form would be almost wholly concealed by one of the graceful and convenient Talmas that so successfully combine beauty and comfort, and afford, to an artistically-cultivated eye, the nearest approach to an abstract standard of taste, presented by masculine attire, since the flowing short cloak of the so-called Spanish costume was in vogue.

Here, again, one is reminded of the propriety of regarding fitness in the selection of garments especially designed to promote comfort. Nothing can well be more ungainly than the appearance of a man in one of the large woollen shawls that have of late obtained such general favor, at least as they are frequently worn, slouching loosely from the shoulders, and almost necessarily accompanied by a stoop, the more readily to retain them in place. They are well adapted to night travel, to exposed riding and driving (when properly secured about the chest), and are useful as wrappers when a man is dressed for the opera or a ball. But that any sensible person should encumber himself with such an appendage in walking—for daily street wear—is matter for surprise. They have by no means the merit for this purpose of the South American poncho, which is simply a large square shawl of thick woollen cloth, with an opening in the centre for passing it over the head, thus securing it in place, and giving the wearer the free use of his arms and hands, a desideratum quite overlooked in the usual arrangement, or rather non-arrangement of these dangling "M'cGregors." But the way, I well remember, that one of the young T——s of Albany, not very many years ago, was literally mobbed in the streets of that ancient asylum of Dutch predilections, upon his appearance there in a poncho brought with him on his return from Brazil! So much for the mutations of fashion and opinion!

To sum up all, let me slightly paraphrase the laconic and invariable advice of the immortal Nelson to the young middies under his command. "Always obey your superior officer," said the English hero, "and hate a Frenchman as you would the devil!" Now then, for my "new reading:"—In DRESS, always obey the dictates of Fashion, regulated by good sense, and hate shabby gentility as you would the devil!

Well, you young dogs, here ends the substance of my first old-fashioned letter of advice to you. I will confess that upon being convinced, as I was at the very outset, how much easier it is to think and talk than to write, I was more than half inclined to recall my promise to you all. The pen of your veteran uncle, my boys, has little of "fuss and feathers," though it may be "rough and ready." The "Mill-Boy of the Slashes" used often to say, when we were both young men, and constantly associated in business matters as well as in friendship, "Let Lunettes do that, he holds the readier pen;" but times are changed since then, and you must not expect fine rhetorical flourishes, or the elegances of modern phraseology in these straight-forward effusions. I learned my English when "Johnson's Dictionary" was the only standard of our language, and the "Spectator" regarded as affording an unexceptionable model of style. With this proviso, I dare say, we shall get on bravely, now that we are once fairly afloat; and, perhaps, some day we'll get an enterprising publisher in our Quaker City to shape these effusions into a "prent book" for private circulation—a capital idea! at least for redeeming my crabbed hieroglyphics from being "damned with faint praise" by my "numerous readers," a thought by no means palatable to the sensitive mind of your old relative.

I believe it was "nominated in the bond," that the subjects treated of in each of my promised letters shall be illustrated by stories, or anecdotes, drawn from what you were pleased to style "the ample stores furnished by a life of large observation and varied experience." It occurs to me, however, that as this, my first awkward essay to gratify your united wishes, has already grown to an inconceivable length, it were well to reserve for another occasion the fulfillment of the latter clause of your request, as more ample space and a less lagging pen may then second the efforts of

P. S.—In my next, I will include some practical directions respecting the details of costume suitable for various ceremonious occasions—the opera, dinners, weddings, etc., etc.

"Whew!" methinks I hear you all exclaim, "our old uncle setting himself up as

"'The glass of fashion and the mould of form!'

He may indeed be able to

——"'hold the mirror up to Nature;'

but to attempt to reflect the changeful hues of mere fashion"——

Not too fast, my young friends! Do not suppose me capable of such folly. But, for the benefit of such of you as are so far removed from the centre of ton as to require such assistance, I have invoked the aid of a good-humored friend, thoroughly au fait in such matters, the "observed of all observers" in our American Belgravia, a luminary in whose rays men do gladly sun themselves.