It is absolutely true, though in a very limited sense, that the tailor makes the man.

If a man does not dress well in society he cannot be a success. If he commits flagrant errors in costume he will not be invited out very much, of that he may be certain.

If he goes to a garden party in a frock-coat and straw hat, he is condemned more universally than if he had committed some crime. The evidence of the latter would not be upon him for all men to read, as the evidence of his ignorance in social forms is, in his mistaken notions of dress. Things are more involved than ever in the sartorial line, since so many new sports and pastimes have sprung up for men.

A man cannot consult his tailor upon every trifling detail, even if his tailor were always a perfectly reliable authority, which is not always the case, for there are tailors and tailors. A young man’s finances do not always allow him to go to one of the best, and the second and third-rate artists in cloth are apt to purvey second and third-rate fashions to their customers. A brief summary of the forms of dress appropriate to various occasions may be of some use to the inexperienced. It is obvious that to enter into detail would be out of place in a matter where change is the order of the day.

But there are certain fixed rules that are, in a sense, permanent, and with these I may succinctly deal.

For morning wear the morning-coat or jacket or the tweed suit is correct. After lunch, when in town, the well-dressed man may continue to wear his morning-coat or the regulation frock-coat, with trousers of some neat, striped grey mixture. The tailor’s name for the material of these is “mixed cheviots.”

It is not considered good form to wear very light trousers except on special occasions, such as weddings, garden parties, or afternoon assemblies of a festive kind. Even then it is better to err on the quiet side than to be over-loud.

The days of broadcloth have long gone by, and coats are now made of vicuna cloth or black twilled worsteds, with a dull finish and of an elastic quality. Waistcoats may be single or double-breasted. There is no restriction as to the colour of the tie.

The Park suit may consist of a grey or light-brown frock-coat, with waistcoat and trousers to match, and this is the usual dress for Ascot, the smartest of all the races. At Sandown the low hat and tweed suit, or long racing coat, are worn, except on such days as the Princess of Wales is present, when the Prince sets the example of wearing a black coat and silk hat, and all other men are expected to follow his example.

For a morning walk in the Park in summer the straw hat, or low hat and tweed suit, are as correct as the black coat and silk hat. But it must be remembered that a straw hat or low hat cannot be worn with a black coat of any kind.

The “pot” hat and brown boots are permissible with an overcoat, under which there may be a tweed suit, but brown boots may not otherwise accompany a black coat, though they are admissible with the Ascot suit.

There are special suits for all kinds of outdoor amusements, such as shooting, golfing, tennis, boating, driving, riding, bicycling, fishing, hunting, &c., but into the details of these it is unnecessary to enter.

It may be remarked, however, that it is easy to stultify the whole effect of these, however perfectly they may be “built” by the tailor, by the addition of a single incongruous article of attire; such as a silk hat or patent boots with a shooting-suit.

The dress-coat is no longer made of broadcloth, the shiny finish of which would now have a very old-fashioned appearance. The ordinary evening coat is made of an elastic twill cloth, with a dull finish. Its elasticity makes it fit to perfection when cut by a good tailor. Of course it would be incorrect to wear other than black trousers with it. The waistcoat is much cut away, to show a wide expanse of immaculately got-up shirt-front.

This is the only correct costume for evening wear on all occasions of a formal nature.

The dinner-jacket has very largely superseded the dress-coat for home wear and at dinners in houses where one is a familiar guest. It is occasionally seen at the play, too, but it would be incorrect to wear it when accompanying ladies.

Etiquette is not now nearly so strict as it used to be in the matter of evening dress in the stalls, private boxes, and dress circle of the theatres. I think this is rather to be deplored, but the wave of democracy that has poured over society of late has left its impress in this as in other matters. Though theatre managers put on the tickets special to the best seats “Evening Dress,” I have seen half-a-dozen men in the stalls dressed in a variety of unorthodox fashions, and once, in August, I even saw a man in a boating suit come in, straw hat in hand, and, ushered by an unprotesting attendant, take his seat. In the off-season, when all the fashionable people are out of town, this was not, perhaps, very surprising.

But he must have been a courageous young man.

Mourning for men seems almost a dead-letter nowadays, except in the first two or three weeks after bereavement. A widower’s mourning is not worn for more than a couple of months, unless the widower should belong to the numerous class who cling conservatively to old customs, and believe that to doff his weeds would imply some disrespect to his late wife.

Disraeli, in his “Endymion,” puts the following words in the mouth of Mr. Vigo, the great tailor:—

“Dress does not make a man, but it often makes a successful one. The most precious stone, you know, must be cut and polished. I have known many an heiress lost by her suitor being ill-dressed. You must dress according to your age, your pursuits, your object in life; you must dress, too, in some cases, according to your set. In youth a little fancy is rather expected, but if political life be your object, it should be avoided—at least after one-and-twenty.

I am dressing two brothers now, men of considerable position; one is a mere man of pleasure, the other will probably be a Minister of State. They are as like as two peas, but were I to dress the dandy and the minister the same, it would be bad taste—it would be ridiculous. No man gives me the trouble which Lord Eglantine does; he has not made up his mind whether he will be a great poet or a Prime Minister. ‘You must choose, my lord,’ I tell him. ‘I cannot send you out looking like Lord Byron if you mean to be a Canning or a Pitt.’

“What all men should avoid is the ‘shabby genteel.’ No man ever gets over it. I will save you from that. You had better be in rags.”