CHAPTER XXXI.

“The three Mr. Wiggins’s”—The “Crops”—Hair-powdering—The powdering closet—Cost of clothes—Economy in hats—Taxing hats—Eye-glasses—“The Green Man” at Brighton—Eccentricities in dress.

“THE THREE Mr. Wiggins’s” are real “Bond Street Loungers,” and are portraits of Lord Llandaff and his brothers, the Hon. Montagu, and George, Matthews. They were dandies of the purest water, with their white waistcoats and white satin knee-ribbons. The title is taken from a farce by Allingham, called “Mrs. Wiggins,” played at the Haymarket, May 27, 1803. It is very laughable, and turns upon the adventures of an old man named Wiggins, and three Mrs. Wiggins’s. It was very popular, and gave the title to another caricature of Gillray’s.

THE THREE MR. WIGGINS’S.

As will be seen, they wore powder, but this curious fashion was on its last legs—the Crops, or advanced Whigs, having given it its death blow; still, it struggled on for some years yet. There is a little story told in the Morning Herald of the 20th of June, 1804, which will bear reproduction: “The following conversation occurred on Monday last, in the Gallery of the House of Commons. A gentleman, very much powdered, happened to sit before another who did not wear any. During the course of the debate the son of powder in front, frequently annoyed, by his nodding, or rather his noddle, his neighbour in the rear, for which he apologized, as often as any notice was taken of it. At last, the influence of Morpheus became so powerful, that the rear rank man found his arm perfectly painted with powder, in such a manner as to produce some ignition in his temper, and repel his annoyer with a little more spunk[47] than he showed on any of the former occasions. This being resented, the other presented his arm, and said, ‘Sir, you should not be angry; for, if I wished for such an ornament as this, I should, this morning, have left that office to my hair-dresser. I am a man of such independence that I would not, willingly, be indebted to you for a single meal, and here you have forced on me a bushel. If I had been your greatest enemy, you could do nothing more severe, than to pulverize me; and, as I have given you no intentional offence, I must beg of you, in future, not to dust my jacket.’ This sally had all the effect for which it was intended, and, instead of exchanging cards, the affair ended, like some senatorial speeches, in a laugh.”

As all the members of the family, including the domestics had to be powdered, most houses of any pretension had a small room set apart for the performance, called “the powdering room,” or closet, where the person to be operated upon went behind two curtains, and, by putting the head between the two, the body was screened from the powder, and the head received its due quantity, without injury to the clothes.

Still, all the world was not rich, and, therefore, with some, economy in clothing was a necessity. As is usual, when a want appears, it is met; and in this case it certainly was, in a (to us) novel manner—Morning Post January 12, 1805: “Interesting to the Public. W Welsford, Tailor, No. 142, Bishopsgate Street, respectfully informs the Public, that he continues to pursue the plan, originally adopted by him, six years since, of SUPPLYING CLOTHES, on the following terms:—

Four Suits of Superfine Clothes, the old Suits to be returned, in one year	£16	0
Five Suits	18	18
Six Suits	21	10

“Those Gentlemen who should not prefer the above Contract, may be supplied at the undermentioned reduced price:

A Coat of the best Superfine Cloth, complete	£2	12
A Fine Fancy Waistcoat	0	14
Superfine double-milled Cassimere Breeches	1	4
Superfine Pantaloons	1	0	.”

Nor was this the only practical economy in dress in that age. Hats, which were then, as a rule, made of Beaver, were somewhat expensive articles; and, in looking diligently over the newspapers of the times, I found that here, again, a want arose, and was met. These Beaver hats got shabby, and could be repaired; a firm advertising that “after several years’ practice they have brought the Art of Rebeavering Old Hats to greater perfection than it is possible to conceive; indeed, they are the only persons that have brought it to perfection; for, by their method, they can make a gentleman’s old hat (apparently not worth a shilling) as good as it was when new.... Gentlemen who prefer Silk hats, may have them silked, and made waterproof.”

Hats were rendered dearer than they would, otherwise, have been, by their having to pay a tax—the only portion of personal clothing which did so. This tax, of course, was evaded; so we find, in the Morning Post, May 20, 1810, the following “Caution to Hatters. A Custom prevailing among hatters, of pasting the stamp upon the lining, by which the same stamp may frequently be sold with different hats successively, they are required by the Commissioners of the Stamp Duties, to conform, in selling hats, to the provisions of the Act of the 36th of George III., cap. 125, secs. 3, 4, 7, 9, which directs that the lining, or inside covering of every hat shall, itself, be stamped; and it is the intention of the Commissioners to prosecute for the penalties of that Act, inflicted on all persons guilty of violating its regulations. Persons purchasing hats are requested to be careful in seeing that they are duly stamped upon the lining itself, and not by a separate piece of linen affixed to it; and reminded that the Act above-mentioned (sec. 10) inflicts a penalty of £10 upon persons buying, or wearing, hats not legally stamped.”

ORIGINALS. A HINT TO THE BON TON.

We have seen it recommended to the Bond Street Lounger that it was absolutely necessary for him to have an eye-glass suspended from his button-hole; and the same fashion is mentioned in the Morning Post, August 28, 1806: “The town has been long amused with the quizzing glasses of our modern fops, happily ridiculed by a door-key in O’Keefe’s whimsical farce of The Farmer. A Buck has lately made his appearance in Bond Street, daily, between two and four o’clock, with a Telescope, which he occasionally applies to his eye, as he has a glimpse of some object passing on the other side of the street, worth peeping at. At the present season, we cannot but recommend this practice to our fashionable readers, who remain in the Metropolis. It indicates friendship, as it shows a disposition to regard those who are at a distance.”

ORIGINALS. A HINT TO THE BON TON.

There have been, in all ages of fashion, some who outvied the common herd in eccentricity of costume; and the early nineteenth century was no exception to the rule. It is true that it had not, in the time of which I write, arisen to the dignity of a “pea-green Haines;” but still, it could show its “Green Man.” “Brighton, September 25, 1806. Among the personages attracting, here, public notice, is an original, or would-be original, generally known by the appellation of ‘the Green Man.’ He is dressed in green pantaloons, green waistcoat, green frock, green cravat; and his ears, whiskers, eyebrows, and chin, are better powdered than his head, which is, however, covered with flour. He eats nothing but green fruits and vegetables; has his rooms painted green, and furnished with a green sofa, green chairs, green tables, green bed, and green curtains. His gig, his livery, his portmanteau, his gloves, and his whip, are all green. With a green silk handkerchief in his hand and a large watch chain, with green seals fastened to the green buttons of his green waistcoat, he parades every day on the Steyne, and in the libraries, erect like a statue, walking, or, rather, moving to music, smiling and singing, as well contented with his own dear self, as well as all those round him, who are not few.” That he had money was evident, for his green food, including, as it did, choice fruit, would sometimes cost him a guinea a day; besides which, he was seen at every place of amusement, and spent his money lavishly. Eventually, he turned out to be a lunatic, and, after throwing himself out of windows, and off a cliff, he was taken care of.

The two preceding illustrations are manifest exaggerations of costume; but the germ of truth which supplies the satire is there; and, with them, the men’s dress of this period is closed.