For men of moderate means, the patent black leather Napoleon, which costs from 3l. 10s. to 4l. 4s., and can be cleaned with a wet sponge in five minutes, is the neatest and most economical boot—one in which travelling does not put you under any obligation to your host’s servants.
I have often found the convenience of patent leather boots when staying with a party at the house of a master of hounds, while others, as the hounds were coming out of the kennel, were in an agony for tops entrusted two or three days previously to a not-to-be-found servant. In this point of the boots I differ from the author of “A Word ere we Start;” but then, squires of ten thousand a-year are not supposed to understand the shifts of those who on a twentieth part of that income manage to enjoy a good deal of sport with all sorts of hounds and all sorts of horses.
There is a certain class of sporting snobs who endeavour to enhance their own consequence or indulge their cynical humour by talking with the utmost contempt of any variation from the kind of hunting-dress in use, in their own particular district. The best commentary on the supercilious tailoring criticism of these gents is to be found in the fact that within a century every variety of hunting clothes has been in and out of fashion, and that the dress in fashion with the Quorn hunt in its most palmy days was not only the exact reverse of the present fashion in that flying country, but, if comfort and convenience are to be regarded, as ridiculous as brass helmets, tight stocks, and buttoned-up red jackets for Indian warfare. It consisted, as may be seen in old Alken’s and Sir John Dean Paul’s hunting sketches, of a high-crowned hat, a high tight stock, a tight dress coat, with narrow skirts that could protect neither the chest, stomach, or thighs, long tight white cord breeches, and pale top-boots thrust low down the leg, the tops being supposed to be cleaned with champagne. Leather breeches, caps, and brown top-boots were voted slow in those days. But the men went well as they do in every dress.
“Old wiseheads, complacently smoothing the brim,
May jeer at my velvet, and call it a whim;
They may think in a cap little wisdom there dwells;
They may say he who wears it should wear it with bells;
But when Broadbrim lies flat,
I will answer him pat,
Oh! who but a crackskull would ride in a hat!”
Squire Warburton.
[147-*] At an inquest on a young lady killed at Totnes in September last, it appeared that she lost her seat and hung by a crinoline petticoat from the right hand pommel!
