Macaronis (From the Mock Duel, 1789.)
Far be it from me to say that the whole youth of this age could be classed either in one, or other, of these two categories; there were good young men who probably "always came home to their tea," well dressed, well read, well mannered—such as "A Smart."
As a rule, even now-a-days, a man when in the country, very seldom, or never, carries an umbrella: to a Londoner it is part of his costume. In Anne's reign the use of the umbrella was strictly set apart for the softer sex, and then only for those whose avocations compelled them to be out, whatever the weather. As Gay says in his "Trivia"—
"The tuck'd-up sempstress walks with hasty strides,
While streams run down her oil'd umbrella's sides."
But for men, fie! he must be an effeminate coxcomb who would carry one. Hear what fun was made of him (Female Tatler, December 12):—"The Young Gentleman belonging to the Custom House, that for fear of rain borrowed the umbrella at Will's Coffee House in Cornhill of the Mistress, is hereby advertised that to be dry from head to foot on the like occasion, he shall be welcome to the Maid's Pattens."
One John Macdonald, a footman, who wrote his own biography, helps us to fix a date when the use of them, by men, was so rare as to make the user singular. He says that he had "a fine silk umbrella, which he brought from Spain; but he could not, with any comfort to himself, use it, the people calling out 'Frenchman! why don't you get a coach?'" However, he "persisted for three months, till they took no further notice of this novelty. Foreigners began to use theirs, and then the English." Macdonald wrote in 1778. Jonas Hanway, the philanthropist, who had travelled much in Persia and the East, is said to have been the first Englishman who habitually carried an umbrella whilst walking in the street. He died in 1786.
That it was not in general use in the year 1790, is evidenced by the somewhat sneering title of a "Rain Beau," or one that was afraid of a drop of rain. This illustration shews several modifications of fashion besides the use of the umbrella. The cocked hat had gone out—and the galling yoke of the "chimney pot" was being inaugurated. As yet it was limp, of felt, but there is the hideous head covering that has martyrised at least three generations.
Then we cannot but notice that the hair has lost all trace of the wig—and is allowed to be worn "au naturel." A huge cravat swathes the throat, the coat is cut shorter, and more fly-away than hitherto, that knee breeches are disappearing, and pantaloons coming in, to be in their turn superseded by the modern trouser. Lastly, the term Macaroni, or Jessamy, is replaced by Beau—which will soon have to give way to Dandy.
Jimmy Lincum Feadle shows us the Beau of 1791. Here the fashion is evidently imported from France—loud coloured striped coat—pantaloons, boots and all. The French Revolution was hastening on, rapidly, to its culmination, and, the younger Whigs, before the time came when they were utterly disgusted by the brutal excesses of the French, copied the dress of the Revolutionary party.
