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.