Bulwer, the novelist, when I was last in London, some two or three years ago—and for aught I know he still continues the practice—used to appear in his seat in the English House of Commons one day in light-colored hair, eye-brows and whiskers, with an entire suit to correspond; and the next, perhaps, in black hair, etc., accompanied by a black coat, neckcloth, and so on throughout the catalogue. A proof of the admitted eccentricities of genius, I suppose.
D——, who is now a very respectable veteran lawyer, and well known in the courts of the Empire State, was originally a Green Mountain Boy—tall, a trifle ungainly, with a laugh that might have shaken his native hills, rather unmanageable hair, each individual member of the fraternity, instead of regarding the true democratic principle, often choosing to keep "Independence" on its own account, and a walk that required the whole breadth of an ordinary side-walk to bring out all its claims to admiration. Though D—— did not sacrifice to the graces, he really wrote very clever "Lines;" but his shrewd native sense taught him that a reputation as a magazine poet would not have a direct tendency to increase the number of his clients. So the sometime devotee of the Muse of Poetry, bravely eschewing the open use of a talent that, together with his ever-ready good-humor and quiet Yankee drollery, had brought him somewhat into favor in society, despite his natural disadvantages, entered into partnership with an old practitioner in A——, and bent himself to his career with sturdy energy of purpose.
"New Year" coming round again in the good old Dutch city where D—— had pitched his tent, some of his friends offered to take him with them in their round of calls, and introduce him to such of their fair friends as it was desirable to know; hinting, at the same time, that this would afford a suitable occasion for donning a suit of new and fashionable garments.
On the first of January, therefore, agreeable to appointment, his broad, pock-marked face—luminous as a colored lantern outside an oyster-saloon—and his gait more than usually diffusive, D—— was seen coming along from his lodgings, to meet his companions for the day's expedition, and evidently with sails full set. It soon became apparent to all beholders, not only that the grub had been transformed into a full-fledged butterfly of fashion, but—that he wore his long, wide, ample-caped, new cloak wrong side out!
At the recent Peace Convention in Paris, even those strenuous adherents to things as they were, the Turks, wore the usual dress of Europeans and Americans throughout, with the single exception of the fez, which, I believe, no adherent of Mahomet will renounce, except with his religion. Young Charles P—— told me that Count Orloff's sable-lined talma was of the most unexceptionable Parisian cut.
An agreeable young friend of mine, the Rev. Mr. H., contrives to support a family (Heaven only knows how!) upon the few hundred dollars a year that make the usual salary of a country clergyman. He indulges himself, at rare intervals, in a visit to his fashionable city relatives, by way of necessary relaxation, and to brush up a little in matters of taste, literature, etc. Perhaps, too, he thinks it well, occasionally, to return, with his wife and children, the long visits made every summer by a pretty fair representation of his numerous family circle at the pleasant little rectory, where refinement, industry, and the ingenuity of a practical housekeeper, create a charm often lacking in more pretentious establishments.
On one of these important occasions, it was decided that the handsome young rector should avail himself of his city jaunt to purchase a new suit of clothes, his best clerical coat, notwithstanding the most careful use and the neatest repairing, being no longer presentable for ceremonious purposes. (I make no doubt that the compatibility of the contemplated journey and the new clothes, both in the same year, was anxiously discussed in family council.)