Whew, whew!—but greater divinities than Neptune are abroad to-night!—What! expect our black chimney to show the white feather! Pooh! pooh! old Eunosigæus, what are thy white horses to the invisible hoofs of two hundred and forty coal-black steeds stamping in the hold? We had, however, a sharp seven-hours' tussle for it; at the end of which, the buffeted Mongibello came bounding into the harbour, and swirled round in the face of Vesuvius, who was smoking his cigar as quietly as ever!
We have tried several Mediterranean steamers, and our report of all is much the same—bad is the best! A sea passage any where, to be comfortable, depends solely on the smoothness of the water; if this be rough, what care you for mahogany, rosewood, and plate-glass? Whether the cabin where you are to be sick, and to hear others groan, has its Scotts, its Byrons, and its Moores, under a convex mirror; its rows of curtained births, and horse-hair sofas, and its long line of polished, well articulated tables? Whether the smell of empyreumatised grease be wafted to the nostrils by a Maudsley or a Bell? Whether the captain have his ears bored, or be an Englishman? Your brass nails and varnished buffets are very well in dock, when the vessel has stank off her last voyage, and lies clean washed, like that other syren of the opposite coast, who coaxed Ulysses and his men, some years ago—not, indeed, to come on board, but the contrary. But when her deck is all soot and nastiness, when she has quartered her vermin on her passengers, and goes gurgling along, as if she had an Empyema under her pleura costalis; when she pitches into the waves, as if to punish them, and tramples on their crests, as if to crush them under her keel, why all the brass you want is "æs triplex;" and there is no varnish in the world that will enable you to put a good face on it. A few heaves more, such as those of our present imagining, and brandy and water, bottled porter, and bottled philosophy, are uncorked in vain!
As to particular steamers, the Castor since he lost his twin-brother, who was run down off Capo D'Anzo (he forgot, we suppose, to invoke Fortune "gratum quæ regit Antium"), has become quite negligent of toilette, and incredulous about the powers of soap and sand. The bugs in only one of her beds would defy Bonnycastle! Fast enough, however, goes the Castor! Orestes, pursued by the furies, never rushed more impetuously on than does this child of Leda, with all his vermin in the locker. Of Virgil in the water, we have no experience, but they say his prosody is perfect, and his quantity (of accommodation) blameless. The Dante under paddles is unknown to us; but the poem which his customers read oftenest on board is doubtless the Purgatory. The captain of the Palermo, an obliging man, with ear-rings, and speaking Siculo-English, does his job in nineteen hours; and giving you one execrable meal, gives you more than enough. This vessel (blessed privilege!) carries some of the Teffin family (Mr Teffin, our readers know, was bug-destroyer to the king), and is said to have no bugs. As to the two floating volcanoes, Vesuvius and Mongibello, we had heard much against the Neapolitan crater (cabin they call it), and, after due preparation, we precipitated ourselves into the latter, which placards her two hundred and fifty horse-power. The engineer, however, if you acquire his confidence, reduces the team considerably, taking off at least one-fifth. Horse-power is, after all, we fear, an appeal to the imagination! How do you measure horse-power? and what horses? Calabrian nags? Arab stallions? Dutch mares? or English drays? or perhaps you mean sea-horses? That every vessel has a great rocking-horse power we know by sad experience, and are come to read one hundred and fifty, two hundred, &c., with great tranquillity, being convinced that when the translation from horse-power into paddle-power is effected, you obtain no corresponding result.
ÆSTHETICS OF DRESS.
Military Costume.
Military dress is almost as difficult and dangerous a thing to deal with as ladies' attire; as various in its hues and forms, as fanciful in its conceits, as changeable in its fashions, and as touchy in the temper of its wearers. To pull a guardsman by his coat-tail would be as unpardonable an offence as to tread on a lady's skirt; and to offer an opinion upon a lancer's cap might be considered as impertinent as to criticise a lady's bonnet. Having, however, been bold enough to commit offences of the latter description, we will now venture to brave the wrath of the whole of Her Majesty's forces, horse, foot, and artillery, while we read those gallant gentlemen a lecture on their costume; and we will even add into the bargain that other most honourable and equally useful branch of the public force "the mariners of England;"—as for "the force," the police, truly we eschew them and their deeds. They are a perverse, stiff-necked race, who wear two abominations, round hats and short coats, and they have a villanous propensity of following you home from your club of an evening, and inveigling you every now and then to Bow Street, thrusting a broken knocker or two into your pocket as you go along, and then pestering your bewildered memory with all sorts of nocturnal misdemeanors; truly they are a race of noxious vermin; pretty well, perhaps, for the protection of the swinish multitude; but for us gentlemen, why, they "come betwixt the wind and our nobility," and their remembrance stinks in our nostrils! One thing only we know in their favour,—they dress all in one colour; their blueness alone makes them sufferable in this nineteenth century of ours, and whenever they depart from this great principle of æsthetic unity, we will bring in a bill for their suppression.
Now, if there be any thing more self-evident than the ante-Noachian problem that "two and two make four," it is this axiom, the verity of which was demonstrated long before Achilles behaved in so ungentlemanlike a manner to Hector, when he took him that dirty drive round Troy, viz., that utility for purposes of service is the very essence and spirit of military costume. The finest dressed army in the world had better be in plain clothes, if the excellence of their clothing depends only upon its ornament; while, on the contrary, the plainest and most rudely equipped corps will come out of campaign with excellent military effect and appearance, provided only that their clothing has been suited to their service. "My dear fellow," said an old moustache to us one day on the Place du Carrousel, "give me 20,000 men who have served in nothing but blouses and blue caps, and I'll make you ten times as fine a line as all that mob of national guards there in their new uniforms." And he was right; in military matters it is the man that produces the real effect, as to appearance, upon the long run; and the practised eye of the old campaigner would prefer a Waterloo man in a smock-frock to any flunkey you could pick out, even though he were dressed up as fine as Lady L——'s favourite chasseur. We assert, then, that a scrupulous attention to the nature of the service should form the basis and the starting point of all discussions as to military costume; but we will not go so far as to say that ornament is inadmissible or unnecessary for military men. On the contrary, we know that the adornment of the person has been attended to by the bravest men in all ages and in all armies; and we know further, that it does produce a powerful effect on the morale of a corps. We intend to advocate the use of frequent but consistent ornament for our soldiers, but we do not wish to turn then into mere paraders. Use first and before every thing, in this case at least—ornament next and entirely subsidiary to it; keep to this rule, and you shall see an army turned out into the field better than most that pass muster now-a-days.
It is of no use going into that diffuse subject—that vexatissima quæstio—of how far the military dress of ancient days accorded with the wants and uses of the service; the reader may go and look into that dusty little volume of Vegetius de Re Militari, if he is fond of dabbling in military antiquities; or he may consult our learned old friend, Captain Grose of facetious memory; or still better, let him be off to Goderich Court, and ask the porter to admit him to a sight of the finest collection of armour in the world. We are not going to dive into these matters; we will rather say roundly, that ever since armour came to be disused, we think military men have gone clean daft in equipping themselves. Only look at the uniforms of the campaigns of the Grand Monarque or William of Orange; see what inconvenient coats those glorious fellows that won Blenheim and Ramilies wore; recollect the absurd turn-out of Charles XII., and even of Frederick the Great. Convenience and comfort seem to have been totally out of the question in those days—not that they made the men worse soldiers—they all fought admirably—but we question whether their fatigues would not have been less, and their health sounder, had they been clad and equipped in a sensible manner. Oh, the powder, and the pigtails, and the broad cuffs, and the Ramilies cock, and the sword tucked through the coat-tail! Glories of glorious times, ye are gone for ever! But so, too, are the tactics of your wearers; all is changed; another Cæsar has swept you all off the field; and even the famous uniforms of the French empire, so brilliant,—but at times so absurd,—even they have been altered. They have had their day, and most of them are fit now only for fancy-balls and old-clothes' shops. Nothing is so short-lived as a good uniform; it varies with the taste of a commander-in-chief, or a commander-in-chief's toady; or the fancy of some royal favourite. It's like the wind in the Mediterranean; you never know what is coming upon you till you are in the midst of it; and so it is with your uniform. Get a new one, and the probability is that you will not show it on parade half-a-dozen times before a new regulation is out, and then more work for the tailors. Be it so, then; military costume, like all other kinds, is doomed to change; let us aim only at keeping its vagaries within something like the limits of common sense.