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Some Changes in Social Life During the Queen's Reign. 49C

From The Nineteenth Century. SOME CHANGES IN SOCIAL LIFE DURING

THE QUEEN'S REIGN.

I do not contemplate touching on the scientific progress, the literary achievements, or other higher matters of the Victorian epoch, but the recollections of one who saw the Coronation procession from Lord Carrington's house in Whitehall, which exists no more, and who, when six years old, ran a race with the great Duke of Wellington from Walmer Church to the castle, may afford amusement to those of a younger generation, who may be interested in noting the changes that have crept almost imperceptibly into our social life.

On one occasion, when present with a contemporary at a pretty little play at the Princess's Theatre, called "Sweethearts," I remarked to my friend on the out-of-date costume of the hero, and wondered why he was so dressed. "Cast your mind back," he said, "only to 1850, or thereabouts, and you will find that was the way you and I used to dress at that time." And it was true. A pair of dove-colored trousers with two fluted stripes down the sides, and buttoned under the foot with broad straps of the same material; the boots, of course, were wellingtons, which were sine quâ non with a man of fashion in those days; a coat so high in the collar that the back of the hat rested on it. Indeed, every hat had a crescent of cloth on the back of the brim to prevent the rubbing of the beaver, or imitation beaver, of which the hat was made, for silk hats were not then invented. The scarf, never folded less than twice round the neck, like a waterfall, bulged out from a double-breasted waistcoat, cut very low, and was ornamented with two pins joined with a gold chain. In the evening we wore a blue coat with tight sleeves and brass buttons, and a waistcoat of flowered or brocaded silk. Black trousers, fastened by straps under patent leather pumps, had just then achieved a final victory over light colored kerseymeres or nankin pantaloons. As lately as 1862 Lord Derby

insisted upon his sons dining with him in pantaloons and black silk stockings. A folding chapeau bras, for opera hats had not been invented, was always carried under the arm, for nobody but an apothecary or a solicitor would have dreamt of leaving his hat in the hall of the house where he was calling or dining.

White gloves were always worn by men at a party, but those who dined of course took them off, and Dicky Doyle used to say that it endowed them with a conscious superiority, which prevented the desired amalgamation between those who had dined and those who had come in in the evening to form a tail to a dinner. Men wore their hair much longer in those days than now, falling over their collars, and their whiskers drooped, or were bostrakized, according to the fancy of the wearer. But no man, unless an officer in H.M. cavalry, ever ventured in pre-Crimean days to wear a beard or moustache. The Duke of Newcastle was the first man of any note who wore a beard; and Lady Morley used to say the advantage of it was that you could tell all the courses he had eaten at dinner in consequence.

I will not attempt to deal with the ever-changing fashions of female attire, which in the queen's reign have varied from the poke bonnet and the spoon bonnet, the white cotton stockings and the sandalled shoes, through: the cage period to the pretty fashions. of the present day. A vision arises before me of what we considered the seductive beauty of ringlets, the side combs and plaits, then the hair parted in the middle and plastered tightly over the forehead and ears, then the hateful chignons, then the hair torn rudely from the forehead, then the fringes "by hot irons falsely curled or plaited very tight at night."

In the early days of her Majesty's reign peers drove down to the House of Lords in full dress, with their orders and ribbons, and bishops wore episcopal wigs; Bishop Blomfield, who died in 1857, being the last to do so. Lord Strafford recollected seeing his uncle,

the famous George Byng, M.P. for Middlesex, going down to the House of Commons dressed in tights and black silk stockings; and Disraeli tells us how Lord George Bentinck on one occasion attended in boots and breeches, his red coat partially hidden under what was called a surtout. Hessian boots were common; the last man to wear them was Mr. Stephenson, a commissioner of Excise, well known in London society, who wore them to the day of his death in 1858. It was not till 1867 that members came down, to the horror of Mr. Speaker Denison, in pot hats and shoot ing coats. And now, in 1897, Cabinet ministers ride to their parliamentary duties on bicycles in anything but full dress. In a charming sporting book published in 1837 I find all the sportsmen dressed in blue or brown frock coats and high hats.

As all the pictures of the coronation show, the Life Guards wore bearskins on their heads, till these were superseded by the Roman helmet with red horsehair tails over their necks. At a dinner party once an argument arose as to whether the Blues did or did not wear pigtails at the Battle of Waterloo. One elderly gentleman said they did, and quoted himself as a good authority, because as an Eton boy he had seen that famous regiment reviewed at Windsor by the king on their departure for Dover. Another of the guests said he ought to know, because he was a midshipman on board the transport which conveyed them across the Channel, and he was positive that they did not wear them. The argument grew so warm that the host wisely turned the conversation; but, being interested in the question, he went the following day to an old friend of his who had served in the Blues at Waterloo, and told him of the dispute that had arisen the previous evening at his table. "Both your friends were right," he said. "We were reviewed at Windsor by the king on our departure with our pigtails on, and at Dover we had them cut off before our embarkation."

The Foot Guards wore swallowtailed red coats with white facings,

white pipe-clayed cross-belts, large white woollen epaulettes, and in summer white duck trousers. A black boy in scarlet pantaloons with a gold kicking strap, playing the cymbals, accompanied the Guards' bands. They were of course armed with the old musket called "Brown Bess," and were cleanly shaved. Then the tunic was adopted as the Infantry uniform. The Metropolitan police, with their tall hats and swallow-tail coats, had been organized before the queen's accession, but it was for many years after the old watchmen, with their rattles and drab great-coats, existed in provincial towns, and made night hideous by screaming out the hour and the state of the weather. Parish beadles, as depicted in "Oliver Twist," still flourished in their large cocked hats, their gold embroidered coats, and plush breeches.

Orders, decorations, and medals were very few. The Peninsular medal was issued in the year 1849, and then only to officers, thirty-five years after the campaign had closed. When medals were first issued to private soldiers, it was denounced in the House of Lords as a prostitution of public honors. Queen Victoria has in her reign enlarged or instituted no less than fourteen orders. Of course the old orders of the Garter, the Thistle, and the St. Patrick have existed from early times. The former was beloved by Lord Melbourne, because, he said, "there was no damned merit connected with it." The Order of the Bath has been changed from one grade to three, and the Statutes were extended, and Volunteers are now eligible for the honor. The Order of St. Michael and St. George, originally a Maltese Order, has been enlarged during the present reign. 1. The Victoria Cross, 2. The Star of India, 3. The Victoria and Albert. 4. The Empire of India, 5. The Albert Medal,

6. The Nurses' Medal,

7. The Distinguished Service Order,
8. The Jubilee Medal,
9. The Victorian Order,

are all the creations of this reign.

Decorations and stars and medals have become very common, and the value set on them has naturally decreased. There are now twenty-seven medals. There is one for every campaign. Our commander-in-chief is a Knight of St. Patrick, a G. C. B., a G. C. M. G., has the Legion of Honor, the Medjidieh, the Turkish medal, the Osmanlieh, the bronze Star of Egypt, and seven medals, and, according to the present fashion, wears them at official parties. On such occasions I do not remember the Duke of Wellington wearing any order but that of the Garter or the Golden Fleece.

The late Lord Clanwilliam was one day struck by seeing a civilian decorated with a ribbon and star, and asked who he was. No one could tell him, until at last he ascertained the wearer was our ambassador at Paris. "Then," said Lord Clanwilliam, "if all a man gains in diplomacy is that nobody should know him on his return, I shall resign my diplomatic career"— and he did.

Before the queen came to the throne macaronis and bucks had vanished, and dapper men had made way for dandies.

Dandies, to make a greater show,
Wore coats stuffed out with pads and
puffing.

But is not this quite à propos?
For what's a goose without its stuffing?

cumbed to the aggressive inroads of swells and mashers. But, ah! those dear dandies of my boyhood, with their triple waistcoats, their tightened waists, their many-folded neckcloths, and their wristbands turned back over their coat sleeves-all have departed; the most beautiful, genial, and witty of them all, Alfred Montgomery, who was in the queen's household at the time of her accession, passed away only the other day. How fresh seems to me the memory of his kindness, from the time when I first saw him as secretary to Lord Wellesley at Kingston House, seated at breakfast at 11 o'clock in a brocaded dressing-gown and slippers of marvellous work and design, to the last days of his life! How often he and Lord Adolphus Fitzclarence took me to the play and gave me oyster suppers after it! How often he drove me through the park in his cabriolet with its high-stepping horse, the tiny tiger hanging on by his arms behind! All are gone now, and it does not do to look back too earnestly on the past; the sunlight on it is apt to make one's eyes water. In those days, and down until the fifties, the Italian Opera House, which at the queen's accession was called "Her Majesty's," was in its

glory. The pit, which occupied the floor of the house, gave access to the boxes, and was appropriately called "The Fops' Alley." Here Rubini, Mario and Grisi, Lablache, and later on Cruvelli, Sontag, Alboni and Jenny Lind, delighted audiences as fashionable as those which now again fill the grand tier of Covent Garden; and the ballet with Cerito, Taglioni, Fanny Ellsler and Rosati, adorned an art which, alas! has now degenerated into a taste for vulgar breakdowns and The Lord tarara-boom-de-ayes.

Grantley Berkeley till his death boasted of his pugilism, and in the fifties he delighted in wearing two or three different colored satin waistcoats and three or four gaudy silk neckcloths round his throat. And as late as 1842, Lord Malmesbury tells us, Mr. Everett wore a green coat at a dinner party at Lord Stanley's. At this time Cantalupe, Count D'Orsay, Lord Adolphus Fitzclarence, and Sir George Wombwell were essentially dandies and arbitrators of dress and fashion; Charles Greville and Frederick Byng, who was always called the "Poodle," were the police and the terror of the young men and the fashionable clubs. Now the reign of the dandies has suc

theatres

were at this time few and the prices low; impecunious young men of fashion in my early days used to take advantage of half price and the dress circle, for stalls had not then destroyed the pit, to hear the Keans, the Keeleys,. and Buckstone, while Rachel and Ristori satisfied the lovers of tragedy. Vauxhall, with its thousands of little.

oil lamps, was at its zenith, to be succeeded by Cremorne, and then by various reputable and dull entertainments at South Kensington. At this time there was no public place or club where a lady could dine, and I recollect a most respectable peer of the realm who, on expressing a wish to dine in the coffee-room of the hotel in which he was staying with his wife, was told by his landlord that he must get a third person to join their party!

The glory of Crockford's had departed before I came to London in 1851, and a restaurant doomed to failure had taken its place. But St. James's was full of fashionable "Hells," the Cocoa Tree Club being the best known. It was here that one Sunday morning the witty Lord Alvanley saw two mutes standing at the door. "Is it true," he said to them, "that the devil is dead? because, if so, I need not go to church this morning." For in those and even later days, pageantry pursued even the dead-mutes standing at the dead man's door for a week, hearses with black plumes of feathers, black cloaks and gloves, and long hatstreamers of silk or crape, according to the relation of the mourner to the deceased, and hatchments- properly spelled achievements-hung over the door for a year.

Mr. Banderet, the old proprietor of Brooks's Club, recollected when the packs of cards used there were reckoned by scores a night. Now cards are not called for at all, except sometimes on the occasion of a rubber at the meetings of the Fox Club which are held there. In the early forties, long whist with ten points to a game was still played; and now I am told that even short whist is being supplanted at the Portland and Tufts Clubs by Bridge whist, écarté, and bézique.

Early in the reign, people at large country house parties used to go in to breakfast arm-in-arm, and no lady ever walked with her husband except bras sous bras. Friends always walked armin-arm, and the country neighbor always made his entry into a party armin-arm with his wife and daughter.

Now the fashion has disappeared, except at dinner, and there has sprung up an odious habit of indiscriminate handshaking morning and evening, in season and out of season, and another fashion, worthy of a table d'hôte, of assigning to each guest the place where he is to sit at dinner. I wonder why the bolder spirits of the younger and impecunious generation have not risen in revolt against this interference with individual liberty of choice which used to be theirs.

Lady Granville once remarked that. in her younger days, nobody in polite society ever mentioned their poverty or their digestion, and now they had become the principal topics of conversation; and if society was then vigilant in ignoring all allusion to money and to commerce, we have now gone far in the contrary direction. Everybody quotes the prices of stocks and shares, and I have lived to see the day when a youthful scion of a noble and distinguished house produced from his pocket at dinner a sample bundle of silks to show how cheaply they could be bought at his establishment.

Wine circulars with peers' coronets pursue me weekly; and I can buy my coal at 25s. a ton from wagons ornamented with a marquis's coronet.

Almack's flourished, where it was said that fashion, not rank or money, gave the entrée. Society was so small that Lady Palmerston used to write in her own hand all invitations to her parties, and Lord Anglesey used to have in his house in Burlington Gardens a slate, where anybody who wished to dine might write down his name; and so circumscribed was the fashionable world that there was always in each season one lady who was recognized by society as par excellence the beauty of the year. The polka had just been introduced, about 1843, and Augustus Lumley and William Blackburn arranged the days of all the fashionable parties and balls in London, and provided lists of all the eligible young men in that small and exclusive ring. Lady Blessington's salon at Gore House, where D'Orsay, the “Cupidon

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