afflicted with the dreadful thought, the cruel apprehension, of having one's leg crushed by the machinery! Why are not the steps made to fold outside? The only detraction from the luxury of a vis-à-vis, is the double distress! for both legs, excruciating idea!" Once, when chair and carriage alike failed him, he had to go to a party in a hackney coach. He thought he entered the house without this painful fact being known, but as he ascended the stairs a footman stopped him, to his horror and disgust, with: "Pardon me, sir, but do you know there is a straw in your shoe?" It was Brummell who gave his sobriquet to Byng. This Dandy had a quantity of curly hair, and one day, driving in a curricle with a French poodle by his side, he met Brummell and stopped to speak with him. "Ah!" said the Beau, "a family vehicle, I suppose." And Byng was known as Poodle ever after. Brummell valued, or pretended to value, his own favours highly, as many anecdotes show. An aspiring young man was once introduced to him as desiring his patronage, but he did not eventually shine in the ranks of the Dandies. "And yet I did my best for him," said Brummell commiseratingly. "I once gave him my arm all the way from White's to Watier's," that is from St. James's Street to Bruton Street. Having borrowed some money of a city Beau, whom he patronised in return, he was one day asked to repay it; upon which he thus complained to a friend: "Do you know what has happened?" "No." "Why, do you know, there's that fellow, Tomkins, who lent me five hundred pounds, has had the face to ask me for it; and yet I have called the dog Tom,' and let myself dine with him." CHAPTER XIV Our grand-nephews will behold in George Brummell a great reformer; a man who dared to be cleanly in the dirtiest of times; a man who compelled gentlemen to quit the coach box, and assume a place in their own carriage; a man who induced the ingenuous youth of Britain to prove their valour otherwise than by thrashing superannuated watchmen; a man, in short, who will survive for posterity as Charlemagne of the great empire of Clubs. CECIL DANDY. WHEN WHEN Brummell was deserted by the Prince he was still courted by high society; his appearance was studied with the same attention, and his favour desired eagerly by young men whose ambition was to be acknowledged as Dandies. He found warm friends in the Duke and Duchess of York, as the latter liked him very much, his fine manners and his bright spirits having a great charm for her. She felt that it was Brummell's influence which more or less reformed the manners of the smart young men who, when the Duchess first arrived in England, were notorious for their excesses, their selfassertiveness, and their want of courtesy. The worst of these were, in her Royal Highness's opinion, Charles Wyndham and Colonel Hervey Aston, both of whom she greatly disliked. The Duke of York was, to put it euphemistically, a man with many friends whom his wife could not possibly accept; but they lived harmoniously, she at Oatlands and he in London, though the Duke generally took a party down to his wife's home for the week-ends. Oatlands was a fine estate lying between Walton Bridge and The Duchess of York 231 Weybridge, and here was perhaps to be found the nearest approach to a gentle refined Court that England had seen for a long time. Among those often invited were Alvanley, Brummell, Yarmouth, Foley, and Greville. The Duchess is described as a very great lady in the fullest sense of the word, displaying sound sense and judgment, kindness, beneficence, and charity. She was particularly fond of animals, and kept many, there being eagles, macaws, monkeys, kangaroos, and ostriches in her park, and of dogs there was no end. At Christmas time the Duchess turned her great dining-room into a German fair, with booths along each side stored with good things, a tree in the centre hung with cakes and goodies, and a table at one end of the room upon which was displayed the presents brought to her by her visitors, while at the other end was another table holding the presents she had given to them. Tom Raikes speaks of one Christmas gift which he possessed, being a morocco pocket-book, embroidered in gold by Her Royal Highness, with a gold pencil-case and amethyst seal. The intention always was that the presents should be inexpensive, but George Brummell, in his prosperous and magnificent days, could not yield to such an idea. He once brought as his offering a Brussels lace gown which had cost him one hundred and fifty guineas. It made the presents by the other men look small, and it was naturally regarded as bad taste to give such an expensive thing. It is said that the Duchess seldom went to bed, but took a few hours' sleep, sitting dressed on a couch or chair, now in one apartment, now in another, and delighted in taking solitary walks at dead of night or in the small hours of the morning. At three o'clock she breakfasted and dressed, when, surrounded by all her dogs-which never numbered less than forty-she went into the park or village. When any of these animals died, they were decently interred in a spot set aside for the purpose, close by the fish-pond. Guests at the Park were allowed to follow their own inclinations, no ceremony being observed; they went to church or stayed away, amused themselves in the gardens and grounds, and had a restful, idle time. It seems that the Duchess was not a good household manager, for, according to Charles Greville, a frequent visitor, there were a great many servants, but nobody to wait upon the visitors; a vast number of horses, but none to use. One of the Duchess's foibles was her extreme tenaciousness of authority, which she showed sometimes by appropriating all the horses to herself; though she seldom rode or drove them, she wished it to be seen that she had the privilege of preventing others from doing so. Among the favoured visitors to Oatlands was "Monk Lewis, so named from the title of his widely read, sensational novel, "Ambrosio, or the Monk." He was a small man, by no means handsome in appearance, "having queer projecting eyes like those of some insect." He was also a fop, and many thought a bore, though it was his turn for epigram which gained him the friendship of his royal hostess. One day, after dinner, as the Duchess was leaving the room, she whispered something into Lewis's ear. He was much affected, his eyes filling with tears, and on being asked what was the matter, replied, "Oh, the Duchess spoke so very kindly to me!" "My dear fellow," said Colonel Armstrong, don't cry; I dare say she didn't mean it." pray On another occasion Lord Erskine said, over the dinner-table, many scornful things of marriage, concluding 66 Monk" Lewis at Oatlands 233 with the sentiment "that a wife was nothing but a tin canister tied to a man's tail," which made Lady Ann Culling Smith most indignant. Lewis, with a smile, wrote the following verse, which he handed to Her Royal Highness: Lord Erskine at marriage presuming to rail, Says a wife's a tin canister tied to one's tail; And the fair Lady Ann, while the subject he carries on, But wherefore degrading? if taken aright A tin canister's useful, and polished, and bright; 'Tis the fault of the puppy to whom it is tied. He is said to have been a man with a very tender heart, who showed great consideration and love for his mother under difficult circumstances, and, possessing estates in Jamaica, did his utmost to make the lot of his slaves happy. But his good qualities and talents were marred by conceit. He died at the age of forty, on his way to Jamaica-Thomas Moore says, of taking emetics to prevent sea-sickness, in spite of the advice of those about him; elsewhere it is stated that he died of yellow fever. Once, when visiting Oatlands, Brummell would eat no vegetables, and a stranger to him asked if he had never eaten any in his life, to which he replied: Yes, madam. I once ate a pea ! " This, of necessity, brings to mind other stories connected with the dinner-table. A bore asked him, apropos of nothing, whether he liked port. Brummell looked blank, then assumed a puzzled air of trying to remember: "Port-port? "Port-port? Oh, port! Oh, ay; what, the hot, intoxicating liquor so much drunk by the lower orders?" He had, however, definite opinions concerning |