m its
antecedent state as the yellow-winged butterfly is from the grim grub.
Indeed, members of Parliament seem to take a delight in anticipating the
change of dress which the change of season imposes. There are members of
the House of Commons who can claim to wear the very first white hat of
the season. Sir Wilfrid Lawson has a sombre creed and a Bacchanalian
spirit; and, accordingly, the very first time a mere stray gleam of
sunshine streaks the wintry gloom Sir Wilfrid wears an audaciously white
hat.

[Sidenote: Mr. Gladstone's rejuvenescence.]

Mr. Gladstone is a curious mixture of splendour and carelessness. He
nearly always wears a small, narrow black tie, which brings into greater
relief the Alpine heights and the measureless width of his big
shirt-collars, and the broad expanse of his shirt-front. But this
tie--though it marks a pleasant and becoming individuality of
dress--loses half its effect by nearly always getting out of its place;
when night is advanced, the knot is always about half across Mr.
Gladstone's neck. On the other hand, he is nearly always very carefully
dressed; his black frock-coat--a little ancient in make, and always of
the smooth black, which has given way with younger men to the
diagonals--is a well-known feature of every great debate, and adds grace
to his appearance and delivery. When summer comes, however, he bursts
into an almost dazzling glory of white waistcoats, grey cashmere coats,
and hats of creamy-yellow whiteness, ethereal and almost aggressively
summery. The younger men are not slow to follow so excellent an
example--though generally there is the tendency to the dark grey, which
is a compromise between the black of winter and the fiery white tweed
which the man in the street is wont to wear. Sir Charles Russell--who,
returning from Paris on the same day as Mr. Sexton, received a very warm
welcome--is also a child of his age in his clothes. Time was when a
great legal luminary--especially if he were on the bench--was supposed
to be violating every canon of good taste if he did not wear garments
which might be described as a cross between the garb of a bishop, an
undertaker, and a hangman. The judge on the bench, in fact, was always
supposed to be putting on the black cap figuratively, and, therefore,
was obliged to bear with him the outward sign of his damnable trade. The
late Lord Cairns was the first to break through this tradition, and
affect the style of the prosperous s