grace with
which he opened the lid of his box with the thumb of the hand that
carried it, while he delicately took his pinch with two fingers of the
other. This and his bow were his chief acquirements, and his reputation
for manners was based on the distinction of his manner. He could not
drive in a public conveyance, but he could be rude to a well-meaning
lady; he never ate vegetables--_one_ pea he confessed to--but he did not
mind borrowing from his friends money which he knew he could never
return. He was a great gentleman, a gentleman of his patron's school--in
short, a well-dressed snob. But one thing is due to Brummell: he made
the assumption of being 'a gentleman' so thoroughly ridiculous that few
men of keen sense care now for the title: at least, not as a
class-distinction. Nor is it to be wondered at; when your tailor's
assistant is a 'gentleman,' and would be mightily disgusted at being
called anything else, you, with your indomitable pride of caste, can
scarcely care for the patent.

Brummell's claim to the title was based on his walk, his coat, his
cravat, and the grace with which he indulged, as Captain Jesse
delightfully calls it, 'the nasal pastime' of taking snuff, all the rest
was impudence; and many are the anecdotes--most of them familiar as
household words--which are told of his impertinence. The story of Mrs.
Johnson-Thompson is one of those oft-told tales, which, from having
become Joe Millers, have gradually passed out of date and been almost
forgotten. Two rival party-givers rejoiced in the aristocratic names of
Johnson and Thompson. The former lived near Finsbury, the latter near
Grosvenor Square, and Mrs. Thompson was somehow sufficiently fashionable
to expect the Regent himself at her assemblies. Brummell among other
impertinences, was fond of going where he was not invited or wanted. The
two rivals gave a ball on the same evening, and a card was sent to the
Beau by her of Finsbury. He chose to go to the Grosvenor Square house,
in hopes of meeting the Regent, then his foe. Mrs. Thompson was justly
disgusted, and with a vulgarity quite deserved by the intruder, told him
he was not invited. The Beau made a thousand apologies, hummed, hawed,
and drew a card from his pocket. It was the rival's invitation, and was
indignantly denounced. 'Dear me, how very unfortunate,' said the Beau,
'but you know Johnson and Thompson--I mean Thompson and Johnson are so
very much alike. Mrs. Johnson-Thompson, I wi