ing was made by his tailor; Brummell made
his tailor: the only point in common to both was that neither of them
paid the tailor's bill.

The fine gentleman, under the Stuarts, was fine only in his lace and his
velvet doublet; his language was coarse, his manners coarser, his vices
the coarsest of all. No wonder when the king himself could get so drunk
with Sedley and Buckhurst as to be unable to give an audience appointed
for; and when the chief fun of his two companions was to divest
themselves of all the habiliments which civilization has had the ill
taste to make necessary, and in that state run about the streets.

'Orlando' wore the finest ruffles and the heaviest sword; his wig was
combed to perfection; and in his pocket he carried a little comb with
which to arrange it from time to time, even as the dandy of to-day pulls
out his whiskers or curls his moustache. Such a man could not be passed
over; and accordingly he numbered half the officers and gallants of the
town among his intimates. He drank, swore, and swaggered, and the snobs
of the day proclaimed him a 'complete gentleman.'

His impudence, however, was not always tolerated. In the playhouses of
the day, it was the fashion for some of the spectators to stand upon the
stage, and the places in that position were chiefly occupied by young
gallants. The ladies came most in masques: but this did not prevent
Master Fielding from making his remarks very freely, and in no very
refined strain to them. The modest damsels, whom Pope has described,

'The fair sat pouting at the courtier's play,
And not a mask went unimproved away:
The modest fan was lifted up no more,
And virgins smiled at what they blushed before,'

were not too coy to be pleased with the fops' attentions, and replied in
like strain. The players were unheeded; the audience laughed at the
improvised and natural wit, when carefully prepared dialogues failed to
fix their attention. The actors were disgusted, and, in spite of Master
Fielding's herculean strength, kicked him off the stage, with a warning
not to come again.

The _role_ of a beau is expensive to keep up; and our justice of the
peace could not, like Nash, double his income by gaming. He soon got
deeply into debt, as every celebrated dresser has done. The old story,
not new even in those days, was enacted and the brilliant Adonis had to
keep watch and ward against tailors and bailiffs. On one occasion they
had nearly