its immediate sequels was the
incursion of American ladies into London. Then it was that these pretty
creatures, 'clad in Worth's most elegant confections,' drawled their way
through our greater portals. Fanned, as they were, by the feathers of
the Prince of Wales, they had a great success, and they were so strange
that their voices and their dresses were mimicked partout. The English
beauties were rather angry, especially with the Prince, whom alone they
blamed for the vogue of their rivals. History credits His Royal Highness
with many notable achievements. Not the least of these is that he
discovered the inhabitants of America.

It will be seen that in this renaissance the keenest students of the
exquisite were women. Nevertheless, men were not idle, neither. Since
the day of Mr. Brummell and King George, the noble art of self-adornment
had fallen partially desuete. Great fops like Bulwer and le jeune
Cupidon had come upon the town, but never had they formed a school.
Dress, therefore, had become simpler, wardrobes smaller, fashions apt to
linger. In 1880 arose the sect that was soon to win for itself the title
of 'The Mashers.' What this title exactly signified I suppose no two
etymologists will ever agree. But we can learn clearly enough, from the
fashion-plates of the day, what the Mashers were in outward semblance;
from the lampoons, their mode of life. Unlike the dandies of
the Georgian era, they pretended to no classic taste and, wholly
contemptuous of the Aesthetes, recognised no art save the art of dress.
Much might be written about the Mashers. The restaurant--destined to be,
in after years, so salient a delight of London--was not known to them,
but they were often admirable upon the steps of clubs. The Lyceum held
them never, but nightly they gathered at the Gaiety Theatre. Nightly
the stalls were agog with small, sleek heads surmounting collars of
interminable height. Nightly, in the foyer, were lisped the praises of
Kate Vaughan, her graceful dancing, or of Nellie Farren, her matchless
fooling. Never a night passed but the dreary stage-door was cinct with a
circlet of fools bearing bright bouquets, of flaxen-headed fools who
had feet like black needles, and graceful fools incumbent upon canes.
A strange cult! I once knew a lady whose father was actually present at
the first night of 'The Forty Thieves,' and fell enamoured of one of the
coryphees. By such links is one age joined to another.

There is alway