They will remind us of our Coryphean
conquests at the Opera--our triumphs in Rotten row--our dinners at Long's
and the Clarendon--our nights at Offley's and the watch-house--our glorious
runs with the Beaufort hounds, and our exhilarating runs from the sheriffs'
officers--our month's sporting on the heathery moors, and our day rule when
rusticating in the Bench!
We are in "the sear and yellow leaf"--there is nothing green about us now!
We have put down our seasoned hunter, and have mounted the winged Pegasus.
The brilliant Burgundy and sparkling Hock no longer mantle in our glass;
but Barclay's beer--nectar of gods and coalheavers--mixed with
hippocrene--the Muses' "cold without"--is at present our only beverage. The
grouse are by us undisturbed in their bloomy mountain covert. We are now
content to climb Parnassus and our garret stairs. The Albany, that
sanctuary of erring bachelors, with its guardian beadle, are to us but
memories, for we have become the denizens of a roomy attic (ring the top
bell twice), and are only saluted by an Hebe of all-work and our printer's
devil!
ON DRESS IN GENERAL.--_L'habit fait le moine_.--It has been laid down by
Brummel, Bulwer, and other great authorities, that "the tailor makes the
man;" and he would be the most daring of sceptics who would endeavour to
controvert this axiom. Your first duty, therefore, is to place yourself in
the hands of some distinguished schneider, and from him take out your
patent of gentility--for a man with an "elegant coat" to his back is like a
bill at sight endorsed with a good name; whilst a seedy or ill-cut garment
resembles a protested note of hand labelled "No effects.
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