e at least a year old; and
he parted with his last footboy because he one day discovered a
perceptible difference between the polish of the right and left foot. In
winter, he wears and recommends cork soles. His toilet is no sinecure; and
on the table are always to be found, besides his dressing-box, which
contains an assortment of combs, scissors, tweezers, pomades, and essences,
not easily equalled, a bottle of "Eau de Cologne, veritable," a Packwood
and Criterion strop; a case of gold-mounted razors, (the best in England,)
which he bought, nearly thirty years ago, of the successor of "Warren," in
the Strand, and a silvered shaving-pot, upon a principle of his own,
redolent of Rigges' "patent violet-scented soap." His net-silk purse is
ringed with gold at one end, and with silver at the other; and although
not _much_ of a snuff-taker, he always carries a box, on the lid of which
smiles the portrait of the once celebrated and beautiful, though now
somewhat forgotten, Duchess of D----, or the equally resplendent Lady
Emily M----.

His table is of the same finish with his wardrobe. If he sat down to
dinner, even when alone, in boots, that visitation which Quin ascribed to
the prevalent neglect of "pudding on a Sunday"--an earthquake might be
expected to follow. His spoons and silver forks are marked with his crest;
and he omits no opportunity to inform his friends, that the right of the
family to the arms was proved at Herald's College by his great uncle John.
He has receipts for mulligatawny and oyster soups, not to be equalled; and
another for currie-powder, which a friend of his obtained, as the greatest
of favours, from Sir Stamford Raffles, and which, though bound in honour
not to make known, he means to leave to his son by will, under certain
injunctions. His cookery of a "French rabbit," provided the claret be
first-rate, is superb; and on _very_ particular occasions, he condescends
to know how to concoct a bowl of punch, especially champagne punch, for
the which he has a formula in rhyme, the poetry of which never, as is its
happy case, losing sight of correctness and common-sense, comes, as well
as its subject matter, home to "his business and his bosom." His "caviar"
is, through the kindness of a commercial friend, imported from the hand of
the very Russian _cuisinier_, who prepares it (unctuous relish!) for the
table of the Emperor himself. His cheese is Stilton or Parmesan.

Like "Mrs. Diana Scapes," he is al