y met this calamity, by slightly starching the too flexible
material--a change in which, as his biographer with due seriousness and
truth observes--"a reasoning mind must acknowledge there is not much
objectionable."

Imitators, of course, always exceed their model, and the cravat adopted
by the dandies soon became _excessively_ starched; the test being that
of raising three parts of their length by one corner without bending.
Yet Brummell, though he adhered to the happy medium, and was moderate in
his starch, was rigorous in his tie. If his cravat did not correspond to
his wishes in its first arrangement, it was instantly cast aside. His
valet was seen one morning leaving his chamber with an armful of tumbled
cravats, and on being asked the cause, solemnly replied, "These are our
_failures_."

Perfection is slow in all instances; but talent and diligence are sure
to advance. Brummell's "tie" became speedily the admiration of the _beau
monde_. The manner in which this dexterous operation was accomplished
was perfectly his own, and deserves to be recorded for the benefit of
posterity.

The collar, which was always fixed to his shirt, was so large, that,
before being folded down, it completely hid his head and face, and the
neckcloth was at least a foot in height. The first _coup d'archet_ was
made with the shirt-collar, which he folded down to its proper size; but
the delicate part of the performance was still to come. Brummell
"standing before the glass, with his chin raised towards the ceiling,
now, by the gentle and gradual declension of his lower jaw, creased the
cravat to reasonable dimensions; the form of each succeeding crease
being perfected with the shirt which he had just discarded." We were not
aware of the nicety which was demanded to complete the folds of this
superior swathing; but, after this development, who shall pronounce a
dandy idle?

Brummell was as critical on the dress of others as he was _recherche_ in
his own, and this care he extended to all ranks. He was once walking up
St James's Street, arm-in-arm with a young nobleman whom he condescended
to patronize. The Beau suddenly asked him, "what he called _those
things_ on his feet."--"Why, shoes."--"Shoes are they?" said Brummell
doubtfully, and stooping to look at them; "I thought they were
slippers?"

The late Duke of Bedford asked him his opinion of a new coat. "Turn
round," said Mr Beau. When the examination was concluded in front and
rea