of the world
should appear older than he is; and in middle age, and thence to his
dying day, younger. And he announced one secret for attaining that art
in these words: "Begin your wig early, thus you never become gray."

Unlike most philosophers, Mivers made his practice conform to his
precepts; and while in the prime of youth inaugurated a wig in a
fashion that defied the flight of time, not curly and hyacinthine, but
straight-haired and unassuming. He looked five-and-thirty from the day
he put on that wig at the age of twenty-five. He looked five-and-thirty
now at the age of fifty-one.

"I mean," said he, "to remain thirty-five all my life. No better age to
stick at. People may choose to say I am more, but I shall not own it. No
one is bound to criminate himself."

Mr. Mivers had some other aphorisms on this important subject. One
was, "Refuse to be ill. Never tell people you are ill; never own it to
yourself. Illness is one of those things which a man should resist on
principle at the onset. It should never be allowed to get in the thin
end of the wedge. But take care of your constitution, and, having
ascertained the best habits for it, keep to them like clockwork." Mr.
Mivers would not have missed his constitutional walk in the Park before
breakfast if, by going in a cab to St. Giles's, he could have saved the
city of London from conflagration.

Another aphorism of his was, "If you want to keep young, live in a
metropolis; never stay above a few weeks at a time in the country. Take
two men of similar constitution at the age of twenty-five; let one live
in London and enjoy a regular sort of club life; send the other to some
rural district, preposterously called 'salubrious.' Look at these men
when they have both reached the age of forty-five. The London man has
preserved his figure: the rural man has a paunch. The London man has
an interesting delicacy of complexion: the face of the rural man is
coarse-grained and perhaps jowly."

A third axiom was, "Don't be a family man; nothing ages one like
matrimonial felicity and paternal ties. Never multiply cares, and pack
up your life in the briefest compass you can. Why add to your carpet-bag
of troubles the contents of a lady's imperials and bonnet-boxes, and the
travelling _fourgon_ required by the nursery? Shun ambition: it is so
gouty. It takes a great deal out of a man's life, and gives him nothing
worth having till he has ceased to enjoy it." Another of his apho