about ten times as much as it does at the present time.

CHAPTER XXIV.

HATS.

Not less famous in history than Bradshaw's broad-brimmed hat, nor less
graceful than Shaftesbury's jaunty beaver, nor less memorable than the
sailor's tarpaulin, under cover of which Jeffreys slunk into the Red
Cow, Wapping, nor less striking than the black cap still worn by Justice
in her sternest mood, nor less fanciful than the cocked hat which
covered Wedderburn's powdered hair when he daily paced the High Street
of Edinburgh with his hands in a muff--was the white hat which an
illustrious Templar invented at an early date of the eighteenth century.
Beau Brummel's original mind taught the human species to starch their
white cravats; Richard Nash, having surmounted the invidious bar of
plebeian birth and raised himself upon opposing circumstances to the
throne of Bath, produced a white hat. To which of these great men
society owes the heavier debt of gratitude thoughtful historians cannot
agree; but even envious detraction admits that they deserve high rank
amongst the benefactors of mankind. Brummel was a soldier; but Law
proudly claims as her own the parent of the pale and spotless _chapeau_.

About lawyers' cocked hats a capital volume might be written, that
should contain no better story than the one which is told of Ned
Thurlow's discomfiture in 1788, when he was playing a trickster's game
with his friends and foes. Windsor Castle just then contained three
distinct centres of public interest--the mad king in the hands of his
keepers; on the one side of the impotent monarch the Prince of Wales
waiting impatiently for the Regency; on the other side, the queen with
equal impatience longing for her husband's recovery. The prince and his
mother both had apartments in the castle, her majesty's quarters being
the place of meeting for the Tory ministers, whilst the prince's
apartments were thrown open to the select leaders of the Whig
expectants. Of course the two coteries kept jealously apart; but
Thurlow, who wished to be still Lord Chancellor, "whatever king might
reign," was in private communication with the prince's friends. With
furtive steps he passed from the queen's room (where he had a minute
before been assuring the ministers that he would be faithful to the
king's adherents), and made clandestine way to the apartment where
Sheridan and Payne were meditating on the advantages of a regency
without restriction. On leaving