worn than the other), and of his
two hats (the better of which would not have greatly disfigured an old
clothesman, whilst the worse would have been of service to a
professional scarecrow), Lord Kenyon took jealous care. The inferior wig
was always worn with the better hat, and the more dilapidated hat with
the superior wig; and it was noticed that when he appeared in court with
the shabbier wig he never removed his _chapeau_; whereas, on the days
when he sat in his more decent wig, he pushed his old cocked hat out of
sight. In the privacy of his house and in his carriage, whenever he
traveled beyond the limits of town, he used to lay aside wig and hat,
and cover his head with an old red night-cap. Concerning his great-coat,
the original blackness of which had been tempered by long usage into a
fuscous green, capital tales were fabricated. The wits could not spare
even his shoes. "Once," Dr. Didbin gravely narrated, "in the case of an
action brought for the non-fulfillment of a contract on a large scale
for shoes, the question mainly was, whether or not they were well and
soundly made, and with the best materials. A number of witnesses were
called, one of them, a first-rate character in the gentle craft, being
closely questioned, returned contradictory answers, when the Chief
Justice observed, pointing to his own shoes, which were regularly
bestridden by the broad silver buckle of the day, 'Were the shoes
anything like these?' 'No, my lord,' replied the evidence, 'they were a
good deal better and more genteeler.'" Dr. Didbin is at needless pains
to assure his readers that the shoemaker's answer was followed by
uproarious laughter.

PART V.

MUSIC.

CHAPTER XXV.

THE PIANO IN CHAMBERS.

In the Inns of Court, even more often than in the colleges of Oxford and
Cambridge, musical instruments and performances are regarded by severe
students with aversion and abhorrence. Mr. Babbage will live in peace
and charity with the organ-grinders who are continually doing him an
unfriendly turn before the industrious conveyancer on the first floor
will pray for the welfare of 'that fellow upstairs' who daily practises
the flute or cornopean from 11 A.M. to 3 P.M. The 'Wandering Minstrels'
and their achievements are often mentioned with respect in the western
drawing-rooms of London; but if the gentlemen who form that
distinguished _troupe_ of amateur performers wish to sacrifice their
present popularity and take a