onderful. There are three apparent
reasons, and one of them is aesthetic. So to clothe the body that its
fineness be revealed and its meanness veiled has been the aesthetic aim
of all costume, but before our time the mean had never been struck. The
ancient Romans went too far. Muffled in the ponderous folds of a toga,
Adonis might pass for Punchinello, Punchinello for Adonis. The ancient
Britons, on the other hand, did not go far enough. And so it had been in
all ages down to that bright morning when Mr. Brummell, at his mirror,
conceived the notion of trousers and simple coats. Clad according to his
convention, the limbs of the weakling escape contempt, and the athlete
is unobtrusive, and all is well. But there is also a social reason for
the triumph of our costume--the reason of economy. That austerity, which
has rejected from its toilet silk and velvet and all but a few jewels,
has made more ample the wardrobes of Dives, and sent forth Irus nicely
dressed among his fellows. And lastly there is a reason of psychology,
most potent of all, perhaps. Is not the costume of today, with its
subtlety and sombre restraint, its quiet congruities of black and white
and grey, supremely apt a medium for the expression of modern emotion
and modern thought? That aptness, even alone, would explain its
triumph. Let us be glad that we have so easy, yet so delicate, a mode of
expression.

Yes! costume, dandiacal or not, is in the highest degree expressive,
nor is there any type it may not express. It enables us to classify any
'professional man' at a glance, be he lawyer, leech or what not. Still
more swift and obvious is its revelation of the work and the soul of
those who dress, whether naturally or for effect, without reference to
convention. The bowler of Mr. Jerome K. Jerome is a perfect preface
to all his works. The silk hat of Mr. Whistler is a real nocturne, his
linen a symphony en blanc majeur. To have seen Mr. Hall Caine is to have
read his soul. His flowing, formless cloak is as one of his own novels,
twenty-five editions latent in the folds of it. Melodrama crouches upon
the brim of his sombrero. His tie is a Publisher's Announcement. His
boots are Copyright. In his hand he holds the staff of The Family
Herald.

But the dandy, in no wise violating the laws of fashion, can make more
subtle symbols of his personality. More subtle these symbols are for
the very reason that they are effected within the restrictions which are
e