fine lady that I saw thus." Evelyn, moreover, mentions, under the date of September 13, 1666, that "the queen was now in her cavalier riding habit, hat, and feather, and horseman's coat, going to take the air." Three years later, the sac or sacque had won its way into womanly favour. "My wife this day," writes Pepys, under date of March 2, 1669, "put on first her French gown, called a sac, which becomes her very well."

It would extend this article beyond all reasonable limits were we to dilate further upon the tempting theme of English attire under the Restoration. We trust, therefore, that we have said enough concerning it to enable the reader to form an idea of its forms and fashion, and we now hasten on to consider that subject with which our remarks are more immediately connected, the life of the capital under the sway of "The Merry Monarch."

The man of fashion and pleasure in the reign of Charles II. monopolised everybody's attention, and it is therefore of the man of fashion and pleasure that we wish first to speak. The daily routine of his life from the time he rose until the time he retired to rest again, embraced, as in a microcosm, all the amusements and all the resources of the London of the second half of the seventeeth century. He who follows his footsteps through the day may behold the sights of the town, may observe the manners and customs of the people, and may even be admitted to their familiar conversation. The history of an ordinary day of a Restoration beau was something like this :-From about ten till twelve he received visitors in his sleeping chamber, where he lay in state with his periwig thickly powdered lying beside him on the coverlet. Near at hand, on his dressing-table, the curious visitor might have noticed some little volumes of amatory verse, a canister of Lisbon or Spanish snuff, a smelling bottle, and perhaps a few fashionable trinkets. As soon as he deemed proper, the beau arose, and with incredible difficulty proceeded to put on all his charms. To perfume his garments—to soak his hands in washes for the sake of producing whiteness and delicacy-to tinge his cheeks with carminative in order to give them that gentle blush which nature had denied them-to arrange a number of patches upon his face so as to produce the effect of moles and dimples-to dip his pockethandkerchief in rose water and to powder his linen so as to banish from it the smell of soap-to consume a quarter of an hour in the attempt to fasten his cravat, as long again in the endeavour to adjust his wig and to "cock" his hat, as long again in the contemplation of his charms in the looking-glass, and as long again in the practice of such smiles as would display to the best advantage the ivory white

ness of his teeth-these were the processes through which he who desired to figure as a beau of the first magnitude was compelled in that age to pass. The character of the beau, so far as his outward and personal appearance was concerned, was now complete ; and as in those days fashionable gentlemen used their legs to a much less extent than they do now, our imaginary beau would have directed his valet to order a sedan chair without delay. Into this he stepped, and was borne to the most fashionable haunt-to the Mall in St. James's Park, or perhaps to the more ceremonious parade in Hyde Park, where, like a butterfly, he delighted to flutter in the train of some frail and jilting beauty, who gloried in nothing so much as "an equipage of fools," and who was perfectly willing for the nonce to furnish him with an excuse for toasting her in a tavern at night. Anon he might have been found twittering in the boudoir of some favourite nymph(the amusing part of it was that in that age every woman was a nymph, both on canvas and upon paper, decked out in pastoral embellishments of every conceivable incongruity in the matter of poetical treatment !)—and there the rest of the morning was generally dawdled away or worn out, just as it suited the humour of the company, with cards, forfeits, games at toys, or puzzles, or with songs and dancing to the harp, virginal, and all kinds of music. We ought to remember that during the whole of this time the gardens and other places of public resort in which the capital abounded were alive and astir with people of every rank and every condition—that the Paradise in Hatton Garden was attracting hundreds of people to gaze upon its wonders and curiosities in geology-and that the wives and daughters of the citizens, arrayed in silk and satin raiment, displaying all the colours of the rainbow, were crowding the walks of Gray's Inn, ostensibly for the purpose of inhaling the odorous breezes that blew from the distant hills of Highgate and Hampstead, but really to take a sly glance at the men of law who, in the brief intervals afforded them by their professional duties, walked out in order to obtain a breath of fresh air. To the wearisome relaxations of the promenade and the boudoir succeeded the dinner time. Public notification of this was given by the universal rush, so soon as the clocks and time-pieces indicated the hour of noon, to such fashionable coffee-houses and ordinaries as Locket's, Man's, and Chattelin's -particularly the latter, which was the house to which the Lord Keeper North (when he tenanted chambers in the Court Temple before he was advanced to the dignity of Solicitor-General) was accustomed in that age to repair with his friends to partake of a cotelette and salad over a bottle of the choicest wine that the establishment VOL. CCLXXIII. NO. 1939. G

afforded. For the space of two whole hours, that is to say, from twelve o'clock till two, the coffee-houses and taverns bore the closest resemblance of any places to Pandemonium. The babel of voices, the clatter of plates and dishes, the hurrying to and fro of waiters, continued without cessation. The bold criticism and the loud boasting continued just as much as in the days of good Queen Bess, only with less of coarseness and a deeper tinge of French licentiousness. With great animation the topics of the day were discussed; and that as openly as possible. Nothing was covered that was not revealed, nothing was hid that was not made known. What was heard in darkness was spoken in light, and that which was heard in the ear was proclaimed upon the house-tops. The latest scandals from Whitehall Palace the newest faces in the coffee-houses, the moving accidents of the preceding evening, the smashing of windows and the breaking of tavern drawers' heads, the hair-breadth escapes from the watchmen, and such like-the plays, the playwrights, and the authors— the newest fashions in periwigs-these were some out of the many perishable topics upon which fashionable gentlemen of that age were wont to exchange their ideas. And after the tavern and coffee-house had been duly visited, what was the next place of resort? The playhouse, to be sure. London then contained more theatres than one, and the task became one only of selection. There were the "King's,” the "Duke's," and the "Lincoln's Inn." Here the latest comedy from the prolific pen of Davenant might be witnessed; there the last from the equally prolific pen of Killigrew. It mattered little which theatre. was selected, since it is hardly necessary to say that playgoers of that generation did not frequent theatres for the purpose of attending to the performance. To a fine gentleman the very idea of such a thing would have been revolting. To see and to be seen-to renew the gallantries of the morning hours and to lay the trains for fresh adventures-to be stormed to secret satisfaction, despite the pretence of resentment, by the orange girls-to interchange familiar recognitions with the wearers of vizard masks in the gallery-to interrupt the performance now and again by leud observations calculated to display critical sagacity-and finally to penetrate into the side-boxes, there to find themselves tossing in a sea of heartbreakers that afforded ample enjoyment for their dear wit and gay rhetoric so long as the performance continued-these were some of the inducements for men of fashion in that age to visit the London play-houses. Nor were the resources of a man of fashion altogether exhausted when the theatre doors had closed. Far from it. He might repair to Hyde Park for a drive in the open air. He might

wend his steps to the Mulberry Gardens to eat tarts or to sip syllabubs in their cool and shady arbours. He might proceed citywards for the purpose of keeping an assignation in an India shop, or at the New Exchange. Nor when still evening came on, and had clad all things in her sober livery, did the day of a fashionable beau conclude. Another round of visits, another discussion of scandal, another card party, another entertainment of conjuring, another game of romps, and then. the evening would be finished. But the day was not yet done, seeing that after participating in these amusements the beaux either wended their steps in the direction of the Court, or to one of the taverns, there to stay till midnight, passing the hours away with revels suited to their whims and fancies, with cards, dice, dancing, or bottles of champagne and Burgundy, the potent effects of which soon laid them at full length beneath the table.

We suspect that some of our hypercritical readers, after perusing the foregoing sketch, will feel inclined to dissent from it, on the ground of its imperfection. In that opinion, none but ourselves would more heartily concur. Most assuredly it is imperfect; it is a fact that we most readily admit; nevertheless, we feel constrained to submit that it represents faithfully, so far as it goes, the way in which the precious light-winged hours of time were passed by the fashionable dandies of London in that age, and it is no exaggeration to add, by fashionable ladies of London of that age also. Moreover, with certain limitations and with certain exceptions, it indicates with a fair amount of correctness the mode of life which those who are included under the category of the middle classes of society were wont to lead. Change the scene of the action, substitute one locality for another, the Mall in Hyde Park for Marrowbone Gardens, St. James's for Spring Gardens or the Folly, and the life in such was only in a few respects dissimilar. Is it to be supposed that the people were not influenced by the example of the Court? Is it to be supposed that they were less addicted to the pursuit of pleasure than those who socially were their superiors? Certainly not. The Puritan party had been crushed, and crushed effectually, and boundless was the national exultation at the event. Men, in the times of Puritan ascendency, had hardly dared to call their souls their own. He who had ventured openly to sigh for the fleshpots of the Caroline age, he who had ventured to recall the fragrant memories of the past, who had frequented Spring Gardens when in town and had indulged in hawking when in the country, soon found himself branded by "the righteous overmuch" as a malignant, as a heretic or as a knave. To all this the Restoration effectually put an end. The people breathed freely once again. Nor

can we be surprised that when they did breathe freely they should have acted freely, and should have rushed into the wildest excesses.

Of all the many stains on national manners and morals for which the Restoration must be held responsible, that of gaming was certainly one of the deepest. During the whole of the second half of the seventeenth century, gaming under one form or another constituted the ordinary amusement of both sexes in the highest society of England. A residence abroad so prolonged as that of Charles II. had been, had initiated him into all the mysteries of the gamester's craft, and his followers were by no means slow in following his example. The consequence was, that when they returned to England in 1660, they returned proficient in all the wisdom of the Continental gamblers, and lost no time in communicating their knowledge to almost everyone into whose company they were thrown. Forthwith Whitehall Palace became in everything but name a gambling hell. The same courtier who but a few short months before might fairly have been regarded as living in the odour of sanctity, who would have pretended to have been horror-stricken at the bare mention of cards or dice, now threw himself with heart and soul into the vortex, as if anxicus at all hazards to make amends for his former abstinence. From the saloons of Whitehall to the booths of Moorfields or Smithfield the gambling mania raged. Many a man of fashion literally passed the whole of his life at play for the highest stakes that any one could be found to play with him, doing nothing else but gaming from the time he left his bed until the time he stepped into it again. The life of many another man was a continual alternation between poverty and wealth, winning one day and losing the next. At the Court the extent to which card-playing and dicing were carried on gave great offence to the few whom the all-prevailing mania had not affected. Thus, for example, John Evelyn entered in his "Diary," under date of January 6, 1662, a scene which he beheld with his own eyes, and which, it may be concluded, filled him with deep concern. "This evening," he wrote, "according to custom, his Majesty opened the revels of the night by throwing dice himself in the privy chamber, where was a table set on purpose, and lost his £100. (The year before he won £1,500.) The ladies also played very deep. I came away when the Duke of Ormond had won At other about £1,000; and left them still at passage, cards, &c. tables both there and at the groom-porters, observing the wicked folly and monstrous excess of passion among some losers; sorry am I that such a wretched custom as play to that excess should be countenanced in a court which ought to be an example of virtue to the