Monthly Book of Fashions,” and to imitate, as closely as possible, those elegant and artistical productions of the gifted burin, which show to perfection “What a piece of work is man!  How noble in reason!  How infinite in faculties!” &c.—­You must not consult your own ease and taste (if you have any), for nothing is so vulgar as to suit your convenience in these matters, as you should remember that you dress to please others, and not yourself.  We have heard of some eccentric individuals connected with noble families, who have departed from this rule; but they invariably paid the penalty of their rashness, being frequently mistaken for men of intellect; and it should not be forgotten, that any exercise of the mind is a species of labour utterly incompatible with the perfect man of fashion.

The confiding characters of tailors being generally acknowledged, it is almost needless to state, that the faintest indication of seediness will be fatal to your reputation; and as a presentation at the Insolvent Court is equally fashionable with that of St. James, any squeamishness respecting your inability to pay could only be looked upon as a want of moral courage upon your part, and

[Illustration:  UTTERLY UNWORTHY OF A GENTLEMAN.]

[The subject of dress in particular will form the subject of our next chapter.]

* * * * *

IF I HAD A THOUSAND A-YEAR.

A BACHELOR’S LYRIC.

  If I had a thousand a-year,
    (How my heart at the bright vision glows!)
  I should never be crusty or queer,
    But all would be couleur de rose. 
  I’d pay all my debts, though outre,
    And of duns and embarrassments clear,
  Life would pass like a bright summer day,
    If I had a thousand a-year.

  I’d have such a spicy turn-out,
    And a horse of such mettle and breed—­
  Whose points not a jockey should doubt,
    When I put him at top of his speed. 
  On the foot-board, behind me to swing,
    A tiger so small should appear,
  All the nobs should protest “’twas the thing!”
    If I had a thousand a-year.

  A villa I’d have near the Park,
    From Town just an appetite-ride;
  With fairy-like grounds, and a bark
    O’er its miniature waters to glide. 
  There oft, ’neath the pale twilight star,
    Or the moonlight unruffled and clear,
  My meerschaum I’d smoke, or cigar,
    If I had a thousand a-year.

  I’d have pictures and statues, with taste—­
    Such as ladies unblushing might view—­
  In my drawing and dining-rooms placed,
    With many a gem of virtu. 
  My study should be an affair
    The heart of a book-worm to cheer—­
  All compact, with its easy spring chair,
    If I had a thousand a-year.