This was a more successful trick with the gloves than that practised by the lady who, flinging her pretty gauntlet on to the arena where some wild beasts were struggling, bade her knight descend and bring it back to her. The cavalier accomplished the task, but he smote the cruel damsel in the face with the glove ere he threw it at her feet; and, turning on his heel, he left her for ever. She of course lived on in single sullenness; and I warrant that she never saw white gloves and a wedding without a twinge at her heart. The late Duke of Orléans was once almost as unlucky as this lady, and all through a glove. He was visiting some of the wounded of Antwerp in a hospital near the scene of conflict. He spoke kindly to all, and he shook hands with several; but one of those he so honoured bluntly remarked, that when the Emperor shook hands with the wounded he first drew off his gloves. The Duke as much offended _contra bonos mores_ by keeping his gloves on, as an old-fashioned naval captain once did by keeping them off. The marine hero in question had stood up to go through a country-dance with a very fine lady, who was shocked to observe that his huge and warm hands were not covered according to etiquette. “Captain,” said his fair partner, “you are perhaps not aware that you have not got your gloves on.” “Oh, never mind, Ma’am!” answered the commander, “never mind; I can wash my hands when we’ve done!” The gallant sailor was not as wide-awake to the advantages of opportunity for gallantry on the question of gloves as Yorick was when the grave gentleman flirted with the Calais grisette. He was no descendant—albeit his name was Harley—of that Earl of Oxford I have just named, who once presented Elizabeth with a pair of gloves, ornamented with four tufts of rose-coloured silk, so deliciously scented, that she called the scent “Lord Oxford’s perfume.” London, Ludlow, and Leominster, Worcester, Woodstock, and Yeovil, are the great seats of the leather-glove manufacture in England. The Worcester district alone supplies six million pairs annually, and all, or nearly all, made by hand. Derby contributes silk gloves; the worsted come from Leicester; and Nottingham furnishes us with cotton gloves. In addition to these, we yearly import between three and four million pairs of leather gloves from France. The export of home-made gloves is very small,—not large enough to keep warm the fingers of the little republic of San Marino. But a man, to be well dressed, must don something besides hat and gloves. I will not put one part of the necessary addition under a separate head; nor indeed will I mention its name, save in an anecdote. I will simply, by way of introduction, quote two salient sayings uttered by French moralists on the article in question.