The Scandinavian _beaux_ were as fantastically nice in some of _their_ fashions. Rough as they were, there were many who wasted some amount of thought on the adornment of their persons. Such an individual was the pride of his relatives, and by these he was called, not the flower, but the _leek_ of the family: he generally smelt a good deal stronger. Of such a dandy, his kindred were as proud as the “blood” of Caffarelli was of that smartly-dressed singer. But Caffarelli was a vocal beau who sang to some tune. He lived in a palace of his own building. Over the gate was this inscription:—“Amphion Thebas, ego domum;” and he purchased for his nephew and heir the Dukedom of Sante Dorato. That _was_ a well-dressed uncle, of whom his nephew might well be—what he was not, of course—gratefully proud. Scandinavia reminds me of the great Gustavus Adolphus. He was not indeed himself a _beau_, but he was the first who made modern soldiers such. It was a consequence of his insisting on the necessity of the men being well clothed, and kept clean and warm. Except among Pompey’s cohort, this was not the custom of the ancients, with whom prevailed the maxim, “horridum militem esse decet.” So too thought Tilly, whose doctrine on the matter was comprised in the phrase, “A ragged soldier and a bright musket.” Some of Gustavus’s officers became the tightest-laced “exquisites” of suffering humanity, and reduced their outward surface to such a degree, that, had they lived in remoter times, they might have passed for those unhappy persons who had entered the temple of Jupiter in Arcadia, despite prohibition. The well-known consequence of such an act was, that the offender became for ever shadowless. There is a race of men, not at all thin, and as rich dressers as Gustavus’s captains; I mean the Cardinals. There is a _reason_ for their wearing red garments. Persons of early Church days used to draw Christian zodiacs and solar systems. In the former, the saints took the place of the old signs. In the latter, the planets were allotted to different religions. The sun belongs to Christianity; _ergo_, _Sunday_ is the sabbath. Rome is the solar, and therefore the holy city; and accordingly the Cardinals wear red, because it is the colour of the sun. To revert once more to the pupil of Aristotle, there remains but to be said that it was only on state occasions that he appeared in the mantle, sandals, and horns of Ammon. His ordinary dress was a chlamys of purple, a striped tunic (white on a coloured ground), and a wide-flapped hat or cap, with the royal diadem girt around it. He was in fact King of Fashion as well as King of Men; and, like Count D’Orsay, he not only patronized tailors, but, unlike the Count, paid their bills. The two men, in all other respects, were very different; and it cannot be said of them, as of Mr. Hunt’s ‘Light of the World,’ and his fast man in the ‘Awakened Conscience,’ that they are one and the same person in two costumes.