Some people there were who declared baths to be dangerous, as inducing a tendency to catch constant chills. Untidiness in dress and the like were, on the whole, I think, regarded with more tolerance than is the case to-day—to go even farther back, the beautiful costumes of the eighteenth century, there is reason to believe, in many cases covered people none too careful about their personal toilet. The travelling of the past, when comparatively little luggage could be taken, was rather apt to promote careless habits of dress, and several great travellers were quite notorious for this sort of thing, their economy of linen being regarded with considerable lenience. I recall to mind a story which used to be told of a celebrated traveller who, almost alone, had made several wonderful journeys into the Far East, and wandered over many strange and wild places on the earth’s surface, in the course of which wanderings he was declared to have contracted a supreme contempt for some of the ordinary ways of civilised society. Careless to a degree, the changing of his shirts appeared to him as nothing but an irksome usage, and, consequently, it was by no means often that a snowy expanse of shirt front graced his breast. On one occasion, when about to visit a country house at which he was to be the lion of the party, his wife, who was not accompanying him, determined that this once at least he should do her honour. The visit was to last three days, and so carefully packing three spotless shirts in his bag, she bade him at their adieu to take particular care to don one of these shirts regularly every evening. The three days passed and her husband returned. “I hope you did as I told you,” said she. “Of course I did, my dear,” was the reply. “I put on a clean shirt every evening, so with the one I started in, that makes four I am wearing at the present moment.”