Mr. Pole shook his head seriously. The ladies were thankful for the
presence of Mr. Barrett. And lo! this man was in perfect evening
uniform. He looked as gentlemanly a visitor as one might wish to see.
There was no trace of the poor organist. Poverty seemed rather a gold-
edge to his tail-coat than a rebuke to it; just as, contrariwise, great
wealth is, to the imagination, really set off by a careless costume. One
need not explain how the mind acts in such cases: the fact, as I have put
it, is indisputable. And let the young men of our generation mark the
present chapter, that they may know the virtue residing in a tail-coat,
and cling to it, whether buffeted by the waves, or burnt out by the fire,
of evil angry fortune. His tail-coat safe, the youthful Briton is always
ready for any change in the mind of the moody Goddess. And it is an
almost certain thing that, presuming her to have a damsel of condition in
view for him as a compensation for the slaps he has received, he must
lose her, he cannot enter a mutual path with her, if he shall have failed
to retain this article of a black tail, his social passport. I mean of
course that he retain respect for the article in question. Respect for
it firmly seated in his mind, the tail may be said to be always handy.
It is fortune's uniform in Britain: the candlestick, if I may dare to say
so, to the candle; nor need any young islander despair of getting to
himself her best gifts, while he has her uniform at command, as glossy as
may be.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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