We have seen it recommended to the Bond Street Lounger that it was absolutely necessary for him to have an eye-glass suspended from his button-hole; and the same fashion is mentioned in the _Morning Post_, August 28, 1806: “The town has been long amused with the _quizzing glasses_ of our modern fops, happily ridiculed by a door-key in O’Keefe’s whimsical farce of _The Farmer_. A Buck has lately made his appearance in Bond Street, daily, between two and four o’clock, with _a Telescope_, which he occasionally applies to his eye, as he has a glimpse of some object passing on the other side of the street, worth _peeping_ at. At the present season, we cannot but recommend this practice to our fashionable readers, who remain in the Metropolis. It indicates friendship, as it shows a disposition to _regard_ those who are at a _distance_.” [Illustration: ORIGINALS. A HINT TO THE BON TON.] There have been, in all ages of fashion, some who outvied the common herd in eccentricity of costume; and the early nineteenth century was no exception to the rule. It is true that it had not, in the time of which I write, arisen to the dignity of a “pea-green Haines;” but still, it could show its “Green Man.” “BRIGHTON, September 25, 1806. Among the personages attracting, here, public notice, is an original, or _would-be_ original, generally known by the appellation of ‘the Green Man.’ He is dressed in green pantaloons, green waistcoat, green frock, green cravat; and his ears, whiskers, eyebrows, and chin, are better powdered than his head, which is, however, covered with flour. He eats nothing but green fruits and vegetables; has his rooms painted green, and furnished with a green sofa, green chairs, green tables, green bed, and green curtains. His gig, his livery, his portmanteau, his gloves, and his whip, are all green. With a green silk handkerchief in his hand and a large watch chain, with green seals fastened to the green buttons of his green waistcoat, he parades every day on the Steyne, and in the libraries, erect like a statue, walking, or, rather, moving to music, smiling and singing, as well contented with his own dear self, as well as all those round him, who are not few.” That he had money was evident, for his green food, including, as it did, choice fruit, would sometimes cost him a guinea a day; besides which, he was seen at every place of amusement, and spent his money lavishly. Eventually, he turned out to be a lunatic, and, after throwing himself out of windows, and off a cliff, he was taken care of. The two preceding illustrations are manifest exaggerations of costume; but the germ of truth which supplies the satire is there; and, with them, the men’s dress of this period is closed. [Illustration] [Illustration] CHAPTER XXXII. Ladies’ dress—French costume—Madame Recamier—The classical style—“Progress of the toilet”—False hair—Hair-dresser’s advertisement—The Royal Family and dress—Curiosities of costume.