Damon sedately measured me with his eyes, and then searched out of a large bale that a boy had carried, several suits of clothes, which exactly corresponded with the wishes that I had expressed. Indeed I then, for the first time, acknowledged the fine _tact_ of the _costume-artist_, as the little man had styled him; for he had chosen for me precisely that style of dress, in which, without any hints of reference to rank, profession, birth-place, and so forth, one might glide unobserved through the world. It is, in truth, no easy matter to dress one's self in such manner, that all suspicions of a particular character or pursuit may be avoided. The costume of a citizen of the world should be regulated by the _negative_ principle, as, in polite behaviour, more depends on judicious unobtrusive _leaving out_, than on actual performance. The little man all the while indulged himself in his own absurd and wandering discourse; and as he probably did not meet every day with a listener so willing as I had been, he was, no doubt, unusually brilliant. Damon, however, a grave, and, as it seemed to me, intelligent man, at last cut him short, without mercy; and shaking him by the shoulder, "Fairfield," said he, "you are got again to-day into the old vein--upon the right '_jawing tack_,' as the Dutch mariners say. I would bet any sum, that the gentleman's ears must have ached already with the nonsense which you are pouring out!" With an air of the deepest melancholy, Belcampo now hung down his head. He then suddenly seized his old weather-beaten hat; and, running quickly to the door, "Such," cried he, "is the lamentable fate--such are the misfortunes of genius! Thus is the character of Belcampo prostituted and defamed, even by his best friends!" Damon also then took his leave, and, in retiring, said, "He is a coxcomb quite of his own kind, this Fairfield! Much reading has turned his brain; otherwise he is a good-natured fellow, and clever in his own business, on which account I can bear him well enough, since, if a man has good success in any _one_ trade, he may be excused a little extravagance on other occasions." CHAPTER XVIII. As soon as I was left alone, I began to look in a large mirror, which hung in the room, and to give myself formal lessons in gait and demeanour. For this purpose, the discovery made by the _frizeur_ had given me very necessary hints. Monks acquire a peculiar awkwardness of walk from their long dresses, which confine the limbs, and from their attempt at the same time to move quickly, which the rules of our order enjoin. There is also something farther characteristic in a submissive bending forward of the body, and in the carriage of the arms, which must never hang downwards. All this I endeavoured to unlearn as effectually as possible.