Special suits.

Spoiling an otherwise good effect.

There are special suits for all kinds of outdoor amusements, such as shooting, golfing, tennis, boating, driving, riding, bicycling, fishing, hunting, &c., but into the details of these it is unnecessary to enter. It may be remarked, however, that it is easy to stultify the whole effect of these, however perfectly they may be “built” by the tailor, by the addition of a single incongruous article of attire; such as a silk hat or patent boots with a shooting-suit.

The modern dress-coat.

The dress-coat is no longer made of broadcloth, the shiny finish of which would now have a very old- fashioned appearance. The ordinary evening coat is made of an elastic twill cloth, with a dull finish. Its elasticity makes it fit to perfection when cut by a good tailor. Of course it would be incorrect to wear other than black trousers with it. The waistcoat is much cut away, to show a wide expanse of immaculately got-up shirt-front.

The dinner-jacket.

This is the only correct costume for evening wear on all occasions of a formal nature. The dinner-jacket has very largely superseded the dress-coat for home wear and at dinners in houses where one is a familiar guest. It is occasionally seen at the play, too, but it would be incorrect to wear it when accompanying ladies.

On evening dress at theatres.

A courageous young man.

Etiquette is not now nearly so strict as it used to be in the matter of evening dress in the stalls, private boxes, and dress circle of the theatres. I think this is rather to be deplored, but the wave of democracy that has poured over society of late has left its impress in this as in other matters. Though theatre managers put on the tickets special to the best seats “Evening Dress,” I have seen half-a-dozen men in the stalls dressed in a variety of unorthodox fashions, and once, in August, I even saw a man in a boating suit come in, straw hat in hand, and, ushered by an unprotesting attendant, take his seat. In the off-season, when all the fashionable people are out of town, this was not, perhaps, very surprising. But he must have been a courageous young man.

Mourning dress.

Mourning for men seems almost a dead-letter nowadays, except in the first two or three weeks after bereavement. A widower’s mourning is not worn for more than a couple of months, unless the widower should belong to the numerous class who cling conservatively to old customs, and believe that to doff his weeds would imply some disrespect to his late wife.

Disraeli, in his “Endymion,” puts the following words in the mouth of Mr. Vigo, the great tailor:—

“Dress does not make a man.”

“But it often makes a successful one.”

“Dress does not make a man, but it often makes a successful one. The most precious stone, you know, must be cut and polished. I have known many an heiress lost by her suitor being ill-dressed. You must dress according to your age, your pursuits, your object in life; you must dress, too, in some cases, according to your set. In youth a little fancy is rather expected, but if political life be your object, it should be avoided—at least after one-and-twenty. I am dressing two brothers now, men of considerable position; one is a