pocket-handkerchiefs, and mourn with one another over the decadence of cambric frilling.
I believe if two women were cast together upon a desert island, they would spend each day arguing the respective merits of sea-shells and birds' eggs, considered as trimmings, and would have a new fashion in fig leaves every month.
Very young men think a good deal about clothes, but they don't talk about them to each other. They would not find much encouragement. A fop is not a favourite with his own sex. Indeed, he gets a good deal more abuse from them than is necessary. His is a harmless failing, and it soon wears out. Besides, a man who has no foppery at twenty will be a slatternly, dirty-collar, unbrushed-coat man at forty. A little foppishness in a young man is good; it is human. I like to see a young cock ruffle his feathers, stretch his neck, and crow as if the whole world belonged to him. I don't like a modest, retiring man. Nobody does—not really, however much they may prate about modest worth, and other things they do not understand.
A meek deportment is a great mistake in this world. Uriah Heap's father was a very poor judge of human nature, or he would not have told his son, as he did, that people liked humbleness. There is nothing annoys them more, as a rule. Rows are half the fun of life, and you can't have rows with humble, meek-answered individuals. They turn away our wrath, and
