D'Orsay, had come upon the town, but never had they formed a school. Dress, therefore, had become simpler, wardrobes smaller, fashions apt to linger. In 1880 arose the sect that was soon to win for itself the title of "The Mashers." What exactly this title signified I suppose no two etymologists will ever agree. But we can learn clearly enough from the fashion-plates and caricatures of the day what the Mashers were in outward semblance, from the lampoons what was their mode of life. Unlike the Dandies of the Georgian era they made no pretence to any qualities of the intellect, and, wholly contemptuous of the æsthetes, recognised no art save the art of dress. Much might be written about the Mashers. The Music Hall was unknown to them, but nightly they gathered at the Gaiety Theatre. Nightly the stalls were fulfilled with row after row of small, sleek heads, surmounting collars of monstrous height. Nightly in the foyer were lisped the praises of Kate Vaughan, her graceful dancing, or of Nellie Farren, her matchless fooling. Never a night passed but the dreary stage-door was surrounded by a crowd of fools bearing bouquets and fools incumbent upon canes. A strange cult! I used to know a lady whose father was actually present at the first night of "The Forty Thieves," and fell enamoured of one of the coryphées. By such links is one age joined to another.
There is always something rather absurd about the past. It is easy to sneer at these Mashers, with their fantastic raiment and vacuous lives. It is easy to laugh at all that ensued when first the mummers and the stainers of canvas strayed into Mayfair. To me the most wonderful moment of the pantomime has always seemed to come when the winged and wired fairies begin to fade away and, as they fade, clown and pantaloon tumble on joppling and grimacing. The social condition of 1880 fascinates me in the same manner. Its contrasts are irresistible.
