Such were the days on which
we should reflect with regret; such were the men whom we should imitate
and revere. Had such a character as we have endeavoured feebly to sketch,
met an individual enveloped in a shapeless cylindrical tube of pale
Macintosh--impossible for taste--incapable of pockets--indefinite and
indefinable--we question whether he would have regarded him in the light
of a maniac, an incendiary, or a foreign spy--whether he would not have
handed him immediately over to the exterminators of the law, as a being
too depraved, too degraded for human sympathy. And yet--for our prolixity
warns us to conclude--and yet the festering contagion of this baneful
example is now-a-days hidden under the mask of fashion. FASHION! and has
it indeed come to this? Is fashion to trample on the best and finest
feelings of our nature? Is fashion to be permitted to invade us in our
green lanes, and our high roads, under our vines and our fig-trees,
without hindrance, and without pockets? For the sake of human nature, we
hope not--for the sake of our bleeding country, we hope not. No! "Take
care of your pockets!" is one of the earliest maxims instilled into the
youthful mind; and emphatically do we repeat to our
fellow-countrymen--Englishmen, take care of your pockets!
* * * * *
PUNCH'S THEATRE.
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