universal admiration.

But there was another object to which this great man condescended to
apply the principles of high art--I mean affectation. How admirably he
succeeded in this his life will show. But can we doubt that he is
entitled to our greatest esteem and heartiest gratitude for the studies
he pursued with unremitting patience in these two useful branches, when
we find that a prince of the blood delighted to honour, and the richest,
noblest, and most distinguished men of half a century ago were proud to
know him? We are writing, then, of no common man, no mere beau, but of
the greatest professor of two of the most popular sciences--Dress and
Affectation. Let us speak with reverence of this wonderful genius.

George Brummell was 'a self-made man.' That is, all that nature, the
tailors, stags, and padding had not made of him, he made for
himself--his name, his fame, his fortune, and his friends--and all these
were great. The author of 'Self-help' has most unaccountably omitted all
mention of him, and most erroneously, for if there ever was a man who
helped himself, and no one else, it was, 'very sincerely yours, George
Brummell.'

The founder of the noble house of Brummell, the grandfather of our hero,
was either a treasury porter, or a confectioner, or something else.[10]
At any rate he let lodgings in Bury Street, and whether from the fact
that his wife did not purloin her lodgers' tea and sugar, or from some
other cause, he managed to ingratiate himself with one of them--who
afterwards became Lord Liverpool--so thoroughly, that through his
influence he obtained for his son the post of Private Secretary to Lord
North. Nothing could have been more fortunate, except, perhaps, the
son's next move, which was to take in marriage the daughter of