maraschino, and his bottle of claret after dinner; and though living on
charity, could order new snuff-boxes to add to his collection, and new
knick-knacks to adorn his room. There can be no pity for such a man, and
we have no pity for him, whatever the rest of the world may feel.

Nothing can be more contemptible than the gradual downfall of the broken
beau. Yet, if it were doubted that his soul ever rose above the collar
of a coat or the brim of a hat, his letters to Mr. Raikes in the time of
his poverty would settle the question. 'I heard of you the other day in
a waistcoat that does you considerable credit, spick-and-span from
Paris, a broad stripe, salmon-colour, and _cramoisé_. Don't let them
laugh you into a relapse--into the Gothic--as that of your former
English simplicity.' He speaks of the army of occupation as 'rascals in
red coats waiting for embarkation.' 'English education,' he says in
another letter, 'may be all very well to instruct the hemming of
handkerchiefs, and the ungainly romps of a country-dance, but nothing
else; and it would be a poor consolation to your declining years to see
your daughters come into the room upon their elbows, and to find their
accomplishments limited to broad native phraseology in conversation, or
thumping the "Woodpecker" upon a discordant spinet.' And he proceeds to
recommend a 'good French formation of manners,' and so forth.

Nor did he display any of that dignity and self-respect which are
generally supposed to mark the 'gentleman.' When his late friend and
foe, by this time a king, passed through Calais, the Beau, broken in
every sense, had not pride enough to keep out of his way. Many stories
are told of the manner in which he pressed himself into George IV.'s
notice, but the various legends mostly turn upon a certain snuff-box.
According to one quite as reliable as any other, the Prince and the Beau
had in their days of amity intended to exchange snuff-boxes, and George