first acquired fame. They were all there, the pretty maids and
wrinkled matrons, the young rakes of twenty, ready for a frolic, and
the old rakes of thirty too weary to do much more than go to the
theatre and cry out, "Damme, this is a damn'd play." Then the
children, who were always in the way, and the aged fathers of families
who liked to swear at the dandified airs and newly imported French
manners of their sons. And such sons as some of them were too--smart
fellows, of whom the beau described in "The Careless Husband," may be
taken as an example: one "that's just come to a small estate, and a
great perriwig--he that sings himself among the women--he won't speak
to a gentleman when a lord's in company. You always see him with a
cane dangling at his button, his breast open, no gloves, one eye
tuck'd under his hat, and a toothpick."

What of the belles of the Bath? They seem to have been much after the
fashion of their modern sisters, with their harmless little vanities,
their love of expensive finery, and their pretty eyes ever watching
for the main chance, or a chance man. Odsbodkins! but the world has
changed very little, for even then we hear of dashing specimens of the
New Woman, in the persons of ladies who affected men's hats, feathers,
coats, and perriwigs, to such an extent that our dear friend Addison
will gently rebuke them during the reign of the _Spectator_. He
doubts if this masculinity will "smite more effectually their male
beholders," for how would the sweet creatures themselves be affected
"should they meet a man on horseback, in his breeches and jack-boots,
and at the same time dressed up in a commode[A] and a night raile?"

[Footnote A: A cumbersome head-dress made of lace or muslin.]

How charming it would have been to watch the whole gay crew, just