very unclerical for him to wear it, though it may be as black, and is
as modest, as the rest of his apparel. The young doctor timidly tries
it on, and in his first walk meets the wealthy hypochondriac, his
favorite patient, and the one who is trying to introduce him to
practice, who seriously advises him, as a friend, not to wear that
new-fangled thing,--if the poor hat had only been ugly, there would
have been nothing bad in its _new-fangled_ quality,--as all his
respectable patients will leave him if he dresses so like a fool. The
young lawyer gets one, because he heard an old lady speak of "those
impudent-looking hats," and he is in hopes that impudence, which he
understands is all-important in his profession, and which he is
conscious of not possessing, may come with the hat. A lady goes out
with her son, who is just old enough to have gained a coat, and is
looking for his first hat. The mother has taste and judgment, and the
youth has yet some unperverted affinity with graceful forms left, and
so they choose and buy one of these comfortable and elegant
chapeaux. Just before they reach home, they meet one of their best
friends, a person whom the lady regards most kindly, and the young man
admires and respects, and _he_ greets him with, "Why, Tom! have _you_
got one of those rowdy hats?" And so the stiff, stove-pipe monstrosity
keeps its place, and the only pleasant, sensible, graceful, becoming
hat that the nineteenth century has known, is called all sorts of bad
names, and quiet gentlemen are afraid to wear it.

Has it not been the fate of the shawl, too, the most simple and
elegant wrapper, and comfortable withal, that a man can throw around
him, to be scouted and flouted?

Yes, Deformed! Come on next winter with a white surtout in your hand
that must fit so tightly that your victims can but just screw