chimney pot hats.

At eighteen years of age I had my first frock coat and tall hat. Some of
my companions, happy youths! enjoyed this distinction at sixteen or
seventeen. These adornments were of course for Sunday wear; no weekday
clothes were worn on Sundays then. My frock coat was of West of England
broadcloth, shiny and smooth. Sunday attire was incomplete without light
kid gloves, lavender or lemon being the favourite shade for a young man
with any pretension to style.

Next in importance to my first frock coat ranked my first portmanteau; it
was a present, and supplanted the carpet bag which, up to then, to my
profound disgust, I had to use on visits to my relatives. The
portmanteau was the sign of youth and progress; old-fashioned people
stuck to the carpet bag.

Man's attire has changed for the better; and woman's, with all its
abbreviations and shortcomings, is, on the whole, more rational; though
in the domain of Fashion her _vagaries_ will last no doubt as long
as--woman is woman; and if ever that shall cease to be, the charm of life
will be over.

With man the jacket suit, the soft hat, the soft shirt, the turn-down
collar, mark the transition from starch and stiffness to ease and
comfort; and Time in his course has brought no greater boon than this;
except, perhaps, the change that marks our funeral customs. In those
days, hatbands, gloves and scarves were provided by the bereaved family
to the relatives and friends who attended the obsequies; and all of
kinship close or remote, were invited from far and near. Hearse and
coaches and nodding plumes and mutes added to the expense, and many a