which Mdlle. Mercandotti is standing upon one leg for the pleasure of
Lord Fife and Mr. Ball Hughes; the grave regard directed by Lord
Petersham towards that pretty little maid-a-mischief who is risking
her rouge beneath the chandelier; the unbridled decorum of Mdlle.
Hullin and the decorous debauchery of Prince Esterhazy in the
distance, make altogether a quite enchanting picture. But, of the
whole series, the most illuminative picture is certainly the Ball at
Almack's. In the foreground stand two little figures, beneath whom, on
the nether margin, are inscribed those splendid words, Beau Brummell
in Deep Conversation with the Duchess of Rutland. The Duchess is a
girl in pink, with a great wedge-comb erect among her ringlets, the
Beau tre`s de'gage', his head averse, his chin most supercilious upon
his stock, one foot advanced, the gloved fingers of one hand caught
lightly in his waistcoat; in fact, the very deuce of a pose.

In this, as in all known images of the Beau, we are struck by the
utter simplicity of his attire. The `countless rings' affected by
D'Orsay, the many little golden chains, `every one of them slighter
than a cobweb,' that Disraeli loved to insinuate from one pocket to
another of his vest, would have seemed vulgar to Mr. Brummell. For is
it not to his fine scorn of accessories that we may trace that first
aim of modern dandyism, the production of the supreme effect through
means the least extravagant? In certain congruities of dark cloth, in
the rigid perfection of his linen, in the symmetry of his glove with
his hand, lay the secret of Mr. Brummell's miracles. He was ever most
economical, most scrupulous of means. Treatment was everything with
him. Even foolish Grace and foolish Philip Wharton, in their book
about the beaux and wits of this period, speak of his dressing-room as
`a studio in which he daily composed that elaborate portrait of
himself which was to be exhibited for a few hours in the clubrooms of