When, at length, yielding to that strong necessity which no
man can control, Brummel was obliged, like Napoleon, to
abdicate, the mystery of that mighty cravat was unfolded.
There was found, after his departure to Calais, written on
sheet of paper upon his table, the following epigram of
scorn: "STARCH IS THE MAN." The cravat of Brummel was merely-
-starched! Henceforth starch was introduced into every cravat
in Europe.

Brummel still lives, an obscure consul in a petty European
town.

Physically there is something to command our admiration in
the history of a man who thus lays at his mercy all ranks of
men,--the lofty and the low, the great, the powerful and the
vain: but morally and seriously, no character is more
despicable than that of the mere man of fashion, Seeking
nothing but notoriety, his path to that end is over the ruins
of all that is worthy in our nature. He knows virtue only to
despise it; he makes himself acquainted with human feelings
only to outrage them. He commences his career beyond the
limits of decency, and ends it far in the regions of infamy.
Feared by all and respected by none, hated by his worshippers
and despised by himself, he rules,--an object of pity and
contempt: and when his power is past, his existence is
forgotten; he lives on in an, oblivion which is to him worse
than death, and the stings of memory goad him to the grave.

The devotee of fashion is a trifler unworthy of his race; the
_mere_ gentleman is a character which may in time become