308 THE HUNTING FIELD 



lascivious eyes are starting out of his head, the roses 

 of his flabby cheeks have dissolved into number- 

 less little red veins, while his mulberry-coloured nose 

 has thrown out divers little knots and hillocks, all 

 indicative of devotion to the jolly god. 



Codshead has on the very coat nay, we believe, 

 the very coat, waistcoat, breeches, and boots in 

 which he appeared fourteen years ago. The coat, 

 we remember, was the first dress one the first 



"Bed by night, and chest of drawers by day," 



that appeared in our country, and of course produced 

 a corresponding impression. It then fitted him as a 

 coat should fit, easy and comfortable-looking, neither 

 too tight nor too loose; the waist was where the 

 colonel's waist was, and if the collar was twice or 

 thrice the breadth of collars of the present day, it was 

 not a bit more ridiculous than the hem-like things of 

 our times will be hereafter. It was then a fresh, well- 

 favoured coat, and though we cannot say we admire 

 the cut, it nevertheless became the colonel. Alas ! 

 how changed are both coat and colonel ! 



There is nothing hurts a man's vanity so much as 

 the conviction that he is getting fat. So long as he 

 retains his figure and activity he may be any age, but 

 when this 



" too, too solid flesh won't melt," 



when relentless beef will load the neck, back, reins, 

 loins all the places that used to be mentioned in 

 Moore's once indelicate almanack a dreadful con- 

 viction comes over him, that to put it in the mildest 

 form he is not so young as he was. 



Against this terrible admission Colonel Codshead 

 has long borne up stoutly and manfully. He will not 

 admit that he is an ounce heavier than he was twenty 

 years ago, and all because by dint of extreme exertion 



