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the greasy flannel jacket of Suwarrow the filth of 

 Charles XII., who combed his hair with his fingers, 

 and buttered his bread with his thumbs the queer 

 breeches of Napoleon, and the frequent three-weeks' 

 unwashedness of his campaigns, walking or riding 

 all day long, with a hat like a scavenger's, and a 

 beard like a Jew's and even Louis XIV., the most 

 luxurious and sumptuous of sovereigns, was so 

 attached to his soiled shirts, that Madame de Main- 

 tenon had often to get into a violent passion before 

 he would have clean linen brought him. And 

 similar illustrations can be brought from every walk 

 of life men of business of letters of the fine 

 arts. You all know Nathaniel Bentley, of Leaden- 

 hall-street, otherwise Dirty Dick, the hardwareman, 

 who, when somebody remonstrated with him for his 

 dirty hands, made use of the observation that Dean 

 Swift's servant made, ' It's of no use, sir ; if I wash 

 my hands to-day, they will be dirty again to-mor- 

 row.' Who can forget George Morland, with his 

 apartment like a pig stye, and himself like one of 

 the pigs ? Who is not mindful of Barry the im- 

 mortal Barry buried up to the ears in dirt, and 

 living in an immense house, like a spider enveloped 

 in cobwebs ? Savage was dirty enough, too, not to be 

 miscalled by his surname. It was the love of dirt 

 that caused Prior to be so fond of smoking his pipe 

 with a soldier and his wife in Long- acre. The feel- 

 ing caused Parson to be a constant visitor at the 

 Cyder Cellar, in Maiden Lane, and that drove Kean 

 to the Coal- Hole. Look at Doctor Johnson coming 



