

138 
give a fashionable appearance to his ears by 
a proper application of professional shears. 
The sapient Baronet declared that if I did 
so, he would become a vun-derful dog. The 
gentleman, who had a peculiar nasal twang, 
gave this observation all due effect! I need 
scarcely tell you, Mr. Editor, how I treated 
the proposal; nor need I tell you that Fino’s 
caudal appendage and fine ears remain just 
as they were at the moment of his birth. No 
fashion for me. J ama loverof Nature; and 
I firmly believe that what the Almighty has 
pronounced ‘very good,” none but a 
simpleton would venture to alter. 
I very rarely visit your West End; but I 
do sometimes. On such occasions, what do 
I see? Why, one or more very elegant 
equipages stopping before the shoyis—or, to 
speak fashionably, “ Magasins des Modes;” 
and two grinning footmen in gaudy livery, 
with silver-topped “ Batons d’Office,” opening 
the coronetted doors. Out step two or three 
thin, pale, cadaverous, wan, half-living ladies 
(wives. or daughters of Peers) ; so pinched up 
that they are actually wriggling with agony. 
A dear little pet dog have they too. He 
remains behind “ pour monter la garde ” over 
my lady’s reticule ! 
We pretend to admire the human form 
divine, and yet do all we can to deform it. 
A quarter of a century ago, my excellent 
friend, Dr. Neil Arnott, endeavored to con- 
vince the mothers of England of the horrible 
absurdity of running headlong after the tyrant 
Fashion, instead of following the path of 
simple nature (see <Arnott’s Elements of 
Physics, Medical Mechanics,—1827, pages 
195 to 214, and various other parts, had I 
time to quote them). Still, the warning and 
advice of this modern Bacon remain un- 
heeded; and we persist in mutilating the 
human form till it is scarcely distinguishable 
from that of some of the (mis-called) inferior 
animals. We are not content with mutilating 
every species of dog. We cannot even let a 
tree grow to its own natural size and shape. 
Its goodly branches are hacked and hewn 
until the lordly oak is transformed into a 
maypole. 
O Tempora! O Mores! The fashion of 
the present day, Mr. Editor, is not only mis- 
chievous, it is downright wicked. Moreover, 
it pervades every class. Look, ona Sunday 
morning, at this pair going (not to church, 
but) for a day’s amusement. The man is 
equipped in an elegant pair of dove-colored 
pantaloons, strapped tightly down; also a 
pair of thin patent shining leather boots, 
elegantly fastened with buttons; a charming 
flowered-silk waistcoat, and a broad sky-blue 
satin cravat; a fashionably-cut coat of dark 
blue; an elegant Bond Street hat; and a 
neat little cane in his delicate hand, which is 
covered with nice white kid gloves—and, 


KIDD’S OWN JOURNAL. 
resting on his arm, his better half, in a lovely 
silk of violet ‘‘ changeant.” Neat little shoes 
has she on; a pretty watered silk mantilla ; 
a “chapeau,” sweetly ornamented with 
flowers; and a delicately-colored parasol, to 
protect her pretty face from the burning sun. 
Now who do you think it is, Mr. Editor ? 
Why it might be the twopenny-postman and 
his wife. And truly we must not be sur- 
prised, when the leaders of the “ haut ton” 
employ, or rather waste, so much of their 
valuable time in endeavoring to discover the 
most absurd way of distorting that noble 
human form which the Almighty has pro- 
nounced “ very good.” When will our noble 
matrons and their beauteous offspring vie 
with each other in trying to look becoming ? 
When will they learn that ‘“ least adorned is 
mest adorned ?”? When will they try and 
discover that simplicity, gentility, and 
nobility go hand in hand ? 
Again let us put the question: why is not 
a dog (that faithful companion of man) 
treated as a dog ought to be treated? Why 
is his tail cut? Why are his poor ears 
clipped—his silky coat sheared? If our 
leaders of the “ haut ton ” do thus, what can 
you expect from the lower orders? Our fine 
fashionables purchase a dog, because it is 
“the fashion” to have a dog. They sell it, 
or exchange it, because Lady so-and-so has 
an animal of a different breed. ‘This is per- 
haps discarded in a short time for a parrot; 
and ‘‘ poor Poll” perhaps is shifted on one 
side to make way for a Cochin China hen. 
As to expecting any attachment from these 
poor animals to their masters or mistresses, 
it is quite monstrous to think of such athing. 
How different isareally faithful dog! I 
only move my foot, and Fino’s eye is all 
awake to see what I want. I only look at a 
tree, three or four hundred yards off, and in 
half a moment Fino is on the wall surveying 
all around. I only look at the old dog, and 
he understands the meaning of every wrinkle 
on his master’s forehead. Every thought is 
as quickly understood by him as though it 
were instantly conveyed to his own brain. 
This is not Fashion, Mr. Editor; this is 
Nature. 
Iand my dog are friends. We perfectly 
comprehend one another. From my heart 
I pity poor Charlie, and so does Fino; and 
if he knew the cold-hearted mistress that 
discarded his unfortunate mother, he would 
have her pretty locks cut so short that she 
should (as a punishment) be obliged to wear 
a wig the remainder of her days. 
When will our modern ladies understand 
that charming simplicity which is above all 
price? When will they learn to “look 
through Nature up to Nature’s God,” and 
leave the tyrant Fashion to the contempt 
and scorn which it merits? When will they 
