COSTUME. 
365 
“ This welcome wind-visitor is still fresheninsr : it 
is not perpetrating-, I hope, an extra brilliancy before 
its conge. 
“ I found to-day a rough caricature drawing by one 
of the men : some of the mess call it a portrait of my- 
self. By-the-way, suppose I tell you of my latest rig ? 
Here it is. A long musket on 
shoulder ; a bear knife in the leg 
of the left boot ; a rim of wolf- 
skin around my head, leaving the 
bare scalp with its ’‘hairs' open 
to the breeze ; rough Guernsey 
frock, overlined by a red flannel 
shirt, in honor of the day on which 
thou shalt do no labor ; legs in 
sailor pants of pilot cloth, slop-shop 
cut ; feet in seal-hide socks or bus- 
kins, of Esquimaux fabric and Es- 
quimaux smell ; a pair of crimson 
woolen mittens, which commenced 
their career as a neck comforter ; 
and a little green rag, the snow veil, fluttering over a 
weather-beaten face : place all this, for 'want of a bet- 
ter lay figure, on your brother of the Arctic squadron. 
“ With a delicacy which may possibly do me dis- 
credit, I have never before alluded to the garniture of 
my outer man. I may as well tell the truth at once. 
We are an uncouth, snobby, and withal, shabby-look 
ing set of varlets. L’illustre Bertrand would be a 
very Beau Brummel alongside of us. We are shabby, 
because we have worn out all our flimsy wardrobes, 
and have of late resorted to domestic tailorization. 
We are snobby, because our advance in the new art 
does not yet extend to the picturesque or well-fitting. 
