FASHIONS FOR THE FIFTH.

To Strachan Shavins, Esq.

Dear Old Strachan,—So you want a few hints from me as to what you should wear this Fifth of November. Well, my dear fellow, of course I shall be delighted to be of any service I can to you. You needn't have apologised for troubling me. It is only natural that, as you say, you "shouldn't wish to make a fool of yourself on such an occasion by turning out in the wrong sort of toggery." Dress is a more important factor in our profession than is generally supposed, and we, as Gentlemen and Guys, should be the last to set conventionality and propriety at defiance by appearing in public without proper regard to our personal appearance.

First, let me beg of you not to be persuaded into adopting a cocked-hat. The career of the paper cocked-hat—with or without coloured trimmings—is closed, and I for one do not regret it, for it always seemed to me to imply an assumption of military rank which, on the part of civilians like ourselves, is surely rather a paltry affectation.

The only correct head-covering will be the tall hat, which I hear will be bulgier than ever this year. The smartest will have open crowns and little or no brims. There has been some attempt to revive the old straw hat, though only with a black ribbon, but I have not heard of this being adopted by Guys with any pretensions to dressiness.

Masks this year are to be gayer—I might even say gaudier—than ever. I noticed one of bright magenta with large grape-green spots! Sounds rather startling, you will think; but, really, worn with a fustian jacket of a rather sombre tone of chestnut, and a mock-astrakhan toque, the effect was not half bad. The latest idea seems to be to strike the dominant colour-note in the mask, and make the rest of the costume lead up to it. Personally, however, I prefer something which renders its wearer less conspicuous. One in prawn-pink, with touches of cardinal red under each eye, and an edging of the same around the mouth, struck me as in excellent taste. Another in bouchon-brûlé black, relieved by sealing-wax red, was pleasing, though you may consider it almost too quiet.

After all, the colour and design of the mask may safely be left to the taste and fancy of the individual.

Now, as to your coat. The sack-back overcoat still holds its own, though it is open to the objection of concealing too much of the figure. Have nothing to do with a striped flannel blazer, nor a glazed calico jacket. You may see one or two about, but never on anyone who is anybody at all. You cannot go wrong in a double-breasted pea-coat, or one in black and rather shiny broadcloth, with rather long tails. I have decided on one myself, and consider it decidedly becoming.

Don't be induced to appear "in character." I cannot see any sense myself in masquerading as some person of more or less ephemeral notoriety. Why should we desire to mislead the careless into taking us for a famous murderer, swindler, or statesman? I know it is done, and by some who ought to be above such weakness; but, depend on it, it's a poor sort of ambition. Let us be content to be ourselves, members of the honourable and ancient Guild of Guys.

There seems to be a general agreement to dispense with collars this year, and adopt instead a red worsted comforter, which is quite as sightly, and very much more hygienic in these raw, foggy days. But, if you must have a collar, have one in the "stick-up" shape, with the ends slightly dog's-eared; the necktie can hardly be too simple.

As for the trousers, they will be of much the same cut as hitherto, perhaps just a shade baggier at the knees, and falling "concertina"-wise, to meet the boots, into which they should be tucked.

Soles and heels will either be very much worn, or not worn at all—there is no juste milieu here; but eschew boots of a brown colour, which, on a formal occasion like this, are very bad style indeed. Should you desire to be thought a very great "buck" and "blood" indeed, you may have your boots an odd pair. A top-boot and a tennis shoe make a highly effective combination.

It is not necessary to wear gloves; but, if you do, remember to have white knitted ones, not kid. The finger-ends are generally left open, so as to produce an impression of elegant negligence. This may be heightened by allowing just a suspicion of hay or straw to be visible at the apertures.

Lastly, you inquire about the best kind of conveyance to make your rounds in. Take my advice, and refuse to be carried on a chair. I would not even accept a barrow, unless it is drawn by a donkey. It is only once a year, remember, and a certain amount of pomp and splendour is essential if we Guys are to maintain the dignity of our Order in these degenerate times.

I hear whispers that one or two Guys who go in for being "up to date" are seriously thinking of exhibiting themselves this year on bicycles, and, considering the sudden and enormous popularity which the "bike" (to employ a hideous and vulgar abbreviation that offends my taste) has acquired of late amongst the so-called "Upper Ten," I am far from saying that even such a public personage as a Guy must necessarily suffer any loss of dignity by being seen on a cycle—provided he insists upon being securely tied on to the handle-bars, and also upon the machine being supported and guided for him by a couple of able-bodied attendants. But this, I understand, will be de rigueur for any Guy who may so far unbend as to give the practice of cycling the sanction of his official recognition and countenance.

I think that is all you wished to know about; so now, my dear old chap, let me wish you a thoroughly enjoyable day's outing, and a cheery evening by way of finish. You will find that the boys will do you uncommonly well, give you as many combustibles as you can hold, and there is sure to be plenty of fizz about. Sit tight, keep as cool as you can, don't lose your head, or let yourself go too soon, and you may reckon upon having what is colloquially termed "a high old time."

I shall expect a first-rate report, and you are pretty certain to hear from me if I am anywhere in your neighbourhood, so no more at present from

Yours affectionately,

Homme de Paille.

MANY LICENSES AND ONLY ONE FISH SAUCE.

The London County Council sits upon the site of one of London's oldest casino-gardens ("Spring Gardens"), and no one can therefore wonder that it sits upon music-halls. It did not open its proceedings on October 25 with the Chant du Départ, which was disappointing. Having gone wrong on water, was it not only natural that it should go wrong on gin, and in one great case give a verdict in favour of hole-and-corner drinking? It invented a new dance called the "Skate Dance." This is something in these days of choregraphic enterprise. It should not, however, have fettered its invention with a license. If skating is "dancing on skates," what is not dancing? Is "dancing attendance" illegal without a license? Is the "poetry of motion" illegal without a license, and which is the most illegal?—the poetry or the motion? Does the "music of the spheres" require a license? Is the ploughboy, "whistling as he goes for want of thought," infringing any Act of Parliament? If I copied an old poet, and asked a young lady to "drink to me only with her eyes," could she do so in an auditorium without the permission of the L. C. C. and the Brewster Magistrates?

A Bewildered One.

Ballymacarrett—et præterea nihil.—The "Natives of Ulster" resident in Glasgow came out of their shells for their annual reunion in the Waterloo Hall of that city, and were presided over upon the occasion by Mr. Wolff, M.P. The member for East Belfast was eloquent upon various subjects, but attained the highest pinnacle of the rhetorical art when he spoke of the district with which he is connected and which "bears the beautiful name of Ballymacarrett." This poetically called spot appears to be the veritable Elysium of Erin, "where"—according to the enthusiastic orator—"people live happily. A place which would arouse the envy of most towns even in Scotland!" Evidently an Utopia wherein gaols and lunatic asylums are conspicuously absent; for who could commit a crime or go "balmy on the crumpet" in Ballymacarrett! Hark to the bard of the locality:—

"The Women who Would" do what they shouldn't, had better leave the country in ship to be named The Grant-Allen Castle.

VERY LIKELY.

Sir,—I think I can give a satisfactory answer to your correspondent who wishes to know the derivation of our slang expression "Cheese it!" The French equivalent for the saying is not, as some suppose, Fromagez-le, but Cessez, second person plural, imperative mood from the verb cesser, to cease, which evidently is a derivative of the Latin noun-substantive casa, meaning "cheese."—Yours obediently,

Cheddar.

"Barkis is Willin-k."—There is great and just rejoicing in Liverpool over a repentant Liberal, by name Councillor Willink, who has joined the Conservative ranks. He would have joined before only "I thought," said he, "there was too much connection between the Conservatives and the drink trade. But now all that has completely changed," and he can, with an easy conscience, side with the Tory Party, which, he informs us, "he has been testing during the last five years"! Really, after so prolonged and severe an ordeal, it is astonishing that there should be any Conservative Party left for Mr. Willink to throw his lot in with. However, it may with confidence be expected that he will prove as great a gain to his new cause as, undoubtedly, is the loss which he has inflicted upon his former partisans.

SHEER IGNORANCE.

Benevolent Person. "Come, my little Man, you mustn't Cry like that!"

Boy. "Garn! 'Ow am I to Cry then?"

"THE COMING OF ARTHUR."

["We understand that Mr. Henry Arthur Jones, the dramatist, intends to drop the surname by which he has hitherto been known to the public. In future he will accordingly be known as Mr. Henry Arthur."—Daily News, October 30.]

An eminent dramatist having abandoned one of his names, it is believed that the surname Arthur, henceforth so illustrious, will become extremely fashionable, and it is rumoured that the following gentlemen, amongst others, will re-arrange their names, and will immediately be elected members of Arthur's Club:—

The Right Hon. James Balfour Arthur; Mr. Justice Charles Arthur; Mr. Justice Kekewick Arthur; Sir Arnold Arthur; Sir Sullivan Arthur; Sir William Blomfield Arthur, A.R.A.; Mr. Hacker Arthur, A.R.A.; Mr. W. Pinero Arthur; Mr. Cecil Arthur; Mr. Robert S. Arthur.

^*_*^* Our "Enry Hauthor" is, as far as concerns dramatic authorship, "The Only Jones." Why descend from this pinnacle?—Ed.

When is an ice rink not a nice rink? When it has no music and (skate) dancing license.

The Woman with a Past generally has many presents.