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There is always something rather absurd about the past. For us, who have fared on, the silhouette of Error is sharp upon the past horizon. As we look back upon any period, its fashions seem grotesque, its ideals shallow, for we know how soon those ideals and those fashions were to perish, and how rightly; nor can we feel a little of the fervour they did inspire. It is easy to laugh at these Mashers, with their fantastic raiment and languid lives, or at the strife of the Professional Beauties. It is easy to laugh at all that ensued when first the mummers and the stainers of canvas strayed into Mayfair. Yet shall I laugh? For me the most romantic moment of a pantomime is always when the winged and wired fairies begin to fade away, and, as they fade, clown and pantaloon tumble on joppling and grimacing, seen very faintly in that indecisive twilight. The social condition of 1880 fascinates me in the same way. Its contrasts fascinate me.

Perhaps, in my study of the period, I may have fallen so deeply beneath its spell that I have tended, now and again, to overrate its real import. I lay no claim to the true historical spirit. I fancy it was a chalk drawing of a girl in a mob-cap, signed ‘Frank Miles, 1880,’ that first impelled me to research. To give an accurate and exhaustive account of that period would need a far less brilliant pen than mine. But I hope that, by dealing, even so briefly as I have dealt, with its more strictly sentimental aspects, I may have lightened the task of the scientific historian. And I look to Professor Gardiner and to the Bishop of Oxford.

‘Cromwell House.’ The residence of Lady Freake, a famous hostess of the day and founder of a brilliant salon, ‘where even Royalty was sure of a welcome. The writer of a recent monograph declares that, ‘many a modern hostess would do well to emulate Lady Freake, not only in her taste for the Beautiful in Art but also for the Intellectual in Conversation.’

‘Fancy Fair.’ For a full account of this function, see pp. 102-124 of the ‘Annals of the Albert Hall.’

‘Jersey Lily.’ A fanciful title bestowed, at this time, upon the beautiful Mrs. Langtry, who was a native of Jersey Island.

‘Manola Valse.’ Supposed to have been introduced by Albert Edward, Prince of Wales, who, having heard it in Vienna, was pleased, for a while, by its novelty, but soon reverted to the more sprightly deux-temps.

‘Private Views.’ This passage, which I found in a contemporary chronicle, is so quaint and so instinct with the spirit of its time that I am fain to quote it:

‘There were quaint, beautiful, extraordinary costumes walking about–ultra-aesthetics, artistic-aesthetics, aesthetics that made up their minds to be daring, and suddenly gave way in some important point–put a frivolous bonnet on the top of a grave and flowing garment that Albert Durer might have designed for a mantle. There were fashionable costumes that Mrs. Mason or Madame Eliot might have turned out that morning. The motley crowd mingled, forming into groups, sometimes dazzling you by the array of colours that you never thought to see in full daylight…. Canary-coloured garments flitted cheerily by garments of the saddest green. A hat in an agony of pushes and angles was seen in company with a bonnet that was a gay garland of flowers. A vast cape that might have enshrouded the form of a Mater Dolorosa hung by the side of a jauntily-striped Langtry-hood.’

The ‘Master.’ By this title his disciples used to address James Whistler, the author-artist. Without echoing the obloquy that was lavished at first nor the praise that was lavished later upon his pictures, we must admit that he was, as least, a great master of English prose and a controversialist of no mean power.

‘Masher.’ One authority derives the title, rather ingeniously, from ‘Ma Chere,’ the mode of address used by the gilded youth to the barmaids of the period–whence the corruption, ‘Masher.’ Another traces it to the chorus of a song, which, at that time, had a great vogue in the music-halls: ‘I’m the slashing, dashing, mashing Montmorency of the day.’ This, in my opinion, is the safer suggestion, and may be adopted.

London, 1894.