Nash, the son of a
glass-merchant--Brummell, the hopeful of a small shopkeeper--became
the intimates of princes, dukes, and fashionables; were petty kings of
Vanity Fair, and were honoured by their subjects. In the kingdom of
the blind, the one-eyed man is king; in the realm of folly, the
sharper is a monarch. The only proviso is, that the cheat come not
within the jurisdiction of the law. Such a cheat is the beau or dandy,
or fine gentleman, who imposes on his public by his clothes and
appearance. _Bona-fide_ monarchs have done as much: Louis XIV. won
himself the title of Le Grand Monarque by his manners, his dress, and
his vanity. Fielding, Nash, and Brummell did nothing more. It is not a
question whether such roads to eminence be contemptible or not, but
whether their adoption in one station of life be more so than in
another. Was Brummell a whit more contemptible than 'Wales?' Or is
John Thomas, the pride and glory of the 'Domestics' Free-and-Easy,'
whose whiskers, figure, face, and manner are all superb, one atom more
ridiculous than your recognized beau? I trow not. What right, then,
has your beau to a place among wits? I fancy Chesterfield would be
much disgusted at seeing his name side by side with that of Nash in
this volume; yet Chesterfield had no objection, when at Bath, to do
homage to the king of that city, and may have prided himself on
exchanging pinches from diamond-set snuff-boxes with that superb
gold-laced dignitary in the Pump-room.
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