A young Englishman did
something more respectable, yet quite as extraordinary, at Paris, not a
hundred years ago, for a small bet. He was one of the stoutest,
thickest-built men possible, yet being but eighteen, had neither whisker
nor moustache to masculate his clear English complexion. At the Maison
Doree one night he offered to ride in the Champs Elysees in a lady's
habit, and not be mistaken for a man. A friend undertook to dress him,
and went all over Paris to hire a habit that would fit his round figure.
It was hopeless for a time, but at last a good-sized body was found, and
added thereto, an ample skirt. Felix dressed his hair with _mainte_
plats and a _net_. He looked perfect, but in coming out of the
hairdresser's to get into his fly, unconsciously pulled up his skirt and
displayed a sturdy pair of well-trousered legs. A crowd--there is always
a ready crowd in Paris--was waiting, and the laugh was general. This
hero reached the horse-dealer's--'mounted,' and rode down the Champs. 'A
very fine woman that,' said a Frenchman in the promenade, 'but what a
back she has!' It was in the return bet to this that a now well-known
diplomat drove a goat-chaise and six down the same fashionable resort,
with a monkey, dressed as a footman, in the back seat.
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