When a good London hat recedes to a certain point, it gets no worse; it is
not like a country-made thing that keeps going and going until it declines
into a thing with no sort of resemblance to its original self. Barring its
weight and hardness, the Sponge hat had no particular character apart from
the Sponge head. It was not one of those punty ovals or Cheshire-cheese
flats, or curly-sided things that enables one to say who is in a house and
who is not, by a glance at the hats in the entrance, but it was just a
quiet, round hat, without anything remarkable, either in the binding, the
lining, or the band, but still it was a very becoming hat when Sponge had
it on. There is a great deal of character in hats. We have seen hats that
bring the owners to the recollection far more forcibly than the generality
of portraits. But to our hero.
That there may be a dandified simplicity in dress, is exemplified every day
by our friends the Quakers, who adorn their beautiful brown Saxony coats
with little inside velvet collars and fancy silk buttons, and even the
severe order of sporting costume adopted by our friend Mr.
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