The sombre black is almost entirely doffed; and
you look on an assembly as different in its outward appearance from its
antecedent state as the yellow-winged butterfly is from the grim grub.
Indeed, members of Parliament seem to take a delight in anticipating the
change of dress which the change of season imposes. There are members of
the House of Commons who can claim to wear the very first white hat of
the season. Sir Wilfrid Lawson has a sombre creed and a Bacchanalian
spirit; and, accordingly, the very first time a mere stray gleam of
sunshine streaks the wintry gloom Sir Wilfrid wears an audaciously white
hat.
[Sidenote: Mr. Gladstone's rejuvenescence.]
Mr. Gladstone is a curious mixture of splendour and carelessness. He
nearly always wears a small, narrow black tie, which brings into greater
relief the Alpine heights and the measureless width of his big
shirt-collars, and the broad expanse of his shirt-front. But this
tie--though it marks a pleasant and becoming individuality of
dress--loses half its effect by nearly always getting out of its place;
when night is advanced, the knot is always about half across Mr.
Gladstone's neck.
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