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THE
HERMIT IN LONDON;
OR,
SKETCHES
OF
ENGLISH MANNERS.
'Tis pleasant through the loopholes of retreat
To peep at such a world; to see the stir
Of the great Babel, and not feel the crowd.
COWPER.
mekons
A New Edition,
IN THREE VOLUMES.
VOL. I.
LONDON:
HENRY COLBURN AND CO.
PUBLIC LIBRARY, CONDUIT-STREET, HANOVER-SQUARE.
1821.


Br 3618.20.2
MARVARD COLLEGE LIBRARY
THE GIFT OF
FRIENDS OF THE LIBRARY
Sep 20, 1926
1(3 vols)
N
LONDON:
PRINTED BY COX AND BAYLIS, GREAT QUEEN STREET.


CONTENTS
OF
VOL. I.
Page
1
9
INTRODUCTION,
Entering a Room,....
A Patron,....
Too late for Dinner, .
Hyde Park on a Sunday,....
On the Rage for imitating Foreign Manners, 59
On Guard for the First Time,...
73
Time and Wedlock,.....
The Fatigue of Pleasure,.
Fashion in Dress,....
The New Member of Parliament,
Sudden Changes,..
The Waterloo Panorama,
Female Charioteers,.
Female Gamblers,...
The Romance,..
224 ****86
21
31
45
83
93
99
....109
115
123
.133
145
157


iv
CONTENTS.
Page
169
177
187
Fortune Hunters,..
195
.211
A Morning Drive in a Nobleman's Curricle, 203
Sitting for a Picture,
A Visit to my Friend at his Country Seat,..225
Delicate Distinctions,
....235
A Rainy Day in the Country,..
Killing Time,.
A Conversazione,..
Just returned from College,..
Fashionable Advice,...
··
....
.....
..
My Country Cousin,.
Giving and Receiving, .
1
··
··
..243
251
....265
....271


THE
HERMIT IN LONDON.
INTRODUCTION.
Ir was remarked by my immortal prede-
cessor, the Spectator, that a reader seldom
perused a book with pleasure, until he
knew whether the writer of it was a black
or a fair man; of a mild or cholerick dis-
position; married or a bachelor; with
many other particulars of the like nature,
which conduce very much to the right un- ·
derstanding of an author: and, since he
made the observation, it has been so often
repeated by those who have attempted to
tread in his steps, that nothing remains for
VOL. I.
B


2
INTRODUCTION.
me, but to subscribe to its truth, and pro-
ceed accordingly to put my readers in pos-
session of such facts relative to myself, as
may give them an interest in the papers
which I intend to lay before them in the
ensuing pages.
Suppose to yourself, then, gentle reader,
one whose years have imperceptibly rolled
on in drawing-rooms, in parties, and in
what is called the world; whose looking-
glass now begins to cause unpleasant re-
flections; and whose hair reminds him of
the utility of such men as Mr. Ross, in
Bishopsgate-street, and Mr. Bowman, in
New Bond-street. Such is the author of
these pages too old to be an Exquisite or
a Coxcomb, yet neither old enough, nor
wicked enough, to sigh over, or to frown
upon the past. He can now not only enjoy
the pleasures of memory, but sit by calmly,
and observe the present day, without being
blinded by tumultuous passions, or soured
by age and infirmity.
It may easily be conceived that such a
man must have seen and felt all the enjoy-


INTRODUCTION.
3
ments of life. With these his account of
the past must necessarily be filled; nor
would it be possible for him to vegetate in
the seclusion of woods and forests, or to
become the solitary of a desert, or of a
monastic retreat. A time, however, must
come when the fire of youth will decay;
though, with such a man, the warmth of
friendship succeeds to the flame of love, and
the glow arising from a relish for society,
survives the ardent pursuit of pleasure.
Such a man will certainly be the little
hero of his tale; but he will neither be fas-
tidious nor querulous, and although he
may be somewhat prone to telling his own
history, yet will he have so far derived
benefit from his intercourse with fashion-
able society, that he will have learned how
to listen, and how to observe. There will
naturally be rather more distance and re-
tirement in his habits, even though re-
maining in the very midst of the world,
than there was when he was an actor, in-
stead of a looker-on; but such a man's
retirement is the corner of a well-filled
B 2


4
INTRODUCTION.
drawing-room, a niche in a reading-room,
the back row of an Opera-box, behind a
sexagenary duchess, unenvied, and almost
unobserved; or in the deep shade of an
umbrageous tree in St. James's Park.
-
A Célibataire more from chance than
from determination, he has no domestic
concerns to perplex him, no wife to pro-
mote or to impede his welcome in the gay
world, no train to carry after him, no ad-
dition to his unity in an invitation card, and
he is, therefore, more easily provided for,
and more generally invited than a family
man. Without assuming any peculiar me-
rit, a well dressed and a well-bred raan,
whose face is become common at parties,
bien composées, will be asked to one place
merely because he has been seen at another,
where the same class of society moves; and
thus must the scenes of high life multiply
infinitely to him in the course of years,
making up an almost imperceptible ex-
perience.
A beautiful, young, unmarried lady
can with safety honour his arm, as the


INTRODUCTION.
5
companion and protector of her morning
walk, without fear of exciting either am-
bition or passion in his breast, or of raising
jealousy or uneasiness in the bosom of a
more favoured swain. The flaunting mar-
ried woman of quality can take such a man
in her carriage to make the round of her
morning visits, or to kill time by shopping,
without fear of wearing out his patience,
or of furnishing chit-chat at some distin-
guished conversazione, where the tongue of
scandal might have canvassed the con-
nexion and society of a younger Cicisbeo.
He may also be consulted as to dress, with
implicit trust in the sincerity of his advice;
and he may be allowed to witness a tender
glance, a hand pressed, or a significant
look given to a more youthful beau, with-
out fear of rivalry, or any risk of scandaliz-
ing him.
A Donna attempata will sit with him in
a morning deshabille, having no designs
upon him. An Exquisite and a Ruffian will
unrestrainedly play off their part before
+
B 3


6
INTRODUCTION.
"
him, considering him as a good-natured,
gentlemanlike old fellow, or, in other
words, a cypher in the busy scene of high
life. Lady Jemima's "At Home," or Mrs.
Alamode's "Fancy Ball," must be numer-
ously attended; and men like him are pre-
cisely the materials for making up the cor-
ner figures of the Belle Assemblée. "Hand
me to my carriage," an angry belle will say
to such a man; and to him she will con-
fess her disappointments and disgusts,—the
coldness of a favourite,-the flirting of a
husband, the neglect with which she ex-
pected not to meet,—the killing superiority
of a rival, the untimely giving way of the
lace of her corset,-the mortifying bursting
of the quarters of her satin shoe, her loss
of temper, or her loss at play,—an assigna-
tion which calls her away, or vapours
arising from the dissipation of the preced-
ing night...
"
J
If such a man see, and observe not, it
must be his own fault; for, no longer blind-
ed by his passions, nor quitting the world
..


INTRODUCTION.
7
in disgust, he can reason upon the past,
correctly weigh the present, and calculate
thereby what may occur in time to come.
Life is a drama more or less brief-with
some gay, with others insipid; and all men
are actors of some part or other, from the
prince on the throne to the little tyrant
of his domestic circle,-nor is it given.
to those actors to see and learn them-
selves, but only to those who, like the
Hermit in London, occupy a seat in the
stage-box, and are the calm spectators of
the piece.
Whilst the fashionable novels (for, alas!
nothing is so fashionable as scandal) are
hewing away, à l'Indienne, on every side
and cutting up, not only public, but pri-
vate characters; it is the intention of the
following pages to pursue an entirely dif-
ferent plan, namely, to strike at the folly,
without wounding the individual-to give
the very sketch and scene, but to spare the
actor in each; so that, upon every occasion,
personality will be most sedulously avoid-
B 4


8
INTRODUCTION.
co
ed: to blend the useful with the laughable,
and to cheat care of as many moments as
possible, being the chief and favourite
views of
THE HERMIT IN LONDON.
+


ENTERING A ROOM.
"Ce n'est que le premier pas qui coute."
WHATEVER a man is accustomed to do,
he will do with ease; and ease is grace, to
a certain degree, at least there can be no
grace without it. Yet the very same person
who performs every thing to which he may
have been habituated, in the most becoming
manner imaginable, will perhaps feel the
bashfulness of a school-boy, or the awk-
wardness of a rustic, if unexpectedly call-
ed on to appear in a character entirely new
to him.
Thus we may see a player get through
his part with all the eloquence of pas-
sion, aided by the most impressive ges-
ticulation; yet if it fall to his lot, in the
course of the evening, to deliver an apo-
B 5


10
ENTERING A ROOM.
logy to the audience, for some disappoint-
ment in the appearance of a brother per-
former, or some alteration in the amuse-
ments, his fluency deserts him, his car-
riage becomes constrained, and he very
likely feels himself almost as much at a
loss in addressing the spectators in this
extemporaneous manner, as the major part
of them would do, if required to leave the
boxes at a moment's warning, and "fret
and strut their hour upon the stage.'
3
Behold, in the same manner, a clergy-
man enter the pulpit, whence he is accus-
tomed to exhort an admiring and attached
body of parishioners. How calmly he
looks around on them! with what ease he
opens his discourse! with what facility he
proceeds! How readily he confutes the
objections which, for the moment, he sup-
poses to be raised against the doctrines he
s advancing! and how ingeniously he winds
up his arguments, precisely at the moment
when he is aware that they have produced
the full effect which he intended, on the
minds of his congregation! Yet let this
.
"2


ENTERING A ROOM.
11
very same preacher be called on to give
his evidence in a court of justice, or his
opinion at a public meeting, on matters
unconnected with his profession, and it is
probable that an attorney's clerk, or an
intelligent farmer, would speak with as
much perspicuity, and more to the purpose.
Place a man whose life has been devoted
to the study of the fine arts, among a set
of merchants talking over their specula
tions, and how silent he will sit, in all the
amazement of ignorance, whilst they dis-
cuss the value of Russia or of India pro-
duce; of hemp, tallow, and iron; cottons,
sugars, or dye-stuffs. In return, bring him
who has never studied any thing but the
prices current, and the list of exports and
imports, into a party of connoisseurs, and
what will become of all the commercial
knowledge, and the correctness of calcu-
lation which has gained him the reputation
on 'Change of a shrewd man, and a good
man ? He will find small hope of making
cent per cent of his capital, by studying the
beau ideal and the chiaroscuro, the breadth
B 6


12
ENTERING A ROOM.
of light, the mass of shadow, and the
draperies, grouping and effect, which ex-
cite such admiration in the party among
whom he wanders about, impatient and
bewildered, angry at the unprofitable na-
ture of their discussions, yet ashamed to
show his ignorance of them, and devoutly
wishing himself boxed up in his counting-
house again, among his clerks, or reclin-
ing at his ease on the benches of his fa-
vourite coffee-house, where his counte-
nance is watched as a kind of index to the
probable averages of the markets.
It follows, then, that in order to appear
to the most advantage, we ought to be seen
in the place which we have been the
longest accustomed to fill, and it is per-
haps from a little anxiety respecting myself
on this head, that I have been led into the
foregoing reflections. A first appearance
as an author is a tremendous undertaking:
however, he that ventures on it may have
been used
-
"The applause of listening senates to command,"
or to lay down the law with more certainty
1


ENTERING A ROOM.
13
of success, and less fear of contradiction,
on a matter of taste, in a lady's boudoir.
It is one thing for a man to fix the eyes
of a fashionable circle upon his dress and
figure, and another to fix the eyes of
the public upon his works. The re-
marks that may excite most enviable
peals of laughter in an elegant drawing-
room, may be read with phlegmatic ri-
gidity of muscle in the corner of a book-
seller's shop, particularly if the day should
happen to be damp and foggy; and the
criticisms which sound vastly acute and
erudite, as delivered from a stage box at
the theatre, or in Fop's Alley, at the Opera,
may be criticised, themselves, as sufficiently
vapid, when they fall under the lash of
critics by profession, instead of being re-
echoed by pretty savantes at one of the nu-
merous conversaziones which this age of
intellectual improvement has established,
in order to perfect us in the ancient art of
talking, which, it should seem, we have
been too much accustomed to consider,
hitherto, as a mere matter of amusement.
1


14
ENTERING A ROOM.
Dangers and difficulties are, however,
the price of honours, whether they be such
as the hero, or as the saint aspire to. Behold
me, therefore, gentle reader, a Hermit by
choice, an author at your service, and soli-
citous only to know what topic I can fix on
for the opening of my lucubrations, so as
most to minister to your entertainment.
There is something so awkward in choos-
ing a subject for the first time! It is like
first entering a room-which, by the bye,
is one of the most difficult things in the
world, to accomplish in a graceful and pre-
possessing manner. There are a thousand
ways of doing it—And why not remark
upon some of them? An excellent thought!
:
"What shall I write upon?" said Cowper
to his fascinating friend, Lady Austin.
"Write upon the Sofa, to be sure!" she
replied and from her lively équivoque
arose that delightful poem of " The Task,"
than which I will not pledge myself to my
readers for any thing much better, in the
whole course of the following pages. This
was all owing to seizing a first thought,


ENTERING A ROOM.
15
an impulse; and as Cowper was of the
Hermit-species himself, though some-
what of a different class from the Her-
mit in London, being a follower of Hera-
clitus, instead of Democritus, I cannot do
better than take him, in this instance, for
my example; and if I so far imitate him as
to make the most of the moment whilst
the impression is warm, for expanding the
idea which is uppermost in my mind, I
must not waste time in further deliberation,
but immediately proceed to analyse some
of the various modes of entering a room.
In no situation are we more preposses-
sed by the expression of countenance, and
the general figure, than when a person first
enters a room. It is, in some measure, like
a scenic representation; and we are pre-
pared, however unjustly, to applaud or to
disapprove the character, unexamined and
unheard. I have so often sat myself down,
like a statue, in the corner of a drawing-
room, that I have had good experience in
this way; and, close observer as I am, and
albeit neither dazzled from inexperience,


16
ENTERING A ROOM.
nor inflamed by youth, yet to the prepos-
session for or against, I have, involuntarily,
very frequently given way.
Modesty blended with dignity (a beauti-
ful point, most difficult to hit) has always
won my vote in favour of the possessor;
and yet I am aware that a consummate
courtier, a high-bred, finished gentleman,
or a travelled man of fashion, endowed
with observation and imitation, can assume
this character perfectly and successfully.
The grave, gloomy, eye-averted and brow-
dejected man, the man who hastily enters
the apartment, and fain would say to one
behind him, "Shove me in, that I may get
over these odious ceremonials," appears a
suspicious guest. You say to yourself,
"We shall never get acquainted; 'tis no
loss, I do not wish it; he is a stoic, a
cynic, a sceptic, a fellow of long head, per-
haps, but selfish; he would cheat you in a
bargain; 'tis either pride or meanness which
makes him so shy." Whilst every inter-
changed look and word with any of the
former personages, is like a wish to our
better acquaintance.”
66


ENTERING A ROOM.
17
But, besides these extremes, there are
various ways of entering an apartment,
divers characters assumed at the moment,
many modes of expressing, by the very look
and bow, what rank in society the person
holds, who thus appears on the scene,-
and not only his rank in society, but the
estimation in which he is held in the very
circle of which he now forms a segment,
and in which he has a character to play,
very frequently, for that night only:-I say
night, because I allude to a dinner party,
which, in high life, always takes place at
night, as the breakfast is the repast of the
afternoon, and the morning call, or ride, is
an evening amusement.
-
One character enters with dignity, and
an assumed condescension; which is pride
in a fancy dress. The bow bends little, it
says, "I am come,-not very late neither
I might have sent an apology; but I am
come, to confer honour, and to be praised."
The smile means, "I greet ye all; be seat-
ed; I shall show no superiority amongst you,
but make myself uncommonly pleasant.”
HÀNH THÂN NHÂN SỰ NHƯ BỆNH NHÂN


18
ENTERING A ROOM.
Another enters with a briskish step,
usually accompanied by "I fear I am late;
I had not an idea of the hour; I hope I
have not kept you waiting very long."
This person looks round for smiles, for ac-
knowledgements; bows rapidly and circu-
larly; squeezes his host's hand; steps
up boldly, but respectfully, to the lady of
the house,-sometimes shakes hands with
her; fidgets, as it were, until he is brought
into play; then attitudes himself for a mo-
ment, and casts a beam of mirth around
him. This is either one who is whispered
all round the room to be a pleasant fellow,
a wit, a table light, one who will be looked
to for a joke at dinner, one whose attic salt
is to give a relish to the feast; or he is a
character for whom all are prepared; or
lastly, he is the friend of the family, or a
young, not overbearing patron.
A third lounges in, and lisps and drawls
out his answers; holds one finger to his
landlord, as if loth to be too kind; and
bows to the lady of the house as if an ex-
quisite was the very gas of a brilliant circle,


ENTERING A ROOM.
19
and as if he felt that he must be every
where welcome. Very little interest is
created by such a doll, which is impor-
tantly to fill a chair, in all the plenitude of
emptiness.
A fourth bashfully hangs back; enters
slowly; waits to be met, and to be brought
forward in the circle; directs his glance
and the profound inclination of his head to
the host and hostess; taking his chance
for gaining friends afterwards by gentle-
ness, obliging attention at table, and humi-
lity; or perhaps looks meekly at the donor
of the feast, and glides away into a corner,
into the embrasure of a window, or a
situation remote from the foreground
figures of the picture. This character you
may set down for a man of modest worth;
perhaps an artist who has yet his fame to
build, one who is there for the first time,
or else an unfortunate protégé, a voter at
an election just secured, or a poor relation.
Lastly, we may observe a very quick-
stepped, over civil, circularly smiling, wise
looking, mysterious eyed, obsequious, grave


20
ENTERING A ROOM.
dressed man in black, with a sufficient
number of seals and rings, white hands,
and often with a powdered head, canvass-
ing every eye for notice; who will applaud
every thing which you say, laugh before
the joke be concluded, often look at his
watch, be called out, or take French leave.
This is either an author of doubtful rank,
a clergyman of somewhat too complaisant
habits, or the physician of the family.
There are a hundred other kinds of en-
trances, too tedious to mention. I have,
however, confined myself to men only; as
female fascinations speak for themselves,
and as all women in high life enter a draw-
ing-room in pretty much the same way;
a little more or less consequence, a little
more or less diffidence and freedom from
mauvaise honte, being the only shades
of difference; at least all others are so
minute as to have escaped, hitherto, the
penetration even of
THE HERMIT IN LONDON,


;
;
A PATRON.
PATRONS, in days of yore, were men of sense,
Were men of taste, and had a fair pretence
To rule in lettera :-some of them were heard
To read off hand, and never spell a word.
Our Patrons are of quite a different strain,
With neither sense nor taste; against the grain
They patronize for fashion's sake-no more!
99.66
CHURCHILL.
GENIUS, like the beautiful flowers which
adorn the garden, requires culture and the
sun of patronage: without these, how-
ever rich the soil, it will pine and wither in
the shade of neglect. Some talents there
are, like those of the immortal Burns,
which may be considered as field flowers,
as the mountain daisy, cheerfully "glinting
forth" above the storm," or the wild vio-
let, which wastes its sweetness on the
desert air." But these are few in number.
For the most part, where genius puts forth
66
1


22
A PATRON.
the blossoms of promise in a young mind,
some kind patron—a nobleman, a clergy-
man or a man of science, not unfrequently
the honest schoolmaster of the village,
cultivates the tender plant, by bestowing
education on the growing capacity; and,
at a future period, it depends on the great
for support, and for being brought to
maturity.
There is not indeed a nobler office than
that of patronizing talent in every branch.
It is often done from the purest motives of
philanthropy, and a love for science; but
still oftener from pride or the desire of
flattery; for, not unfrequently, a laboured
panegyric, or a florid dedication, will ad-
vance the author's fame and fortune more
rapidly and more effectually than seven
years' literary labours, or than gli più belli
concetti of the poet or the artist.
Protégés are of three classes,-the man
of talent, author, artist or professional man,
-the useful man, who, under the title of
a secretary, or an humble friend, writes his
patron's letters, publishes something in his


A PATRON.
23
name, makes his speeches for him, and
directs his mind, when obstinacy, or self-
sufficiency does not mar his good inten-
tions, and the paltry shade of quality, the
trusted dependent on rank and power, who
makes himself a jackal to an ass, instead of
to a lion. The last character is too con-
temptible for remark; while the other two
are praiseworthy for their exertions in the
field of wisdom, though often to be pitied
for the sacrifice of independence, which
they are called on to make at the shrine
of imperial ignorance, or of illustrious
haughtiness. Talent, however, ought sure-
ly so far to elevate the possessor, that the
man shall become ennobled by the bright
gem which he wears in his mind; as we
often see titled insignificance raised into
importance from the lustre of decorations,
by which alone the owner is recognized
and acknowledged.
Many of our nobility and rich men are
fond of being the patrons of men of abili-
ties, whether foreign or native. That
those who encourage the former, often do
""


24
A PATRON.
it out of affectation, it is not unfair to sup-
pose: to the protectors of the latter, credit
ought to be given for sincerity, until they
forfeit it by their conduct. Of this num-
ber is my Lord Do-little. He has always
some protégé with him, and nothing can
flatter him so much as to recommend any
one to his notice; but his protection is not
that which impairs his fortune, or narrows
the source of any other of his enjoyments.
His Lordship's patronage floats in a cup
of tea, or appears by its object being per-
mitted the honour of sitting at the foot of
his table. It rewards by his distinguished
condescension in leaning on the artist's
arm, or by his allowing the poet or the
historian to occupy a back seat in his car-
riage.
The protégé of this nobleman may hope
to be elevated by being introduced to people
of the first rank and fashion; but it will
be only by name, and his vanity may enjoy
the same unsubstantial feast on being fami-
liarly nodded to, or shaken by the hand, if
met in public, by his Macænas. So fond,


A PATRON.
25
however, is Lord Do-little of this patron-
izing system, that you never meet him
unless supported by an author or an artist;
nor ever visit him without seeing modest
merit in a neglected corner of his room;
whilst he is reading letters of recommen-
dation in favour of some one who seems
panting after the very lot which Cowley so
forcibly expresses his abhorrence of, when
he says―
"Is there a man on earth I ought to hate?
"Attendance and dependence be his fate."
More than one man of letters has waited
on his Lordship's walking and talking
hours, until he found his money spent, and
his wardrobe worn out, by living without
turning his talent to account, in hopes of
the Peer's putting him in the way of doing
and by dressing for dinner, or, more
frequently, for a morning walk (to the
great destruction of boots), in company
with the great man whose shade he was.
And more than one artist has lost his time,
and forfeited opportunities of benefiting
so;
C
VOL. I.


26
A PATRON.
himself, whilst listening to the encouraging
conversations of the Peer, attending his
levée, and expecting some sapient sugges-
tion, or powerful interest which might
introduce him to royal patronage; or at
least insure his celebrity with the public.
My friend, Dr. Dabble, is a very different
patron. Made an LL.D. at an early pe-
riod, and gifted with a fine estate, he has
set himself up for the promoter of learn-
ing, and the patron of science; but his pa-
tronage is not the mere warmth of a tea-
pot, nor does it evaporate in a morning
walk, nor can it be covered by a plate at
table. He deals in solids-extracted, how-
ever, not from his own pocket, but from
the paper currency, or the metallic sub-
stances of his friends and acquaintance.
It is dangerous to meet the Doctor, unless
you have money about you for which you
have no use; for his pockets are crammed
with addresses, prospectuses, tickets for
benefits, and plans or drawings of some
architectural pile, which is destined to rise
from the earth; whilst his house is like an
-


A PATRON.
27
auction-room for antiques, statues, paint-
ings, drawings, cameos, books and goods,
to be disposed of, for the benefit of their
respective owners.
66
Do, my dear fellow, give me your
guinea for this splendid work; here is a
prospectus; it will be printed in the first
style of perfection;" or "I must have you
put your name down for this book of
drawings, just about to be published;" or
"I have set you down as a subscriber to
Mr. Polyphrase's readings;" or "You are
the very person I wanted to meet; you are
so popular, so generally acquainted, that I
am sure you will get me off half a dozen
tickets in a raffle for a cameo, or for such
a man's benefit."
Such is the constant language of the
learned Doctor, who spends his time in
giving audience to artists and authors; in
being the porter of their plans and cards
in the streets; in negociating for them
with booksellers in the morning, or puff-
ing their respective abilities at evening
parties. All this costs him personally very
c 2


28
A PATRON.
little except his labour; in giving which,
by the by, there is merit; and, at the same
time, it amuses and occupies him, and
gains him the name of a patron, which he
considers to be a very desirable distinction.
"" 66
He is however so well known, that he
often fails in his endeavours to serve; for
if you see him fumble in his pocket, you
know he is about to bring out "proposals
for printing," "6 plan of an extensive col-
lection of
prospectus of a work
to be published by subscription," or some
such pocket-pistol, which he means to fire
at your bank note; so that many of his
acquaintance fly from his approach, and
some are even scandalous enough to report
that he has an interest in these specu-
lations, beyond the mere pleasure of en-
couraging merit.
-
Such is the character of these two Pa-
trons of the Arts. Others there are, how-
ever, although the number be but few,
who are the pure encouragers of science,
the promoters of knowledge, and the dis-
tinguished cultivators of talent. Insensible
#
"


A PATRON.
29
to flattery, the only pride of such men is to
see the success of those who owe their
outset in life to their generous and bounti-
ful assistance. Friends to wisdom, and to
mankind, they dedicate a great part of their
fortune to the support of indigent talent,
to drawing merit from the shade of adver-
sity, or from obscurity of situation, and to
enriching the republic of letters.
It is to such men that statues are due.
Their names deserve to be written in letters
of gold, to be chronicled here with sages
and with heroes, and to reign hereafter in
immortality; for they are the pillars on
which wisdom and virtue lean, they are
the support of growing genius; without
them, a world of genius and science would
fall to the ground uncultivated and un-
known; and I trust that, amidst the praise
and gratitude which is their due, they will
not reject the humble tribute offered them
by
THE HERMIT IN LONDON.
c 3





TOO LATE FOR DINNER,
........
........
Parthis mendacior.
Sed non ego credulus illis.
HOR.
VIRGIL
THIS circumstance is a matter of chance
or misfortune to some people; an affair of
affectation and bad habit in others; but a
practice, from whatever cause it may arise,
of continual occurrence in the beau monde,
although evidently at variance with true
politeness.
Young Woodville, an acquaintance of
mine, an Exquisite of the first class, in the
way of magnificent living, splendid equi-
page, and well-appointed establishment, is
conspicuous for this failing. I think I see
him this moment, flying out of his chariot,
\—the grey horses arriving at a break-neck
c 4


32
TOO LATE FOR DINNER.
pace, a knock like thunder announcing
him at the door,-and affecting himself to
look overcome and chagrined on entering
the apartment where every one is either
just seated, or just finished the first course.
His general plan is, on presenting him-
self at the dining-parlour door, to withdraw
as it were, to join his hands, elevate his
shoulders, make a slight inclination of his
body, or a shake of his head, as much as
to say, "this is very bad indeed; an't I
incorrigible? most abominable for late
hours? always engaged-always run away
with by pleasure-never in time any where !
But quite the thing-monstrous agreeable
-pardoned by the ladies-every where
welcome." The pantomimic representation
is followed by a demonstration of his very
white teeth, rather than a smile; and then,
shaking hands with his friend at the bot-
tom of the table, or giving him a gentle
tap on the back (if an intimate), ogling all
round, glancing at all the beauty and
fashion in the, room, he proceeds with
much confidence to the seat allotted to


TOO LATE FOR DINNER.
33
him, disturbing, and apologizing to, as
many as possible, in his way towards the
head of the table.
His hacknied excuses in general are,
"Upon my life, I don't deserve to be par-
doned; yet I reckon on your ladyship's
indulgence; I never was so mistaken in my
life; it was six when I was talking about a
horse, to the duke, at Tattersall's; the
moment that I discovered it, I gallopped
home at the risk of upsetting a score of
plebs, and took only ten minutes to dress
and get here" "Upon my soul, I beg
your pardon; 'tis too bad I know: " or
"I know not on earth how to apologize
for my seeming rudeness; but I did not
get home from the quadrille ball until seven
o'clock; could not close my eyes for two
hours; let my watch go down; and have
gone wrong all day since:"." Upon my
honour I had not an idea of its being so
late by an hour; but I know your good-
ness, and that you'll excuse me; you know
me; the very worst head in the world;
never could calculate time or money; you
c 5


34
TOO LATE FOR DINNER.
know that, Sir Charles; I have always
twice as much to pay as I expected, and am
always an hour or two later than I intend-
ed;" and an insipid laugh closes this mis-
statement. Or else it is, "Do forgive me;
it is not my fault; I wish the House of
Commons was annihilated; I went in
with my brother, and could not move until
half-an-hour ago; dressed all by guess,
and almost half in my carriage; I never
was so put out in my life."
Now all these excuses are nearly as old
as himself, known to all his acquaintance,
worn out as to effect, and wearing out the
patience of every one concerned; yet does
he think this bad habit quite an accom-
plishment, and prefers it to the chance of
entering a half-filled apartment in proper
time, or to being mistaken for a man of
exactitude and order. Many of his female
acquaintance, who are fearful of dinner's
suffering from his neglect, or who are not
dazzled by his good looks and affectation,
have relinquished his presence at their
tables on this account; but still he will


TOO LATE FOR DINNER.
35
not submit to the dull five minutes before
dinner, and thinks it stylish in the extreme
to be always in a great hurry, gallopping
out of the park, or dashing up to your
door, as if on business of the last impor-
tance. Hence he has acquired the nick-
name of the late Mr. Woodville; and so far
is he from being ashamed of it, or corrected
by the charge, that he seems to pitch his
ambition at a still higher mark, and aspire
to be called latest among the late, as Mar-
shal Ney was termed "Le brave parmi les
braves."
I need not add that he is incorrigible:
and well he may be so; when one lady
holds out her hand to him at the head of
the table, crying, "Sit down, madcap; I
wonder you did not come in at the desert:"
another exclaims, "Ah! Woodville, are
you come so soon?" a third, in answer to
his practised, easy, and insincere apolo-
getical tricks, says, "sit down, never
mind; we all know you; you (with a stress)
are a privileged man for late hours: have
you seen the young dowager?"
c 6


36
TOO LATE FOR DINNER.
4
All this, Woodville thinks, adds éclat to
his course through fashion's airy circle.
He fancies, and often with truth, that
very young tendrils of fashion, the scions
of elegant and extravagant stocks, admire
him for his foibles, commend his assurance,
and extol his vanity. His practised weak-
nesses so often gaining indulgence, he be-
comes an habitual defaulter at dinner, and
he would not know how to take his chair
without an excuse. How prettily he looks
and answers to Lady Mildway, when she,
with a suavity peculiar to herself, observes,
"My only regret is, that the soup will not
be worth your tasting, although Mercier
(the cook) pleases you in general; and that
the fish will be neither hot nor cold."
"Upon my life," lisps the youth, “you
overpower me with goodness; it's my own
fault if either be the case; but if you
would expiate my enormity by taking half
a glass of Madeira with me, I should feel
much more comfortable; for I really am
horrified at coming so uncommonly late:"
(habitually ought to be the word).
*


TOO LATE FOR DINNER.
37
All these minor manœuvres lend a false
interest to Mr. Woodville, which he has
'usurped, which indulgence has admitted,
which youthful inexperience tolerates, and,
which ignorance admires.
Lord Livre-Rouge, whose only superio-
rity is his place in the Red-Book, his name,
style, title and designation in the Court
Kalendar, is another of these dinner-
spoilers, these abusers of good-nature,
these violators of good manners, these
usurping coxcombs, who wish to soar
above even the circle of elegance and good
company, by coming last, by being waited
for, by deranging a party, and by creating
a sensation, as they swagger, seemingly
confounded, to the first places at the tables
they have so long kept waiting for them.
My Lord, however, has not Woodville's
good humour, none of his simpers and his
smiles, no false humility, no submissive
pride: he makes you wait as a matter of
course, and takes his place as a matter of
right. He sometimes seems to look sur-
prised, and motions a regret at deranging


38
TOO LATE FOR DINNER.
a whole party, but it is with a self-approv-
ing deportment. He will tell you, that he
is that moment arrived from Derby, or
from Newmarket, or from the Upper
House, in which however he takes much
less interest than at the winning-post of
either of the other places. He wishes you
had not waited: but it is very easy to per-
ceive that he would never have forgiven you,
if
you had not. He canvasses the respect
and attention of the family; and is morti-
fied in the extreme if he finds himself in
the minority. Every glance of his claims
applause and every civility caricatures
condescension. He dines with you for
form's sake; comes late for fashion's sake;
stops as long as it suits himself; and takes
French leave, without heart or interest in
your party.
:
Sometimes he will say, with a superior
and saucy tone, "Indeed, my dear Mrs.
So-and-so, I am sure you think me very
rude in coming so late; but it was with
difficulty that I came at all: I put off five
engagements for your's; and I left a dozen


TOO LATE FOR DINNER.
39
things undone, and people dissatisfied,
sooner than disappoint you." Or, by way
of being jocose, "I dare say your French
cook wishes me at the Antipodes for spoil-
ing his fricassée or his vol au vent, his
omelet or his macaroni; but I had a hard
matter to get here at all-only I hate send-
ing excuses."
The prevalence of these late dinner visit-
ors is such, that there is quite a struggle
betwixt the makers of banquets and the
eaters of them, who shall be latest in their
hours; and, as was said by an Irish gentle-
man of my acquaintance, who has crossed
the Channel to nod and monosyllablize, in
the House of Commons, annually since the
Union, "Upon my faith people are getting
so much later every year in their hours,
that I should not at all be surprised to find
dinner put off until the next day."
The givers of parties are so afraid of
having their delicacies spoiled, that they
know not how late to make the hour of
meeting; and yet the rival party, the guests
of fashion, all emulating each other in haut


40
TOO LATE FOR DINNER.
"
ton, struggle who shall come last, who
shall cut in for the last moment, who shall
drive up last to the door, who shall make
the most dignified, graceful apology, in
which a multitude of engagements, their
parliamentary duty, general dissipation,
their break-of-day habits, or their horse-
racing, or other laudable pursuits take
the lead; and, until some very high autho-
rity give a contrary example, this evil will
increase daily. Yet how pitiful, how
stupid are these excuses, founded in folly
and untruth.
If you fall in with a man of fashion in
Rotten Row, he will deign to go down the
ride once, or once and a half with you; but
when tired of you, out comes his watch,
he looks all wonder, he is astonished at the
lateness of the hour, and he must leave
you. He goes off in a hard canter; and,
in five minutes more, you see him walking
his horse by the side of a new acquaintance,
aş leisurely and insipidly as if he did not
know what to do with his time, and hailed
any company in preference to study or
·


TOO LATE FOR DINNER.
41
solitude. From the second picked-up com-
panion he escapes as from you-" is sorry
he must leave him or her; has a particular
engagement;" yet returns to the charge,
and skirmishes among the trees, with a
fourth, fifth, or sixth ; or perhaps he passes
you unnoticed, with a greater personage
by his side, or gives you a slender acknow-
ledgment, a bow which bespeaks an air of
protection.
I confess that I like punctuality myself,
and that, but for fashion's sake, I would
adopt it in its utmost exactitude. I have
however so often been shewn into a study,
by an astonished and astonishing puppy out
of livery, and had a parcel of pamphlets,
novels, and new publications put before
me about half-past six o'clock, with a look
of "who can you be, to come so very
soon ?"
so often been in the drawing-
room with only officious slaves stirring up
the fire, presenting me a newspaper already
read, and looking contempt at me for
coming in time to read it; so often
beheld my Lord dismount his horse, and


42
TOO LATE FOR DINNER.
SO
proceed to dress, after I had come fully
prepared to dine in ten minutes;
often heard a groom of the chambers, in
a practiced accent and a haughty voice,
inform me, that he dares say his master or
his mistress would soon be in; that
I have got nearly as incorrect, in keeping
time, as the rest of my circle.
Nevertheless, I commend and highly
esteem the principle and plan of the late
immortal Lord Nelson, who held prompti-
tude of measures and exactness in time as
most valuable qualities, and who, when he
recommended a tradesman to send off some
articles for him so early as six a. M.,
on the
man's saying, "Yes, my Lord, I will be
on the spot myself by six o'clock," mildly
touched him on the shoulder, and, with a
very significant look, added, "Mr.
a quarter of an hour before, if you please."
The tradesman seemed astonished; but
stammered out, "Surely, my Lord, if you
wish it; yes, a quarter before six; yes, a
quarter before, instead of six!" "Right,"
said his Lordship, "it is to that quarter
66
--


TOO LATE FOR DINNER.
43
before the time that I owe all the good I
ever did."
The more we consider this remark, and
weigh it with the activity and decision of
our late naval hero, the more inestimable
it appears. But my readers are just as well
able to appreciate this as I am; and "je
reviens à mes moutons," by saying, that
if I could get others not to be too late for
dinner, they should never have that fault
to lay to the charge of
THE HERMIT IN LONDON.





:
HYDE PARK ON A SUNDAY.
Round, round, and round-about, they whiz, they fly,
With eager worrying, whirling here and there,
They know nor whence, nor whither, where, nor why;
In utter hurry-scurry, going, coming,
Maddening the summer air with ceaseless humming.
FRERE.
"I WISH there was not such a thing as
a Sunday in the whole year," said my
volatile friend Lady Mary Modish: "A
fine Sunday draws out as many insects,
from the butterfly of fashion down to the
grub-worm, from courts leading out of
Bishopsgate Without, or Bishopsgate With-
in, as a hot sun and a shower of rain can
produce in the middle of June. The plebs
flock so, that you can scarcely get into
your barouche without being hustled by
the men-milliners, linen-drapers, and shop-


46
HYDE PARK ON A SUNDAY.
boys, who have been serving you all the
rest of the week. Bad horsemen and pe-
destrian women, parés à outrance, ultras
in conceit and in dress, press you on every
hand; and yet one cannot be at church all
day, nor make a prisoner of one's self be-
cause it is Sunday. For my part, I am en-
nuyé, beyond measure, on that day; and
were it not for my harp and a little scan-
dal, there would be no getting through
it at all."
3
The carriage now drew up to the door,
and her ladyship proposed that I should
take a corner, and go down the Park just
once, with her and her younger sister,
merely, as she said, "to shew her friends
that she was in town."
"What legions of counter coxcombs !''
exclaimed she, as we entered Grosvenor
Gate. "The tilbury and dennet system is
a great convenience to these people. Upon
the plunder of the till, or by overcharging
some particular article sold on the Satur-
day to a négligente, who goes shopping.
more for the purpose of meeting her


HYDE PARK ON A SUNDAY.
47
favored swain, than for any thing which she
wants to purchase, it is so easy for these
once-a-week beaux to hire a tilbury and an
awkward groom in a pepper and salt, or
drab coat, like the incog. of the royal fami-
ly, and to sport their odious persons in
the drive of fashion. Some of the mon-
sters, too, have a trick of bowing to ladies
whom they do not know, merely to give
them an air, or pass off their customers for
their acquaintance.
"
There!" continued she, "there goes
my plumassier, with fixed spurs like a field
officer, and riding as importantly as if he
were one of the Lords of the Treasury.
There again is my banker's clerk, so stiff
and so laced up, that he looks more like an
Egyptian mummy than a man. What
impudence! He has got some groom out
of place with a cockade in his hat, by way of
imposing himself on the world for a beau
militaire. I have not common patience
with these creatures.
"I have long since left off going to the
play on a Saturday, because, independent


48
HYDE PARK ON A SUNDAY.
of my preference for the Opera, these in-
sects from Cheapside, and so on westwards,
shut up their shops, cheat their masters,
and font les importans about nine o'clock.
The same party crowd the Park on Sun-
day; but on black Monday return like
school-boys to their work, and you see
them with the pen behind their ear, calcu-
lating how to make up for their hebdoma-
dal extravagancies, pestering you to buy
twice as much as you want, and officiously
offering their arm at your carriage door."
At this juncture, Mr. Millefleurs came
up to the carriage, perfumed like a mil-
liner, his colour much heightened by
some vegetable dye, and resolved neither
-
to blush unseen,' nor to waste his
C sweetness on the desert air.' Two false
teeth in front shamed the others a little
in their ivory polish, and his breath sa-
voured of myrrh like a heathen sacrifice,
or the incense burned in an ancient tem-
ple. He thrust his horse's head into the
carriage (I thought) a little abruptly and
indecorously; but I perceived that it gave
$


HYDE PARK ON A SUNDAY.
49
no offence. He smiled very affectedly, ad-
justed his hat, pulled a lock of hair across
his forehead with a view of shewing, first,
that he had a white forehead, and next, that
the glossiness of his hair must have owed
its lustre to at least two hours' brushing,
arranging, perfuming, and unguenting. He
now got his horse's head still closer to us,
dropped the rein upon his neck, hung half
in and half out of the carriage, with his
whip stuck under his arm, and a violet in
the corner of his mouth, a kind of impu-
dent stare in his eyes, and a something
half too familiar, yet half courtly, in his
manner.
"What a beautiful horse!" said Lady
Mary. "Yes," replied Millefleurs," he is
one of the best bred horses in Europe." I
must confess that I thought otherwise, for
I did not admire his head being so close to
my face; "and," continued he, "the best
fencer in Europe." This accomplishment I
had myself formerly excelled in; but I was
ignorant of its having become a part of
equine education. I urged him to explain,
VOL. I.
D


50
HYDE PARK ON A SUNDAY.
and amused him at my own expense very
much. He, however, was polite enough to
instruct my ignorance; and informed me
that he was a high-couraged horse, and
one of the best leapers of fences that he
had ever seen. Lady Mary condescended
all this time to caress the horse, and to
display her lovely arm ungloved, with
which she patted his neck, and drew a
hundred admiring eyes.
:
The Exquisite, meanwhile, brushed the
animal gently with a highly scented silk
handkerchief, after which he displayed a
cambric one, and went through a thousand
little minauderies, which would have suited
an affected woman better than a Lieutenant
in his Majesty's brigade of Guards. Al-
though he talked a great deal, the whole
amount of his discourse was, that he gave
only seven hundred guineas for his horse;
that his groom's horse had run at the
Craven; that he was monstrous lucky that
season on the turf; that he was a very bold
horseman himself; and that, being engaged
to dine in three places that day, he did not


HYDE PARK ON A SUNDAY.
51
know how to manage; but that, if Lady
Mary dined at any one of the three places,
he would cut the other two.
At this moment, a mad-brained Ruffian of
quality flew by, driving four-in-hand, and
⚫ exclaimed in a cracked, but affected tone,
"Where have you hid yourself of late,
Charles?" "I have been one of his Ma-
jesty's prisoners in the Tower," said Mille-
fleurs; meaning that he had been on duty
there; and, turning to Lady Mary, in a
half whisper, he observed, ".Although you
see him in such good form, though his
cattle and his equipage are so well appoint-
ed, he got out of the Bench only last week,
having thrown over the vagabonds his
creditors: he is a noble spirited fellow, as
good a whip as any in Britain, full of life
and humour, and I'm happy to say that he
has now a dozen as fine horses as any in
Christendom, kept, bien entendu, in my
name: but there are wheels within wheels."
He now dropped the violet, kissed his
hand, and was out of sight in two seconds.
“A fine young man!" said her Ladyship.
D 2


52
HYDE PARK ON A SUNDAY.
I bowed assent, and offered her some Eau
de Cologne which I had about me, as a
corrective to the scent which her taper
fingers had gained, by patting the well-
bred fencing horse." Alas!" thought I,
"this young rake has made his impres-
sion!" Lady Mary has a fine fortune, and
I am sorry to see her thus dazzled by this
compound of trinkets and cosmetics, who,
deeply involved in his circumstances, will,
in a short time, squander a great part of
her property.
But Mr. Millefleurs is a
complete Merveilleux: and that is quite
enough for my volatile friend.
Looking after him for a half minute, she
perceived a group of women in the very
last Parisian fashions. "There," said she,
"there is all that taffeta, feathers, flowers,
and lace can do; and yet you see, by their
loud talking, and their mauvais ton, by
their being unattended by a servant, and
by the bit of straw adhering to the petti-
coat of one of them, that they have come
all the way from Fleet Street, or Ludgate
Hill, in a hackney coach, and are now


HYDE PARK ON A SUNDAY.
53
trying to play the women of fashion. See
the awkward would-be-beau, too, in a coat
on to-day for the first time, and boots
which have never crossed a horse."
Mrs. Marvellous now drew up close to
us. "My dear Lady Mary," said she, "I
am suffocated with dust, and sickened with
vulgarity; but, to be sure, we have every
thing in London, here, from the House of
Peers down to Waterloo-house, and the
inhabitants of the catch-penny cheap shops
all over the town. I must tell you about the
trial, and about Lady Barbara's mortifica-
tion, and about poor Mrs. O's being
arrested, and the midnight flight to the
continent of our poor Dandy who
arrived in an open boat, our borough
member ruined, his wife exposed, strong
suspicions about the children, young Wil-
loughby called out, thought slack, pre-
tended that he could not get a second,
Lavender upon the ground—all a hoax.”
$
Here she lacerated the reputation of
almost all her acquaintance, and I per-
ceived that to this part of her conversation
4
D 3


54
HYDE PARK ON A SUNDAY.
the serving men attached to both carriages
were most particularly attentive. When
she drove off, I observed to Lady Mary,
that "I thought people of quality were
not sufficiently cautious of speaking be-
fore their servants, and that they owed
to themselves and to polite society more
care in this particular." She gave a slight
toss with her head, and said, "Oh! they
know nothing about amours and high life;
they can't understand our conversation."
I was, however, quite of a different opi-
nion, in which I was afterwards confirmed.
Our Exquisite now came up to the car-
riage a second time, with some Concert
tickets, which he wished my fair friend to
take; and he looked, as much as to say,
"Thou art a happy dog, old gentleman!"
A telegraphic signal passed; and he said to
me, "I just met Sir Peter Panemar, the
Nabob, and he swears that there is the
most beautiful Spanish woman that ever
looked through a veil, this moment gone
into the garden. It is said, by the by, that
she is protected by a certain peer; but I


HYDE PARK ON A SUNDAY.
55
believe her to be a rich diamond mer-
chant's wife. The whole Park is in a
blaze about her."
I am a great amateur, I confess. A
lovely picture is worth contemplating;
but my designs go no further. I suspect-
ed, however, that this was an adroit ma-
nœuvre to get rid of me for a time. I
therefore requested permission to alight
for the purpose of looking into the garden.
This was cheerfully agreed to; and Lady
Mary promised to wait until I had feasted
my eyes on the fascinating Incognita. The
happy swain then offered to take my place
until I returned; and this arrangement
seemed to please all three. Our Exquisite
entangled his spur in her Ladyship's
flounces; but it did not discompose her in
the least. I recommended chevaux de frise
in future, at which she laughed; and the
step was let down for me.
Arrived in the gardens, I sought la bella
senora in vain; and am even now uncertain
whether I was hoaxed or not, although
D 4


56
HYDE PARK ON A SUNDAY.
our Exquisite most solemnly protested that
the Nabob had seen her.
I sat down for a moment on the low
wall, and heard the scandal of the liveried
tribe. "How does your coat fit you, Sir
Jerry?" cried one footman to another:
"You'll only have to try it on. I once
lived with your old mistress, and she was
determined that I should not eat the bread
of idleness; for I never got a moment's
amusement whilst I was in her service.
She sacks the card-money; measures out
her provisions like a nip-cheese purser of
a man of war; notes down every thing in
her own account-book; and if you can
make a guinea besides your wages, I'll
allow you to eat me roasted: but you'll
not be long there, though the old man is a
good-natured fool enough, deaf and drunk-
en, snuffy, but never out of temper."
Much more was added; but this was quite
enough for me, Another scoundrel insi-
nuated something concerning a fellow ser-
vant of his and a lady of high rank, which
almost induced me to cane him.
*


HYDE PARK ON A SUNDAY.
57
At my return to the carriage, I delicately
hinted a part of what I had heard; but it
had no effect: neither had the tearing of
the lace flounce, nor the want of principle
of the young four-in-hand buck : all seem-
ed to pass with her Ladyship as matters of
course in high life. And yet she is vir-
tuous, prudent, and well principled: but
she is far gone, as Mrs. Marvellous calls
it, and I am sorry for it.
Six o'clock now called us to dress, and a
third succession of company arrived, who
all appeared to have dined, and on whose
cheeks sat the flush of punch and other
strong liquors. In these groups were chil-
dren drawn by dogs, or by their papas, in
little chairs; others in arms; fat landladies,
tall strapping wives, and tame submissive
husbands-the emblems of domestic drill
and petticoat subordination. Every insect
of fashion flew off on fancy's wing, at the
appearance of le tiers état.
And now commenced the pleasures and
the labours of the toilette, which I leave
D 5


58
HYDE PARK ON A SUNDAY.
my fair friend to indulge in, convinced
at the same time qu'elle aura des distrac-
tions, though she may not communicate
them to
THE HERMIT IN LONDON.


ON THE RAGE FOR IMITATING
FOREIGN MANNERS.
Why, is not this a lamentable thing, Grandsire, that we
should be thus afflicted with these strange flies, these fashion-
mongers, these pardon-me's, who stand so much on the new
forms, that they cannot sit at ease on the old bench? O,
their bons, their bons!
ROMEO AND JULIET.
WHAT can an Englishman gain by being
mistaken for a foreigner? What can he
propose to himself, at home, by showing off
foreign conceit, foreign affectation, and fo-
reign grimace? Why, he expects, thereby,
to gain the reputation of a travelled, and
consequently highly informed man. The
grounds, however, of such a reputation are
to be obtained without the gesticulations of
mountebanks, without making our con-
versation an olio of all kinds of languages
and quotations, and even without assuming
a foreign accent, or foreign airs.


60
ON THE RAGE FOR
A scholar, whose mind is filled with
classic and scientific lore, is scouted in
polished circles, if he frequently indulge
himself in Greek or Latin quotations. You
may say, it is because he is not understood
by the majority of the company. Not at
all it is to be presumed that the majority
do understand him; but it is because he is
not understood by all-by the ladies, for
instance; and by the less classically educat-
ed among the gentlemen.
For the very same reason is an interlard-
ing of foreign living languages equally of-
fensive. Some of the circle may not under-
stand you. One nobleman speaks French,
but not Spanish; another understands
Spanish, but not German; a lady speaks
French and Italian, but understands neither
Spanish, Portuguese, nor German; whilst
the language which the impertinent cox-
comb wishes to show off in, is precisely
the one not understood: and, not unfre-
quently, it is selected for that very pur-
pose; the speaker having just sense enough
to be conscious of the shallowness of his


IMITATING FOREIGN MANNERS. 61
acquirements, even those he is most anxious
to display.
When foreign languages are spoken, or
even scraps of them interpolated in Eng-
lish conversation, with a view of facilitat-
ing our intercourse with a foreigner, the
object is amiable and praiseworthy; but
when such conduct is adopted merely for
the purpose of assuming something above
the circle in which we then move, or with
the view of showing the company how
much we know, it is truly unworthy of a
gentleman; and it appears contemptible to
a scholar and a man of taste, whether he
understand the affected prattler or not.
To communicate our ideas, it is necessary
to be understood; but to show off these
strange and silly airs, the very reverse is
desirable; and the non-intelligent has the
best of the bargain, by losing some flimsy
quotation, or some trite foreign trash, in
the way of quaint saying or common-place
remark.
. At the close of the continental war, no-
thing could be more ludicrous than our


62
ON THE RAGE FOR
military foplings masqueraded into the
dress, the language, and the deportment
of foreigners; and, what was worse, they
played these foreign parts with very se-
cond-rate abilities,-forgetting or omit-
ting, disfiguring or mutilating the cha-
racters. Thus had we, in our military
Exquisites, bearded or beardless, returned
from abroad, Spaniards without gravity or
religion; Italians with neither harmony,
finesse, nor genius; Germans free alike
from taciturnity or judgment; and French
puppies divested of playfulness and vola-
tility. It was enough that these mock
Germans had their pipes and their want of
polish; the Spaniards, their mustachios
and cigars; the Italians, their sensuality;
and as for the French, they were suffi-
ciently distinguished, in the opinion of
their representatives, by their snuff-boxes,
their contortions, and their obtrusiveness.
What an importation for Great Britain !
To be spit out, snuffed out, smoked out,
and put out of countenance, from morn
till night; and to hear grunts, nasals, and


IMITATING FOREIGN MANNERS. 63
"
gutturals, out of time and place, in French
and in German; or the more effeminate
lispings, sighings, and smoothings of the
Italian and Spanish languages!
Here we had an insipid cornet of horse,
leering and ogling con amore, abusing his
fair countrywomen, his climate and his
language; and it was "Pazienza per
forza, as we say in Italian," "Pian piano,
if you please;" or "Sin cumplimiento, as
we say in Spain,' muy obligato Senor,
as the Spaniard says." In another place,
we had a more elderly but not less affected
militaire, all German, all smoke, tobacco,
spurs and waltz, who could find nothing
in his own country worthy of notice.
99.66
Sometimes was to be seen a schoolboy
of one campaign, swelled into an Alexan-
der the Great, who could talk of nothing
but of military movements, and who was
enfilading the company, turning your
flank, outmarching you, advancing in
échelon upon you, and doing every thing
en militaire, except making a masterly and
steady retreat, which would have been the
•
1
1
B
1
"


64
ON THE RAGE FOR
wisest and the most agreeable of all.
This dashing character would tire you to
death with the shredwork of continental
languages, and with military manœuvres;
from the advance of the army, and get-
ting engaged, to the taking up of a new
position, and there bivouacking all night;
so that his hearers heartily wished him to
remain in that situation, or to join the
reserve, of which he seemed to stand much
in need.
F
But not to the brave defenders of our
country, however coxcombical, are these
failings alone to be attributed: our no-
bility and men of fortune and fashion are
equally culpable in this respect. An Irish
Earl, now no more, returned from his,
continental tour perfectly unintelligible.
He would ask you, in broken English, if
he made himself understood by you; and
he never framed a sentence that was not
at least half French. A certain Marquis
has the very air, accent, appearance, and
expression of an Italian; and he marshals
his foreign servants before you, merely to
5


IMITATING FOREIGN MANNERS.
65
show you how much he is above being an
Englishman. Some, and very illustrious
personages too, are so Germanized, that
you are in danger of forgetting that they
drew their first breath in this country; and
thus they lose a portion of the national at-
tachment which, but for their disguise,
would every where fall to their share.
Then we have women all à la mode de
Paris-all broken sentences of French and
English-all shrug, humpback, stooped
shoulders, quick short step, and quadrille
anticks. These ladies are quite proud of
having breathed the air of Paris; and un-
less you can talk with them of the Thuil-
leries and the Champs Elisées, of the Pa-
risian promenades, theatres, and perform-
ers, if you have not every moment Made-
moiselle Mars, Messieurs Talma, Vestris,
Gardel, and Beaupré, Mesdames Clotilde
and Chenigny, the singers Lays, Derinis
Lavigne, Madame Amand, and all the
corps du Théâtre Français, the corps
d'Opéra, and the corps de Ballet, they
turn their backs on you, and treat you as a
-


66
ON THE RAGE FOR
rustic, as a superannuated being, or an
ultra-tramontane.
A few weeks trip over the water quite
metamorphoses our youth of both sexes';
giving them a most usurped and unjust
tone of superiority, and unfitting them for
home and British society. These indivi-
duals also herd together, form waltz and
quadrille parties, and imagine that they
have a right to be leaders of fashion and
models of taste; whilst their dress is un-
graceful, their manners extravagant, their
language imperfect, their morals often im-
paired, their talents generally confined,
and their conduct always ridiculous.
❤
One would imagine the English language
to be quite rich and various enough to ex-
press our thoughts without interlarding it
with any other forms of speech; yet our
Exquisites and Insipids, our unintelligible
belles, and pert half-educated Misses,
cannot explain themselves without "the
foreign aid of ornament;" and, therefore,
they inform us that, in spite of such and
such an occurrence, they preserved their


IMITATING FOREIGN MAnners.
67
sang froid; that they treated the affair with
the utmost nonchalance; that it was une
affaire du cœur, or, une affaire de goût. If
asked how they will act, they will faire
leur possible, or, faire l'impossible (which,
by the by, they wish to do), with a million
of other hacknied French phrases, that de
not express the object alluded to one jot
better than plain English would do.
Add to these things the ah bahs! the
tout au contraires, the point du touts, and
a few more phrases of this kind; with the
starts and the shrugs, the elevations of
shoulders, the shakings of heads, the writh-
ings, the convulsions, and the puppet-show
tricks of features; and you will have the
whole language and manoeuvres of the
pseudo-learned and accomplished ones,
who have introduced foreign manners into
our native soil.
The mistakes, too, which they make,
are additional proofs of a want of judgment.
Why does the Frenchman add such stage-
effect to his words? Because he doubts
that the simple matter of fact will be


68
ON THE RAGE FOR
credited by you; or because his impa-
tience and volatility bring into action all
his resources at the same moment; or be-
cause, voluptuous and intriguing, Madame
brings language, eyes, gestures, and limbs
into play, as if she were bringing all her
artillery to bear upon the enemy at once;
or, finally, because both wish to deceive
you, to divide your attention, and find this
powerful diversion quite necessary.
In hot countries, speech is often abridged,
and action becomes its auxiliary; and for
this reason a Neapolitan, for instance, is a
complete player at pantomime. The fo-
reigner adds telegraphic and pantomimic
signs, to imperfect and almost unintelligi-
ble language: and yet John Bull, who must
be understood by a countryman, thinks
the imitation of this, smart, well-bred, and
fashionable. Italian and other foreign per-
formers writhe and contort their figures,
in order to give effect to their fine cadences.
ad libitum; and, therefore, a boarding-
school Miss cannot sing a common English
ballad, without drooping over the keys of


IMITATING FOREIGN MANNERS.
69
her piano, bowing and waving about, giv-
ing her eyes a die-away expression, and
practising a thousand little affected fool-
eries.
It is objected to the English, that they
have a want of action and expression in
conversation,—a want of play of counte-
nance, and elegance of attitude: but this
I deny. If you go into the higher circles,
the fact does not exist. Where do you find
persons of family, and of high polish, ad-
dress you with their back turned to you,
with their arms folded across, or their hands
in their pockets? Where is the inquirer in
genteel life, who asks a question without
an inclination of the head? or (if a lady
in particular) without a gracious and grace-
ful smile? Does a gentleman ever speak
to you with averted eye, stern countenance,
or surly gloom? Do we not assume re-
spect when addressing the higher dignita-
ries of the state? And is there any well
educated man who does not adapt his coun-
tenance and demeanour to his company,
and to the subject and situation of the time;
2


70
ON THE RAGE FOR
without finding any dislocation of muscles,
any convulsion of limbs, any broad stare of
the eye, or violent disguise of the counte-
nance, at all necessary?
Dignity and composure, with a look of
mind, and an air of reflection, best befit our
national character. The fairer sex has a
natural and peculiar softness, serenity,
and gentleness of expression and deport-
ment. When we depart from these, we
lose by the exchange, and we accept of
the counterfeit in return for the sterling
material.
爱
​.
But whilst these are national character-
istics, there is no need for the male to ap-
pear all coldness, stoicism, and apathy;
nor for the female to have that look of a
dreaming sheep, un mouton qui réve, which
our impertinent neighbour has bestowed
upon her. In our language, also, if a dis-
passionate judge do but visit our higher
circles, he will find it chaste, classical, ex-
pressive, and correct: so much so, that a
person must possess no patriotism, who
finds it requisite to borrow, either in ges-


IMITATING FOREIGN MANNERS. 71
ture or in diction, from any other country;
and, if he really do wish to improve the
former, it can be effected only by consult
ing, not the French and Italian living
models, but the Greek and Roman im-
mortal ones, which still live in the statues
of antiquity.
I cannot conclude without mentioning
the intolerable affectation of a certain
Exquisite, who is the most conceited piece
of English manufacture, disguised and
varnished over with plaster of Paris, and
other materials, that I ever knew. He
asserts, that not one Englishman in a
thousand knows how to take a pinch of
snuff like a gentleman! and that it takes
twelve months to learn the art! yet he has
contrived to acquire this useful and or-
namental accomplishment in about one-
twelfth of the time! He may think him-
self an object of universal admiration, on
account of the polish he has gained by his
travels, but I can assure him he is one only
of contemptuous pity, at least to
THE HERMIT IN LONDON.


!


ON
GUARD FOR THE FIRST TIME.
For he made me mad,
To see him shine so brisk, and smell so sweet,
And talk so like a waiting gentlewoman.
--
SHAKESPEARE.
"HOPFMAN,* wake me at six o'clock to-
morrow morning, or I shall never be in
time for guard (pronounced affectedly
gard!);—and I say (in a slow conceited
tone), let me have the last boots which
Hoby made me
Welling-
not the
ton's; nor the dress boots; nor any of the
six pair in the closet; nor the iron-heeled
ones; but the last ones with copper heels;
-and I say, be sure to use the blacking
made after Lord R's receipt, which
comes to so much money,-that which has
* A German valet de chambre.
VOL. I.
E
——


74
ON GUARD FOR
marasquina in it, and oil of lavender, and
about twenty other things, and has such a
superior polish ;-and I say, fetch home
my regimental jacket from Scott; -and I
say, see that it is well padded on the
breast (it gives a martial air) and well
stuffed on the shoulders, so as to give me
my natural look of strength;—and I say,
lay out the pantaloons that were made by
the German soldier, under the patronage
of Prince Vanstinkerstein; not those made
by the leather-breeches-maker, nor any
whatever made by my three English tai-
lors; and I say, put two handkerchiefs
in my regimental jacket, a cambric one,
and one of my Barcelonas ;—and I say,
perfume them well, and let me have my
gold snuff-box with the sleeping beauty on
it, which the Italian took me in so for;
not the gold embossed one, nor the gold
engine-turned, nor the gold antique box,
nor the silver gilt, nor the one which I
bought at the Palais Royal;-and I say,
order my tilbury to take me down to the
gard; for I shall otherwise get my boots


THE FIRST TIME.
75
dusty, and might be run against by some
coal-porter or sweep, and have my French
scarlet cloth soiled; besides, one looks
heated and flustered, after a long walk
from Harley Street to the Parade, instead
of coming cool into the field;-and I say,
I'll wear the twenty-guinea gold chain
round my neck with my quizzing-glass ;
and you must bring down my silk night-
gown and Turkish embroidered slippers,
in order to astonish the weak minds of
mes camarades; and I must have my back-
gammon-board pour passer le tems, and
my poodle dog to play with; and you may
take a coach and bring my violoncello
with you, and my writing-desk, that I may
write billets doux in order to soften the
hardships of war;—and I say, I must have
the cedar box of cigars, my gold cigar
tube, my German bag, some scented to-
bacco, and my écume de mer pipe; 'twill
pass an hour, and it looks so soldier-like
to smoke on gard;—and I say, I must have
a cambric chemise with the collar highly
starched for dressing-time-one of those
that look like winkers, and you may bring
E 2


76
ON GUARD FOR
the other regimental jacket-either the
one made by Scott, so nicely pigeon-tailed,
or that made by Weston; and I must have
my musical snuff-box for dinner; you will
put Prince's mixture in it, and high dried
in the other; and you'll bring my light
morocco boots for dinner, with soles as
thin as a wafer ;-and I say, I shall begin
to dress at five or half after, for it is too
warm to hurry one's-self; and I must have
my hair brushes, and my razors (for which
he had very little use), and damask nap-
kins, and rose-water for my eyes, and all
my soaps, and some white wax for my
nails, and all my paraphernalia set in
gold, with my crest on each article, in
my best dressing-case; and I say,
"Meinher !" "Nothing; you may go
away now; but be sure to awaken me at
six. What a bore gard is!"
""
Here ended the colloquy betwixt a young
cousin of mine and his servant; and al-
though he called being on gard" a bore,"
yet he was delighted with this debut, and
quite captivated with "all the pomp and
circumstance of war." Thus mounted he


THE FIRST TIME.
77
his first guard, and gave me the following
account of the manner in which he spent
his time.
"I walked up and down St. James's
Street and Pall-Mall forty-four times; sent
my servant home for my stop-watch, and
made a calculation of the time which it
took to go from Hoby's corner to the St.
James's; looked in at Parslow's, and lost
some money at billiards; my hand shook
so, that I was obliged to drink some Cu-
raçoa, and take three ices afterwards to
cool myself; spoke to two-and-twenty
pretty women, and bowed to fifty car-
riages, by which I got a stiff neck; hung
on to Lady Mary's carriage facing White's
for just twenty minutes, and was envied
by the whole street; played a tune on my
violoncello, and amused myself a whole
hour by my repeater, in teaching my
poodle to do his exercise with a cane, and
to smoke a pipe, in order to fit him for a
military life; read the Racing Calendar,
and a table of odds at betting; looked into
the Horse-Guards, and found a rascal
E 3


78
ON GUARD FOR
dunning my friend Bellamour; kicked the
fellow down stairs, and took a hit at
backgammon; treated my brother-officers
on gard with some liqueurs; dined, got
half-and-half, looked in at some gambling
shops, came off minus ten guineas :-lucky
enough! for at one time I was out a hun-
dred; met Lord Somerfield and Dick
Dandy in the hands of the watchmen;
drew my sword like a man, and put the
raggamuffins to flight; saw the sun rise
in St. James's Park,-beautiful, by Jove!
wrote a dozen billets doux, and made as
many appointments, not half of which I
shall keep; bivouacked (very like bivou-
acking!) for an hour on three chairs;
smoked a pipe, which did not agree with
was relieved (by the guard be it
understood); came home, and slept until
dinner-time."
It will be unnecessary to comment on
the useful life of my young cousin, and
on the active nature of his services. He
is, however, very young, very good heart-
ed, but, unfortunately for him, very vain


THE FIRST TIME.
79
and very handsome. I have often done
every thing in my power to break him of
being such a puppy; but it is all in vain.
He holds the last generation very cheap
indeed, and laughs at the old school, and
at myself as much as at any of them.
I endeavoured to point out to him how
idle such a division of time was, and that
even on guard a man might do something
useful and ornamental; that he might read
improving books in and out of his profes-
sion, draw, play on some instrument, and
learn languages; and that tactics, histories
of campaigns, and mathematics would be
most exemplary lessons for these occasions.
But my exquisite cousin seemed to think
that "all that" was impossible in London,
and far beneath a Gardsman; adding that
the Gards behaved as well in the field as
any men; that it was time enough to study
when a man was going on actual service,
and that he was as well pleased with his
first gard as if he had returned home
covered with glory.
E 4


80
ON GUARD FOR
He considered himself as now completely
launched into high life, and as having re-
ceived the last stamp of fashion by being
an officer in the Guards. He assured me,
that he was looked upon as a very hopeful
recruit―a very prime fellow, by his bro-
ther officers; they said that he had nothing
of the fresh man-of the greenhorn, about
him, and that he was as much the thing as
if he had been a redcoat of a twelvemonth.
He, furthermore, informed me that his
liqueurs were very much admired,—that
he had been offered a pony for his German
pipe, which cost him sixty guineas from
the famous Mr. Hudson, and was a splendid
article, that he had had fifty guineas bid
for his musical snuffbox,--that he had
given a dozen receipts for his superior
blacking, that his taste was generally
admired, that Poodle was considered as
very little inferior to le Chien Munito,-
and that he had received a score of invita-
tions, and was to be proposed as a member
of all the best clubs in town.
-
-


THE FIRST TIME.
81
The plain English of all this is, that my
poor cousin is newly enlisted under
Fashion's banner, is a recruit of pleasure,
an aspirant of sensuality,-that he is about
to become the imitator of the great, and
the dupe of gamblers,-that his mode-
rate fortune is marked down for a finish,—
and that he is on the high road to ruin.
The peace is an unlucky circumstance for
him, since actual service and going abroad,
years and experience, would be the only
cure for his fashion-fever-the only check
to his extravagance, for he pays no regard
to the lectures of
THE HERMIT IN LONDON.
E 5





TIME AND WEDLOCK,
Such is the common process of marriage. A youth or
maiden meeting by chance, or brought together by artifice,
exchange glances, reciprocate civilities, go home and dream
of one another. They marry; and discover what nothing
but voluntary blindness had before concealed; they wear
out life in altercations, and charge nature with cruelty.
DR. JOHNSON.
SAUNTERING Up May-Fair, I perceived a
name on a door which reminded me of an
acquaintance whom I had not seen for five
years. At that period he was at Weymouth,
where a very lovely girl (I shall call her
Caroline) also was, with her family, for the
purpose of sea-bathing. Venus, when she
rose from the wave (I must choose a meta-
phor suited to the scene), could not shine
brighter in youth and in beauty's pride
than she.
E 6


84
TIME AND WEDLOCK.
My friend, who now lives in May-Fair,
was deeply enamoured of her, and com-
mitted more extravagancies in the way of
courtship than ever I had heard of before.
He would pass half the night under her
window, serenade her, write verses on her,
sit alone at a ball unless he danced with
her : he would fire with rage when any
male accosted her; and I actually saw
tears in his eyes on her standing up to
dance with a handsome young naval
officer. He must have written, I sup-
pose, about a ream of paper, in billets
doux; and he fought two duels on her
account.
Caroline was not much less romantic
and impassioned than himself. She used
to pass whole days in his society, walking
and rambling together; she wore his pic-
ture concealed; had every thing marked
with his hair; wrote to him daily, although
they met twice in that day; and rendered
herself conspicuous, as his amante, to the
whole town.


TIME AND WEDLOCK;
85
His father, who had a very large for-
tune, was averse to his marrying a poor
baronet's daughter, who made one of five
children; and the opposition on this oc-
casion added strength to their flame. Re-
straint and prohibition form the fuel of
love, and greatly increase the combustion.
I was made the mutual confidant of the
youth and the lovely maid, and was en-
trusted as a mediator between the two
families.
My friend assured his father that he
would commit suicide, if he were not
allowed to marry the girl of his heart; and
Caroline made a vow of perpetual celibacy
if she were not to have the youth of her
choice,-adding, that "the thread of life
could not be very long, since her heart
must break without him."
The affrighted parents consented to the.
match, and the happy couple were united
in Hymen's bonds. They started in a
chaise and four for Devonshire, there to
pass the honey-moon. On their road, they
wrote me a joint letter, in which they
- ' སཙྪཱ


86
TIME AND WEDLOCK.
called me "their more than father, their
best of friends, the author of their felicity,
and one for whom they never could do
half enough."
At this juncture, the bride was sixteen;
and the bridegroom, about two and twenty.
Since then the father of the latter has paid
the debt of nature, and left his son in
possession of a very fine fortune, the only
thing apparently wanting to the young
couple's unequalled felicity.
How they lost sight of me, their more
than father, I am at a loss to account for;
but I believe that they spent nearly a
twelvemonth imparadised in each other's
soft society in Devonshire, and were three
years on the Continent. I had heard that
fortune had blessed them with a family;
and I anticipated a most interesting and
happy meeting.
66
The servant who opened the door, had
lived with his master for ten years, and
immediately recognized me. My master
and mistress will be delighted to see you,
Sir," exclaimed he, on beholding me, and


TIME AND WEDLOCK.
87
flew up stairs, his eyes beaming with joy,
to announce me.
I found the enamoured pair seated on
each side of a Pembroke table: the lady
was drawing a pattern for an embroidered
flounce; and the husband had his elbow on
the newspaper, and was perusing a num-
ber of accounts.
Five years had given maturity and fulness
of beauty to Caroline; nor had that period
made any material alteration in her spouse,
who was, and is, a handsome man. But
the cast of features of each was wholly
altered. Hers used to be by turns the
sportive, the lively, the frolicksome, the
arch, the tender, and the impassioned: it
was now the wholly and solely pensive
and interesting. Once it inspired ad-
miration now it called forth sympathy
and regret.
His were the features of
devotion, of enthusiasm, of furious and of
uncontrolled love: now they were the out-
lines of asperity, discontent, satiety and
disgust. What a change! What could all
this mean!


88
TIME AND WEDLOCK.
At her knee stood a child of three years
old, playing with some flowers; and
another was in a nurse's arms, archly ad-
miring itself in the mirror, and slapping
its reflection with its chubby little hand.
"Of all people in the world, our old
friend!" exclaimed the husband, in
an adagio tone of more gentle surprise
than lively exultation.
"How do you
do ?" said Caroline, rising hastily, and
shaking me by the hand; whilst her eye
was momentarily lit up, her colour came
and went, and her lip quivered, as if strug-
gling with some inward feeling :
I am
very glad to see you," continued she; but
the joy was a moderate movement.
66
66
"Here you see me," resumed the hus-
band, quite an old married man, with
the cares of the world, and a parcel of
brats about me; I have two more, besides:
these articles." "Articles!" said I; "most
lovely creatures," kissing the head of the
one nearest to the table; "I think I never
saw two finer children." "He does not,
think so," observed Caroline, laying such a
لمي


TIME AND WEDLOCK.
89
stress on the word he as signified, he alone
ungrateful!"No," replied he; "if my
friend knew how noisy, how perverse, and
how troublesome they were, he would be
of my opinion." The more like a cer-
tain person," retorted Caroline.
66
Here the youngest of the children broke
an expensive mirror with a key. "D-n
the child," angrily exclaimed the hus-
band; "she is always doing some mis-
chief. Take her out, nurse.' At this
unlucky moment, a sudden whirl-about of
the little boy Henry, attracted by the
fracture of the looking-glass, caused him
to knock the inkstand upon the pa-
pers, the table, and a white cambric
pocket-handkerchief. Take this little
devil out, too;" roared he out to the
servant. "And me with him," inter-
rupted Caroline.
"What a monster you
are to curse your children! I wonder you
do not throw us all out of the window !!!"
66
Here she burst into tears; and turning
to me, said, "I beg your pardon for thus
receiving you after so many years separa-
""


90
TIME AND WEDLOCK.
tion; but it is not my fault. You once
knew me happy: now I am the reverse.
Some men do not deserve to have fine
children, but"-her speech failed her, and
she left the room.
66
I could not help reproaching her hus
band with my eyes, and saying, in a
sterner tone than I am wont to use,
Sir,
I am sorry for all this." He perfectly un-
derstood me; and, looking confused and
chagrined, replied, " Faith and so am I, my
good friend; I am sorry that I d-d the
child; the idea was furthest from my
heart; believe me" (assuming a mild
strain, and laying his hand on my arm)
"that I love my children; aye," (the tone
was doubtful)" and my wife too; but they
are so troublesome, and she is so extra-
vagant and fond of pleasure, that it almost
turns my brain. Look at all these bills."
"And you," observed I, in a half kind,
half angry tone, "are so hasty that you
drive Caroline from your presence, and
from your confidence, to seek for amuse-
ment elsewhere: pleasures are expensive;


TIME AND WEDLOCK.
91
and thus do love, time, confidence, and
money melt away together. But," (chang-
ing the subject) "how long have you been
in town? where is your wife's family?"
with many other trivial inquiries unneces-
sary to mention.
I then took occasion to praise Caroline's
work, and to observe, a second time, what
lovely children his were. "The work,"
said he, "is well enough, but she thinks
of nothing else. Her dress-makers, her
milliners, and her lace-merchants ruin me.
When a man" (continued he in a preaching
tone) "marries beauty only, he weds a
shadow instead of a substance, and "-I
was out of patience with him so I looked
at my watch and departed; observing, that
I hoped he would, by kindness, remove
the harsh impression which he must have
made on his lady's mind, and that when
next we met, all would be harmony and
happiness.
I saw through the whole business. The
possession of an assemblage of charms had
been the only object of this Orlando Fu-


92
TIME AND WEDLOCK.
rioso in love; novelty was passed, and his
natural bad temper had resumed its sway.
His wife was weak, and easily captivated
by dress and paraphernalia; and she had
no kind mentor, no indulgent partner, to
disengage her from the chain of pleasure,
and win her over to a matron-like life.
My readers may imagine that such a scene
did not place the attractions of matrimony
in a very strong point of view to a bache-
lor like
THE HERMIT IN LONDON.


f
THE FATIGUE OF PLEASURE.
Strenua nos exerçet inertia...........
Whom call we gay? that honour has been long
The boast of mere pretenders to the name.
HOR.
COWPER.
I WAS at Lady Modish's rout the other
night. Just as I was leaving the principal
drawing-room, I met Mr. Bellamont. "I
shall be glad when it is over," said he;
"but do just let me pass you; I merely
want to make my bow to her Ladyship,
that she and the whole town may know
I have been here. I shall see myself in
the long list in the morning papers to-
morrow, provided I just make my appear-
ance, for I shall not stay two minutes. I
am jaded to death. It is now two in the
morning; and this is the fourth squeeze
which I have been at. But pray where is
her Ladyship?" I pointed her out to him.—
•


94
THE FATIGUE OF PLEASURE.
He looked as pale as a ghost; and seemed
so tired, that he could scarcely walk up
the great staircase.
, you
Her Ladyship was near the embrasure of
a door; just planted so that each person
might pass her. She made the same curte-
sy, the same smile, and nearly the same
speech to every one, namely, "
look so well that I don't ask you how you
do; but an't you late? will you go into
the card-room, or take a peep at the
waltzers?" This I heard about forty times.
She was extremely heated; and, after
standing four hours, was ready to drop
with fatigue. The very exercise of fan-
ning herself became a labour to her, and
lost its designed effect. She continued re-
ceiving company from eleven o'clock at
night until four in the morning. I in-
quired after her the next day, and found
that she was confined to her bed.
I myself went home in a fever; for I got
jammed in betwixt two rows of honour-
ables and right honourables; and in the
morning I found myself nearly deaf from


THE FATIGUE OF PLEASURE.
95
the buzz of the company, and the continu-
ous thundering sound of the knocker at
the door. The announcing and repeating
servants too were hoarse, and, at last, were
scarcely audible, from calling the names
of so many votaries of fashion, and movers
in high life. Many of the ladies fainted
away from the heat of the rooms; and Lord
Corpulent told me, that his sides were
black and blue from the elbows of the com-
pany, and that he never got further than
the second apartment the whole night.
Many visitors did not even see Lady
Modish, whose size is none of the great-
est; and the sole object of most of the
party was, to have it to say that they had
been there, and to appear in the columns
of the fashionable journals. Indeed it was
in the newspapers, more than in her Lady-
ship's splendid house, that her numerous
quality friends wished to be seen. And
yet this is pleasure! To go from one
house to another after midnight! to be
ready to faint with the heat of one party,
and to be squeezed to a jelly in another!


96
THE FATIGUE OF PLEASURE.
here to have a sight of the Prince, and
there to make your bow, and to repeat one
single common-place sentence to her Lady-
ship or to her Grace! to have the triumph
of answering in the affirmative, if asked if
you have been to a fashionable belle's
"At Home," and to be put down with all
the world, who, you are told by a lisping
Miss, or a chattering Countess, was at such
or such a one's splendid party! but, above
all, to get into the newspapers, and thereby
to get into fashion!
If it were not for the fashionable papers,
which appear at the breakfast-tables of the
great, we should not know that many peo-
ple existed. Their whole fame, their whole
celebrity, and their whole being, is there.
Not unfrequently do they contain the life
of a man of fashion and his biography :-
chronicled in the daily press as a frequenter
of all fashionable parties,-set down as
presented at court,-put in print for having
a horse run at Newmarket, or at the Der-
by,-gazetted as married,-stuck in the
miscellaneous columns for having a new
-
•


THE FATIGUE OF PLEASURE.
97
carriage, or for having given some prepos-
terous sum for a horse more celebrated
than the purchaser,-annually accounted
for in his arrivals and in his departures
from town (which, by the by, has its
inconvenience),-puffed in some way, di-
rectly or indirectly, by himself or by hired
writers, as a good shot, as having de-
stroyed so many head of game, as travel-
ling with a titled man, or some such very
useful and interesting circumstance,-
blazoned at the top of a crim. con. trial,
and made notorious for ruining a woman,
or betraying a friend,-next mentioned as
going abroad (a blind to creditors),-and,
lastly, being put in small letter amongst
law cases, as having been white-washed in
the Bench! Yet such is the love of plea-
sure and fashion, that no fatigue, no ex-
pense, no ruin, no exposure is spared to
gain the object of this vain and empty
-
ambition.
The last print is the death. But that
publicity flatters not the person named.
A thought of this last appearance in black
VOL. I.
F


98
THE FATIGUE OF PLEASURE.
f
and white, might greatly damp the ardour
of a novice in fashion's short race; yet
these same votaries of pleasure read over
that article, too, with well-bred calmness.
"Lady Mary, who do you think's dead?"
"Don't know." "Lord Foppington."
"Ha! why he was only fifty." "No;
but a hard goer." This is the sympathy of
fashion's airy circle; and the reader of the
paper passes apathetically on to, "Dear
me, who'd have thought it! we were
eight hundred of us at the Marchioness's
last night;" or, "Oh! I knew it would
come to that: Mrs. Lively is divorced ;” or,
"the Peer is wounded in a duel for an
affair of gallantry;" or to some other
equally amusing and equally moral subject.
-All this is pleasure!!! but it is plea-
sure that begins to pall upon
THE HERMIT IN LONDON.
-


FASHION IN DRESS.
New customs,
Though they be never so ridiculous,
Nay let them be unmanly, yet are followed.
……………….
HENRY VIII.
I OFTEN remarked, that my rattle-brained
cousin in the Guards had a new coat
monthly, and some novelty in the way of
a waistcoat weekly; that he changed his
cloths three times per day, and was never
twice seen dressed in the same manner.
The variety of his great-coats, driving
coats, tuniques, military great-coats, night-
cloaks, tartans, and pelisses, was surpriz-
ing. It puzzled me, to think how human
imagination could produce this Proteus-
like change of shape and appearance, and
I was at a loss to know who actually were
the leaders of fashion.
F 2


100
FASHION IN DRESS.
Referring to himself, I could get no
satisfactory reply. He merely observed
that he often set the fashion himself (which
I doubted, and I was right in my doubts),
and that moreover whenever he saw a
stylish fellow, a dandy, a noble, or a man
of fancy in dress, he followed his fashion,
particularly if it were expensive and ec-
centric, so that it would not suit the vulgar
herd, the lawyers'-clerk breed, the knights
of the bags, the 'squires of the counter, or
the half-price theatre crew, or any mecha-
nics, and Sunday bloods (such were his
words).
I was not satisfied with this; and I should
probably have been defeated in my re-
searches, had I not observed the shop of a
certain celebrated tailor to be always full
of customers, looking at new clothes,
which appeared to me to be different every
time that I saw them; whilst very respect-
able, well-dressed men, with a good ward-
robe, seemed to vary their fashions scarcely
oftener than once a year, or at the changes
of the season from hot to cold. I imparted


FASHION IN DRESS.
101
this remark to Mr. Bonton, an old fop,
who let me into the secret.
"There is," said he, "a combination of
the tailoring trade against the nobility and
fashionables of the country. The object of
this junto is to create new temptations to
expense for the elegants of town, at least
weekly; and to make themselves masters
of their habits, which this board of green
cloth, in council assembled, takes special
care shall be expensive ones. They fre-
quently play very mischievous tricks with
their customers by making them ridicu-
lous; but then each customer so hoaxed
misleads another, and no one knows who
is at the head of these affaires de toilette.
"Thus this committee sometimes sew
up the corpulent customer in a sack, until,
betwixt his stays and his tight garb, he is
in danger of rupturing a blood-vessel, and
is under great difficulty of respiration,
puffing and blowing like a grampus, and
being ready to burst asunder the bonds
imposed upon him by his tailor, who first
imprisons his body in this garb of slavery,
F 3


102
FASHION IN DRESS.
and afterwards probably lodges it in the
Fleet, or the King's Bench; where retalia-
tive measures are taken by the prisoner,
and Snip is thrown over, thus over-reach-
ing himself. I remember seeing a most
illustrious personage in one of these tight
shells; his corpulence protruding in all
directions, and his skirts flying off so as to
make a very strange exposé of a prominent
part of his figure.
"These fellows occasionally make the
whole town pigeon-breasted or martin-
tailed. At one time, a man's frock be-
comes his little great coat, and is as loose
as perhaps the general habits in high life:
at another, he is cur-tailed to a jacket; or
elongated in imitation of the tailor's bill.
One day all is starch; and the next day we
are all men in buckram.' A distin-
guished Exquisite is padded all over to-
day; and all the other foplings are, on the
morrow, mere walking pincushions. A
prince requires confinement in his limbs;
and all his subjects are immediately re-
strained within the same limits.
6


FASHION IN DRESS.
103
"The tailors who recommend these ab-
surdities never avow them as their inven-
tion, but always add, that his royal high-
ness, his grace, his lordship, have all given
them extensive orders for the very same
thing; and old and young are new-mo-
delled and metamorphosed accordingly.
"Thus, one day, the back is to be as
broad as an Irish chairman's, and the
shoulders to be bolstered up to imitate a
hod-man; and the next, the shoulders are
to be flat, and a man is to be pinched in,
and laced up, until he resemble an earwig;
or he is to be so totally masqueraded by
Snip, that, betwixt the long skirts of his
great coat, fur embroidery, tassels, olivet
buttons, pigeon breast, and pale face, you
may mistake a decent young man for a
very indecent young woman.
"All these are Master Snip's ma-
nœuvres, who contrives to make his bill
equally long, whether the spencer or the
bang-up box-coat be in vogue; whether
he live (by clipping) on the skirts of the
town, or whether he wrap up his cus-
F 4


104
FASHION IN DRESS.
tomers in the greatest amplitude of cloth
and linen. But it may be well briefly to
state how this is done; for there are two
modes of practising these tricks of trade.
"The first method is, by persuading
some great man (from the prince to the
private gentleman, if a supposed leader of
fashion), that such a dress becomes him
exceedingly; that he looks most capti-
vatingly, either lost in a dozen capes, or
with his neck emerging from a flat collar;
that his chest is so broad and so fine, that
the coat buttoned right across it will show
it to the greatest possible advantage; or
that a single-breasted hunting frock gives
him a most irresistible appearance of
youth, elegance, and activity. Instantly
are all forms and shapes clad in this be-
coming coat, which at any rate cannot
become all, and, perchance, becomes
none; but it becomes the fashion, at all
events, and that is enough for the vender.
"The second plan is, to make a fancy
suit of clothes, in confederacy with the
rest of the fashionable tradesmen, and to


FASHION IN DRESS.
105
expose it, nor bashful, nor obtrusive'-
not for sale in a shop window, but just
finished on the counter. The lover of
novelty beholds it, and it draws and im-
pels him, just as the red rag acts upon the
flock of geese. If he pass it by at one
place, his lounging arm-companion per-
haps takes him into another, where they
are probably both taken in. Then this
same model is seen at every expensive
tailor's in town; and therefore it must be
the fashion.
6
"Dear me,' drawls out an extravagant
Insipid, 'I thought that long waists were
in fashion.' So they were last week,'
replies a flippant Snip, but we can't
make them too short now,' (a strong em-
phasis on the now). Then he names the
nobleman for whom the one on the coun-
ter is made, and a dozen lords and mar-
veilleux who have just ordered the same
pattern and swallowed the same bait.
The Insipid instantly declares, that he
never made so unaccountable an oversight
as not to observe that it was the fashion;
(
F 5


106
FASHION IN DRESS.
says, that he must go to an assembly to-
night, where he cannot possibly be seen
without such a coat; and conjures Snip
to send him one in the evening. He then
actually appears in it, to the astonishment
of all who see him—the very first who has
been induced to wear such an article!
His example however is followed; and
Snip's purpose is served.
"It would be endless to enumerate how
frequently and how suddenly these changes
of fashion are rung upon the credulous.
Certain however it is, that the tailor is the
fashion-maker for the men, whilst the
dress-makers and milliners practise the
same arts upon the ladies.
"There is, however, another trick of
trade. It is, to force new clothes upon
fashionably-dressed men, because, by mul-
tiplying such models, the copies are mul-
tiplied of course. Moreover, when the
extravagant cannot pay, he must play the
tailor's game, by making other dupes pay
it, who take the new fashion in imitation
of the declining Exquisite."


FASHION IN DRESS.
107
Thus ended my friend; and I was quite
satisfied of the truth of his remarks. I
was now determined, more than ever, to
adhere to my own formal, grave, and
convenient mode of dress; but I cannot
help acknowledging, and lamenting, that
we are more regarded by our coats than
by our characters, and that if a man be
not in the last fashion, he must content
himself with holding the last place in the
beau monde.-The late Colonel M
>
when expiring from his wound received
in a duel, regretted that he had spoken so
arrogantly to his antagonist (the cause of
the quarrel), and assured the valiant
knight, his second, that he did not take
his antagonist for a gentleman until it was
too late, merely on account of his having
a coat of the last year's fashion."
Would that, before he drew such conclu-
sion, he had consulted
66
on
THE HERMIT IN LONDON.
F 6





THE
NEW MEMBER OF PARLIAMENT.
Tous les hommes sont fous, et malgré tous leurs soins,
Ne diffèrent entre eux, que du plus et du moins.
BOILEAU.
"WELL, Stephen," said I to an old ac-
quaintance, "how are you to-day?" "Con-
sidering existing circumstances," replied
he, "I am pretty well." "What circum-
stances?" said I. "Oh!" answered he,
"nothing but the pressure of business, a
general correspondence, letters innume-
rable to answer, precedents to examine,
friends to oblige, and so forth.
odd!" thought I; "a merchant's son-a
stupid one too-plenty of money—as lazy
as a sloth! what can all this mean ?"
“Very


110
NEW MEMBER OF PARLIAMENT.
I sat down and glanced my eye over the
paper, whilst he stood leaning on the left
haunch, the right foot advanced, his head
a little inclined towards me, his right hand
clenching a two-penny post letter, and
rounded like some of the bad statues in
our squares, his left hand thrust into the
pocket of his pantaloons, and his whole
figure displaying a studied attitude! He
now looked in the glass, dropped the letter
as if he was presenting it to some one,
stood upright, thrust the right hand into
his breast, and faced me like an over-
grown image, or a full length in a niche.
"What the devil is the matter with
you?" said I. "Order, order,” replied
Stephen, looking at himself in the glass.
"A little touched!" quoth I to myself.
"I remember hearing that his grand-
father, the bacon-man, died in St. Luke's,
that he left his son Roger a large fortune,
that Roger became a sleeping partner in
a mercantile concern, and left the profits
to this Stephen, who seems to be a noon-
dreamer."


NEW MEMBER OF PARLIAMENT.
111
Ste-
I took up the paper once more.
phen, the while, looked at a parcel of
letters, and smiled. Then assuming ano-
ther studied attitude, he faced his mirror
again, and paid me the compliment of lis-
tening whilst I read a few paragraphs
aloud; but I soon found he did so only to
give himself an opportunity of practising
the outward signs of parliamentary appro-
bation or disapprobation. When he dis-
liked the subject, he coughed and scraped
his feet; when he liked it, he cried "Hear,
hear." Upon my word," said I, "you
seem to be so occupied and so out of rea-
son, that I wish you a good morning." I
hastily withdrew; the young man remain-
ing fixed before his looking-glass. "Chair,
chair," I heard as I went down stairs.
66
Meeting an old servant of his, I said to
him, "I fear your master is not well: he
seems in a kind of hurry which is not
consistent with sound reason.
He was a
very silent dull boy when he was at the
Charter-House, and he now does nothing
but talk, and that very incoherently also."
66


112 NEW MEMBER OF PARLIAMENT.
"Law bless ye!" replied honest John,
"he is only a little overjoyed and proud.
He came home last night from Cornwall;
and he has done nothing ever since but
place the chairs like so many folk, walk in
and out of the room, practise how to take
a seat with a particular grace, rise up and
sit down again, screap us feet, and cough,
change us hattitoods afore the glass, cry
aye and noah! order! hear! hear!"-
"Very bad symptoms indeed!" observed I.
"That's not all," said John. "He takes
up a sheet o’peaper and fills it with nought
but us neame; and then he rung for I,
and when I came into the room, he made
me sit down in a high chair, and standing
up afore me with a quire o' peaper rolled
up in his hand, he muttered some gib-
beridge, called the blank peaper a rode
bill, and then bid me go about my busi-
ness. Now I knew that I paid all the bills
last week. Taking pity on him as I shut
the door, I opens it again and looks back,
saying, 'master, when will you have din-
ner?' "When the plebous question is


NEW MEMBER OF PARLIAMENT.
113
disposed of,' said he' at the division-
when the house is up.'"-" Aye, it's all
up with him," said I.
"Well, so thought I," cried John, laugh-
ing immoderately. "I thought as how
master was turned out a right fool at last;
but it's noah such a thing; he's only made
a parliament man of. As been down and
bought a burrough and every mother's son
in't; and us come hoame as pleased as the
pigs (a very suitable simile). The packet
afore him were franks; and he has rit us
name fifty toimes to practize (the word
syllabled, and the tize as long as my arm).
He has also spoiled a quire o' peaper in
writing to humself, with a large M. P. at
the end of us name.
for
6
"I mentioned master's madness to Lord
Liquorpond's scullion; and he told me
my comfort never to mind: it was only
a boyish frolic. Bless you,' says the
scullion, and he, sir, reads the debates
every day; 'let'en have his way; it's only
the glory of the thing-the impulse o' the
moment, when he comes to the house


114
NEW MEMBER OF PARLIAMENT.
he'll be as mute as a mack'rel."".
he were there now," said I.
Here ended John's account; and as I
was going out of the door, I heard Silly
Stephen call John. "John! John!" said
he, "run after the gentleman and ask if
he will have a frank? I have only received
one letter from my constituents, contain-
ing a publican's bill: it shall be laid on
the table. No; on second consideration,
it shall be thrown out. Therefore, John,
you see that I have lots of franks to give
and to receive, and if you want to write
to your friends, you may call upon me.
They may direct too to you, under cover
-mind, under cover, to Stephen
"
Esq., M. P. You know that I am now
returned."
66
"I wish
Mercy defend us! What a resem-
blance there is betwixt St. Stephen's
Chapel and St. Luke's Hospital!" thought
THE HERMIT IN LONDON.


SUDDEN CHANGES.
The wheel of life is turning quickly round,
And in one place is very seldom found:
The mid wife wheels us in, and death he wheels us out,
Good lack-a-day! how we are wheeled about.
OLD BALLAD.
"WHAT a host of blunders I have been
committing this morning!" said my rattle
of a cousin, the Guardsman. "Confound
me if I ever make another morning call,
or ever venture to talk upon religion,
politics, or any other topic but horse-
racing or drinking, as long as I live, I
have no doubt but that I shall be disin-
herited by my aunt, Lady Agnes; that the
General will never speak to me again;
and that the money-lending agent will
never advance me another shilling. The
devil is in the town! Such sudden


116
SUDDEN CHANGES.
changes, religious, political, and moral.
It is like an unsteady climate, for which
one has to alter one's dress half a dozen
times a day: a man requires a diary of his
acquaintance's actions, to regulate his
features and conversation by." "Who
on earth," continued he, "would have
expected my old aunt to have turned
methodist; the General to be a govern-
ment man; or the old rascal Tripartite
to be a moralist? Why, my aunt was the
gayest of the gay in her youth, and has
sat up all night playing at brag, and
drinking noyeau like a dragoon, for the
last twenty years.
The General used to
put you to sleep with his philippics against
the administration, bribery, corruption,
violation of the privileges of the people,
boroughmongers, the influence of the
aristocracy, and court favour. And as for
old Cocker (as I used to call him), he was
the hardest going old villain I ever knew,
and cost me many a headache when I
wanted a loan from him. Now, forsooth,
he is all honesty and morality."


SUDDEN CHANGES.
117
"What a reprobate you are," said I to
this scapegrace. "Not at all, Sir: but
hear my story." And here it may be re-
marked, that notwithstanding the dispa-
rity of years and the difference of habit
betwixt this giddy youth and myself, yet
as he has nothing to hope, and conse-
quently nothing to fear from me, and as I
loved him in his childhood, he tells me all
his adventures and all his scrapes.
6
"I had heard," recommenced he, " that
my aunt was verily ill, and I thought per-
haps that she was about to quit; so I
thought it was as politic to pay her a visit,
and to do the pretty, by shewing her a
little attention for a short time. How are
you, aunt?' said I, as I entered her apart-
ment: You don't look so ill (this was not
true; she looked very ill, which I thought
rather promising to me): pray what is
your complaint?'
It is what my physi-
cians call dyspesia,' replied she,—“ a de-
bility of the stomach, which is scarcely
able to perform its office; I have not eaten
an ounce of solid food' (she said nothing
6
1


118
SUDDEN CHANGES.
6
6
6
about drink) for this last fortnight: but
this,' continued she, laying her hand on a
folio bible, this is my food.' Rather
new diet, aunt!' answered I: 'no wonder
that you cannot digest it all at once: why
you don't think I can swallow that?'
What do you mean?' answered she, not
stomaching my remark. Why have the
Bethel and Ebenezer people, the Jumpers
or the Methodists got hold of you?'
'Peace, reprobate,' cried she; I am
under conviction.' Of what crime, thought
I to myself! but I saw it was in vain to
proceed. She gave me a very severe
lecture on leading an exemplary life, and
quoted Scripture at every sentence, accom-
panied by a turning up of her eyes, which
so alarmed me that I was glad to get clear
of her.
"From my aunt's I proceeded to the
General's, where, as I had a favour to
ask, I pretended (as usual) to be of his
opinion in politics, by way of giving him
an opportunity to grumble, and by that
means to gain my point. I began by


SUDDEN CHANGES.
119
abusing ministry, and by saying that we
were ruined; but I soon found that as my
aunt, who was under conviction, had re-
ceived a new light, so the General, who
was about to get into the House, had
embraced a new political creed. He had,
it seems, had an offer of a seat, on con-
dition that he should bind himself to a
certain line of conduct, and he had readily
agreed to these terms, from the vanity of
being a Parliament man. My diatribe was
therefore most inopportune. He contented
himself with observing, that men had a
right to change their opinions upon convic-
tion, and that as he felt his former notions
were erroneous, he was not ashamed of
saying that he had altered them. He added,
that he was sorry to see me so intemperate
in my politics, and concluded by observing,
that it was the duty of every military man
to strengthen the hands of government, and
that when he did not do so, he thought
that his sovereign ought to dispense with
his services. This was truly alarming to
one who had just embarked in a favourite


120
SUDDEN CHANGES.
profession: so I explained away in the best
manner I could, and withdrew, regretting
my unsuccessful hypocrisy.
"The want of cash now drove me to the
agent and money-scrivener, with whom I
have often been obliged to mispend an hour
in hard drinking, in order to bring him
into lending me, at usurious interest. I
found him (instead of being in a suit of
mourning, and his bald head powdered, half
tipsy, and a pen behind his ear) reclined on
a sofa, in a new olive coloured tunique, a
flaxen wig, white trowsers, and a white
hat, under which his purpureal counte-
nance, studded with topaz blotches, had a
very curious effect. He was, moreover,
perfectly sober. Well, old Cocker,' said
I, 'how are you to-day? have you had
your drop? and how's Peg?' (his house-
keeper.) Sir,' replied the old villain,
'you make very free; I have left off drink-
ing in a morning; and as for Mrs. Tripar-
tite, Margaret that was, I must have her
treated with the respect due to my spouse."
I remembered having treated her very often
1
C


SUDDEN CHANGES.
121
before; but I saw that the game was up
here also, for the old usurer had been mar-
ried that morning. I contented myself
with asking for a hundred pounds, by way
of bill at two months, for which I offered
ten guineas premium; but I was refused.
I therefore blew up the hoary humbug à la
Congreve. I told him he was an old hypo-
crite and an usurer; that I had too often
demeaned myself by my condescensions to-
wards him; that I regretted that I had
been so often his dupe; that in future I
should keep company better suited to my
age and my rank in life; and that Peg and
he might go to the devil their own way.
"Defeated thus at all points, I am come
to you for the loan of the sum in question,
which as a soldier and a gentleman I will
return you in two months. I shall not of-
fend you by talking of interest; but my
gratitude may be some compensation for
obliging me, and for laying out your money
for this short time. I shall make no pro-
mises, but I will try and be steadier; for
VOL. I.
G


122
SUDDEN CHANGES.
I know I am going a little too hard. And
now you have heard my whole story."
There appeared so much candour in this
relation, that I lent him the money; and→
he paid me honourably. There are many
instances of these fops in the dressing-room
being heroes abroad; and not unfrequently
rakes of twenty turn to something very
good in ten years after. Nor am I even
without hope that this youth may, one
day, be as steady a character as his cousin
THE HERMIT IN LONDON.
2


THE WATERLOO PANORAMA.
He that outlives this day, and comes safe home,
Will stand a tip-toe when this day is named.
SHAKESPEARE.
"I HAVE just returned with my uncle, the
General, from the Panorama of Waterloo,"
said Lady Mary. "He described the ac-
tion so well, that I really could see the Cui-
rassiers charge three distinct times, and
hear the Scottish Royals and immortal
Greys shout "Scotland for ever!" I could
see them hew in pieces the steel-clad war-
riors of France, could see Napoleon's coun-
tenance change at the operations of 'ces
terribles chevaux gris,' and could behold its
expression of consternation, as when, lean.
ing over the horse of his peasant guide, and
discerning the columns of Prussians ad-
G 2


124 THE WATERLOO PANORAMA.
-
vancing like a cloud in the horizon, he ex-
claimed, tout est perdu!
C
"So charmed was my uncle, that I ac-
tually began to fear that we should have to
pass the night on the field of battle, or to
bivouac somewhere in the neighbourhood.
So much, however, do I respect my elders,
and above all, the brave defenders of my
country, that I did not presume to inter-
rupt him in his progress over the gory field,
but striking my repeater as if by accident,
he perceived that it was six o'clock, and
that we were not dressed for dinner: he
therefore made some general observations,
and we withdrew. But I shall say no more
on the subject. I advise you to go and see
it it is well worth your while; and I trust
that the scene will have interest for a Bri-
ton a century hence, when we and when
our's are no more. Our heroes have ga-
thered their laurels in vain, unless the dews
of immortality, falling from on high, pre-
serve them: the brave but sleep, the cow-
ard perishes and is forgotten.' Here a
glow of heroism lit up her countenance,
>
""


THE WATERLOO PANORAMA. 125
and she appeared to me something more
than woman.
I now prepared to follow her advice; and
I went directly to the Panorama. The room
was crowded with company, and the repre-
sentation was just what she had described.
Luckily for me, I fell in with an officer of
the intrepid Scotch Greys, who gave me
much information on the subject that
corps covered itself with glory; and, of
course, no one was better able to describe
the battle, than one who had so much con-
tributed to its renown.
When the officer had concluded his ob-
servations, I retired to a corner in order to
observe the company. In all assemblages
of people, a spectator may learn much.
Here there were groups of all classes,
and feelings of as many descriptions :-the
man and woman of quality, proud to dis-
tinguish on the canvass some hero who
added lustre to their name,-the female of
sensibility, who heaved the deep sigh for
some relative or bosom friend left on the
bed of glory, the military spectator, who
G 3


126
THE WATERLOO PANORAMA.
had been an actor in the scene, and who,
pride beaming in his countenance, yet
wrapt in silence, looked on the representa-
tion of that awful and eventful reality,-or
the garrulous but worthy veteran, who saw
his own deeds of arms live again in the pic-
tured story, and who, bereft of an arm,
or leg, and leaning on a friend, indulged
in the gratifying account of what his coun-
try owed him, whilst,
"Thrice he routed all his foes,
"And thrice he slew the slain."
There also was the exquisite militaire,
youthful and blooming, affected and vain,
lounging with an air of sans souci, a tooth_
pick or a violet in his mouth, a quizzing-
glass either suspended round his neck or
fixed in the socket of his eye, seeming to
disdain taking an interest in the thing, yet
lisping out, "Upon my thoul, it's d-d
like, d-d like indeed,-yeth, that's just
the place where we lotht tho many men,-
it's quite ridiculouth, how like it ith."
What a contrast! so much valour, yet so


THE WATERLOO PANORAMA.
127
much feminine conceit, starch and perfume,
whalebone and pasteboard! It is, how-
ever, not less true, that these fops, who
take so much care of their pretty persons
out of the field, took no care of them in it.
Here were idlers looking at the action
merely as a picture; and there were vacant
countenances staring at nothing but the
company. In one place a fat citizen came
in merely to rest himself; and in another,
a pretty brunette of the second class, whose
only business was to meet my Lord. In a
third corner, I could see a happy couple
enjoying the short space previous to a per-
manent union, and who came here for
fashion's sake, or to be alone in the world,
and thus to escape the attention of a smaller
circle; for there exists a certain retirement
or solitude in crowds, known only to the
few. This couple took as much interest
in the battle of Waterloo as in the fire of
London.
At the entrance, were some jealous paint-
ers looking out for defects in the piece; and,
in the doorway, was a covey of beauties
G 4


128 THE WATERLOO PANORAMA.
surrounded by fashionables, who seemed
scarcely to know why they came there, and
enjoying nothing but their own conversa-
tion.
"What a squeeze at the Dowager's last
night !" drawls out a male coquette.
"Monstrous pleasant party at Lord Fop-
pington's!" lisps another epicene-looking
thing; "if," continued it, "the fat Coun-
tess had less rage for waltzing, and the old
Dandy would give up sailing through the
quadrille ;""or," (observed a British lady
clad in every thing from France, and co-
vered with folds of drapery, circles of rib-
bons and tucks, tier over tier of flounces,
and quillings of lace and puffings of all sorts,
in the directly opposite extreme to the
flimsy garments in which the ladies ap-
peared a few years since, as if they were
sewed up in a tight bag)—“ or if,” ex-
claimed she, "the Duchess's proud daugh-
ter, who seemed to doze through the
figure of the dance, and to look upon
all possible partners as beneath her, had
been absent."


THE WATERLOO PANORAMA.
129
"Not so with Lady Evremont," ex-
claimed a disdainful woman of quality
(whose short up-turned nose, step à la
Française, rapid delivery in discourse, and
fiery eye, bespoke heat of temper and
swelling of pride)," not so with her
ladyship! she thought herself the very
loadstone of attraction, and considered
dancing as a loss of time. I am sure if I
were her husband
"You would,"
interrupted an elderly Exquisite of sickly
composure, but of satirical dissatisfied as-
pect," you would do just what her
husband does, namely, not care sixpence
about her, but leave her to herself." This
produced a general laugh, but in the
moderate key of fashionable mirth; for the
whole circle was composed of her enemies.
-Why? Because she is beautiful.
66
""
"What brought you here, Sir George.?"
sighed out a languid looking widow of
fashion. "The attraction of your beauty."
"Stuff!" exclaimed the widow, in a
more animated tone, biting her lips (not
spitefully but playfully), and twinkling her
G 5


130
THE WATERLOO PANORAMA.
૮
eyes. "And
"And you, Major?" "A shower of
rain," replied the Hibernian. "Oh! then
I have nothing to do with your coming."
"Nothing, except (recovered Pat) that
whilst it rains without, you reign within,
in every heart and in every mind."
"None of your nonsense!" cried the Wi-
dow, putting her hand on his lips: "I
hate flattery-blarney I believe you call
it." "Just what you please; truth is
truth still, in English, Irish, or even
Dutch," concluded he. The lady ap-
peared delighted; but turning round to a
boarding-school cousin, endeavoured to
hide her satisfaction by saying, "I do hate
30 many compliments."
I extricated myself from this buzz of high
life, giving and receiving acknowledg-
ments from those of my acquaintance who
formed a part of the circle; and on my
exit, I perceived some wry faces and some
discontented looks at the door. These
were French people come over here, all
with a view of gain, in some shape or
other, but who sickened at any thing
1


THE WATERLOO PANORAMA.
131
which lowered France, avec ses armées
victorieuses, which so long gave laws to the
greater part of Europe, but could never
dictate them to us. As much was said by
the French, about their Légion d'Honneur
and Napoleon's Invincibles, as ever ancient
history has trumpeted concerning the
sacred battalion commanded by Pelopidas :
but I did not stay long to listen to them.
I left the Panorama more of a Briton
than ever I had, on many occasions,
considered myself as a cosmopolite; but
upon this one, I confessed myself to be
wholly an Englishman; and I was proud
of the title. Divers ideas of my country's
glory rushed on my brain at the same
instant and as I was sauntering along
the pavé of London, so eulogized by Vol-
taire as an emblem of our constitution, and
formed equally for the little and for the
great, I caught myself in a reverie, and
Ι
was actually muttering
:
"Soldiers, stand firm," exclaim'd the chief,
"England shall tell the fight."
G 6


132
THE WATERLOO PANORAMA,
my
From this brown study, I was awakened
by the ringing of a bell, and the cry of
"Dust, ho!" It was a good lesson of
humility, and brought me to a sense of my
own nothingness; but it was a very un-
welcome one to me in the heroics in
which it found me, and ill-suited the tem-
per of mind at that moment.
"Ah!
well," said I to myself, "Dust, ho! We
must all be dust at last; yes, we must all
come to that." The fellow rang his bell
again :-it seemed to have a more solemn
sound; it put me in low spirits; and I
could almost have wished him at Waterloo
himself, for charming away the "visions
of glory" which had begun to take pos-
session of the imagination of
THE HERMIT IN LONDON.
--


"
FEMALE CHARIOTEERS.
Sunt, quos curriculo pulverem Olympicum
Collegisse juvat: metaque fervidis
Evitata rotis.
HOR.
More than one steed must Delia's empire feel,
Who sits triumphant o'er the flying wheel,
And as she guides it through th' admiring throng,
With what an air she smacks the silken thong.
YOUNG.
AFTER waiting an hour at the Mount, for
an old officer returned from India, whom I
had not seen for many years,
I was pro-
ceeding across Bond Street, full of my dis-
appointment, and looking back to the
days of our childhood, when first our in-
timacy commenced. Filled with these
melancholy pleasing thoughts, I was al-
most stunned by the cry of "Hoy!"
I turned round, and perceived a groom
advancing towards me on horseback, and


134
FEMALE CHARIOTEERS.
a curricle coming on me at the rate of
nine miles per hour. The female cha-
rioteer pulled up with difficulty; and, in
doing so, quite altered the lines of a very
comely countenance, for all was tugging
and muscular exertion.
I was now just out of the line of danger,
and the vehicle was abreast of me, when
the other groom, touching his hat, and the
lady recognizing me and smiling, I per-
ceived it was Lady Dashalong, one of my
best friends, who had nearly run over me.
She apologized, was quite shocked, but
could not conceive how I could be so
absent; and, lastly, laid the blame on her
horses, observing, that they had had so
little work of late, that they were almost
too much for her. A few civilities passed
between us, with the usual barometrical
and thermometrical observations of an
Englishman, which are his great auxilia-
ries in conversation, and we parted.
During our short colloquy, one of her
beautiful horses became what she called
fidgety, for which she promised to pay
TEXN


FEMALE CHARIOTEERS.
135
him off in the Park. The other, at start-
ing, shewed symptoms of great friskiness,
for which she gave him a few dexterous
cuts, distorting, in no small degree, her
features at the same time, as much as to
say, "Will you? I'll be your master (not
mistress; there is no such term in coach-
manship, yet); I'll teach you better man-
ners; I'll bring you to a sense of your
duty," or something to that purpose.
I turned about to view her as she went
along. She had a small round riding-hat
on; she sat in a most coachmanlike man-
ner, handled her whip in a very masterly
style, and had altogether something quite
gentlemanlike in her appearance. She
was going at a bold brisk trot; and, as she
passed her numerous acquaintance, she
was so intent upon the good management
of her reins, and her eyes so fixed upon
her high mettled cattle, that she could
only give them a familiar, knowing, side-
way nod of her head, very similar to what
I have seen stage-coachmen, hackneymen,
and the fashionable ruffians, their copies,


136
FEMALE CHARIOTEERS.
give a brother whip, passing on the road,
or when they almost graze another's
wheel, or cut out a carriage, and turn
round with a nod, which means, "there's
for you, what a flat
you must be."
This led me to some reflections on female
charioteers in general. And first, to ac-
quire any talent, it is necessary to learn it.
How is the knowledge of driving obtained
by the fairer sex?
If a lady take the reins from her hus-
band, her brother, or her lover, it is a
strong emblem of assuming the mastery.
If she have no courage, no muscular
strength, and no attention to the domi-
nation and guidance of her steeds, she
must be a bad driver, a poor whip, and
run the daily risk of breaking the neck of
herself and her friends. If she excel in
this study, she becomes immediately mas-
culine and severe: she punishes, when
occasion requires, the animals which come
under her lash; assumes an ungraceful
attitude; heats her complexion by exer-
tion; loses her softness by virtue of her


FEMALE CHARIOTEERS.
137
office; hardens her hands, and may per-
chance harden her heart; at all events, she
gains unfeminine habits, and such as are
not easily got rid of.
If she learn of the family coachman, it
must be allowed that it is not likely that
he should give her any peculiar grace, or
teach her anything particularly polite.
The pleasure of his company, whilst su-
perintending her lesson, cannot much im-
prove her mind; and the freedom of these
teachers of coachmanship must be so
offensive to her, that only a total loss of
feeling, gradually worn away by the pride
of excelling as a whip, can render them
bearable to her.
When the accomplishment of driving
is learned, what does it tend to? A
waste of time; a masculine enjoyment;.
and loss of feminine character, I will not
say moral; of that sweet, soft, and over-
powering submission to, and depen-
dance on man, which, whilst it claims.
our protection, and awakens our dearest
sympathies, our tenderest interests, en-
1
1
I


138
FEMALE CHARIOTEERS.
chants, attaches, and subdues us. I have
known ladies so affected by an inordinate
love for charioteering, that it has com-
pletely altered them; insomuch that they
have at last become more at home in the
stable, than in the drawing-room. The
very lady in question is so different when
dressed for dinner, that her driving dress
is a complete masquerade disguise, which
I should never wish to see her in, and
which certainly is not calculated to cap-
tivate a lover nor to gain a husband, unless
he should choose to be a slave who gives
the whip-hand to his lady.
I now began to recollect the female
whips of my acquaintance; and I found
that I never could esteem one of them. A
certain titled lady, who shall be nameless,
since she is no more, used to excel in
driving four milk-white horses in hand.
Her face was a perfect enamel, something
like China, from the paint which she used:
and to see the thong of her whip fly about
the leaders, to behold her gather up her
reins and square her elbows, was the de-
-


FEMALE CHARIOTEERS.
139
light of the ostlers and hackney-coachmen
about town, who, nevertheless, spoke very
lightly of her at the same time. I confess
that she became a complete object of dis-
gust to myself, and to most thinking men
of my acquaintance. She used frequently
to drive out a male relation, which made
the picture still more preposterous in my
eyes; whilst the very praise of the lower
classes alluded to, sunk her in my esti-
mation.
And why do coachmen and pugilists,
grooms and jockies, praise the superior
ranks of society for excelling in driving,
in boxing, in horse-racing, or in riding
like a postboy? Because it reduces the
highest to the level of the lowest; because
(to adopt their own expression, so often
made use of by the bargemen on the
Thames towards a certain Duke) he's not
proud; he is just like one of us; he can
tug at his oar; smoke and drink beer
""
"like a man ;
aye, and take his own
part. That such qualities may, upon an
emergency, prove useful, I admit; but his
F


140
FEMALE CHARIOTEERS.
Grace, as well as all female charioteers,
must excuse me from considering them as
any way ornamental.
To return to my female driving friends.
A certain fair daughter of green Erin used
formerly to drive me out in her curricle:
she is a perfect whip; and has, from con-
versing so much on the subject, and from
seeing so much stable company, assumed a
tone, an attitude, and a language, most
foreign to her sex. Driving, one day, in
the Circular Road, near Dublin, her horses
pulled very hard, and would have blistered
common fingers: but, protected by stiff
York tan gloves, and hardened by the
management of the whip, she stood up
and punished them, crying, "I'll take
the shine out of you before I have done
with you;" then, "keeping them up to
their work," as she called it, and fanning
furiously along, she exultingly exclaimed,
all in a heat and flurry herself, "There and
be
(I looked thunderstruck)" be
hanged to you," concluded she, smiling at
me, and resuming her sang froid.
""
―


FEMALE CHARIOTEERS.
141
A commoner's lady was my third driving
acquaintance: she was very bold; given to
the joys of the table; got lightly spoken of
as to reputation; and, after all, overturned
herself and broke her arm. My inquiries
into the character of the other celebrated
female whips, have not obtained any in-
formation which could change my opinion
as to the advantages of a lady's becoming a
good whip. It militates against the soft-
ness, the delicacy, the beauty, and attrac
tions of the sex. I would ask any amateur,
the greatest possible admirer of lovely wo-
man, whether, her complexion being heated,
her lips dry, and her features covered with
dust, as she returns from a horse race, or
from a morning drive, are circumstances
of improvement to her in any way?
I doubt if our forefather Adam could
have been captivated with Eve, had she
appeared to him, either in a dream, or in
coarse reality, with a masculine expression
of countenance, and a four-horse whip in
her hand; nor was it ever intended, that
"those limbs, formed for the gentler


142
FEMALE CHARIOTEERS.
offices of love," should be displayed behind
prancing coach-horses. The very diamond
itself is unseemly when clad in its rough
coat of earth: 'tis the high polish which
it receives, that displays its hidden lustre,
and which, reflecting its real worth, makes
it so brilliant and so eminently valuable.
Thus it is with woman: every thing
which tends to divest her of the asperity
and ruggedness of the inferior part of our
sex, augments her attractions: every thing
which can assimilate her to the harshness
of man, despoils her of her richest orna-
ments, and lowers her in our estimation.
I remember once passing a lady in the
King's Road, one of whose outriders had
dismounted, and was adjusting something
about the reins, whilst the other was hold-
ing his horse behind. The lady and the
groom, who appeared to be her instructor
in the art of coachmanship, had much
conversation respecting the cattle. The
latter said, (6 Give him his hiding, my
Lady, and don't spare him." To which
she elegantly replied, "D-n the little
"


FEMALE CHARIOTEERS,
143
horse." This gave the finishing confir-
mation to my former opinion.
I know it will be objected to me, that
these vulgarities are not general in high-
bred coachwomen, and that they are not
necessary; but to this I beg leave to an-
swer, that their very existence is odious.;
and that if, on the one hand, these vices
are not absolutely a part of coachmanship,
on the other, coachmanship, or charioteer-
ing, is not at all necessary to a woman's
accomplishments, nor even to her amuse-
ment. Indeed, the display of them, in ever
such perfection, excites not even momen-
tary admiration in the breast of
THE HERMIT IN LONDON.





FEMALE GAMBLERS.
..........Immania monstra
Preferimus................ VIRGIL.
IT has always appeared to me, that the
stronger passions, such as avarice, ambi-
tion, and revenge, appear with double
deformity in the softer sex. They dis-
figure the beauty of woman, and com-
pletely change her nature. Gaming,
which is a compound of idleness and
cupidity, has precisely the same tend ncy,
and hurries the fairest work of nature into
the greatest excesses.
There is, however, a minor species of
play which is not so dangerous, and which
can be blamed only for the loss of time
which it occasions. It is one of the taxes
on a man in society to be compelled to sit
VOL. I.
H
ܦܐ ܝܕܡܪܝܐ ܕܠܐ 10 ܐܢܢܗ


146
FEMALE GAMBLERS.
down, for a certain space of time, at a
card-table, at routes, and at other evening
parties. I feel a je ne sais quoi of misery
and disgust, the moment the fair lady of
the house presents me the pack of cards to
draw one; and I view myself destined to
be fixed to my chair for at least one rub-
ber, or perhaps more.. Then farewell
conversation; farewell my greatest amuse-
ment-observation; farewell mirth, and
all variety !
A young Exquisite may just make his
appearance for a few minutes,, make his
bow to the lady of the house, cast a glance
round, in order to be able to count all the
beauty and fashion in the room, and then
withdraw, throw himself into his chariot
or vis-à-vis, and repeat the same brief visit
at two or three other parties, in the course
of the night. A dancer may escape the
card tax. But a man of serious habits,
and of middle age, must pay the forfeit of
money and time.
It is astonishing how many hours this
occupation engrosses in high life. Lady


FEMALE GAMBLERS.
147
Lansquenette assured me, that she played
three rubbers of whist regularly every
evening, unless she sat down to some
game of chance. In wet weather she
played in the morning; and at Castle
Costley, she always spent two or three
hours before dinner at cards, when the
state of the atmosphere, or the roads, pre-
vented her going out. Averaging her
play hours at four or five per day, they
compose one third of her time, since her
ladyship devotes twelve hours to rest.
Now, abstracting four more for her toi-
lette, which is not less than it takes, there
are but four hours remaining for any
rational employment, out of which break-
fast and dinner time are to be deducted.
I met with her the other night at Lady
Racket's; and she immediately hooked me
in for a rubber. I had scarcely got clear
of this engagement, and of five guineas at
the same time, having lost five points,
when I was entreated to sit down to cas-
sino in company with Mrs. Marvellous,
Sir Herbert Maxton, and Lady Longtick.
H 2


148
FEMALE GAMBLERS.
I the more readily, however, complied with
the request of my right honourable hostess,
as at cassino the attention is not so entirely
taken up; less importance is attached to
the game; and a little light and desul-
tory conversation may be allowed; whilst
at whist you see grave faces sitting in
judgment over your play, and observe as
much interest and anxiety, as much silence
and attention, as a speech of Demosthenes
would have claimed from his auditors.
"Come," said Lady Racket to me," you
must make one at cassino; (then lower-
ing her voice) you will have the charms of
Lady Longtick to contemplate; and Mrs.
Marvellous will amuse you with some very
astonishing stories in the intervals of the
deal." "Your Ladyship's commands are
so many laws to me," said I, resignedly
taking my place at the table.
"The
Hermit!" exclaimed Mrs. Marvellous, in
a half whisper to Sir Herbert. They both
elevated their eyebrows-as much as to
say, "here's a fellow who will observe us
closely." I made my best bow, and took
my seat.


FEMALE GAMBLERS.
149
We drew cards, and I fell to the lot of
Mrs. Marvellous. "You must not scold
me if I play ill," said she. "Not for the
world," answered I; "I never scolded a
lady in my life." "I wish I could say as
much of Sir Herbert," said she; "indeed
it was nothing short of cruelty, your cross-
ness to Lady Maxton yesterday; you ac-
tually brought tears into her eyes."
"Nonsense," exclaimed the Baronet;
66 you know I wanted not to play at all;
but the Nabob could not make up his party
without us, and I hate above all to play
with my wife; married couples never
ought to play together." "Unless,” inter-
rupted Lady Longtick, "they understand
one another as well as our friends in Port-
land Place," "And then," replied the
Baronet, "it is not very pleasant to play
against them." (A general smile.)
"It is your deal, Mrs. Marvellous."
66 Two and three are five," "The heart
is your's, Lady Longtick, and little cas falls
to me." ""Have you heard of the royal
marriages?” “Three tricks, by Jupiter!"
н 3


150
FEMALE GAMBLERS.
66
"The naval Duke.” "Your knave,
my Lady.”—“ I am quite out of luck."
"How many aces, Sir Herbert?" One,
and that's quite enough." "Bravo, Mrs.
Marvellous," said I, "you are always for-
tunate; 'tis my trick." (Mrs. Marvellous)
"Have you heard that Lady Barbara
Blankton has-" "Cut, Madam," (inter-
rupted the Baronet). "Yes, Sir Herbert,
she has cut, and left her lovely children'
-"Your ladyship's game,"—"to the
mercy of the world. How shocking for her
three daughters!" "A double game, Mrs.
Marvellous." "She certainly had the most
indulgent husband in the world."
"The
base wretch, I have no patience with her."
"A hard rub." "Yet I could always see
through her conduct." "Had you said
through her drapery,” replied Sir Herbert,
"I should have been satisfied that you
were right, for she was a walking transpa-
rency. But here comes her cousin, the
General." "The game is up."
66
27
Released from my party, I walked round
the room, and cast an eye on the different


FEMALE GAMBLERS.
151
tables. I stopped, for a moment, behind
my friend Lord Levity's chair, and contem-
plated the countenances at an unlimited
loo. "I pass," said Lady Lavish, in a tone
of brokenheartedness, which told me that
she had lost. Every feature was changed;
the warm smile which gives such attrac-
tions to her countenance had disappeared;
dejection filled her eyes, and despair sat on
every feature.
Mrs. Beverly was also a
great loser; not less than eighty guineas
did she pay for her night's pastime. She
put on a sort of placid look, a well-bred
indifference, a forced smile; but nature,
true to its feelings, betrayed the secret of
her mind, and gave the outlines of revenge
and disappointment to her countenance.
"You are out of luck," observed I.
trifle," answered she, with an assumption
of tranquillity, which imposed upon no-
body.
The three Ladies Racket (the eldest only
eighteen) were all anxiety. The youthful
lustre of their complexions was marred by
a flush of intemperate feeling and eager
"A
# 4


152
FEMALE GAMBLERS.
ness to win. Their eyes were attentively
rivetted to the cards; and from time to
time they communed with each other by
glances of satisfaction, doubt, or discon-
tent. Whilst these three graces were thus
metamorphosed by their attention to their
bad or good fortune, Colonel Crab sneered
as he was pocketing his gains, and Lady
Mary Moody expressed the intoxication of
success. This she strove to stifle; but it
flushed on her cheek, spoke on her half
opened lip, and sparkled in her eyes. How
little do these fair creatures, thought I,
know how their looks betray them! So
much are they a prey to the passion of
gaming, that not even these magnificent
Venetian mirrors can bring a useful reflec-
tion to cure them of this vice,
I now moved towards the door, and got
into a crowd of beaux and belles, and into
a confusion of tongues. The broken sen-
tences which came to my ear from different
quarters, were ridiculous enough. Lady
Racket was discoursing about a new novel;
Sir Wetherby Jostle was holding forth on
1


FEMALE GAMBLERS,
153
horse-racing; a new member was affecting
the ministerial tone, and laying down the
law to a deaf dowager who had the best
of it, for she was paying attention to an
antiquated Exquisite the whole time. Mrs.
Marvellous told me that Lady T was
ruined, and that she owed her butler a
thousand guineas. "Lady Longtick has
made a good thing of it to-night," whis-
pered Lady R's maiden aunt to a young
Guardsman," her dress-maker will now
have a chance of being paid."
"A complete hoax! the majority was
certain," broke upon my ear from another
quarter." A love-match upon my, ho-
nour," observed an Insipid, lolling on the
arm of a couch.—“ A maiden speech,”
observed a Member of Parliament to a
gouty Bishop. "Not an honour in the
world," echoed from a neighbouring card-
table; whilst Count Mainville was talking
politics, and Sir Harry was saying the
most gallant things imaginable to the Lin-
colnshire heiress.
H 5


154
FEMALE GAMBLERS.
Lady Lovemore passed by at this mo-
ment, convulsed with rage, but bridling
her temper as well as she could. She had
not only lost at cards, but perceived a
happy rival in the affections of the Colonel,
to whom she was paying the warmest
assiduities, and her rival had smiled con-
temptuous pity upon her. Lady Racket
seemed to enjoy the defeat of Lady Love
more. "I fear your Ladyship is not well,”
said she to her in an assumed tone of pity
and of kindness. "A sick headache dis-
tracts me," answered Lady Lovemore, and
flounced away quite unattended; which
circumstance was observed, with different
remarks and comments from half-a-dozen
quarters at once. How little charity one
female has for another at any time! thought
I; and at cards, indeed, the quality is anni-
hilated altogether.
I now perceived Sir Herbert, who had
been looking over his wife's play, and must
have been giving her some unwelcome
hints. "Did I play ill in trumping?"


FEMALE GAMBLERS.
155
sweetly and softly she inquired, in a sil-
very tone. "Not at all," replied he,
sharply: "if you wished to lose, you could
not play better." She gently raised up her
shoulders, and heaving a sigh, said, “my
dear, I am sorry for it." "It's always the
same," exclaimed he; and broke unkindly
away from her. What a pity that a few
hearts and clubs, villainously painted upon
the surface of a piece of pasteboard, should
occasion such contending passions, and im-
bitter the hours of so many rational beings;
that a card played out of place or without
judgment should mar the domestic felicity
of an otherwise happy couple; and that
Lady Maxton should persevere in playing,
without any abatement of ill-fortune abroad,
or of ill-humour and reproach at home!
I now perceived a number of the beau
monde going to their carriages, and upon
striking my repeater, found that it was four
o'clock. Thus were four hours consumed
when I retired to rest; but the counte-
nances at the loo table were before my eyes
4
1.
н 6


156
FEMALE GAMBLERS.
in my dream, and I longed to be able to
give a little advice to the fair creatures,
whose figures thus, even in his sleep,
haunted
THE HERMIT IN LONDON.


THE ROMANCE.
Alas, my heart! how languishingly fair
Yon lady lolls! with what a tender air!
YOUNG.
I HAD frequently remarked two very lovely
women, apparently sisters, quit their car-
riage in Hyde Park, to enter Kensington
Gardens, there to remain four hours, dur-
ing which their carriage was kept waiting,
and then to return in apparent low spirits.
What seemed most extraordinary to me
was, that from the moment they entered
the gardens, until that of reaching their
carriage, they were no where to be seen;
for I sometimes sauntered for an hour
there, but never met them in any direction
whatever.
One day I was determined to watch them
more closely, and I perceived them dash


158
THE ROMANCE.
into the thickest shade of the trees, and
there hide themselves, I sat down in one
of the alcoves, and read my journal of the
day before, my newspaper, and some let-
ters which I had received by the post. I
continued for about an hour more in one
of my reveries; making in all about two
hours; when, skirting the wood in my
way, to return by the shortest cut across
the gardens, I perceived them through the
light quivering shade of umbrageous
branches, seated on the ground and bathed
in tears.
A thousand apprehensions rushed across
my mind, and I was resolved to accost
them, to inquire the cause of their distress,
and to offer my aid, under whatever cir-
cumstances they might be. They were so
absorbed in grief, that they did not per-
ceive me until I was close to them, when
one of them gave a loud shriek, which
alarmed me in my turn, and immediately
both flew off like startled deer, leaving a
cambric pocket handkerchief and an open
book behind them.


THE ROMANCE.
159
Never did Daphne fly more precipitately
nor more panic-struck from Apollo, than
these sister beauties did from me; but I was
no Apollo, no winged messenger of love,
no love-sick nor moon-struck lover, neither
inclined nor able to give chace to youth
and beauty. I regretted my temerity, and
picked up the trophies, which now became
mine, on the field (not of fight, but) of
flight. In vain did I motion them to re-
turn, or to allow me to restore them their
forfeited property. In vain did the powder,
flying from my hair, bespeak me to be an
elderly gentleman: in vain did I wave the
white handkerchief in signal of peace, and
as a motive for their return. They never
turned their heads to the right or to the
left; but in a few seconds shewed me how
weak and how tardy is age when attempt-
ing the pursuit of youth.
This of itself served as a wholesome les-
son, for it was a practical one, which taught
me, more forcibly than ever, that old men
should not run after young women. The
attempt is always a lame one, and attended
with failure or disgrace.


160
THE ROMANCE.
My reason now brought me up, and I
called myself an old fool for thus intimi-
dating these defenceless females, and for
being the cause of their losing the source
of their amusement and instruction, as well
as a small portion of their property. My
next reflection was, that wherever I met
these ladies they might mistake me for a
brutal intruder, and that the purity of my
motives for disturbing them would never
be known to them; nay more, it might
be doubted or even entirely misconstrued.
The mark on the handkerchief might per-
haps lead to a discovery of their name or of
their abode, or both might be written on
the first leaf of the book! Yet even were
it so, should I not further offend by sending
the articles home? Perhaps I might in-
volve them in some unpleasant affair, bring
on them some parental severity, or expose
them to unfavourable reflections.
Ridiculous as it may appear, I was in a
most painful dilemma. "Women," said I,
"are always perplexing and getting men
into scrapes. Nay, even an old bachelor
and a soi-disant hermit cannot escape their


THE ROMANCE.
161
witchcraft. What had I to do with watch-
ing beauties of their age, or any beauties at
all? I wish, from the bottom of my heart,
that I had not fallen into possession of this
pocket-handkerchief and book; and yet if
I leave them here, they may lead to some
exposure of which I am not now aware.
Would that there were no women in the
world, torments to man! Perche," re-
peated I to myself, (remembering my first
reading of Orlando Furioso, and meditating
on the effect which it produced on my
young mind,)
1
"Perche fatto no ha l'alma natura
"Che senza lo potesse nascer l'huomo,
"Come s'inesta per umuna cura
"L'un sopra l'altro il pero, il sorbo e'l pomo?"
I now proceeded to examine the hand-
kerchief and the book. The former gave
no other means of tracing it to its owner,
than the name of Seraphina marked in
fine glossy black hair, with a heart under
it. The book belonged to a circulating


162
THE ROMANCE.
library in the neighbourhood of Portland
Place. It was a romance the most roman-
tic, a most tragical tragedy, a tale of love
and adventure, constancy and sufferings, of
imprisoned Lady and adventurous Knight,
and, finally, of insanity and death!
According to this story, the Knight Al-
debert after a number of
"Most disastrous chances,
"Of moving accidents by flood and field,"
is at last drowned in crossing a frightful
river, in a tempest of thunder and light-
ning, in company with his faithful Squire
Fidel, in the enterprise of rescuing Ger-
trude from a lonely dungeon, where her
inexorable father, the Baron Fitzallan, has
shut her up, previous to his forcing her to
take the veil; and all this because she will
not give her hand to Don Pedro Emanuel
Feliz de Alvarez, a Grand Espagnol of the
first class. The faithful Knight fixes his
signet ring to his cloak, which, floating on
shore, or rather against the battlements of


THE ROMANCE.
163
the tower, is picked up by Gertrude, who
instantly runs mad, whilst the Baron stabs
himself for rage and despair.
All this, however, is after such escapes
from shipwreck and starvation, such cap-
tures and re-captures, such dwelling on an
(until then) uninhabited island, such dan-
gers by land and sea, and such trials of
love and of constancy as never were in-
vented before, and, much less, ever really
occurred. The leaf which contained the
deep catastrophe was bedewed with tears;
and a number of amatory remarks and al-
lusions were pencilled on the margin in a
female hand. On one leaf was the follow-
ing sentiment :
"Happy are they who die for love,
"United they must be above."
Not admiring either the poetry or the
sentiment of these lines, I began to reflect
on the dangerous tendency of romance,
and the effect which the study of it had
produced on the heated imaginations of
these young ladies.


164
THE ROMANCE.
I however despaired of ever being able to
discover who they were, when it struck me,
that by returning the book to the library,
some light might be thrown on the subject.
I did so accordingly, and, without any
trouble, the officious shopman immediately
divulged the name, by saying, “My mas-
ter's duty to Miss Whimper, and we are
sorry we cannot find any thing deep enough
for her perusal at present; but there is a
novel on the stocks, translated from the
German, entitled, The Self-immolated
Victim; or, Sentimental Robber,' will just
suit the young ladies; and the moment it
comes from the press, it shall be sent to
Duchess Street, Portland Place."
6
I had now the names and address of my
fair friends, and it was easy to enquire into
further particulars. The result of these in-
quiries was, that Mrs. Whimper (the mo-
ther) was a widow, given up to parties and
pleasure to cards and late hours; and
that her family, of which these two young
ladies were the eldest, and which included
four more children, were all kept either in


THE ROMANCE.
165
the nursery or at school. The circumstance
of having them at all militated much against
the matrimonial promotion of a comely
mother. In order, however, to give her
an air of youth, and prevent competition,
Mary and Elizabeth were confined until
fourteen to the nursery; and afterwards
in the utmost seclusion, until they attained
the ages of seventeen and eighteen.
Plain dress, distance from company, and
rigid severity, excluded them from society;
but a circulating library, accommodating
servants, loneliness, warmth of constitu-
tion, and an abandonment to themselves,
had allowed these tender plants, like un-
pruned trees, to shoot out into the wildest
directions, to put forth the most undirected,
uncontrolled luxuriance of growth, to
waste their exuberance of ideas in the
richest (if I may be allowed the expression)
infertility of extension, and to lose them-
selves amidst the weeds of fiction, fastening
upon the specious flowers of description,
and the flashes of impassioned feeling, which
make the great charm of works of fancy.


166
THE ROMANCE.
So wedded did they soon become to ro-
mance, that the one assumed the name of
Seraphina, and the other took that of
Blanche; they passed whole nights by the
wasting taper, over the romantic pages of
love and chivalry; and fled precipitately,
like "stricken deer," to their feverish
couch, at the thundering knock of mamma,
returned from an "at home," a masque-
rade, or a quadrille ball, from all of
which these overgrown children were pro-
scribed.
Mamma always lay until three P. M.
but the Misses were ordered regularly to
take their airing at one. Loaded with no-
vels and romances, they sallied forth, and
sought the darkness of the grove, in order
to live an imaginary existence. They
were confined for the rest of the day to
their apartments; where open windows,
the Æolian harp, sighed songs, mouthed
declamation, two veiled figures placed at a
balcony, and a Spanish guitar, attracted
attention, misled conjecture, announced
the wandering of the heart and the mind,


THE ROMANCE.
167
and-it will be well if that be all. A
defect of education, and maternal neglect,
go a great way towards female ruin, for
"The vine luxurious, if neglected, lies
"Prone on the earth, and unsupported dies.-
"So dawning reason in a youthful mind
"Remains inactive, dormant, and confiu'd,
"Till education calls its virtues forth,
"Extends its prospects and makes known its worth,
"Corrects, improves, inspires the human soul,
"Completes the man, and finishes the whole."
-
My warmest solicitude is excited for
these youthful wanderers in error. Their
lady mother will have much to reproach
herself with, if any domestic calamity
should occur in her family, and I really
think I must gain admittance to her my-
self, and make her listen to some friendly
remonstrances on the subject from
THE HERMIT IN LONDON.
fs





A CONVERSAZIONE.
Il me tarde de voir notre Assemblée ouverte,
Et de nous signaler par quelque découverte.
Nous approfondirons, ainsi que la Physique,
Grammaire, Histoire, Vers, Morale, et Politique.
Les Femmes Sçavantes. MOLIERE.
I MET Mrs. Montagu Marionville, at a
fashionable bookseller's, the other day.
She was expatiating on Lady Laura
Learnedlore's exquisite conversazione, as
she was pleased to term it. On perceiving
me, she gave me her hand, and was good
enough to say, that she very much regret-
ted my not being there. I thanked her,
and requested to know what were the
chief attractions of the evening, who was
there, and whether it was the company,
the conversation, or both, which formed
that night's peculiar charms? "Both,"
VOL. I.
I


170
A CONVERSAZIONE.
exclaimed she, delighted. "There was a
great union of talent, novelty, and vast
information. Besides all the old set, there
were Sir Alexander Alkali, one of our
first gentlemen chymists; Varnish, the
painter, just returned from Rome; and
Sir Robert Euphony, a most profound
Greek scholar he exhibited the first pos-
sible example of memory, by repeating
three hundred lines from Sophocles, with-
out missing a word :-it is true I did
not understand it, nor did Lady Ruin and
her knot of blues, but I am convinced
by the
bominas and the ominas, that
it must be very sublime.
:
"Then we had Mr. Architrave, who de-
scribed the shaft of a broken column to us
with such energy, that it seemed to rise
stately to our view, and I actually thought
myself either in Greece or at Hercu-
laneum.
-
"We had, moreover, Mr. Dactyllus, the
poet (the bard, I ought to say), and Chat-
terini, the Improvisatore, who made an
elegant little impromptu on Lady Hard-
Tag


A CONVERSAZIONE.
171
castle's lapdog. Mr. Dactyllus is delight-
ful-quite the Roman: his hair cut exactly
like the statue of Brutus, and a thin cam-
bric cravat, so loose as to fall on his shoul-
ders, gave us an opportunity of seeing a
fine muscular neck, similar to that of the
Gladiator. He is certainly a little touched
in his upper story; but that gives the more
energy and fancy to his lines. What fine
flights of imagination in his Ode to the
Moon! and then, again, what descriptive
alliteration in the line, where he addresses
her as
"Mild meditation's melancholy maid!"
"Doctor Dabble was likewise of our
party; he has invented a new and speedy
cure for the globus hystericus. And there
was also Miss Fanny Fermor, the greatest
botanist in England. She recited some
beautiful lines on the Polyandria monogy-
nia, and shewed us the finest rhododendron
I ever beheld!
"Lord Gothic, too, came in about mid-
night he is a disciple of Gall's. His Lord-
I 2


172
A CONVERSAZIONE.
ship enlightened us much: he demonstrated
the organ of theosophy very clearly on the
head of a child; and assured me, that I
ought to have been a builder, for he never
saw the organ of constructiveness so deter-
mined as on my cranium. That of destruc-
tiveness was as distinct on the German
Marshal Baron Vonklinkencattendunder-
tromp. But he got rather into a scrape,
by wishing to shew the organ of inventive-
ness on Lady Laura; for she wears a wig :
therefore of course it was impossible for her
to allow his Lordship to touch on that head.
"We inspected some beautiful alto and
basso relievos, many intaglios, cameos,
medals, and coins. We looked over a
choice portfolio, and saw some curious spe-
cimens of geology. Lady Laura has pur-
chased a superb Etruscan vase; and has
had a present made to her of some more
mosaic. The Doctor shewed us his new
snuff-box of lava, elegantly set; and the
Italian brought a curious picture for sale.
"The hours, in short, passed so swiftly
away, that it was two o'clock before I could


A CONVERSAZIONE.
173
look round me; I then ordered my chair,
took a wafer and a glass of lemonade, and
retired to bed. Monologue, the celebrated
actor, handed me to my chair, and pro-
mised to introduce me to that most de-
lightful of all creatures Flaxman ; also to a
Mr., I forget his name, who is writ-
ing a new system of Physiognomy, and a
treatise on the Clouds, where there are
strata and tumuli, mountains, paths, and I
don't know what besides; so that, by and
by, we shall be as much at home in the
clouds, as we are now in the stars. Oh!
Science, thou divine gift! how do I love
learning and learned men! This was in-
deed an evening of virtù-a conversazione
worthy of being remembered and re-
corded the feast of reason and the flow
of soul.'
"""
She was running on, when one of the
shopmen produced a very splendid book,
open. "Oh! ye powers!" exclaimed she,
ready to drop with admiration, "what a
margin !!!"
I looked at the book, and
saw a very few lines finely printed in the
1 3


174
A CONVERSAZIONE.
middle of each page, with the broadest
margin I ever beheld. Mrs. Marionville
was resolved to purchase it, be the price
what it might; and this diversion drew
her attention off from me, and ridded me
from hearing any thing more about the
conversazione.
On my way home, I reflected how many
ways there were of conjuring a man's
money out of his pocket, in a gentleman-
like and apparently sensible way-without
squandering it on vice, cards, dice, dogs,
horses, and trinkets. But the following
list presents as many roads to ruin as
would (taken together) pay the national
debt paintings-architecture and a taste
for building-coins-medals-antiquities—
chemistry-encouraging of foreigners and
the arts, and buying rare and expensive
books. To this may be added, a rage for
purchasing chronometers: but that is a
passion chiefly consigned to a very high
personage, and if he learn from it the
value of time, it may be considered a very
profitable pursuit.


A CONVERSAZIONE.
175
In book buying, it is curious enough that
the book, and not the author, furnishes the
attraction so that Pope was quite correct
in saying,
"In books, not authors, curious is my Lord."
A book printed on vellum, or with gilt
letters, or illuminated (as it is called by
those who are enlightened only by such
illuminations), or a book of ancient date, be
its contents ever so stupid or uninteresting,
is all the charm necessary; for such works
are bought, not to be read, but to be
looked at. As for me, I have always held
that
"The proper study of mankind is Mau ;"
but in order to see him as he really is,
I have studied his actions more than his
professions, and it is the result of many
years' observation that enables me to pre-
sent my readers with the lucubrations,
such as they are, of their friend,
THE HERMIT IN LONDON.
1 4





JUST RETURNED FROM COLLEGE.
What's a' your jargon o' your Schools,
Your Latin names for horns an' stools;
If honest Nature made your fools,
What sais your Grammars ?.
Ye'd better ta'en up spades and shools,
Or knappin hammers;
A set of dull conceited hashes,
Confuse their brains in College classes!
They gang in stirks, and come out asses,
Plain truth to speak.
BURNS.
BEING informed that my old friend, Dr.
Drudge's son, had come to town, I called,
the other day, to visit him. I valued the
father much he was an honest, indus-
trious, and successful man; and I wished
to show every civility in my power to his
:
N
son.
The Doctor had, by much labour and
long practice, amassed a large fortune,
I 5


178
which he left to his only son; to whom he
was so partial, that he spared no expense
to educate him in the first style. General
knowledge was what the Doctor was
anxious to give his child; who, on his
part, seconded his wishes by a thirst for
improvement. This, however, was accom-
panied by a volatility and an eccentricity
wholly unexampled. It is often the case
that the son of a learned man, or of a
great public character, is a dunce: just
as the common consequence in life is, that
the successor of a miser is a prodigal;
but, in the present instance, it is other-
wise; for the Doctor's son is still more
ambitious of shining as a man of science
and letters than his father's most anxious
wishes could desire.
JUST RETURNED FROM COLLEGE.“
About a year ago, the young man was
deprived of his worthy father; and it is a
week since he concluded his academic stu-
dies, having taken a Bachelor's degree, and
quitted College. Very different from those
young men of rank and fashion, who leave
Oxford and Cambridge, perfect only in


JUST RETURNED FROM COLLEGE. 179
horse-racing, sporting, drinking, and gam-
ing, Mr. Drudge has read, in the last four
years, more books than any other man of
his age that I am acquainted with. He has
had a gleaning of almost every science;
but with such rapidity, that it has produced
a confusion of matter and languages in his
head, similar to what we read of the con-
fusion of tongues at the Tower of Babel.
To this he adds great self-confidence, and
a fine flow of spirits, which render him
altogether a very peculiar character.
I called at his lodgings, and found him
at home, seated in his robe de chambre, a
Spanish grammar on one side of him, and
the cranium of a dog on the other. Squares,
compasses, and mathematical instruments,
retorts and phials, books and papers, were
all around him; and a description of Persia
was in his hand. Two foreigners were
employed in the corners of the room; one
working in plaster of Paris, the other at
a desk.
He rose to receive me with a cheerful-
ness unlike the expression of a bookworm,
1 6


180
JUST RETURNED FROM COLLEGE.
and, making me a half prostration, with a
smile he cried, "Salam, Salam, most
worthy Sir; friend of my Sire; I delight
in seeing you; you are welcome beyond
my descriptive powers; Se seda Signor
-Asseyez-vous, s'il vous plait-sit down
by the little boy who gratefully remembers
being on your knee-dans l'aurore de la
vie. How do you do? how is the nervous
system? No hypochondriasis? No dys-
pepsia? All well in the pulmonary regions?
the viscera ? the muscular economy? Aye,
I'll swear to it. The vital system as entire
as a youth's of twenty! and the intellectual
one mature and sane-mens sana in cor-
The mind is (I perceive)
pore sano.
'Though deep yet clear, though gentle
yet not dull.' But tell me-Quid agis?
What are your present pursuits?-Moral
or Experimental Philosophy, Zoology,
Mineralogy, Conchology or Geology, Me-
taphysics, Philology, Anatomy, Ethics,
Natural History, or the Belles Lettres ?
I have heard of you. I know that you are
a savant, a man of virtù, one of the Cogno-


JUST RETURNED FROM COLLEGE. 181
scenti, of the Dillettanti, a man of science,
and a leader of bon goût.”
He overpowered me, but I put in a few
words. "Well," said he, abruptly,
66 we
have a fine prospect of affairs, political and
general. Pretty work, this election; great
efforts at an oligarchy-at a democracy, or
a mobocracy, if you please. They would
give us a republic non libre, as Montes-
quieu calls it. You see what our liberty
comes to. It is that libertas which in vitium
excidit. Aye, the Life Guards will settle
that! But it is truly shocking: amputa-
tions and fractures, lacerations and dislo-
cations, are the effects of the poll: in con-
sequence of those emulations and strifes,
those contentions and passions which
war in our own members,' hem! It
is every where the same. Vide the revo
lutions of France, of Holland, of the Colo-
nies. Odi profanum vulgus. These dema-
gogue orators poison the public mind,
intoxicate weak brains with their frothy
oratory, themselves being the worst of
private characters, and then leave the
-
6


182 JUST RETURNED FROM COLLEGE.
popolaccio to a sense of their own wretch-
edness. Thus it is that
"Belle parole e certi fatti
"Ingannano savj e matti,”
66
Apropos, but for these elections the
town would be a desert. At the court end
of the town it is a memento mori, a rus in
urbe. The grass is actually growing in the
streets; and the sight of a nobleman's car-
riage is a treat." Then turning to the
implements around him, "You see," said
he, "my amusements and occupations;
Chemistry, Anatomy, Geology (holding up
a specimen of basalt), and History. That
multum in parvo little fellow is taking
my bust (pointing to a deformed Italian).
The other is my Spanish master, who is
writing my exercise. "Su servidor ; viva
usted muchos anos (to the language master,
bowing him out). This cranium was that
of a dog, the most intellectual (if I dare use.
the phrase) of his species. The animal
was a Roman, and I am examining the
cerebellum. [His servant enters with a
letter.] That fellow I keep because I made


JUST RETURNED FROM COLLEGE. 183
an experiment on him. He was as deaf
as the Tarpeian rock, and I cured him by
electricity, after trying magnetism, the
metallic tractors, and the devil besides.
Vous me permettrez, mon ami-you will
allow me to peruse this billet-it is an
invitation to the Institute, and a promise
to take me to an experiment of the Voltaic
pile. A fine thing, no doubt! I know the
principle, as one ought to know the prin-
ciple of every thing; from the five per
cents. up to the solar and lunar systems.
Talking of the sun, the Prince carries it
with a high hand; every measure goes
through—the Indemnity Act, and all the
rest. By and by, these demi-gods of
ministers will issue their orders-Such
is our will.' It will εων δ' ετελείετο βέλη.
What will become of old Magna Charta at
last I know not. It will be Carta pecora,
or Carte blanche, I believe. By the by,
how they are stultified in France! No
nerve! a general paralysis !"
Here I stopped him, for fear that he
should have gone all over the Continent,
薯
​


184 JUST Returned from COLLEGE.
and have hurried me with him; and I
asked him what were his plans for his
future modes of life? "It is my intention,
first," resumed the youth, "to make a tour
of the continent of Europe, and the Greek
isles; to become a member of a number
of foreign universities, and to have as
many A.M.'s F.R.S.'s A double S.S., and
initials of science, as will fill the title-
page of a book, tacked to my name. I
mean to write my tour, and to have it
printed on fine wove, hot-pressed royal
octavo paper, with a flattering engraving
of Self, in an antique costume. I shall get
a needy foreigner to make drawings for it,
and I shall dedicate it to some leading
man. I'll praise the Edinburgh Reviewers
up to the skies-" resque ad sidera." I'll
have two mottoes, one in Greek and one
in Hebrew, to the book; and, on my
return from the Continent, I'll give din-
ners to all the celebrated booksellers in
town. I'll buy up a hundred copies of the
work; and have the second and third
editions issued out simultaneously with


JUST RETURNED FROM COLLEGE. 185
~
the first. Thus ushered into celebrity, my
next ambition will be to get into parlia
ment, and to make a thundering maiden
speech; then, with M. P. attached to all
the other distinctions of a man of alpha-
betical as well as of learned distinction, I
may publish anything, and shall be sure of
becoming a popular author. Lastly, I
propose retiring to my Tusculum, where I
must discover some theory, and publish it,
by which means I shall be called by the
name of my theory, and thus be rendered
immortal. All this accomplished, I shall
retire to the country, there, ‘ducere soli-
cite jocunda oblivia vitæ,' and end the
scene in the arms of the Muses."
Here concluded the projects of my am-
bitious friend, young Drudge. The reader
may consider the picture as overcharged;
but I assure him that it is faithful. In the
course of a long life, many singular objects
have passed before my eyes; and I have,
amongst the number, met with more than
one of this cast. We have fanatics of all
kinds religious, political, poetical, phy-


186 JUST RETURNED FROM COLLEGE.
sical, and metaphysical. We have fanatics
in love, in painting, and in all the Fine Arts.
Every body must have seen "Il Fanatico
per la Musica;" and not a bad play might
be written on "Il Fanatico per la Scienza :"
such is the worthy friend above described
of
THE HERMIT IN LONDON.


FASHIONABLE ADVICE.
Empty of all good wherein consists
Woman's domestic honour and chief praise:
Bred only, and completed to the taste
Of lustful appetence; to sing, to dance,
To dress, and troll the tongue, and roll the eye.
MILTON.
"My dear Julia," said Lady to her
youngest daughter, as I was paying them
a morning visit, "I was quite horrified,
last night, to see you go out of the Argyle
Rooms hanging on young Walsingham's
arm. You put both your hands through
it, clasped together, and leaned forward,
and looked in his face, as if he was your
whole dependence and delight, with an air
of regard and confidence which quite pe-
trified me. I assure you it was observed by
Lady Glibspeech, and by the three Misses


188
FASHIONABLE ADVICE.
""
Mortimer; for they kept their eyes upon
you, and whispered to each other, 'A
match, I suppose!"""Dear me, Mamma,'
said the artless Julia, "I did not err inten-
tionally, I'm sure; I only leaned upon his
arm, because I was fatigued, and because-
he offered it so kindly."
"There are many hints I wish to give
you, child," continued her Ladyship. "In
taking a man's arm, you should do it.
neither bashfully nor confidently; neither
disdainfully nor kindly. You should never
lean upon him, in any sense of the word;
but receive either his arm for the pro-
menade, or his hand for the dance, as a
mere matter of course.
"When you smile, too, in return for a
bow, or other salutation or acknowledg-
ment, you smile with all your heart! your
eyes wide open, and beaming regard. Now,
nothing is more vulgar. Your smile should
be half grave, half sportive: enough of the
grave to show becoming pride; and of the
sportive to set off and embellish your coun-
tenance,


FASHIONABLE ADVICE.
189
"When you laugh, you laugh as if you
really were delighted, which is plebian in
he extreme. A woman of quality's laugh
is in a very doubtful, minor key, as if half
ashamed of herself at being moved to
mirth by the exertions of any one.
"In surprise, again, you expand your
large blue eyes, and look like a picture"
(Julia is beautiful in this expression of
countenance)," although I have told you,
a hundred times, that none but rustics
appear amazed; nothing being quite novel
to people of fashion." (A fine compound
of deceit she will make of her, cried I, to
myself.)
"Then, you have a trick of standing
near the fire, which catches your face and
arms, and makes you look as ruddy as
a milkmaid, and ruins your complexion
for the night." (This was impossible to
be done to her Ladyship's artificial lilies
and roses.)
"When you are asked if you are en-
gaged to dance, you cry no,' with the
6


190
FASHIONABLE ADVICE.
simplicity of a girl at a fair, and look, as
much as to say, 'I'll dance with you, with
a great deal of pleasure,'-instead of hang-
ing down your head, then looking up in a
pretty attitude, expressive of doubt and
consideration, so as to give added interest
to your hand, which the gentleman is un-
certain of obtaining; and showing, at the
same time, how much you are in request.
Nay, when you have accepted a partner,
you should not rise full of spirits and
satisfaction, to join the gay throng; but,
even then, testify some degree of indiffer-
ence, and take your place coolly, and
loungingly, as it were."
"But, then," replied Julia, " my dear
Mamma, I am so fond of dancing!"
"That is just what I complain of!" said
her Ladyship. "You ought to be fond of
nothing but fashion, your father, and my-
self."-" And brothers and sisters," added
Julia, hanging down her head.
brothers and sisters," answered Lady—;
"but don't hang down your head, and
pronounce the words like a simpleton.
"Yes,


FASHIONABLE ADVICE.
191
"When you ride out with a gentleman
(I beg your pardon, for delivering this
lecture before you, but I know that you
are a friend of the family," said she to
me.-"Oh, madame, ne vous génez pas;
the discourse is very edifying," replied I)
"never," resumed she, "allow him
either to ride on your left side, or to lean
on the pummel of your saddle.
"When you walk with beaux, never
dismiss your footman; and never let me
see you go out with young Archer, in his
tilbury. A curricle, with two grooms
behind, is well enough, even if the grooms
be a quarter of a mile behind: because
these two witnesses defeat the idea of a
téte-à-tête, and are stylish; whilst the
other is mean and matrimonial." Aye,
there's the rub, thought I; for the first
position exhibits a distinction without a
difference, considering the quarter of a
mile business.
"And," concluded she, " when you
waltz, extend your arms, and keep your
partner literally at arm's length: look
1


192
FASHIONABLE ADVICE.
occasionally at your feet, and smile around
you; but never allow his eye to meet
your's, nor give him one positive smile
upon any account whatever; and pray
do not let me have to blush for you
any more." "Very well, Mamma," said
Julia, and left the room with a tearful
eye.
--
""
"She is," said her Ladyship, addressing
herself to me, "such a novice, that I have
no patience with her." "What would
you have her to be," exclaimed I, "at
sweet sixteen, and as innocent and engag-
ing as a girl can be?" "Stuff!" said her
Ladyship; "the girl's barely passable
(her Ladyship was envious of her). "But,
don't you think," added I, "that it would
be just as useful, and a deal more simple,
to advise her not to waltz at all, nor to
ride out, nor to lean on any one's arms in
a morning promenade, unless with a rela-
tion to protect her, or in your Ladyship's
company; "Oh! nonsense!" replied her
Ladyship; "I can't be bound to dance
attendance on grown-up girls, although it
66
.


FASHIONABLE ADVICE.
193
VOL. 1.
•
be my duty to give good advice. I might
shut myself up in a prison just as well.
That would finely interfere with my en-
gagements, indeed! A pretty thing to
make a bear-leader of me! Yet, I would
chuse my daughters to be perfect women
of fashion." "Oh! I understand you,"
replied I; and shifting the subject, took an
early leave: for I found I was not likely to
make a convert of her Ladyship; any
more than she of
THE HERMIT IN LONDON.
K





FORTUNE HUNTERS.
......He that has two strings t' his bow,
And burns for love and money too.
BUTLER.
LIFE has been called, by some, a dream,
by others a drama, (" since all the
world's a stage,")-and by others a game.
In the former point of view we are all
somnambulists; surrounded with uncer-
tainty and darkness in feeling our way
through the world; our minds obnubilated
by phantoms, blinded by interest, lulled
into security by a delusive reverie, at-
tracted by unsubstantial pleasures, and
only awakened to wisdom and reason
when it is too late. In the two latter
views of the subject we are mere actors in
a piece where we cannot chuse our own
K 2


196
FORTUNE HUNTERS.
parts, or speculators on a game of which
we know not the nature of the stake.
As I do not like the gloomy side of
things, I shall consider men in this last
point of view; namely, in pursuit of some
game, with interest or amusement for their
main object; classifying the sportsmen in
life under the heads of pleasure hunters,
quality hunters (or, as it is called at Ox-
ford, where the gold tuft is the badge of
nobility, tuft hunters), place and pension
hunters, and, lastly, fortune or wife hun-
ters; more properly the former, as the
latter is only considered as an accompani-
ment, and often a very inharmonious one,
to it.
The mere pleasure hunter, who follows
the ignis-fatuus of enjoyment, that is to
say,
"the something unpossess'd," is
scarcely worth a thought. Brief is his
summer's day in the garden of life; fickle
his taste; many the sweets which he fain
would cull; but the premature cold breeze
of winter, the clouded sun, or sudden
approach of evening, cloyed pleasures and


FORTUNE HUNTERS.
197
sated appetite, produce surfeit, disappoint-
ment, and disgust; sickness and sorrow
follow, and the insect is no more; his day
is done.
The quality or fashion hunter is a mere
reptile. He crawls after other insects, or
feebly mounts to follow the titled butter-
fly. His reign is as brief and more con-
temptible than the former. Not unfre-
quently, like the silly and obtrusive gnat,
he plays round the blaze of power, until
he burns his wings and becomes a specta-
cle for life; or until he consumes his ex-
istence entirely, and is destroyed by the
dazzling glare of ambition.
Not to dwell on the other varieties, we
will come to the fortune hunter, who has a
longer and more active course before him;
though not less contemptible, and more
culpable than the former. He has a sub-
stantial object in view, and is ever awake
to his own interest, ever alive to the
most sordid views. He runs not giddily,
but creeps warily and like a sportsman on
his prey. Intent frequently on destruc-
K 3


198
FORTUNE HUNTERS.
tion, he is steady, cool, artful, patient, and
designing. No beauty melts his refrige-
rated bosom, no female enchantments
divert his reasoning powers from their
favourite employment of calculation. Plea-
sure and passion he commands; and un-
dazzled by fashion or by glittering ap-
pearance, he looks to the intrinsic, how-
ever encumbered with earthly deformity,
however degraded in baseness, rusted,
mildewed, or disguised. The woman of
fortune, whether old or infamous, de-
formed or disgusting, base-born or ill-
bred, has always attractions for him;
whilst simple beauty, in its modest bed,
withers by the way-side, or is spurned by
the adventurer's foot, in his road to For-
tune's temple.
I cannot, myself, conceive a more base,
or a more degraded character than this:
yet thousands we have, in town and at
our fashionable watering-places, who are
gazetted fortune hunters, and are known
to be "hanging out for wives;" dancing,
flattering, fawning, attending on and de-
"
*


FORTUNE HUNTERS.
199
ceiving one heiress after another, until
some one fall a prey to them.
Mr. Flutter, after having dissipated his
own fortune, has been at this trade for
four-and-twenty years; and has, in the last
ten, had, what he deems the good fortune,
to bury two rich wives, without heir or
incumbrance. He is now trying for a
third, though rather aged himself, and
wholly unattractive, not having the gene-
rosity to bestow a fortune on unprovided
female merit, nor manliness enough to
marry for love. But the worst of all is,
that Mr. Flutter, and all such wretches, in
their course through life, angle also for
the affections of beauty and innocence;
and when by inquiry the fortune of the
party is not commensurate with their ava-
rice and ambition, they leave the love-sick
girl to regret, to wretchedness, and to the
pointed finger of scorn; for when a heart
is betrayed, although virtue be unimpaired,
yet will scandal point out its owner as a
deserted damsel, one with whom a match
has been broken off, a forsaken maid;
K 4


200
FORTUNE HUNTERS.
whilst the fortune hunter is barbarously
trying all in his power to create the same
interest in another heart, his own callous
alike to sympathy or remorse.
The following anecdote of Mr. Flutter
will give a pretty striking example of this
tribe. Having buried his first wife, in
whose breed the Ethiopian cast was very
discernible, he went on a voyage of dis-
covery (as the gold mineralogists often do)
to the north. He ascertained that an
heiress, who shall now be nameless, dwelt
on the border, and that she possessed lands,
a castle, and money in the stocks. He im-
mediately cast his net, and it fell, as he
imagined, on the bird, a sprightly and
解
​very engaging young person.
With this lady he danced and walked ;
to her he sighed and wept, read love son-
nets, and made love verses; he was un-
wearied in his attentions, and had fixed
the day for popping the question to her;
with the precaution, however, of being
still better informed as to the castle, the
acres, and the bank stock. In the course


FORTUNE HUNTERS.
201
of his extravagant courtship, he extolled
her figure to the skies, assured her that
a blonde was the goddess of his idolatry,
and that an eye like her's (a full humid
blue) was an empire in itself. Riding out
with her previous to the day of the in-
tended grand attack, after admiring her
accomplishments, and even her horse, he
informed her that he had seen her castle,
and he thought it worthy of such a mis-
tress; a most noble, romantic, and desir-
able spot; that he should be delighted to
be her shepherd in those groves, and con-
tented to pass his existence in retirement
with her whom he adored.
►
The young lady had good sense enough
immediately to perceive his drift, and
bursting out into a fit of laughter, informed
him that the castle, the woods, and the
fortune, whose beauties and excellencies
had so attracted him, and with which he
was so deeply in love, belonged to her
cousin (of the same name), and that she
herself did not possess an acre in the
world. Mr. Flutter was struck dumb; he
K 5


202
FORTUNE HUNTERS.
hesitated; he stuttered; said that he was
taken suddenly unwell; made his retreat;
and never again beheld the beautiful
Maria. The following month he was mar-
ried to the cousin, a plain deformed young
woman, with little black Jewish eyes, who,
although warned by her cousin Maria, yet
fell into the snare, and survived her happy
union only three years.
It would be for the good of womankind,
at least, if these goldfinch fanciers were
marked in society, so that they might be
avoided by females, and treated with con-
tempt by men. Mr. Flutter is, however,
very much thought of at Bath, where he
is considered to have many winning ways;
and he gives it out that he espoused his
dingy wife on account of her having mani-
fested an attachment to him, which ex-
cited his pity. Let no such man be
trusted for a moment," is the advice of
66
THE HERMIT IN LONDON.


A MORNING DRIVE IN A NOBLE-
MAN'S CURRICLE.
Ye who, borne about,
In chariots and sedans, know no fatigue
But that of idleness..
66
........
COW PER.
+
I HAD sauntered down Pall Mall one day,
as far as Carlton House, when I was over-
taken by Lord Random, who informed
me that he wanted to speak to me, and
requested me to come into his curricle.
Come," said he," the day is too hot for
walking; I have nothing to do; I will
set you down where you please; and you
may as well bear me company as in-
dulge your own cogitation thus soli-
tarily." I thanked him, and accepted
his proposal. His business was to talk
к 6


204
A MORNING DRIVE
about Lady Mary's intended match; or
rather he had no business at all, but was
alone. He wanted company; and the
opportunity was favourable to pick out of
me all that I knew respecting Lady Mary.
In this he failed: but I was now his cur-
ricle companion, and destined to pass the
morning with him; for I had nothing par-
ticular to do myself, and I anticipated, at
least, a pleasant airing.
We first drove to Friburg's, where my
Lord tried a variety of snuffs. He looked
also at a dozen kinds of cigars and of
tobacco, and purchased a little of each
article. All this time a crowd was round
the curricle, listening to his Lordship's
loud talk. This occupied about twenty
minutes. From Friburg's we wheeled
round, and drove through Pall Mall and
St. James's Street, as if we had been going
-on life and death.
At the corner of Bennet Street, my Lord
pulled up, and conversed with an acquaint-
ance for a few minutes. A few yards fur-
ther, he stopped again at Hoby's, the


IN A NOBLEMAN'S CURRICLE. 205
boot-maker's, and abused the foreman for
disappointing him in not sending home
some boots. Here again he talked loud,
and collected a host of beggars and idlers
about us. Thence we proceeded the short
distance of Dover Street, nodding to, and
nodded at by a numerous acquaintance.
We alighted at Morton the gunsmith's.
Here his Lordship looked at threescore
rifles, double and single barrelled guns and
pistols: inspected some powder and shot ;
talked of his immense dexterity as a marks-
man; mentioned many of his sporting
feats; praised himself very largely; bought
nothing, and remounted his curricle. In
all this shooting piece I was mum, taking
no part or interest in the concern. He
now drove furiously to Scott the tailor's,
in Pall Mall, where he alighted; but as we
had been one hour at Morton's, and I was
tired of a conversation in which I was
neuter, I preferred remaining in the cur-
ricle; thinking, at the same time, that this
would tend to shorten his stay. I was de-
ceived; he remained there an hour also;


206
A MORNING DRIVE
and so fidgetty and unmanageable were his
high-mettled cattle, that I was forced to
drive them up and down for fifty minutes,
expecting to be relieved every moment,
and not daring to go out of sight of the
tailor's door.
;
His Lordship apologized, and we drove
briskly up towards Oxford Street, making
three momentary halts, to shake hands with
Bond Street loungers. A veterinary sur-
geon's in Oxford Street was our next des-
tination. Here my Lord had a sick horse;
and he begged me to look at it, and give
my opinion. I pleaded ignorance; but he
would have me out, and indeed I preferred
this to the driving up and down, as in Pall-
Mall. We alighted, and proceeded to visit
the sick horse, which seemed to claim a
much greater share of his Lordship's atten-
tion than I had done. Seated on the man-
ger, the Peer held forth concerning horse-
flesh, the distempers to which these animals
were subject, and their general anatomy: and
here my Lord seemed to be quite at home.
I had now the felicity of listening to various


IN A NOBLEMAN'S CURRICLE.
207
remarks, on the part of the Peer and the
Farrier, respecting farcy, glanders, spavin,
worms, sand-cracks, and divers other dirty
diseases. We sat there until we all smelt
of the stable like ostlers, and until the
Peer, pulling out his musical watch, found
that it was six o'clock.
It was a little past two when we met in
Pall-Mall, and we had therefore been near
four hours making these uninteresting calls.
"I thought of going to the Park,” said he,
"6 but it is now too late; and I must go
home to dress: where shall I set you
"down?" I told him any where he
pleased; for I longed to be released from
this bondage and loss of time. He set me
down at the bottom of Old Bond Street,
shook hands with me, and took the direc-
tion of Berkley Square.
I leave my reader to judge what benefit
I derived from his Lordship's society, what
amusement I could have had in his conver-
sation, what advantage I could reap from
such an airing, or rather a dusting, up and
down the streets in a hot day. But there


208
A MORNING DRIVE
are many noblemen who thus shackle their
acquaintance, and who are vain, presump-
tuous, and unjust enough to imagine that
a commoner is sufficiently paid for his loss
of time, by being their companions a whole
long morning in a coroneted carriage, with
a couple of servants behind it. These
lovers of dependants, of hangers-on, and
of shades, always contrive to catch hold of
some complaisant person to keep them
company, and to listen to their self-praise,
or their bad jokes, in order to beguile their
own time at the expense of the sufferers.
These Lordlings will take you to Tatter-
sal's, to their stables, to Long Acre, and to
all their tradesmen's, in order to purchase
dogs, horses, a carriage, or to look at
every thing and buy nothing; or finally, to
show off their stud, their landau, barouche,
or vis-à-vis, and to impress you with an
adequate idea of their own importance,
and of the felicity which you possess in
being the friend and companion of a Peer.
The only conversation which took place
in four hours, (if conversation it can be


IN A NOBLEMAN'S CURRICLE.
209
called, where one man speaks all, and the
other only listens), was his Lordship's
account of himself, and his detail of the
preceding day. It was brought forward to
prove the excellence of his constitution,
and how he tried it by hard living; and it
was nearly as follows:
He rose at three; took a short drive:
went into Long Acre, to see his new tra-
velling carriage; bought a brace of spa-
niels of a dog-breaker, and visited his sick
horse; he dined at eight; got plenty of
wine; made a party to Vauxhall at mid-
night; spent twenty pounds in bad Cham-
pagne; returned about four in the morn-
ing; and enjoyed his own reflections with
a German pipe until half past five, when
he retired to rest.
If the attending of fanciful ladies on a
shopping excursion be annoying, ten times
more so is a morning's attendance on great
men, as above described. This one lesson
served me ever after; for I took special
care never to be so taken in again: nor
do I ever remember to have allowed any


210
A MORNING DRIVE.
man, be his rank what it would, to make a
tool of me since: although the fairer sex
have occasionally drawn me into shoppings,
morning calls, and once to a portrait
painter's; of which visit my readers shall
have an account in the next lucubration of
THE HERMIT IN LONDON.


SITTING FOR A PICTURE.
Painter. It is pretty mocking of the life.
Here is a touch; Is't good?
Poet. I'll say of it,
It tutors Nature: artificial strife
Lives in these touches, livelier than life.
SHAKESPEARE.-Timon of Athens.
"Do now be a good creature, and go with
me to my painter's," were Lady Jane Man-
deville's words, stopping her carriage, on
perceiving me at the Cocoa-Tree door.
"There is nothing so stupid as sitting for
one's picture," continued she, "and I
know you are a good soul, and will amuse
me with your society, during the trying
hour of being studied by the painter. Upon
my word, I wonder how many a handsome
timid girl can stand the trial: it is quite
awful: besides, one is apt to get into low
1


212
SITTING FOR A PICTURE.
spirits, it is so excessively tiresome. So
step into the carriage, and I shall be for
ever obliged to you. I have had two sit-
tings; yet I perceive something wanting to
the likeness which I am at a loss to de-
scribe, and which your superior judgment
will point out."
The last compliment acted on me as a
bribe; yet I saw that it was her Ladyship's
intention to make a convenience of me.
My age, however, and my habits favoured
the thing: I was weak enough to be pleased
with a remark so much in my favour, and
to comply. We arrived at the painter's, and
were shewn into a room where the easel
and half-finished portrait stood. Lady Jane
looked it through, examined, looked again,
shook her head, and appeared dissatisfied.
"That," said she, "is not me; it wants
something; what is it?" "It wants life,"
replied I, "it wants expression; your
countenance changes so frequently, that
it cheats the artist of the likeness which he,
for a moment, had in his power; another
expression, yet more agreeable and engag-


SITTING FOR A PICTURE.
213
66
ing, presents itself to his view, and he is
compelled to quit the last play of features,
which, if continued, would have been per-
fect. Thus, for instance, you smiled; he
caught that smile, but it died upon your
lips, and in your eyes, just as he was im-
pressing it on the canvass.
He looks up;
he finds you pensive and grave-another
countenance ! Pray, my Lady, smile
again." You cannot; the next attempt is
unnatural; it is not a smile; the artist is
puzzled; he looks at you again and again;
the charm of the last smile is broken; you
make a dozen unsuccessful attempts, in
order to satisfy the painter; you grow im-
patient; the placidity of your brow is ruf-
fled; the artist lays down his brush; he
too is out of temper, but he must not shew
it; he pauses, he reflects, he begs you to
sit unconcerned; "Sorry to give you so
much trouble;" what can he do?-He
paints from recollection, and fails. Now
had an approved and an approving, a loved
and loving swain, been before you, and
had he said, "Lovely Lady Jane, smile


214
SITTING FOR A PICTURE.
as you
did this moment, for it was the most
wily winning smile I ever beheld," you
would have immediately smiled all heart,
and the painter would have seized the
happy moment.”
"You are a wicked man, a practised
flatterer, a gay deceiver," exclaimed her
Ladyship, hitting me amicably with her
parasol; "but do tell me what the pic-
ture wants. It is stiff; it is grave; it looks
like a woman of thirty; in short, it is not
me; and I have half a mind not to take it."
I saw immediately its defects in her
eyes it was not handsome enough-not
ten years younger than herself—in a word,
not sufficiently flattering; but I could not
tell her so. It wants,' resumed I, 'as I
said before, your play of features; it cannot,
like you, say the most amiable things in
the world, nor do the most friendly ones;
it has not your wit, your conversation, your
knowledge of the world, and your oblig-
ing disposition-such things exist not in
canvass; and it is not the painter's fault.
Perhaps,' continued I, it has a little too


SITTING FOR A PICTURE.
215
much colour.' "Not a bit, (for she was
pleased with its improved complexion) ;
but (concluded she) it is too old." "Per-
haps it may be.' She was quite dissatisfied.
""
We now heard very loud talking in the
next room. "Let us listen," said she.
"It is that vain creature, Mrs. Blossom!
I am sure if Mr. Varnish takes a faithful
likeness of her, it will be a fright, and it
will be the first faithful thing about her."
'How severe,' said I. "Oh! I hate her,
answered her Ladyship; "but hush!"
Upon listening attentively, we discovered
that she was come to get her daughter
Laura's portrait taken. The poor artist
was to be pitied. Nothing could satisfy
her. It would have been far more candid
to have said-I must have a Venus, instead
of my daughter; you must make this
woman an angel in picture: the colours
must breathe-they must be the spirante
colore of the Italian artist; yet it must be
my daughter, in spite of nature and of art.
-"I will have Laura painted at her harp,'
said Mrs. Blossom. "She must be clad in
""


216
SITTING FOR A PICTURE.,
white-light drapery of exquisite design-
her neck and arms bare-a lily of the val-
ley in her bosom-her raven locks fanci-
fully arranged-one shed over her fore-
head-a favourite ringlet straying o'er
her ivory neck.”—You paint so beauti-
fully yourself, Madam,' observed the artist,
'that I shall execute nothing half so well;
but the young Lady will make a most in-
teresting picture, and I will do my best to
please you; your idea is excellent, and I
shall follow it with the utmost care.'
"Yes," resumed Mrs. Blossom, “I am
allowed to have a very fine taste for paint-
ing," (for painting herself, undoubtedly
she had).
66
"But stop, not so quick," exclaimed
Mrs. Blossom, "another thought has come
into my mind. I will have her painted at
full length-a light drapery hanging over
one shoulder-the other quite bare-her
hair à la victime behind, and fastened upon
the top of the head-one lock over the left
shoulder, long, full, and natural, and finely
contrasted with the whiteness of her bosom


SITTING FOR A PICTURE.
217
6
-her head half turned (this was enough to
turn it altogether)-her eyes drooping-a
book in one hand-the other arm reclining
on an elegantly executed pillar." Very
good indeed,' cried the painter!
young lady's fine silken eyelashes and full
eyes will have an excellent effect in this
pensive attitude.'
'The
"Nay," interrupted the partial and fan-
ciful mother," now I have a better
thought she shall be painted as Diana-
my beautiful greyhound at her feet, which
will be a double advantage, as it will bring
in a favourite: then we will have her dra-
pery looped up in front, it will display her
well-proportioned finely-turned instep to
advantage-her bow suspended from her
shoulders-the head-dress exactly like that
of the goddess in question." "Admirable!'
exclaimed Mr. Varnish. " Or if she were
drawn as Hebe, or"-
Here we had no longer patience, and we
left our listening station. "Fool!" cried
Lady Jane; and ringing the bell, ordered
the footman to remind his master that Lady
VOL. I.
L


218
SITTING FOR A PICTURE.
Jane Mandeville was waiting, and that she
was pressed for time. The artist entered,
all confusion and excuses, and told us that
he had been detained for an hour by a lady,
who at last went away undetermined as to
how her daughter was to be drawn.
Lady Jane, who had so blamed and so
ridiculed Mrs. Blossom for her conceit and
fantasticalness, now began herself to play
the difficult. She found a thousand faults
with the picture, and was quite angry with
me for not finding a thousand more. "The
eye wants light," observed she. 'I will give
it a little,' answered the painter. "And the
bosom should be fuller." He made it so,
although it was nearer the truth at first.
"It is too old," said she, next. He re-
touched it. The likeness, or rather the
portrait, was more flattering. "That's bet-
ter; now I'll have the head-dress altered;
it shall be like those of the Greek models."
"Your Ladyship shall be obeyed.' "And
that nose, again, is frightful. I am sure I
have not that pert turned-up thing which
you have given me." The painter looked


SITTING FOR A PICTURE.
219
all confounded: his eyes said, 'Pray what
nose would your Ladyship please to have?'
but he could not so express himself. He
pondered, and at last painted a very hand-
some nose, quite unlike the original; for
Lady Jane is pleasing, without the least
pretensions to regularity of features, or to
what may be termed beauty, and she has
precisely the nose she objected to so much.
By this time the picture was grown very
unlike indeed. "That's better," said she,
with a nod and a smile. "Come, my
friend," continued she, addressing herself
to me,
"tell me some of your excellent
anecdotes, in order to put me in good hu-
mour with myself." And with me also,'
modestly added the painter. "There, my
Lady, that smile will do inimitably.' She
turned her head, and was uneasy; she looked
all impatience; it was lost. You do not
sit so well as you did yesterday-not so
pleasantly, nor in such good spirits,' ob-
served the artist. "Oh! I remember-
yes; I had that rattle, George Myrtle, of the
Guards, with me; he kept talking non-
<
-
L 2


220
SITTING FOR A PICTURE.
sense to me the whole time of my sitting;
do excuse me for this morning, and I'll come
again to-morrow, and bring him with me."
Mr. Varnish dropped his brush, and bowed
disappointment—'Just as your Ladyship
pleases.'
We all rose together: and, as he was
conducting us to the door, we met Mrs.
Versatile and Lady Bellamy. "Do, my
love," said the former to Lady Jane, “re-
turn with me to the painting-room, and see
if you can find out my portrait; it is not
quite finished, although I have sat ten
times."—"Yes,' interrupted the artist, 'for
ten minutes each time.'-"But," continued
she, "if the likeness be striking, you will
know it immediately." We re-entered the
room; and, by an approving smile and a
glance of Mrs. Versatile's, we discovered a
most beautiful picture to be her's, not by
the likeness, but by her self-satisfaction at
being so flattered. We both agreed that it
was uncommonly like. Lady Bellamy grew
pale with envy; and Lady Jane observed,
hastily, "Mr. Varnish has not taken half so


SITTING FOR A PICTURE.
221
much pains with my picture as with your's."
He modestly answered, 'Madam, it is not
yet finished;' whilst Mrs. Versatile smiled
disdain, as much as to say, "Poor silly
thing! do you ever expect to look half so
well as I do?"
Mrs. Versatile then addressed herself to
the artist." Mr. Varnish, I really do (lay-
ing a stress on the last word) beg your par-
don for being so troublesome to you, but
you must excuse me to-day; I was up all
night at a quadrille ball, and I shall fall
asleep, or do nothing but yawn, if I sit
down. (Turning to the looking-glass,) I
protest I look quite a fright, I will not sit
to-day." He bowed submission; and it
came out afterwards that she had disap-
pointed him five times running. Once she
was engaged to a déjeuné; once she had a
sick head-ache; the third time she disap-
proved of her dress, which was to be chang-
ed; next she looked too pale after riding;
and, lastly, she was fluttered, and put out
of temper, and could not, as she called it,
L3


222
SITTING FOR A PICTURE.
"bear herself, because she looked so un-
becomingly."
To all these changes of temper and dis-
appointments are artists exposed. Her
Grace is so disordered by the high wind
that she is not fit to be seen ;-Lady So-
and-so has had no rest, and her eyes look
quite red ;-Miss Lovemore is so fidgetty
that she cannot sit still: she is going to a
waltz party, and will put off the sitting
until to-morrow. Lady Bellamy now put
in her word; for she had a picture which
did not half please her, and which was to
be altered." Mr. Varnish," said she, "my
husband does not approve of my picture
(the case with many husbands, thought I);
he says that it is a stiff, prim, formal piece
of stuff." The painter looked all patience.
"It is not half so gay as I am (some truth
in that); it is unlike about the eyes; it
must be touched up again and improved;
besides, my husband says that he must have
me in an easy undress, instead of that crim-
son robe and feathers." Just as your


SITTING FOR A PICTURE.
223
husband pleases,' answered the tormented
artist.
We now took our leave; and Lady Jane
set me down at Hookham's, observing on
the way that Mrs. Versatile's picture was
not a bit like her, that Mr. Varnish had
made a perfect beauty of her, and that she
much regretted having her portrait painted
by him, as she did not admire his like-
nesses at all.
On my way home, I could not help ru-
minating on the painful task of the pain-
ter, and recollected that very few of the
portraits which we saw in his show-room
were strong likenesses of those for whom
they were taken. The two great causes for
this, however, were, that almost every
body wishes to be flattered, while some
others have the conceit of being painted in
dresses so utterly foreign to their situation.
in life, that their acquaintance can never
possibly have seen them attired in that
manner.
There was, for instance, Lord Heavy-
head, in the costume of a Roman Senator,
L 4


224.
SITTING FOR A PICTURE.
which he is as like as he is to a windmill;
the Rev. Mr. Preachhard, in a scarlet hunt-
ing-frock and black velvet cap, which he
used to wear before his ordination, and a
fox's brush instead of the Bible in his
hands; a Captain Fairweather in a suit of
polished armour; a Mrs. Modish as a Mag-
dalen; and the Dowager Lady Lumber as
a sleeping Venus, with a rich silk drapery
thrown over her. Now who on earth
could expect to discover his friends under
such disguises? Yet to all these whims
and fantasies must the painter submit.
His task, to please, must be difficult.
"It is easier to draw characters than
features," thought I; and, indeed, I dare
say the poor artist himself could often give
a heightening touch, from his own personal
observation, to the portraits of
4
THE HERMIT IN LONDON.


A VISIT TO MY FRIEND
AT HIS
COUNTRY SEAT.
HOR.
O rus, quando te aspiciam.
O knew he but his happiness, of men
The happiest he! who, far from public rage,
Deep in the vale, with a choice few retired,
Drinks the pure pleasures of the rural life.
THOMPSON.
I HAVE always preferred the "shady side
of Pall Mall" to any other shady groves
or bowers in the world. But though my
attachment for a town life is such, that I
have refused a thousand invitations to the
country, yet after a whole winter of pro-
mising to visit Lord Riverbank at his re-
treat, twenty miles from London, I at last
did violence to my inclination and went
L 5


226
A VISIT TO MY FRIEND
thither. I had heard a great deal of the
magnificence of his house-of his improve-
ments and his hospitality,—and I was now
about to judge for myself as to all these
particulars.
I accordingly threw myself into a post-
chaise; and arrived at Riverbank Park
about two o'clock, P.M. I inquired for my
Lord, and was informed that he was busy,
but would be with me immediately. Her
Ladyship was employed in stag-hunting.
I next asked for the young Lord, and
found that he was fishing:-Lady Ann,
the eldest daughter?-she was out with
the coachman, learning to drive :-Lady
Elizabeth ?-she was with her drill-master,
that is to say, with a Serjeant of the
Guards, who was putting her through her
facings, and teaching her to march :-
Lady Mary?-she was lying down. "Bless
me," said I, "the family are oddly em-
ployed! But I am sorry for Lady Mary's
indisposition." She is not indisposed at
all, Sir,' replied the Butler, she is lying
flat on the floor for an hour, by order of
6
6


AT HIS COUNTRY SEAT.
227
6
her Ladyship, by way of improving her
shape.'"And Mademoiselle Martin, the
governess?" added I,- Is,' answered the
Butler, waltzing with a young officer
who is on a visit here, for amusement's
sake;'"whilst Lady Mary is thus stretched
on a board. Preposterous!" muttered I to
myself.
6
The nursery was now let loose, and the
infantine race crowded about me, hid under
the skirts of my coat, and insisted upon my
playing at battledore and shuttlecock with
them, which I reluctantly did. At length,
after the lapse of an hour, my Lord made
his appearance in a very slovenly undress,
his hands quite dirty, and an unfinished
needle-case between his finger and thumb.
He had been turning in his workshop (his
favourite amusement), and apologized for
his delay. His first anxiety was to shew
me his shop, his tools, and his perform-
ances. He then stunned me with the noise
of a wheel, and presented me with a pen-
case, which I could have bought, better
done, for sixpence. His next care was to
L 6


228
A VISIT. TO MY FRIEND
take me over his improvements, which
business lasted two hours, and fatigued me
exceedingly. I had the honour to visit his
piggery, to get knee-deep in straw and
manure in his farm-yard, to catch cold
after walking fast in his dairy, and to assist
him in reclaiming a horse which broke
through a fence. In our walk, he praised
himself a good deal, talked to me of the
size of his cattle, and added something
about a cross in his sheep, which escaped
my attention.
We now came in to dress for dinner,
and the family assembled together. Lord
Greenthorn had caught three small fish,
and had pricked his finger whilst baiting
his hook. The Serjeant was heard in
praise of Lady Ann, who performed as
well, he said, as if she had been an old
soldier. Coachee was interrogated respect-
ing Lady Elizabeth, who, he assured my
Lord, would in a short time make a very
pretty whip. The Governess's evidence
was not so favourable to Lady Mary, who,
she complained, would not be still a


AT HIS COUNTRY SEAT.
229
minute. This was very bad; but Lady
Mary stated, in her defence, that it was
impossible whilst waltzing was going on.
My Lord patted her on the head; and,
turning to me, observed, "She's a fine
wild girl, an't she?"
Dinner was now served up in a sump-
tuous style; but all was stiffness and
formality. I was seated next to her La-
dyship, whose conversation ran upon the
pleasures and the dangers of the chase. She
had been twice up to the saddle in water,
had been once nearly knocked down by
the bough of a tree, and had taken some
very desperate leaps. My Lord talked to
the Curate, all dinner time, about farm-
ing, with all the ardour of a theorist and
all the ignorance of a novice. Lady Ann
and Lady Elizabeth quarrelled together
most part of the time, about the trimming
of their dresses. Mademoiselle Martin ap-
peared to be the great favourite of the
young Officer; and Lady Mary annoyed
me by asking a thousand silly questions
about what was doing in town,—what was
4


230
A VISIT TO MY FRIEND
the last fashion, if I could tell her the
name of any new novels, and the like.
The circulation of the bottle, after din-
ner, was slow and confined. The Parson
drank two to one to his neighbour. The
militaire tippled wine and water, com-
plaining of being feverish; and soon left
us, that he might walk with the young
ladies and their governess, who kept them
running races, whilst she was flirting with
the Captain.
Lord Riverbank now proposed another
stroll, but I declined it, on account of my
morning's fatigue. I accordingly went up
to the drawing-room, where I found her
Ladyship sleeping on the sofa, overcome
with her hard riding; and Miss M'Clin-
tach, a Highland unmarried lady of about
fifty, whose pardon I beg for not having
named her at dinner. This Caledonian
lady is the quintessence of old maidishness,
yet affected in the extreme, and much
inclined to be taken for twenty-five years
of age. She is so formal however withal,
that she would not sit next a man at table,


AT HIS COUNTRY SEAT.
231
for fear he should touch her knee by
accident.
When the walking party returned, cards
were proposed; but we could not make up
a table. Miss M'Clintach said it did not
do for young people to gamble, and (in a
very broad accent) observed, that cards
were the deevle's bukes. Waltzing was
then mentioned; and two couples began,
whilst the third sister played on the piano
forte. There was a quarrel at starting,
as to who should have the Captain for a
partner. The eldest daughter, however,
claimed the right of primogeniture, whilst
the second sister danced with tears in her
eyes, for disappointment, and Mademoi-
selle looked as black as a thunder-cloud.
I was set down to cards with the Parson,
and lost ten games at piquet. Lord
Greenthorn established a game at forfeits
for the younger children, and in this Miss
M'Clintach joined, by way of appearing
young and innocent. When, however, it
came to her turn to be saluted, she made
a most desperate resistance, appealing to


232
A VISIT TO MY FRIEND
the higher powers, and exclaiming very
loudly, and in her broadest northern ac-
cent, "A beg leave to state, that a set my
fece against the measure entirely." A roar
of laughter from all quarters followed this
remark; and the cause was given against
the lady, who slapped the young Lord's
face, and retired in a rage, amidst thunder-
ing applause, or rather thundering mirth
at her
•
expense.
Lord Riverbank, fatigued with turning,
now fell asleep; and I, taking the hint,
slipped unperceived to my room, where I
noted down the transactions of the day.
After breakfast, the following morning,
I took my leave, resolved never again to
pass such a day in the country, unless
brought there on some most urgent and
pressing occasion. My Lord's estate is a
fine one, his house is roomy and expen-
sively fitted up; but comfort is no where
to be found in his domains; and as for
improvements, there is great room yet, for
many more-beginning with the family
itself.


AT HIS COUNTRY SEAT.
233
On my way home, I could not help
thinking that there was much truth in the
remark of a Frenchman, who stated as his
opinion, that we find in life fewer things
positively and intentionally bad, than
things out of place, des choses déplacées.
This led me to consider the pursuits and
pleasures of the Riverbank family, all
innocent in themselves, but quite out of
place, as if the family had changed sexes,
sides, and conditions, and did every thing
by a rule contrary to propriety.
Thus, had Lord Riverbank been stag-
hunting, and Lady Riverbank fishing,—
had the young Lord been in the hands of
his drill-serjeant, or driving out for the
purpose of becoming an able charioteer,-
had Lady Ann been dancing, in the place
of her governess, and had Lady Eliza-
beth, and the recumbent Lady Mary, been
employed at their music or at study, and
Mademoiselle ornamenting their dresses;
it strikes me that the pursuits of the fa-
mily would have been more analogous to
the age, sex, rank, and understandings of
--


234
A VISIT TO MY FRIEND.
its members. As for the turning, carpen-
try, and the cabinet-making, they might
have been omitted altogether—at least, ac-
cording to the value of such merely me-
chanical pursuits, in the estimation of
THE HERMIT IN LONDON.


DELICATE DISTINCTIONS.
Thro' tattered clothes small vices do appear,
Robes and furred gowns hide all.-Plate sin with gold,
And the strong lance of justice hurtless breaks:
Arm it in rags-a pigmy straw doth pierce it.
KING LEAR.
-'s
66 How sorry
I was to see Lady
name in print," said Lady Leonora Ogle,
the other day. "I knew of her unfor-
tunate attachment to the Colonel long ago.
One can hardly blame her: she ought to
have been married to him; but he was too
poor. The attachment has lasted these ten
years. How unlucky that it should have
been exposed at last. She is much to be
pitied." "And her Lord," said I. "Oh!
the nasty disagreeable creature."
Oh, ho! cried I to myself, scratching
my forehead, I was right never to have


236
DELICATE DISTINCTIONS.
married. This is a delicate distinction,
indeed, only fitted for high life. An illicit
intercourse, forsooth, is called an unfortu-
nate attachment! and, because the lady
has dishonoured her husband for years,
'tis a pity that she should be found out!
She can hardly be blamed for marrying a
man that she hates, because he is rich!
nor for making him a cloak for her sins,
because her lover is handsomer and poorer
than he and he is not to be pitied, be-
cause, irritated by well-grounded suspicion,
he becomes a disagreeable creature! Very
pretty, indeed!
A moment after, a very elegant young
man entered the drawing-room. He played
off all the airs of an exquisite, looked grave
and interesting, sighed, complained of
ennui, of his unlucky stars, and made his
visit short. "I saw you in the King's
Road, yesterday," said she, at parting.
"No! did you?" replied he, in a silvery
tone. "I'm always seen by somebody; I
am an unfortunate wretch. Adieu! au
revoir."


DELICATE DISTINCTIONS.
237
I
"I do like that young man," exclaimed
she with much interest.
"Indeed every
body likes him but his frump of a wife.
wonder how he could sell himself to a
lump of warehouse vulgarity and riches.
The daughter of a packer to aspire to such
a man as that! or to conceive for a mo-
ment that he could like her! He is des-
perately attached to Mrs., and I fear
there will be a discovery there before it be
long. I have no patience with his jealous-
pated spouse, she torments the poor fellow
to death."
"And you pity him, too," said I. "I
do," concluded her Ladyship, "from the
bottom of my heart." Another nice dis-
tinction. A common man, who squandered
his wife's means, lived with another wo-
man, and treated her with scorn, would be
reckoned a vagabond and a reprobate:
and the honest woman of a wife's case
would be commiserated: but here the wife
is blamed for not submitting gracefully and
genteelly to adultery; and her presumption


238
DELICATE DISTINCTIONS.
is excessive in expecting any thing else
from so elegant a man.
Riding in the Park, I fell in with an
officer in the Guards. We took a turn or
two, and met George Rackrent.
66 I am
astonished," said I, " at seeing him about
again. I understood he was in prison, and
had not a shilling left in the world, out of
his large fortune. What an imprudent
man he has been!" "True," said the old
Captain; "but I'm happy to tell you that
he is now as fresh as ever; he has quite
made a recover; he is brought round, and
lives as comfortably as any man, and in
pretty good style. He has taken the bene-
fit; and has, moreover, been very lucky at
play of late. I rather think that he has
been put up; but I assure you he is as
good-natured and generous a fellow as ever
lived; and, in spite of all his misfortunes,
he has not lost a friend, nor does he owe a
gaming debt in the world."
Here's discrimination for you! He
throws away his own fortune in gambling,


DELICATE DISTINCTIONS.
239
in horse-racing, and in all sorts of debau-
chery; he pays his gaming debts in pre-
ference, and to the exclusion of his tailor,
his wine-merchant, his butcher, and a host
of minor creditors, who may be ruined by
such conduct on his part; he degrades
himself by taking the benefit of the In-
solvent Act; he sets up in good style, in-
stead of making an effort to be honest; he
learns to cheat at cards and at dice; and
yet, because he prefers fleecing strangers
to his friends, who very likely have little
to lose, or may be as clever as himself, he
is a good-natured generous fellow! nay,
an honourable one, although it is rather
thought that he lives by plunder! What
would a tradesman be thought of who
lived beyond his means and above his
sphere; then cheated his creditors, and
afterwards subsisted by fraudulent prac-
tices?
This delicate distinction is something
like my cousin Tom's calling himself an
old soldier, because he has learned to sell
a horse for more than it is worth; to take


240
DELICATE DISTINCTIONS.
advantage of a novice at billiards; to play
a good rubber at whist; and because he
receives obligations of every one, without
returning any-such as sponging upon a
greenhorn, sharing the extravagance of a
profligate, betting with the odds in his fa-
vour, and hoaxing the ignorant in all gen-
tlemanly ways. Quare, Whether this is
not being not only very unlike a soldier,
but very like a rogue?
6
A servant woman came to Lady Leonora
to be hired, one morning when I was pre-
sent. Her Ladyship asked her why she left
her last place? Why, my Lady,' said
she, to confess the truth, I was deceived
by a young man who had promised to
marry me.'
"Then," said her Ladyship,
sternly, "You will not suit me, for I can-
not encourage vice." I expostulated with
her Ladyship, and assured her, that the
girl's misfortune was just as natural as her
other friend's faux pas, and that I should
have expected her Ladyship's pity on this
occasion to be as charitable and extensive
as on the other. But her Ladyship made a
6


DELICATE DISTINCTIONS.
241
very nice distinction betwixt the orders of
society, with the view of convincing me
that there was all the difference in the
world between the cases.
Thus vice in the vulgar herd, is error in
people of quality; an adulterous inter-
course in low life, is an unfortunate par-
tiality in high life; extravagance in people
of humble birth, is mere want of order
in people of fashion; dishonesty in com-
mon people, is thoughtlessness in their
betters; and robbing with dice in your
- hand, instead of with a pistol on the high-
way, provided it be done in the higher
circles, is only a little manœuvring-for
which (with change of person, place, and
instrument) a wretched fellow-creature
might be put up on a high post, or put
down in a dreary prison. But to place
these delicate distinctions in their proper
point of view, is one great part of the
office of
VOL. I.
THE HERMIT IN LONDON.
M





A RAINY DAY IN THE COUNTRY.
For this one day
............
Do go, dear Rain! do go away.
COLERIDGE.
I GAVE an account to the Dowager Lady
Eaglemont of my country excursion to
Riverbank Park. She sympathized very
sincerely with me, and added that, for her
part, she would rather live in London all
the year round, than pass one month at
her son's castle. Fashion, however, makes
it necessary to quit town at a certain
pe-
riod, merely to say that you have been in
the country. "Now," continued she, "in
the hottest day in summer, when town is
most empty, and when you meet not an
acquaintance in a whole morning, still are
M 2


244 A RAINY DAY IN THE COUNTRY.
the shops open-one can go shopping,
lounge at a library, get the last new novel,
take an ice at a confectioner's, talk scandal
at a dress-maker's, hear the on dits that
are going about, drop in at the minor
theatres, and sit at one's window, on a
Sunday, quizzing the beaux and belles
emerging from the counter and the show-
room.
"In the country there are no such pas-
times. A watering-place, indeed, is very
well for a month, because it is not like the
country; one can gamble all day, go to
balls and assemblies at night, frequent the
libraries, and gossip as much as in town.
But a visit to what is called your country
seat, your family estate, is to me being a
prisoner on parole in fine weather, and a
close prisoner in bad weather. A rainy
day, for instance! what a trial of patience!
what a penance for one of my habits! In
a jail there may be variety,—the prisoners
must have many and marvellous adven-
tures to relate; but at the family mansion


A RAINY DAY IN THE COUNTRY. 245
all is clock-work sameness, healthy stupi-
dity, and the gloomiest of all gloomy re-
tirement.
"I neither ride nor fish: and as for a
walk, unless upon the flag-stones, I never
think of it. Country drives are equally
odious. To be dragged along without
shops or loungers to look at, I deem de-
testable; and then to arrive at a village,
and to set all the curs and mongrels bark-
ing at me, to startle a donkey out of a
ditch, and to set a parcel of cocks and hens
to flight, whilst broad grins and opened
eyes meet me at every cottage door, affords
me not the least entertainment.
9
"Nutting parties, too-what a bore!
getting your face scratched with brambles,
and your bonnet knocked off by the branch
of a tree. To boil your kettle like a gipsy,
under a hedge, and dine in woods, tents,
or in the open air, has this horrible differ-
ence from the worst entertainment in a
house, that you have the misery of being
bit by insects, your complexion spoiled,
and your dishes filled with animalculi.
M 3


246 A RAINY DAY IN THE COUNTRY.
66 Then the society in the country is the
most monotonous in the world. You are
entertained by the parson, perhaps, who
preserves the same soporific and nasal note
with which he treats his parishioners from
the pulpit; or by the village apothecary,
who puts you in low spirits by detailing
how sickly the season is, how many pa-
tients he has to attend, and the miraculous
cures which he has performed; or who
delights you with a four hours' discourse
of unintelligibilities about oxygen and hy-
drogen, muriates and nitrates and carbo-
nates!
"My poor brother, who you know is
retired from the army, perfectly agrees
with me in his hatred for the country, and
suffers just as much as I do in it. But to
return to a rainy day. I remember, last
July, it set in for rain in such good ear-
nest, that we had only five dry days in the
month. I know it to my sorrow, for I
counted them all, as I did the moments,
until I got off to Brighton, and thence
(tired enough of the seaside) to Bath.


A RAINY DAY IN THE COUNTRY. 247
¦
"One day, in particular, it rained in-
cessantly. My son and the apothecary
played billiards all day; and the women
must needs be industrious and go to work.
My poor brother was confined with the
gout, and I could get no one to make up a
rubber at whist. I counted, from my win-
dow, the slates of the stables, being in
number seven hundred and fourteen; I
measured the room sixteen times, and num-
bered the medallions on the carpet; I read
every advertisement in the papers; and
stood three-quarters of an hour, by the
clock, watching a goose upon the lawn;
which, as idle and unhappy as myself, had
no other amusement than extending one
leg and standing on the other; thereby
bringing Vestris, and all the delights of the
Opera, to my remembrance.
"It was an awful day! I thought that
there never would be an end to it. How
relieved I was when six o'clock struck, and
the dinner bell rung! After dinner I
played cards till I scarcely knew a heart
from a club. My brother told me that, one
1
M 4


248 A RAINY DAY IN THE COUNTRY.
*+
rainy day, he measured ten miles in the
library, played with the bell-rope for two
hours, and, after dinner, played four and
twenty games at billiards. I do protest that
I never will pass more than one week at a
time again at a family mansion as long as I
live, and that will be purely out of com-
plaisance, and to keep up old family
customs."
Thus ended her Ladyship's description
of the country.
I, too, remember a comical day, or ra-
ther a most idle one, passed at Richmond,
with a friend. It rained torrents; and our
horses were twice ordered, and twice sent
from the door. Every one of a party in-
vited to dinner sent apologies; and the bil-
liard-table was under repair. My friend
was no reader; and he had lost so much at
whist and piquet, at Bath, that he had
made a vow not to touch a card for a
twelvemonth. We therefore looked over
a portfolio of caricatures for three hours,
and played at long and short for shillings,
until I lost ten pounds. Then we varied


A RAINY DAY IN THE COUNTRY.
249
our game for odd and even, and dined and
played at backgammon until midnight,
when I left him to smoke his German pipe.
He fell fast asleep at this lively amusement,
and was awakened by his valet-de-chambre
at four o'clock in the morning.
I blush when I recollect how I spent that
day; but there are many, if they would
take a review of their past life, who will
find innumerable hours consumed in the
same way: not to mention the passa tempo
of many an elegant dragoon detached at
country-quarters, who, in his tædium vitæ,
strolls with a companion to the first bridge,
and spits over it for half-crowns or guineas;
or plays at pitch and toss by the road-side,
until the hour of dinner arrives; when he
either drowns recollection and life in the
purple tide of wine; or, if he be a selfish
insipid, who wishes to preserve his health
and good looks, sips his pint of Claret or
Madeira, lounges his evening away in mis-
leading the mind of the prettiest milliner,
or mantua-maker, in the village, and then
returns home, to admire himself in the
M 5


250 A RAINY DAY IN THE COUNTRY.
looking-glass, to boast to his comrade of
his success, or to laugh at the poor inno-
cent girl's credulity.
If such be the effects of idleness in the
country! surely it is better to be a
HERMIT IN LONDON.


KILLING TIME.
"Their only labour was to kill the time,
"And labour dire it was, and weary woe."
THOMPSON.
SIR Peter Panemar was knighted for his
civil services in India. He came home
with the liver complaint, and a plum. He
met with usurers who enabled him to lay
out his money to great advantage, by way
of annuity: this was all quiet and under-
hand. Lady Panemar has a blaze of jewels,
and she is fond of play, and has a great
opinion of her judgment in it. Both these
qualities turn to the account of her ac-
quaintance; whilst an excellent cook, and
a very large house, offer attractions to
guests of the first family, who condescend
to compose their circle, and who call
M 6


252
KILLING TIME.
them two mighty good people in their
way: id est, in the way of dinner-giving,
and of losing at cards.
The table, and other gratifications of the
senses, carried on sub rosá, compose the
round of Sir Peter's pleasures, and occupy
his time. But his Lady has more striking
features in her character: she is stormy,
jealous, changeable, and ambitious. To
be classed with the great, and to fatigue
echo with the sound of her strange name
and empty title, at every rout in town, is
the summum bonum of her enjoyments.
Late hours, and laced liveries, constitute
her splendour in society. She is known
like the sign at an inn door, and held
quite as cheap by people of quality. "Let
us just look in at the Nabob's house," is as
common as the call of a ticket porter at
Barclay and Perkins's Entire shop; and
the motive is much the same: the former
is made a convenience to high life; the
latter, an accommodation to the lower
orders.


KILLING TIME.
253
Sir Peter never has a vacant hour to
answer a letter, to receive a petition to
attend to the call of humanity, to improve
his mind, or, in fact, to spare, in any way
whatever. He has not a vacant hour in
the whole day; all are bespoken, all are
disposed of; all are engaged; and yet
how? for that is the object of our animad-
version. The important labours of his
day, the useful dividing of time, the taste
ful variety of improvement and pleasure,-
these are the objects of inquiry. In short,
how does Sir Peter live? What is his
diary? What the agenda which mark the
features of his mind, which render him a
useful member of society, and which
endear him to his fellow men, and to
the community at large?-Nearly as
follows:-
Eleven is his breakfast hour. Having
kept every one waiting, he comes down to
breakfast, as many members go to the
House, empty, insipid, and having nothing
but habit in view. He takes twice as
much time at breakfast as is necessary,


254
KILLING TIME.
even for an idle man; yawns over every
cup of tea; turns over every paper; looks
at the barometer, and at the thermometer,
and talks of India, and changes of climate,
and constitution; abuses England, yet
condemns India; looks at his letters, and
puts them in his drawer unread; fancies
himself into a complication of disorders,
and longs for the visit of his physician,
who appears secundum artem, a grave
coxcomb, profiting by the weakness of
mankind.
Of the physician, ignorant questions are
asked by Sir Peter, as to materia medica,
physiology, and anatomy. They are
enough to make him laugh; but he pre-
serves his unaltered muscles. The Nabob
persuades himself that he has a complica-
tion of disorders; the doctor bows; he
nods approbation to the idea, and a pre-
scription is written and sent off; for the
physician and the apothecary play into
each other's hands: the former fills his
patient's head with whims, alarms, and a
conviction that he cannot live without
1


KILLING TIME.
255
medicine; whilst the latter makes a com-
plete medicine-chest of the Nabob's trunk,
-not his strong-box, for both draw upon
that, in order to fill their own pockets,
and to get a good annuity out of Sir
Peter.
The patient then grows low-spirited.
"May he take a pint of Madeira?" "De-
cidedly; it is absolutely necessary.'"And
eat turtle?" "In moderation: yes.'"And
ortolans?" "Nothing better.'
"Doctor,
will you come and taste them?" "If my
professional calls allow me, I will.' (He
comes.) "And a bit of venison?" "The
easiest thing possible for digestion.'
9.66 And
a little iced Champagne ?" Hum-three
glasses.'"Noyau ?" One glass.'"Her-
mitage ?" "Yes, just for a finish; but,
to live on simple food, and to keep good
hours and temperance, is quite necessary,
and, indeed, the only thing to be relied
on.' Pleased with the prescription, Sir
Peter enjoys the anticipation of the Epicu-
rean delights, and thinks on dinner for
an hour.
6


256
KILLING TIME.
:
It is now one o'clock.-A poor artist
calls: "He has nothing for him." A
widow "She is an impostor." A trades-
man: "He will teach him better man-
ners, and wo'n't pay him for a twelvemonth,
for daring to ask for his bill." An humble
relation calls : "Never at home." He
must now ride: his horse is over-fed; he
himself is not over courageous, long used
to the palanquin,-a Brentford horseman.
He is nervous, and determines on walking.
It is now three o'clock! what has been
done?
(-1)
He saunters down Bond Street; meets
a poor man from India, who has a law-
"He
suit Might he speak to him?'
:
has not time." He is now in the middle
of St. James's Street; and a tenant wishes
for a word with him: the poor man's
stock and crop have failed; his farm-house
has been consumed by fire. But the Nabob
has not a moment: he even regrets that
he should have bought an estate what
are crops and tenants, fires, or other men's
calamities, the growth of timber, and mere
6


KILLING TIME.
257
;
vegetable matter, to him? Nothing: they
are a tax upon a man of fortune's time
he considers it as a great liberty taken by
the tenant to accost him in the street.
"After all," says he to himself (for he
has no taste for these pursuits), 66 agri-
culture and horticulture are very vulgar
employments; the former only fit for a
peasant, and the latter for a lady, and that
as far only as overlooking her green-
house, and of talking on the subject. I
had rather," continues he (to his dearest
friend-self) "smoke my hookar, and
listen to a good story, than see all the
crops, and fields, and gardens in the world;
wetting one's feet, perhaps, and bringing
on a fit of the gout, by following some
new-invented plough, or looking at some
odd breed of cattle."
He now determines to sell his estate.
But then again, Mount Pleasant House,
and a vote in the county, give conse-
quence; they draw my Lord, and the
county member also, to his parties; they


258
KILLING TIME.
procure him invitations to great dinners,
and shed showers of visiting cards upon
his breakfast table. He wo'n't sell his
estate.
It is now four. He is in Pall-Mall; he
looks into 's; he fancies that this is a
parliamentary, literary, diplomatic, scien-
tific lounge. It is a fancy-it is all fancy.
He sits down, he listens, he yawns, he
forgets; but he has been there, and he has
not time to recollect what passed. It is
past five. A parson accosts him for a sub-
scription for the poor of his parish, or for
a singular case of distress: time permits
not; he will be too late for dinner. Sig-
nor Santineri's readings! five guineas, and
be d-d to him!" He gives the money;
but he is in a devil of a hurry, and a little
out of temper; he must dress; he is tired;
a pill to take; too late; must be put off
till to-morrow; what a pity!
66
He is overfatigued; with what? with
going from Harley Street to Pall-Mall.
He will take his carriage next day; it is


KILLING TIME.
259
too fatiguing-too much for him; it occu-
pies too long a space of time; he forgets
the medicine, the sale of china, the mil-
liner, his promise to buy the cigars, and
the Prince's mixture! how many wants!
how many omissions! how important too!
and the satirical novel!-forgot that too!
how could that be?-too much hurried;
not a moment to spare.
A servant now annoys him again by
bringing in widows' petitions and trades-
men's bills: not that he can't pay the one,
and relieve the other, if he pleases; but
that he hates the name of them. Her Lady-
ship wishes to speak to him: he cannot. It
is six, and he is but half dressed (and that
very ill too, he might say, for he is the
worst judge of colours and dress in the
world). "She must write;" "a party for
the next day." Agreed: he will put off an
old friend, a commoner, because Sir Gre-
gory gives the feast.
'Tis seven. How has he passed the last
two hours? In swearing at his servants,


260
KILLING TIME.
and in trying on two coats which don't
please him he declares they were made
for a hog, yet they fit him exactly. His
gloves are too small; they burst in putting
on; the fact is, that his hand exceeds
Bond Street proportions. A spring wig
took three quarters of an hour in adjusting,
and did not please at last. He fears that
he shall have scarcely time to reach the
dinner party before the first course is con-
cluded how could it happen? What has
he done? He has been hurried all day,
and swears that he will not undertake so
much the ensuing day; but yet the vortex
of pleasure allures him, and impels him,
whilst idleness forms the leeway of his
reckoning on life's voyage.
What a progress he has made in the
useful part of life! He has walked all the
way from Harley Street to Pall-Mall; has
spoken to a dozen people; bowed to twenty
carriages; bought some currie powder;
and looked in at Colburn's library; and,
after a long and unsatisfactory toilette (for


KILLING TIME.
261
the quicksilver of his mirrors gives a vul-
garity to his features, and a blueness to
his lips, wrinkles to his cheek, and some-
thing unfashionable to his tout ensemble) :
he is enabled to cut in for the announcing
of dinner, just time enough to offer his
arm to a withering plant of quality. What
a pity that he has not more leisure How
much more might be done in the same
way! But it is the lot of rich men to be
overpowered with engagements.
Two hours at breakfast; two or three in
consulting about health; as many in doing
nothing up and down the streets; an hour
to listen at the library; an hour to forget
what he heard. How a man must, after
this, be pressed to get ready for dinner,
and to appear in time! Then, four courses
and a dessert bring on midnight; and, two
rubbers last until two o'clock in the morn-
ing. What a beautiful division of the
hours! Sir Peter is fatigued, by this time,
beyond measure; but he has to sooth her
Ladyship for her loss of temper, or for her


262
KILLING TIME.
loss at play.
"Dear how late it is! how
little time for rest!-must not be called
until noon the next day!-overfatigued ;-
too active a life!"
-
This is the diary of one who has not a
vacant hour; because vacancies, like ci-
phers, swell the numerical account of his
life. Such is Sir Peter Panemar; and such
are many others of his stamp. Time,
which still hangs heavy on their hands,
consumes and slips, as it were, from under
their feet, whilst they are thinking what to
do, yawning, complaining, and idling.
Calls of various kinds are made on them;
claims of humanity, or mere social claims;
but they have no time. The sale of a pipe
of Madeira, or of some old china, or of a
great man's pictures (the two first of which
they are perfect judges of, though ignorant
enough of the latter), require a whole
morning; and a great dinner, with the
additional attraction of cards, will, at all
times, dip deep into the night. Poor peo-
ple, how they are to be pitied! what a


KILLING TIME.
263
relief would they find by occasionally
seeking refuge in that rational retirement,
at their own firesides, which so often
affords the greatest gratification to
THE HERMIT IN LONDON.





MY COUNTRY COUSIN.
Come, spur away,
I have no patience for a longer stay,
But must go down,
And leave the chargeable noise of this great town.
RANDOLPH.
............
"WHAT a pretty morning I have made
of it!" exclaimed my cousin Bob, who had
arrived the day before from the country.
'What do you mean?' said I. "Why, I
have been hoaxed, and queered, and gam-
moned by every body." Relate the par-
ticulars,' said I, interrupting him; for he
appeared in a flurry, and somewhat asham-
ed of himself.
6
"In the first place," said he, "as I
was going to look at my horses, a fellow
ran against me, and smeared my new drab
great coat. "You unmannerly rascal," ex-
claimed I, “do you know who I am?"
VOL. I.
N


266
MY COUNTRY COUSIN.
'Know who you are?' answered he :
'No, mayhap Giles Jolter, from War-
wickshire." "So, laughing and lolling his
tongue out of his mouth, he passed on.
At the same moment a mud-cart crossed
me, just as I was going after the fellow to
give him a touch of my hand-whip, and
spattered me all over. I told my mind
pretty freely to the driver, who made a
swell of his cheek, by tucking his tongue
into it, and cried, Johnny Raw! when
did you come to town?" "I'll commit you,"
cried I; "I'm a magistrate ;" and a fool,'
says the fellow: vy I'll box you for your
estate;' so saying he off'd with his coat. Now
as I am a bit of a dab that way, I thought
that I'd indulge him a little, and that he'd
find me an ugly customer. So, giving my
coat to a well dressed gentleman, I squared,
and stood up to him like a man.
6
"He's beneath your notice,' cried a
grave gentleman, dressed in a suit of mourn-
ing, with powdered hair and green spec-
tacles; 'don't dirty your fingers with him;
he's beneath your notice; and you, sirrah,


MY COUNTRY COUSIN.
267
66
if you don't ask the gentleman's pardon this
minute, I'll take the number of your cart,
and have you fined; I saw you splash the
gentleman on purpose, and that's a breach
of the peace.' 'I humbly ask your pardon,'
says the rascal, Why then," says I," all
malice is over." So I turned round to put
on my coat; but the well-dressed gentle-
man was off with it.
'Stop thief!' says
the carman; 'I'll catch him; but where
can I bring the coat to your honour?'"To
that livery stable," I replied, pointing to
where my horses stand. 'I'll accompany
you,' said the elderly gentleman in black.
"Many thanks," said I; " and when I have
got my coat, I should be happy to offer you
a Sandwich and a glass of Madeira." The
gentleman stopped a quarter of an hour;
but the carman did not return. So he made
his excuses, that he could not remain any
longer, and left me, exchanging cards, and
promising to call upon me. I read his card,
"You
6
Sir John Jones, Adelphi Hotel.'
do me honour, Sir John," said I, offering
him my hand.
T
N 2


268
MY COUNTRY COUSIN.
(
"At this moment the carman came up.
Very sorry, your honour,' said he; but
the rascal is too nimble for me.' I put my
hand in my pocket to give him half-a-crown,
when, lo and behold! my pocket was picked
of fourteen pounds, besides silver, my grand-
mother's gold ring, my watch, a receipt for
making blacking, a gold pencil-case, and
my gardening knife. "The devil is in Lon-
don!" cried I. "Why what a burning
shame! Botany Bay must be let loose in this
quarter of the town: and, would you believe
it? all the grooms, and the ostler, burst out
a laughing. "D- ye all," cried I, and
smacked my whip at 'em; on which they
ran off, one crying to another, what a
greenhorn! what a spoony!' and I don't
know what besides.
66
"I now sent my groom for my bottle-
green hunting frock, and mounted my
famous roan-cost me two hundred; my
man riding a thorough-bred bay. Well, I
had not been a quarter of an hour in Rotten
Row, when two Dandies, as I'm told they're
called, turned up their noses at me. One
took his glass, measured me from head to


MY COUNTRY COUSIN.
269
foot; and, as I passed by the other, the
monkey-thing says to his brother baboon,
'where's my country cousin? who have
we got from the fens of Lincolnshire? a
fine pigeon! mind the country-cut coat,
and the mahogany topp'd boats.'
"Well, I despised them; and as I was
carelessly walking my horse down the ride,
with my whip under my arm, I had the mis-
fortune to run it into the eye of a beautiful
woman, mounted on a rare bit of blood, and
followed by a groom in a crimson and gold
livery. "A thousand pardons ma'am, said
I; I hope I have not hurt you." "Not
much,' replied she, in a very sweet voice;
so I took off my hat respectfully to her;
begged her pardon again and again; and
we rode up and down the Park twice, and
got into a very pleasant conversation.
6
"Just at this moment, cousin Dick, in
his dragoon uniform, gallops up to me, and
taking me aside, says he, don't you
know what sort of a lady you are riding
with? just give you a hint-that's all,'-
and so off he gallopped; and thus ended
my morning's adventure."
-
N 3


270
MY COUNTRY COUSIN.
My unfortunate cousin afterwards went
out to dinner, and informed me next morn-
ing, that he was laced up so tight, in order
to be in the fashion, that he could not eat
an ounce; and after the Opera, a schoolfel-
low took him to a tavern, where there was
private play, and fleeced him of three hun-
dred pounds, for which he gave his bill.
"A pretty three days in London, indeed!"
said I. He went home on the fourth; and
I trust that his example may be useful to
other country cousins, who may be exposed
to the same snares. I need not add, that
Sir John Jones, of the Adelphi Hotel, was no
where to be found, any more than the purse
and other articles, which my cousin lost at
the time he had the honour to get acquaint-
ed with him, though, from his description
him, I suspect him to be a practised
swindler, almost as well known about
town, though I trust not quite so much
esteemed, as
THE HERMIT IN LONDON.


GIVING AND RECEIVING.
You gave with words of so sweet breath composed,
As made the things more rich.
SHAKESPEARE.
FROM the two circumstances of giving and
receiving, the human character is more
easily learned, than from almost any other
act in life.
The man of delicacy and sensibility gives
with a smiling and graceful countenance;
bends gently forward, and drops or in-
sinuates his donation into the receiver's
hand; often presses that hand in token of
kindness, or in order to conceal the amount
of the gift; and whenever he can find an
opportunity, puts it on a table, or in a
drawer, in order to avoid either ostentation
or thanks. The well-bred man and the


272
GIVING AND RECEIVING.
man of the world spares the feelings of the
receiver, by conversing cheerfully on some
subject unconnected with the donation; by
giving the present with the utmost gen-
tleness, and without gesticulation; and by
looking at parting as if he had received,
instead of conferring a favour. The very
handling of the money bespeaks the man
of fashion, or the unmannered churl. The
former has it always ready, but never ap-
parent; conceals it in the palm of his
hand, or goes to fetch it from another
room, and wraps it up in paper, or writes
an order payable to the bearer, folds it up
and seals it, and delivering it with a kind
of obeisance, and a graceful presentation,
adds, " I am happy in complying with your
wishes;" or,
66 when you look on this at
home, I trust you will find it answer your
purpose."
The ostentatious, haughty brute, who,
whether he subscribe to an institution,
purchase a work of art, take tickets for a
benefit, or relieve distress, does it from
pride and the love of praise, makes as
""


GIVING AND RECEIVING.
273
much of his donation as he possibly can;
and keeps the expectant wretch in the ago-
nies of uncertainty or wavering hope for
some time, whilst he dives down into the
profundity of his pocket, or, rummaging
for a vulgar looking pocket-book, opens it
like his bible (and for the same purpose)
as wide as he can, to show the extent of
the exertion, and to let every one see what
he is doing; then, perhaps, tantalizes the
needy artist, or the hungry petitioner,
with the sight of a number of heavy notes,
and, at last, scrutinizes a one-pound note,
for fear it should be a two, and gives it to
the blushing, bowing, or trembling re-
ceiver. If it be a gift in money, he rings
it on the table, or holds it out as he would
to a pauper in the street.
•
These soi-disant generous men are fond
of having their names in print, in return
for their money. They like to take re-
ceipts, expect to be thanked, and to be
written to; and whether they grant or
refuse the petitioned boon, the letter is
made as public as possible. "Take this


274
GIVING AND RECEIVING.
to my banker, and he will pay you," is a
common phrase of their's; or, "send for
my steward or clerk: Mr. Scrub, give this
gentleman ten pounds, and take his re-
ceipt;" or, "pay my subscription to this
person;" or, "you'll give this man fifty
guineas for his picture;" or, "one guinea
for his book,-I don't want it, but he says
that he is in distress;" or, "I see a good
list of subscribers to it, though (with a
laugh) I never read."
A certain Peer ordered his livery ser-
vant, when a petitioner called, to give the
poor gentleman ten pounds! thus intrust-
ing the gentleman's secret to a valet and a
pimp (for he was both), and exposing an
honourable man to the contempt of the
basest of the base. "Oh! it's you, Sir,"
said the liveried varlet: my Lord can't
be seen, but he ordered me to give you ten
pounds here it is, Sir." The gentleman
very properly replied, John, you will take
the ten pounds to my Lord, and tell him,
that I should receive them from no other
hand but his own, could I prevail upon
6
66


GIVING AND RECEIVING.
275
myself to accept them at all, after this act
of arrogance and baseness of mind.'
With regard to those who receive, the
gentleman does so with placidity and even
with dignity. If he have sold a work of
ingenuity or science, he has only made a
fair exchange. If he receive a favour or
assistance, modesty and gravity mark his.
attitude and countenance. He never has-
tily pockets the amount, but keeps it in his
hand until he retire, politely and quietly.
A very distressed object sometimes re-
ceives with an increased blush, or with a
tear. When this is the case, the donor is
overpaid. A professional man generally
smirks and smiles, bows, acts about,
pockets the cash, which he examines al-
most before he has left you, and retires
delighted. The impostor clenches his hand
on its contents, and secures, as it were,
it's possession. He looks as if he had
hoaxed you, overacts gravity and feeling,
says too much in the way of thanks, and
either retreats precipitately (his job being
done), or glides like a thief out of your
presence.


276
GIVING AND RECEIVING.
I know a great man whose table is al-
ways covered with open letters and pe-
titions. He wishes to pass for a good man;
but the moment that I saw his table thus
strewed with exposed secrets and betrayed
distress, I lost my favourable opinion of
him;
for a man blessed with any sensibi-
lity would have silently attended to the
applications, and then would have burnt
the painful records. How true is the
French adage! "C'est la façon de faire
qui fait tout." And may the mode of
remonstrating give effect to the remon-
strances of
1 THE HERMIT IN LONDON.
END OF VOL. 1.
LONDON:
PRINTED BY COX AND BAYLIS, GREAT QUEEN-STREET.








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