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THE LITEHAP.Y LIO^ 
 
THE 
 
 LORGNETTE: 
 
 OK. 
 
 STUDIES OF THE TOWN. 
 
 BY 
 QUID LIBET, CUI LIBET, DE QUO LIBET. 
 
 EIGHTH EDITION. 
 
 SEI OFF WITH MR. DAELEY 5 S DESIGNS. 
 / >>1 ^* / « # J? 
 
 Printed for CHARLES SCRIBNER, 
 
 And for sale at 145 Nassau Street, and all respectable Book-shops. 
 1852. 
 

 Entekzd, according to Act of Congress, in the ye ir JS50. py 
 
 STRINGER & TOWN SEND, 
 
 in the Clerk's Office of the District Court for the Southern District of 
 
 New- York. 
 
 Ua 1 1908 
 
 In exch. 
 ©, 0fO. Pub. Lib, 
 
PREFACE 
 
 FOURTH EDITION. 
 
 HE Publishers, and friends of 
 the late Mr. John Timon, have 
 requested me to act as his 
 Executor ; and to say whatever 
 can be decently said of the 
 merits and failings of the poor gentleman, who 
 has left behind Him oiily these two volumes 
 of remains 
 
 It is a task which I enter upon with 
 mingled feelings — of respect for his virtues, 
 and of tender pity for his weaknesses. A 
 delicate recollection too of our intimate friend- 
 
IV PREFACE. 
 
 ship comes over me, as I take the pen ; and 
 as I recall his quiet humor, his gray, scattered 
 locks, his rusty gaiters, his every-day kindness, 
 and even his sardonic smile, — I find myself 
 lost — almost to tears. 
 
 Mr. Timon came into the town, scarce a 
 year ago, almost a stranger; and it was my 
 pleasure to be among the first to offer him 
 that friendship, which, I am happy to say, 
 was never abused, and of which I am proud 
 to boast. Although a new-comer, and little 
 versed in the ways of the world, he yet 
 possessed a quiet and noiseless habit of obser- 
 vation, that allowed nothing to escape it; 
 and many are the belles who have brushed 
 contemptuously past him, — and many are the 
 foplings who have twisted their moustache in 
 scorn for his presence, — who are now vege- 
 tating together, on the debris of these — his 
 literary remains. 
 
PREFACE. V 
 
 He had but few friends; but to those few, 
 he never, up to the latest hour of his stay 
 among us, forgot his indebtedness ; he always 
 remembered with a generous pride the help 
 which he received from their counsel and 
 their suggestions.* He was not a man to 
 forget his friends ; and, — though it pains me 
 to say it, — he was slow to forgive those who 
 had purposely wronged him. 
 
 Little was popularly known of his habits, or 
 of his way of living. A remarkable degree of 
 caution belonged to his character ; and only 
 two or three of his more intimate acquaintances 
 were intrusted with the secret of his literary 
 work. Most people w T ould have taken him 
 for a quiet, plodding tradesman, who saw little 
 beyond the edge of his counter ; and who 
 
 * In this connexion I shall take the liberty of designating the name 
 of Mr. Wm. H. Huntington. 
 
VI PREFACE. 
 
 read little, save the Almanac, the Advertiser, 
 and his Bible. 
 
 Even Mr. Kernot, his original publisher, — 
 of whose suavity and discretion I have heard 
 him speak in the highest terms, — little 
 suspected that the quiet gentleman who 
 sometimes sauntered into his book-shop of 
 a summer afternoon, was the identical Mr. 
 Timon, who had become his familiar and 
 indefatigable correspondent. 
 
 Many ladies, too, who cracked their jokes 
 unmercifully at the rustic manners of my 
 poor friend, had no suspicion that the dainty 
 covered papers on their table were the work 
 of so plain and so common-place an indi- 
 vidual. 
 
 Many a time I have heard him chuckle 
 over his evening pipe, at the gay and careless 
 
PREFACE. Vll 
 
 speeches of his critics, and at the boastful 
 assurance which attributed his labors to some 
 empty-pated youngster of the town. 
 
 The greatest weakness of the old gentle- 
 man's character was an intense dislike of' 
 everything that savored of pretension ; and it 
 was to combat this, in all its forms — as I have 
 often heard him remark — that he undertook 
 that series of papers which are now all that 
 remain of his literary employments. 
 
 He had a strong regard, too, for virtue and 
 modesty, and had been educated in the dislike 
 of whatever forbade or discouraged their 
 growth. Far be it from me to say, — much as 
 I revere his memory, — that he was himself 
 all that he should have been in these 
 respects. Alas ! our poor nature is very 
 feeble; and the intimacy of even a life-long 
 
Vlll PREFACE. 
 
 acquaintance cannot justify me in attempting 
 to hide his defects. 
 
 But with all his errors, John Timon bore no 
 malice ; and — as I trust my own heart — I 
 believe that he retired from the stage with a 
 conscience unburdened by the recollection of 
 having wilfully done any human creature an 
 injury. If in the play of his words or the 
 hurry of his thoughts, he forgot himself to 
 severity, or to a sneer, it was only, I firmly 
 believe, attributable to a certain flightiness of 
 temper, which at times overcame his soberer 
 judgment 
 
 At vicious courses he was always ready to 
 point his attacks; these may have been crude 
 and ill considered, but they were at least heart- 
 felt and earnest ; and never, to the very last, 
 did he withdraw the harshest expressions of 
 
PREFACE. IX 
 
 his hostility to vulgar pretence and extrava- 
 gant follies. 
 
 I could wish that my poor friend's efforts 
 had been more successful than they have been, 
 in abating the follies at which he aimed : I 
 could wish that the power of his language and 
 the vigor of his reason had been more equal to 
 the fervor of his desire. But, I trust that 
 the world, in true Christian spirit, will forgive 
 his weakness, as I have cordially forgiven 
 it myself. 
 
 Be this as it may, however, — as his Execu- 
 tor, and nearest surviving friend, I must defend 
 his character; and should any persons be 
 aggrieved by what he has done, or have any 
 charges against his estate or opinions, I shall 
 hold myself in readiness at any moment to 
 give them the fullest answer. 
 
 I am sure that if he had lived longer and 
 
X PEEFACE. 
 
 been wiser, he would have claimed less of our 
 pity, and more of our regard. But for the 
 little that he has done, I hope that he may be 
 well thought of; and I shall take a friend's 
 privilege, in always thinking as well as I can 
 of him, myself. 
 
 IK: MARVEL. 
 
 ZM» U JAriSatt'^v Z.O/fVM^ 
 
TO MY 
 
 READERS 
 
 HIS Preface is written for 
 the Public ; and by virtue of 
 it, and of the bookbinder's 
 work in clapping together 
 these letters, first written to 
 a friend in the country, I make over the busi- 
 ness of finding fault with them, or praising 
 them, to the wise and talkative world. 
 
 I have got very little to say here, which may 
 not be found said in some shape or other, in 
 the book itself; nor have I any flattery in 
 hand for obstinate readers, to make them either 
 lenient, or kindly disposed. Yet I have a 
 tolerably good opinion of the public, and think 
 
Xll PREFACE. 
 
 it, as the times go, wise, considerate, and cha- 
 ritable; and so thinking, I have not felt it 
 worth my while to hatch out any brood of 
 lies, as is the custom with most new authors, 
 about my modesty, and diffidence, and Heaven 
 knows what. 
 
 As for Apology, I have got none to make; — 
 except to say that the matter was not made up 
 out of spitefulness or malice toward any man 
 or woman ; on the contrary, my feelings are 
 tender toward the men in general, — and 
 women specially. If anybody thinks other- 
 wise, and feels worked up to such a pass, that 
 he means to retort, I would particularly caution 
 him, as I would the Theologic disputants, 
 against striking, before he knows what he is 
 going to hit. 
 
 I cannot let the opportunity slip, without 
 giving my thanks for the praises which have 
 often greeted my ears; and to which, occa- 
 
PREFACE. Xlil 
 
 sionally, a regard for my incognito, (to say 
 nothing of truth) has compelled me to yield a 
 reluctant assent. At other times, however, I 
 have listened to abuse, especially from authors, 
 which has made me bite my lip, and heartily 
 wish myself in other company. 
 
 Not a few of the Journals have damned me 
 with a little faint praise, and expressed candid 
 regrets that so much 'refinement' belonged to 
 my papers. I would not for a moment impugn 
 the judgment of these gentlemen, and only 
 regret my inability to satisfy their taste. 
 
 There is an old story of a school-boy, who 
 sneered at a whip of nettles as a flimsy affair ; 
 but who was observed to rub the afflicted part, 
 for a long time afterward. There may be 
 times when a cowhide is the proper medium 
 of admonition ; but it always needs a braggart 
 bully for the handling. God forbid that I, a 
 stranger, and appearing as an actor on the 
 
XIV PREFACE. 
 
 Literary stage only by courtesy, should inter- 
 fere with the professional repute of such oer- 
 formers. 
 
 Finally, (for this Preface is getting longer 
 than I meant it should,) I give up these twelve 
 letters into the hands of my readers, with the 
 greatest honesty imaginable ; and if they can- 
 not think well of me, after they have got 
 through them, I hope, at least, that they will 
 not condemn too harshly, a work, which my 
 love for them has prompted. 
 
 JOHN TIMON. 
 
 Dated from my Attic, 
 July the 10th, MDCCCL 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 NUMBER ONE. 
 
 Introductory — the Author's purpose — his topics — of books and 
 
 tarts, . ..... 1 
 
 Lodgings in town — New York landladies — extensive acquaint- 
 ances — fellow-boarders — the fast man, 10 
 
 NUMBER TWO 
 
 A friend introduced— his large information — his classification of 
 
 belles — his advice on the score of dress, . . .23 
 
 The fashionable man — his birth and education— his sporting — 
 his literary attainments — his musical taste — becomes com- 
 mittee man — fails, and lives happily, . . . .28 
 
 NUMBER THREE. 
 
 A word of explanation, ...... 43 
 
 Town Celebrities — foreigners— Hungarians — "Weehazy Polka — 
 opera balls — extraordinary dancers — traveled ladies and 
 gentlemen— their views of art, and Jno. Timon's views of them, 45 
 
XM CONTENTS. 
 
 NUMBER FOUR. 
 
 The author's regrets, and agreeable surprise, . 65 
 Ways of getting into Society — scale of means — literature- 
 taste — music, ....... 68 
 
 Diary of a Fashion hunter — his experience and successes, . 64 
 
 Letter from Mr. Green, ..... 83 
 
 NUMBER FIVE. 
 
 Suspected authors— the writer's ignorance very mortifying, ". 88 
 
 Respectables — inquiry concerning respectable people — a re- 
 spectable family — respectable lawyer — respectable doctor — 
 respectable clergyman — respectable authors and respectable 
 tea-parties, ...... 90 
 
 Old Beaux — their appearance described — their haunts — their 
 
 appetites, and accomplishments, . . . 101 
 
 Letters from Dorothea and Lucia, offering sympathy and aid, 107 
 
 NUMBER SIX. 
 
 The Upper Ten Thousand — town poverty and town pence— Satan 
 
 friendly to both — practical reflections, . . . Ill 
 
 Lions — not confined to Welch's Circus — nursing of lions — strong 
 diet afforded by certain papers — musical, literary, and critical 
 lions — the literary lion represented, • 117 
 
 NUMBER SEVEN. 
 
 A sly chat with his publisher, and booksellers in general— hints for 
 
 a literary monument to an eminent house — Latin inscription, 136 
 
 The Opera — its establishment, history and uses— missionary 
 character of opera companies— a sight of the opera goers- 
 opera martyrs, .... 146 
 
CONTENTS. XV11 
 
 NUMBER EIGHT. 
 
 Opinions of the press, with delicate thanks to the Express news- 
 paper, ........ 161 
 
 People m Society— investigation as to who is in society — results 
 
 of investigation — a short sketch of society, . . . 162 
 
 Journal of a Lady in Society — extraordinary revelations — her 
 
 coquetries, and color, . . . 173 
 
 Letter from a lawyer— Mr. Browne, . . . 182 
 
 NUMBER NINE. 
 
 The author's critics — flattering portraits — one or two special hints, 189 
 The Fashionable Lady— her tender age— has a,femme de chambre 
 — her literary education — her coming out — her Summer cam- 
 paigns — her opera education — her marriage, reign, death, and 
 burial — a few thoughts suggested by the occasion, . .194 
 
 NUMBER TEN. 
 
 Letter from a lady — very touching— the author ventures apology 
 — Gynocracy or woman-rule — ladies, great helps — poor demo- 
 crats — de PEnclos a model — husbands snubbed — home a small 
 affair, ........ 213 
 
 Another letter — the writer honest and sensible— when her Papa 
 got rich — what came of it— her travels, marriage, and — 
 happiness, ....... 226 
 
 The Bostonian — not easily mistaken — his eye-glass — his great 
 knowledge — superiority in art and taste — his dignity — how it 
 affects his religion — usually of an old family — a compliment, 
 and a hope, ..... . 231 
 
 NUMBER ELEVEN, 
 rho author a sort of Burchell—his great modesty, . 239 
 
XV111 CONTENTS. 
 
 Country Strangers — the Philadelphia!! — his great street vigor 
 — his cultivation — his gentleness — the Washing tonian — the 
 Westerner — the country lady, very showy, or very shy — her 
 action and her praise, ...... 242 
 
 Family and Ancestors — good parentage a good thing — the fact 
 well known — European extravagances — heraldry — ancestry 
 returned to New York — hunt up their children — great alarm 
 — a serious end, • . . 255 
 
 NUMBER TWELVE. 
 
 Tacitus emended, and a chat with the critics — heroes engaged, 267 
 
 Authors and Authorlings — the writer's vanity— town fevers — 
 Glory and Shame outbreak — Napoleon run — Tupper fever — 
 Jane Eyre, Typee, Lady Alice, and Kaloolah — Dunglison of 
 letters — the Willis affection — the reputed authors — their 
 claims discussed — their great merit admitted — more com- 
 pliments promised in a yellow cartridge, . . 272 
 A closing talk — John Timon out of debt — means to keep out — 
 some material left — will not use it unless he chooses — advises 
 the stupid of what he is * at' — a classic garland for a tail-piece, 292 
 
THE LOR&IETTE. 
 
 JAN, 20. 
 
 NEW-YORK, 
 
 NO, I: 
 
 Non liodie si 
 Exclusus fuero, desistam ; tempora qua>ram ; 
 Occurram in triviis ; deducam. — Hon. 1 Sat. ix. 58. 
 
 You know, my dear Fritz, that I am not unused 
 to the handling of a glass ; and that I have amused 
 myself for a considerable number of years in look- 
 ing about the world, as carelessly and freely as I 
 chose. Now, it has occurred to me, in the open- 
 ing of this new half-century, (may you live to the 
 end of it !) that in common justice, I ought to 
 make such return as lies in my power, by attempt- 
 ing to amuse some little portion of that world, 
 which has so long and gratuitously amused me. 
 
 You stare hugely, to find your old friend be- 
 come a man of type, and making his New- Year's 
 1 * 
 
2 THE LORGNETTE. 
 
 greetings in veritable print. But book-making, 
 let me tell you, is now-a-days but a very small 
 affair ; since every blue-stocking thinks it worth 
 her while to spin out rhymes for the lady journals; 
 and the old class of wholesome authors in shabby 
 coats, and dirty linen, is almost supplanted by a 
 great tribe of coxcomb writers, in opera gloves, 
 and in velvet trimmings. 
 
 I am aware that I am challenging, in this way, 
 a degree of attention from the very enlightened 
 public of the city, which possibly I may never get ; 
 and that I wantonly assume a task, which the 
 world, in its wisdom, may decide to be wholly be- 
 yond my powers. But I console myself with the 
 reflection, that in this affair of book-making, I 
 have got no reputation to lose ; and indeed, were it 
 otherwise, I should be much disposed to question 
 whether, in this day of mushroom growth, it would 
 not be more creditable to lose reputation, than to 
 gain it. 
 
 To fame, or to what passes for it now — to news- 
 paper-mention, I am fortunately wholly unknown : 
 Since the days of the old College catalogue, — with 
 the exception, indeed, of some half dozen passenger 
 rolls of Foreign Packets, — I do not remember ever 
 to have seen my name in print ; nor shall I flatter 
 my vanity by heralding it now. 
 
INTRODUCTORY. 3 
 
 I shall lose thus, it is true, the sympathies of 
 friends and acquaintances ; fcr I shall maintain 
 an incognito as strictly in the circles where I am 
 cordially received, as in the public talk. My 
 papers, then, will have no support of friends, and 
 no hireling praise : on the other hand, I shall have 
 no enemies who can throw an old and cherished 
 bitterness into their condemnation. And this last, 
 I reckon no small point ; since the popular littera- 
 teurs of the city, as I am told, are forever quarrel- 
 ing, and barking at each other, like so many apes 
 of Siam. Now, as the critical attaches to this 
 amiable fraternity of town writers will have, in 
 my case, no reputation to pull down, and no old 
 grudge to satisfy, I have a hope of passing scot- 
 free, — without so much as a single vagabond pen 
 being wet to dampen my fire. But let me warn 
 them, that if they choose to bark, they may bark 
 till their lungs are sore, and they will draw out no 
 newspaper card in reply, nor shall I suborn any of 
 their fraternity to bolster me up. 
 
 It would be very idle to pretend, my dear Fritz, 
 that in printing my letters, I had not some hope of 
 doing the public a trifling service. There are er- 
 rors which need only to be mentioned, to be frown- 
 ed upon ; and there are virtues, which an approv- 
 ing word, even of a stranger, will encourage. 
 
4 THE LORGNETTE. 
 
 Both of these objects belong to my plan ; yet my 
 strictures shall not be personal, or invidious. It 
 will be easy, surely, to carry with me the sympa- 
 thies of all sensible people, in a little harmless 
 ridicule of the foibles of the day, without citing 
 personal instance ; and it will be vastly easier, in 
 such Babylon as ours, to designate a virtue, with- 
 out naming its possessor ! 
 
 Still, you know me too well, to believe that I 
 shall be frightened out of free, or even caustic re- 
 mark, by any critique of the papers, or by any 
 dignified frown of the literary coteries of the city. 
 
 My publisher, indeed, has assured me, that with- 
 out favorable mention from such and such news- 
 papers, my work would all be idle, and my toil 
 all be damned in advance. One of the journals, 
 he told me, if carefully treated with, would make 
 the merits of my plan known to the whole fashion- 
 able world ; — nay, that a breath of praise from that 
 quarter, would make my letters, fashionable let- 
 ters. He cited two or three books, which by a 
 single half-column of commendation, had been se- 
 cured the run of the town ; and he assured me 
 that not a few boarding-school misses were crazily 
 in love with the authors bepraised by the journal in 
 question ; and moreover, that its editor had secured 
 eligible husbands to some half dozen despairing 
 
THE JOURNALS. 5 
 
 literary spinsters, who had been honored with as- 
 siduous, and determined complimentary notices, 
 at his hands. 
 
 Another journal, I was told, must be conciliated, 
 or it would become rank assailant, both of my de- 
 sign and of its execution ; though, by my publish- 
 er's own confession, it seemed quite questionable, 
 if its assaults would not work me more favor, even 
 than the prettiest of its compliments. Another, 
 whose literary budget was most astutely managed 
 by a keen admirer of the late Mr. Charles Fourier, 
 would carry news of me to all the hotel tables of 
 the town ; and a flattering notice, if it could be se- 
 cured, would make my papers particularly palata- 
 ble to all who make a joke of society. A fourth, 
 read at all tea-drinkings, and very safe for Sunday 
 perusal, or for nervous invalids, would give me the 
 stamp of propriety among good old ladies, and all 
 respectable people : And yet another, by bare men- 
 tion — if only the types did not get askew, — would 
 make me matter of gossip with all such gadding, 
 companionable housewives, as are forever on the 
 look-out for terrible casualties, personal move- 
 ments, and arrivals at the hotels. 
 
 My publisher farther suggested a connection 
 with some one of those literary coteries, which he 
 
 tells me belong to the reading population of the 
 1# 
 
6 THE LORGNETTE. 
 
 town, and which would trumpet my design in a 
 quiet way, at social gatherings — make my papers a 
 standard tea-topic, and flatter even my short- 
 comings. 
 
 Some of these coteries, he told me, had stated 
 meetings, at which all new literary matters were 
 discussed over coffee and ices ; and that it needed 
 only a rehearsal from the lips of some blooming 
 litter ateure in bodice, and an approving word or 
 two from some of the committee managers, to give 
 to the work of a new writer the dignity of repu- 
 tation. 
 
 To the suggestion in regard to the newspapers, 
 which touched my publisher in a tender point — his 
 purse — I replied, by enclosing him a cheque, which 
 would secure him against all possible loss. 
 
 Of the coteries, I told him, I was wholly un- 
 known ; and as it would come into my plan to 
 speak very freely of all such cliques as assume the 
 privilege of giving to the town its literary opinions, 
 I begged to be excused from making any over- 
 tures. Nor will I conceal the fact, that this decis- 
 ion of mine was sustained by the conviction that 
 all such overtures, coming from one in my humble 
 condition in the literary world, would be treated 
 with rank disdain. 
 
 As for topic, it will vary with the week, and with 
 
MY TOPICS. 7 
 
 my humor. Sometimes I shall fill my papers with 
 portraits, or such social usages as prevail, and as 
 seem to me deserving of remark ; and shall en- 
 deavor to give you an idea of our town life, by call- 
 ing up to your eye appearances of street and play- 
 house. At other times, I shall hope to light your 
 features into a smile, by sketching, in my careless 
 way, the lounges and loges of the Opera, and per- 
 haps an interior of City Salon — with this special and 
 firm proviso, however — that in no instance the hos- 
 pitality which may be accorded to me as a stran- 
 ger, will be abused. You will understand, then, 
 that when I speak of the receptions of such as 
 Mistress Dolly Dragall — not that I have the honor 
 of any such acquaintance, and am abusing a tender 
 confidence, — but that I make her a type (if she 
 really exist) of some particular usage, and hope 
 honestly to do her honor, by extending the publicity 
 of her charms, and to flatter her vanity by des- 
 canting on the suavity of her address. 
 
 Town coats, and costumes, and mantillas, will 
 not be out of the range of my Lorgnette, and any 
 innocent little extravagances of hat, or pelisse, or 
 shoe-tie, will be touched for your amusement, as 
 daintily as the prettiest flower wreaths in the 
 hands of Miss Lawson's girls. 
 
 I shall depict for you, from time to time, samples 
 
8 THE LORGNETTE. 
 
 of the different social stages and fashionable gra- 
 dations which meet my eye ; and shall try to satis- 
 fy your country curiosity, by testing their ground- 
 work. You must not be surprised, indeed, my 
 dear Fritz, if within the range of my glass, should 
 come up some old country acquaintances, whom 
 we remember years ago in pretty rustic deshabille, 
 and with strong nasal twang, — now riding in car- 
 riages, emblazoned with such heraldry as does 
 honor to the ingenuity of Collis and Lawrence ! # 
 Delicate work, you will say ; but I know no reason 
 in the world why fashionable pretensions, however 
 noisy in their claims, or however successful in their 
 empiricism, should be too high or too sacred for 
 the curious and earnest gaze of a simple-minded 
 looker-on, even though he avail himself of the 
 slightly magnifying powers of a Lorgnette. 
 
 As for literary opinions, and men, and books, 
 they will drop into my papers at intervals ; not so 
 much as topic for learned and critical remark, as 
 by way of weather-cocks to show how the current 
 of town opinions is drifting. Book-making has be- 
 come so much a matter of trade, mere accommo- 
 dation of supply to demand, that it seems to me 
 
 * Eminent carriage manufacturers in New- York; who, if they are 
 duly grateful for this allusion, will send one of their new Britskas to 
 the editor of the Lorgnette. 
 
MY TOPICS. 9 
 
 far more reasonable, on all principles of public 
 economy, to rail at the readers of bad books rather 
 than their writers. 
 
 Religious and moral habitudes — their tendencies 
 and exhibitions — will without doubt, occasionally 
 sweep over the field of vision, and if they do not 
 pass so quickly as to render the effort vain, they 
 shall be reduced to some sort of classification. In- 
 deed, I shall make very free to speak of the innu- 
 merable bickerings and schisms, which, as I hear, 
 belong to church life in town ; nor between doubt- 
 ful Bishops, and pungent Lady Alice in breeches, 
 will the topic be without its sources of amusement. 
 And if a little good-natured raillery may have the 
 effect of rendering ridiculous such absurdities as 
 belong to town practices of worship, I shall feel as 
 if engaged in an Apostolic labor ; and as if, with- 
 out the laying on of hands, I were as good a ser- 
 vant of the Mother Church, as the leanest of the 
 Bishops, or the fattest of the Vestry-men. Nor 
 shall the Barnburners, wire-pullers, office-seekers, 
 journalists, and other political quidnuncs be passed 
 by unceremoniously. I promise you, they shall 
 have their sittings. I might even adopt for motto, 
 if it had not been adopted ad nauseam, that line 
 of Terence : — 
 
 Nihil humani a me alienum puto. 
 
10 THE LORGNETTE. 
 
 And I could translate it with more freedom than 
 would have been tolerated on the university bench- 
 es, — nothing touches humanity, but touches me. 
 
 In short, my dear Fritz, this Lorgnette of mine 
 will range very much as my whim directs. In 
 morals, it will aim to be correct ; in religion, to be 
 respectful ; in literature, modest ; in the arts, at- 
 tentive ; in fashion, observing ; in society, free ; in 
 narrative, to be honest; in advice, to be sound; in 
 satire, to be hearty ; and in general character, 
 •whatever may be the critical opinions of the small 
 litterateurs, or the hints of fashionable patrons, to 
 be only — itself. 
 
 The Lorgnette will puff no books or tarts. If 
 any venders of such wares send them to the pub- 
 lisher, it must be at their own risk. If the tarts 
 are good, they will be eaten ; if the books are good, 
 they will be kept. Of the two, I may frankly say, 
 the tarts would be preferred. 
 
 LODGINGS IN TOWN. 
 Sunt bona, sunt quscdam mediocria, sunt nialaplura. — Martial. 
 
 You shall now see what matter I have made of 
 it, in searching out my winter's lodgings. In Eu- 
 rope, you know, it is of but little account where a 
 stranger bachelor may live in a city. He is com- 
 paratively so little known or inquired for, chez lui, 
 
LODGINGS IN TOWN. 11 
 
 that he may inhabit garret or palace, as he fancies 
 best. You will remember too, without doubt, our 
 pretentious acquaintance of London, who, with a 
 dusky chamber in Fleet street, received all his 
 friends at a fashionable house of the new Palace 
 Yard. His letters and cards being all addressed to 
 the Hotel, and a small periodical fee to the head- 
 waiter, secured not only their acceptance at his 
 hands, but the post services of a little boy who ran, 
 on the occasion of a call upon our acquaintance, 
 from the hotel into Fleet street. 
 
 In Paris, even this sham appearance is unneces- 
 sary. Both you and myself have thought it no 
 discredit to leave our address at the hotel of Ma- 
 dame C , of the Place Yendome, dating from 
 
 the eastern end of the dirty Rue Jacob. And you 
 will recall with a smile, after so long a lapse of 
 time, our raillery of a certain transatlantic friend, 
 who thought it necessary to take brilliant apart- 
 ments in the Ruo de Haute ville, and to order his 
 dinners from the Cafe de Paris, and who was so as- 
 tonished to find his salon accueil so wofully dis- 
 proportionate to the tale of his weekly expenses ! 
 
 In New- York, as I am told, the case is very dif- 
 ferent ; and a man is not a little estimated by the 
 street he lives in, or the house from which he hails. 
 A.n officious, but good-natured friend, who was pos- 
 
12 THE LORGNETTE. 
 
 sibly not aware that I possessed some previous ac- 
 quaintance with the purlieus of the city, hinted 
 to me that if I wished to take rank among what 
 he called genteel people, I must take lodgings far 
 up town. And another suggested, when I spoke of 
 remaining at what seemed to me a very fair sort ot 
 hotel, that it would never do ; that the hotel was 
 not at all the thing, and that a miserable attic in a 
 fashionable up-town house, which he took the lib- 
 erty of recommending, would be much more to my 
 credit and standing. He even hinted, that if I per- 
 sisted in remaining in such quarters, for their size 
 and comforts, I should take frequent evening 
 walks in the direction he had named, and so make 
 a mock of living, where fashionable men made their 
 head- quarters. He further told me, byway of in- 
 ducement, of one or two individuals, who with a 
 bare pittance to keep soul and body together, had 
 nevertheless, by dint of scrupulous economy and 
 nice exactitude in such matters, succeeded in pass- 
 ing a couple of seasons for men of wealth and ton, 
 and had eventually carried off splendid fortunes in 
 the doweries of retired mercers' daughters. 
 
 Now, as you know, my dear fellow, that I am 
 not wintering in town to make a name, either with 
 fashionable people, or fashion hunters, and that 
 my age would exculpate me from all intentions 
 
LODGINGS IN TOWN. 13 
 
 upon retired mercers' daughters, I paid very little 
 regard to any such suggestions. 
 
 I have lived long enough to consult the ease and 
 comforts of life far more than appearances ; and as 
 I wished a quiet neighborhood, and one which should 
 not be far removed from what would, in all proba- 
 bility, be my usual haunts, to wit, the Exchange, 
 the Society Library, and the Club in which I have 
 become enrolled, I determined to set at naught all 
 opinions of place, and to take such lodgings as 
 suited my fancy. 
 
 iVmong the advertisements which met my eye in 
 the papers, not a few contained provisos to the 
 intent, that references would be expected ; I there- 
 fore supplied myself with a few of the cards of the 
 mercantile houses to which I had been accredited, 
 and which, at least, could substantiate my ability 
 to pay for a year's lodging. 
 
 It was a wet, gloomy day on which I made my 
 first trial, and I had put on an old pea-jacket which 
 had seen much ocean service, and a very shabby hat. 
 The landlady I first addressed — a stout buxom old 
 lady in black and crimson calico, looked rather 
 suspiciously at my coat, but prayed me to be seat- 
 ed, — remarked upon the weather, and from the 
 weather ran on with a very glib tongue to the gaie- 
 ties of the town. She begged to know if I had the 
 2 
 
14 THE LORGNETTE. 
 
 acquaintance of Messrs. So and So, who had some 
 time been lodgers in her house ; hinted that per- 
 haps I might know another gentleman who was in 
 excellent society, a man of large fortune, and who 
 visited Messrs. So and So ; but finding me incorrigible 
 on these points, and only anxious to secure a quiet, 
 comfortable room, she restrained somewhat the 
 glibness of her speech. Her rooms proved not at 
 all to my taste. 
 
 Having bade her good morning, which she met 
 with a very condescending sweep of her black and 
 crimson calico, I found myself next in a dingy 
 parlor, hung with faded damask curtains. A 
 slattern girl, in very showy merino, who w^as 
 thrumming at a piano sadly out of tune, met my 
 entrance with a very low and supercilious bow, and 
 continued her employment, which, so far as I could 
 judge, was a succession of efforts to catch some of 
 the worst, though most striking passages of Don 
 Pasquale. 
 
 The landlady presently came in, trimmed off 
 with a tremendous flounce, and curtseying and 
 bowing together, in a way that might have taken a 
 man of livelier temperament off his legs. I present- 
 ed one of the cards of the commercial house, and 
 begged to know if, under such recommendation, 
 she would allow me the favor of looking at her rooms. 
 
LANDLADIES. 15 
 
 She assured me that she would be most happy ; 
 at the same time eyeing my coat and hat with that 
 look of thorough curiosity, which I find belongs to 
 lodging-house keepers in all parts of the world. 
 
 She informed me that the neighborhood was 
 highly respectable, and that her lodgers were, 
 many of them, connected with some of the first 
 families of the town ; and thereupon she commen- 
 ced enumerating to me a galaxy of names, which she 
 did with an air that she seemed to think would 
 utterly confound and embarrass a man in such 
 damaged pea-jacket as I happened to be wearing. 
 I maintained, however, sufficient composure to bow 
 very graciously at the announcement of each name, 
 and to tell her plainly at the end, that I knew 
 nothing of them. 
 
 She was evidently thwarted, but determined to 
 try me next by her scale of prices. She ushered 
 me into a dim, shabbily furnished upper parlor, 
 which she assured me was a charming apartment, 
 and had been occupied by a gentleman of high dis- 
 tinction in the town circles. She directed my es- 
 pecial attention to the fine heavy old furniture^ 
 which, to be sure, was heavy and old enough ; but 
 not finding me to join in her ecstasies, she asked if 
 I had been long in the city ? 
 
 On hearing that I had but recently returned from 
 
16 THE LORGNETTE. 
 
 a long residence in the country, she launched out 
 into praises of town life : — had no doubt that I 
 would find it delightful ; and, glancing at the card, 
 thought it would be easy to secure an introduction 
 — indeed, she said she had frequent sawraze at her 
 own house, at which a Mrs. Somebody was a fre- 
 quent attendant ; and she would, if I took her 
 rooms, interest herself as much as possible in my 
 behalf. She hoped I loved music ; her daughter 
 Fanny, she said, was "a (immature" — possibly I 
 might have remarked her execution in the parlor. 
 
 The truth was, Fanny's execution was even now 
 painfully distinct, and utterly dissipated any 
 thought I might have entertained of engaging 
 rooms in so close proximity with the parlor instru- 
 ment. 
 
 My next negotiation was with a little, thin, 
 weazen-faced French lady, of a certain age, who 
 was most earnest, notwithstanding my pea-jacket, 
 with the praise of her fort jolies chambers. She 
 smiled at my card of reference ; plumed herself on 
 being able to detect at a glance a lodger " comma 
 il fatit;" — complimented my French, and showed 
 me such dirty apartments that I was fain to pay 
 her back in her own coin, and ended with re- 
 gretting that her charming rooms should be all so 
 nigh, or so low, as to prevent my becoming a 
 
LANDLADIES. 17 
 
 lodger with so gracious and interesting a young 
 lady. "We parted, of course, capital friends. 
 
 My next adventure was with a very prim and 
 demure-faced little lady in black, occupying a 
 small house, which she told me had been the prop- 
 erty of her poor husband, who was now dead (and 
 she sighed), and who had been well known on 
 'Change, where, if I chose, I could make inquiries 
 which would satisfy me as to respectability. She 
 showed me a quiet, neat-looking room, upon the 
 second floor, looking out upon a small court, gar- 
 nished with low roofs and brick wails, and a single 
 sickly-looking espalier peach-tree. The furniture 
 was simple, but substantial ; a pleasant, " tasteful" 
 gentleman, with his wife, she told me, occupied 
 the front-room, — a very respectable old man was 
 above, and her nieces, from the country, occupied 
 the remaining attic. 
 
 I thought it would be a quiet place for my work, 
 where I should be out of the reach and knowledge 
 of prying eyes; and where, my dear Fritz, I could 
 quietly entertain you, on your visits to the city ; — so 
 I closed with her terms, and am now writing from 
 a little white table which stands before the grate. 
 
 The "tasteful" gentleman proves to be a dash- 
 ing buck, who wears very broad plaid to his panta- 
 loons ; he has over-reached himself in marriage, 
 2* 
 
18 THE LORGNETTE. 
 
 and is now paying the forfeit in these quiet cham 
 bers, and only gratifying the old exuberance of his 
 nature by an occasional Sunday dash, in buggy and 
 pair, upon the Third Avenue. His wife, of whom 
 I only occasionally catch sight, sports now and 
 then a superb satin cloak at the Opera or Grace 
 Church, after which she lies by for a week's recruit. 
 A. thick partition is between our rooms, so that only 
 a confused murmur of their altercations reaches 
 my ear. Once, when the hall doors were open, I 
 caught a few words very sharply uttered, such as, 
 "satin cloaks," " avenue rides," " livery bills," 
 "Stewart's," "my money," "breaking heart," 
 " such a wife," ending, so far as I could judge, in 
 the conquest and humiliation of my "tasteful" 
 neighbor. 
 
 The old gentleman above stairs goes to bed regu- 
 larly at nine, before which he reads in a loud, 
 nasal tone, a passage from the Psalms. He is a 
 quiet, good-hearted old gentleman, who has seen 
 the city growth, he tells me, for fifty years past. 
 He never went out of town further than Newark, 
 where he has a brother residing ; yet he sometimes 
 gives me very wholesome advice, and often much 
 valuable information about old families and locali- 
 ties of the town. He takes maccoboy snuff out ol 
 a box ornamented with the head of Washington, 
 
LODGINGS IN TO" VN. 19 
 
 and turns up his nose at what he calls the "fippy. 
 foppery" of the day. I find that, on many points, 
 we are capitally agreed ; and though he shakes his 
 head at the French poets which are in my library- 
 case, he approves highly my good sense in cherish- 
 ing an old family copy of Scott's Bible. 
 
 The nieces are tidy, prim girls, who are com- 
 pleting their education, by reading French phrase 
 books, Paradise Lost, a pamphlet on Etiquette, and 
 Tupper's Proverbial Philosophy, which they declare 
 to be "sweet." They express, as sensible girls 
 should, who know little or nothing of the matter, a 
 great contempt for the Opera, and most of the fash- 
 ionable amusements. Yet I observe, that they 
 are always very earnest in their inquiries as to 
 how the house was made up, and about the dresses 
 of the ladies ; and if they can draw me into a little 
 town gossip about the somewhat notorious occu- 
 pants of particular boxes, they seem delighted with 
 their success. And I once knew them to walk 
 the whole length of the street, in the hope of see- 
 ing the Opera troupe, as it came out from rehearsal. 
 They are devoted readers of the Lady's Book, and 
 Mother's Magazine, though very anxious to get an 
 occasional look at the Home Journal, which the 
 tasteful gentleman sometimes purchases ; though 
 
20 THE LORGiMETTE. 
 
 the aunt and the old gray-haired lodger persist in 
 condemning it as silly, gossiping trash. 
 
 They occasionally walk Broadway in their best 
 hats, to admire the cloaks and mantillas, and yet 
 will talk very earnestly in condemnation of the 
 foolish extravagance of town-ladies. Though they 
 make bold to decry the rules of fashion, and to 
 inveigh against the pursuit of particular, foolish 
 fancies, I find them very ready to suggest to me 
 my short-comings in matters of town etiquette, and 
 they have latterly hinted at some changes of dress, 
 which they are kind enough to say would quite set 
 me up on Broadway, and give me a creditable 
 position at the concerts. My age enables me to 
 bear this very composedly ; and further, to crack 
 occasional jokes with them about matrimony, 
 and affairs of gallantry, at which they blush, and 
 affect to be very angry — but are very sure to par- 
 don me, after an incredibly short probation. 
 
 Upon the whole, they are quiet, well-disposed 
 girls, who would not make it a material objection 
 to a lover, that he was an Opera-goer, or a little 
 of a Roue : withal, they are small talkers, and do 
 not play the piano. 
 
 As you will readily believe, my life passes in 
 such lodgings in the most quiet way imaginable ; 
 
LODGINGS IN TOWN. 21 
 
 and between the old-fasliioned talk of the gray- 
 haired lodger, and the dashing conversation of the 
 tasteful gentleman, added to the every-day obser- 
 vations of the demure nieces, I am forming very 
 rapidly a pretty set of conclusions about the class- 
 es to which they respectively belong. 
 
 But these are by no means all the acquaintances 
 of whose observations I can avail myself ; and I 
 shall introduce you, from time to time, to others of 
 wholly different mettle. I shall only excite your 
 curiosity now, by saying that one is a play-actor, 
 — another, a sexton of a fashionable church, — a 
 third is an officer high in the annals of the police, 
 —a fourth is a keen lawyer, one of whose eyes is 
 worth most men's two, — a fifth is a kind and 
 gossiping old lady, who knows half the scandal of 
 the town, with whom I am frequently treated to 
 a drive along the Bloomingdale road, much to the 
 astonishment of the girl lodgers, and of the taste- 
 ful gentleman. Still another is a prim clergy- 
 man, who, though he is not an Opera-goer, has yet 
 a good ear for a fiddle, and a very delicate eye for 
 mantillas or shoe-ties. 
 
 If the mails are true, you will smoke your Tues- 
 day's cigar over this paper ; and if you are the 
 friend I take you for, you will look each successive 
 
22 THE LORGNETTE. 
 
 week, with no little curiosity, for the continuance 
 of my observations upon Life in Town. 
 
 Though the Lorgnette is set at the head of my 
 page, you need not suppose that I shall forbear 
 taking an occasional squint, with my naked eye, 
 either above or below ; and though I shall sign this 
 Timon, you must not think, my dear Fritz, that I 
 have entered any Trophonian Cave, or that I can- 
 not, when the humor takes me, play the Merry 
 Andrew, with the gayest of the Town wits. 
 
 Tjmon. 
 
JAN. 80, 
 
 NEW-YORK. 
 
 NO. 2. 
 
 Ce sont partout des sujets de satire, 
 
 Et comme spectateur, ne puis-je pas en rire 1 
 
 ECOLE DES FEMMES. 
 
 Another week lias gone by, my dear Fritz, in 
 which the town has been full of its Carnival festivi- 
 ties. Cheeks that were rosy in the opening of the 
 winter, are losing, I see, a little of their vermilion ; 
 and the heavy velvet visites, in this spring-like sea- 
 son, are worn with a languid air. 
 
 I little thought, in penning my last, that its reve- 
 lations would betray me ; you can judge then of 
 my surprise in being accosted, only two days after 
 its appearance, with the brusque salutation, " Allons 
 done, mon cher Timon!" 
 
 It seems that my portraits of the tasteful gentle- 
 3 
 
24 THE LORGNETTE. 
 
 man and the girls, had been recognized by an ac- 
 quaintance who sometimes passes an evening at my 
 chambers, over a quiet cigar and a brandy toddy. 
 I have cautioned him, however, against any revela- 
 tions, and shall now feel myself at liberty to avail 
 myself of his suggestions. He is more of a cynic 
 than myself; and indeed, he is so harsh at times, 
 that I shall feel bound to temper his youthful ex- 
 travagances, by the coolness and sobriety of my 
 superior years. 
 
 This acquaintance, whom I shall call at his own 
 suggestion, Tophanes, being an abbreviation of the 
 old Greek Aristophanes, is a shrewd observer of 
 some eight-and-twenty, well made, of cheerful tem- 
 perament, city -bred, and has been these four or five 
 years living on the town — by which I mean, that 
 with no ostensible employment, he has yet various 
 occupations, and the best of all professions, for a 
 town-liver — that of passing time agreeably. 
 
 He may be frequently seen in an arm-chair, at 
 the head of one of the tables in the reading-room of 
 the Society Library ; but I have observed, that while 
 seeming to read, his eye is running over the groups 
 that come every morning to devour the newspapers, 
 and he is summing up in his own mind an estimate 
 of the various characters which make up the com- 
 pany. He follows the same habit in the street, and 
 
CLASSIFICATION OF BELLES. 25 
 
 will watch passers-by, with the careless way of the 
 world, while not an action, or movement w T ill escape 
 his observation. He can tell the daintiness of every 
 lady's waist that he passes, and can furnish a cri- 
 tique upon every bonnet and its trimmings. He 
 knows the name of every belle, and how long she 
 has been upon the town ; he has always at hand a 
 description of the peculiar charms of each, whether 
 they lie in figure, in step, in eye, in color, or in 
 money. He can tell to a nicety, by a glance at 
 any one of our ball-room beauties, whether she be 
 fanee, blasee, or passee; he has even, in his time, 
 kept a little note-book, in which he has entered the 
 names of the prominent belles of the day, arranged 
 under various headings, such as — 
 
 First Class Belles, 
 Watering-place Belles, 
 Second-rate Belles, 
 New Brighton Belles, 
 Traveled Belles, 
 Belles Accessible, 
 Doubtful Belles, 
 Stout Belles, and 
 Eccentric Belles. 
 
 Against these, m the true spirit of the Baconian 
 
26 THE LORGNETTE. 
 
 philosophy, he has entered sundry figures and cal- 
 culations, — made estimates in a column at the side of 
 the page, and occasionally enlivened the inventory 
 with pleasant descriptive paragraphs, and has even 
 given at length the distinguishing characteristics of 
 each species of belle. You will surely agree with 
 me that he is an auxiliary worth having ; and when 
 I get upon the topic, I shall very likely make free 
 use of his observations. 
 
 His advice to me was most characteristic ; nor 
 do I reckon it without value. 
 
 "My dear fellow," said he, taking up the yellow 
 pamphlet in his hand, "you are too dainty; you 
 are shy of the mark ; you are staving off the very 
 matter which you ought to souse into at once. Set 
 yourself at work upon the elements of our town- 
 society ; unravel them, test them, paint them. 
 Dip into this strange Opera-going business, and the 
 puerilities of the coxcomb life. Dish up the Polka 
 for a dinner, and give us bon-bons for dessert. As 
 for the church, the books, and the politicians, they 
 will all come in good time. 
 
 " Do you think," said he, turning upon me sud- 
 denly, " that you could cultivate a moustache ?" 
 
 " And w r hy ?" said I, stroking my lip and chin. 
 
 " Simply because it might be worth a thousand 
 a-year to you, saying nothing of a reversion." 
 
A FRIEND'S ADVICE. 27 
 
 This was a new idea to me, Fritz ; you know 
 that in my day, I have worn hair enough upon my 
 face to hide my blushes, even beside the Governor 
 of Comorn, or the prettiest artist of the town. But 
 all this I set down to youthful exuberance, and the 
 careless habit of travel ; I thought it a duty to my 
 Christian brotherhood, to wear now, in the calm 
 and quiet of life, at least a Christian physiognomy. 
 Tophanes explained the matter to me, thus : 
 
 " My dear fellow," said he, assuming the air of 
 a patron, u you must see a little more of town life 
 than will come under your eye in these retired 
 quarters ; your name is not particularly tonnish, 
 though it has fortunately a slight foreign air (my 
 great-grandfather, from whom I inherited it, was 
 a Fleming); you don't keep a ' drag' or a i mi- 
 lord ;' your seat at the Opera is an humble one ; 
 you are not even boarder at the New-York Hotel ; 
 
 you have not the entree at Madame , (naming 
 
 a leader of the exquisite ton) ; you are a little 
 passe ; you have nothing particularly distingue in 
 your air ; your dress is country made ; you have 
 not, that I know of, been guilty of any little pretty 
 pardonable crimes against society ; you have not 
 fought a duel, except a sham one, with broad-swords, 
 behind the old ruin at Heidelberg ; you can't very 
 well, at your time of life, get credit for a liason 
 3* 
 
28 THE LORGNETTE. 
 
 with one of the Opera troupe, — so, my dear fellow, 
 there is no hope for you, but — a moustache !" 
 
 I saw at once the justice of his observations, and 
 determined to consider the matter. I wished, how- 
 ever, first to look about me, and see what manner of 
 men were wearing these very essential appendages, 
 and when my observation shall be complete, — of 
 which, my dear Fritz, you shall have a full report, 
 — I will tell you plainly what decision the circum- 
 stances force upon me. Meantime, with the aid of 
 my friend Tophanes (with whom we will smoke a 
 pipe together on your first visit), I give you this 
 little sketch of the city growth of a fashionable 
 man. 
 
 THE FASHIONABLE MAN 
 Homunculus . — Passim. 
 
 You know him first at an age varying from fifteen 
 to twenty, by his very prim, square shirt collar, — by 
 a speckled Joinville tie, a very large-bottomed pan- 
 talon, a boot that must pinch him execrably, and a 
 hat set the slightest possible bit on one side of his 
 head. He usually walks Broadway, at this stage 
 of incipiency, arm-in-arm with a companion, for 
 he has seen cuts of this mode of procedure, in the 
 high-life illustrations to Dickens' works; and ho 
 
THE FASHIONABLE MAN. 29 
 
 may sometimes be seen swaggering with a very 
 bold air, and very flat cigar, out of such cornel 
 oyster shops as those of Florence, or Sherwood. At 
 this age, too, he talks in a very glib style of the la- 
 dies, — their dress and tournure ; — he mentions 
 very familiarly by their first names, certain dash- 
 ing specimens who ride in hackney cabs, and who 
 walk always unattended ; and he affects punches, 
 made very strong. He boldly tips the wink to the 
 bar-maid, at such genteel places as the Madison 
 House — sips, and pulls up his shirt collars with a 
 jaunty air, and sometimes will sit down to a quiet 
 rubber of whist, in the back parlor. 
 
 His mamma, who wishesto restrain his outof door 
 indulgences, by breeding in him a love for polished 
 society, invites ladies of undoubted respectability 
 to her house, and our young master of the Join- 
 ville tie commences early practice of the gallant- 
 ries of the drawing-room. His dancing education 
 is not neglected, and he soon gets a name with the 
 visiting ladies, for a very pleasant handling of their 
 forms in the Redowa. He cultivates assiduously 
 some elder acquaintance at the New- York Club, so 
 that his card and address come to be familiarly 
 known to the purveyor of the establishment, and 
 will get by merest accident upon such lady's lists, 
 as are made up from the club roll. 
 
30 THE LORGNETTE. 
 
 Our nero patronizes (that is his word) a fashion- 
 able tailor, and sets off a coat, by dint of slight 
 wadding, capitally well. His etiquette in the 
 dressing-room at the balls, is highly careless ; and 
 he draws on his gloves, and adjusts his hair after 
 the last patterns of established town gentlemen. If 
 no prominent fashionable scion be found in tho 
 dressing-room, he assumes quite an air, and talks 
 in very gay humor, and with dashing familiarity 
 of the ladies below ; but if he espies an old Nestor 
 of the balls, he shrinks into comparative quietude, 
 and carefully observes the action and deportment of 
 his senior. 
 
 His dancing is easy and piquant, and he finds 
 without difficulty dashing lady partners, w r ho grown 
 a little anxious on the score of their own age, are 
 very willing to commute the stock of years, by 
 balancing the Polka with a boy. 
 
 His talk is necessarily somewhat juvenile ; but 
 he has a carefully prepared round of critiques on 
 Bertucca and Forti, picked up at the clubs ; and 
 on weather topics, he manifests an insouciance and 
 freedom, that show him to be a perfect master of 
 the subject. He sometimes even ventures upon 
 the fine arts, and has cultivated certain ecstasies of 
 expression about the Greek Slave, and such like 
 measures of the town taste, which would be worthy of 
 
THE FASHIONABLE MAN. 81 
 
 an established belle, or the columns of the Sundav 
 Mercury. 
 
 Oldish men, and such ladies as have rather an 
 unfortunate reputation for good sense, set off with 
 a spice of satire, he is careful to avoid ; he sneers 
 at their ill-nature, only because their irony is too 
 strong for his brain. 
 
 With his fellows, perhaps he will affect a sport- 
 ing turn ; he will read, very assiduously the Spirit 
 of the Times, — he will have a shooting jacket made 
 with a world of pockets, and will sometimes take 
 it with him, on a trip to a summer watering-place; 
 but only wears it occasionally of a morning, whenhe 
 is sure no sportsmen are by ; he will stufFa pocket with 
 pressed Regalias, and regret that game is so scarce. 
 He talks in very knowing tones of quail and par- 
 tridge, of Greener guns and Frank Forrester, 
 and is supplied with all the sporting on dits. He 
 discourses too about trout-fishing, and Alfred's 
 tackle, very much as one of the falsettos in the 
 Papal choir, might talk of deeds of gallantry. 
 
 In time, he may come to have a small purplish 
 gathering of hair upon the upper lip, and he con- 
 sults Cristadoro on the prospects of a full-fledged 
 moustache. Meantime he is rapidly pushing his 
 ventures in the fashionable world ; he may even 
 boast of a speaking acquaintance with some one of 
 
32 THE LORGNETTE. 
 
 the Opera troupe of ladies, which he mentions tc 
 his friends with a sly leer, as if something were in 
 the wind. 
 
 He discards, as he gets on, his Joinville tie ; he 
 observes closely the air of foreign gentlemen at 
 the New- York Hotel, and will presently appear in 
 a stout, heavy " coachman," with huge pearl but- 
 tons. He is apt, at this stage, to invite some French 
 gentleman who is living on the town, to a dinner 
 at Delmonico's; and if he can push this venture 
 into a decided familiarity with the foreign repre- 
 sentative of manners, he feels himself a made 
 man. 
 
 If a literary fancy seizes him, he will cultivate 
 the acquaintance of the musical critics of the news- 
 papers; he accosts them familiarly (when no ladies are 
 in sight) in the corridors of the Opera-house, and will 
 perhaps contribute a letter to the Sunday Herald, or a 
 rejected sonnet to the Evening Mirror. His read- 
 ing will be variously the Home Journal, the Dis- 
 patch, and "all sorts of paragraphs" of the Even- 
 ing Post ; and when he feels braced for really se- 
 rious work, he will perhaps undertake " a card" in 
 the Courier and Enquirer, a review in the Literary 
 World, a poem in the Tribune, or a chapter in 
 " James 5 last Novel." 
 
 Provided with such stock of literary matter as 
 
THE FASHIONABLE MAN. 33 
 
 this general reading furnishes, he quite astounds 
 the young ladies, who, though very good dancers, 
 do not pretend to be deep ; and who smile the pret- 
 tiest coquetry back, at all his literary disquisitions, 
 disclaiming earnestly the name of blues. He will, 
 however, be rewarded by the very warm looks of 
 book-loving spinsters, and perhaps be invited to a 
 conversazione, where if he have a good tongue, and 
 a few tricks of the players, he may establish a ten- 
 der reputation by a triumphant reading of Romeo 
 and Juliet. 
 
 As he grows older, he discards such follies as un- 
 worthy the dignity of a man of ton, and as entire- 
 ly useless in the art of salon conquest. If his means 
 will allow the venture, he will perhaps occasionally 
 drive a showy horse, in very dainty harness, along 
 the Bloomingdale road. At the Opera, he will be 
 provided with a very huge Lorgnette of ebony, or 
 imitation, and will direct it with the coolest com- 
 posure into a lady's face of the next box ; and he 
 will never forget to break out into a rapturous bra- 
 vo, when a tall critic in the parquette, or Madame 
 — — gives the concerted signal for applause. And 
 if one of the troupe appears in unreasonably short 
 petticoats, he is sure to level his glass at her, with 
 a most obstinate gaze, and crack some very touching 
 jokes, which make the lady he is with, blush te 
 
34 THE LORGNETTE 
 
 her eyes — unless indeed, she is lately returned from 
 " abroad," and is gazing as earnestly as he, 
 sighing at the prurient modesty of American wo- 
 men. In this last case indeed, she will have the 
 advantage of him in audacity, and will talk as 
 coolly of the shape of Signora's legs, as if it were 
 the daintiest imaginable topic for a quiet break- 
 fast chat. 
 
 And our hero gains from such encouragement, 
 at the hands of one who has formed her taste for 
 morals, and her moral of taste, at Paris, a new step 
 in his life of fashion ; and at his next soiree, he 
 will repeat the ladies compliments of Signora, un- 
 til his dancing partner blushes again. He is now 
 arrived at a ripe stage ; and if Mesdames So-and-so 
 do not invite him to their balls, it is because they 
 do not know that a most agreeable talent for ready 
 and piquant conversation, has been added to his 
 graceful accomplishment in the waltz. He now 
 assumes patronizing airs toward the younger mem- 
 bers of his class, and condescendingly offers to pre- 
 sent them at the reception of his lady friends. 
 
 A little of the reputation of the roue, will at this 
 stage add an agreeable spice to his character ; and 
 an intrigue, coyly hinted at, with some married 
 lady, and offering topic for luxurious chit-chat in 
 fashionable boudoirs, will be very sure to give him 
 
THE FASHIONABLE MAN. 35 
 
 the entree to the houses of such " leaders of the ton " 
 as have hitherto smiled contemptuously at his 
 pretensions. Old ladies of fashion, grown fat on 
 drawing-room applause, and luxurious riding, will 
 taste with as mush relish as a dish of game, grown 
 rank, the luscious flattery dropping from the lips of 
 a man who has so successfully won his honors. 
 
 Now he may count securely on being made man- 
 ager of watering-place balls, and will be beset by 
 mothers of doubtful position, to take pity on their 
 daughters. He is looked up to by all barbers and 
 head-waiters, as a man of immense consideration; 
 and he will walk Broadway wdth the air of one who 
 feels that little remains to be learned, and that his 
 character is beyond criticism. He is a club-man; 
 and if his cards are well played, and a lofty ambi- 
 tion spurs him on, he may have the honor of figur- 
 ing in the newspapers as one of a committee to give 
 a public dinner, or to aid in a city reception, or to 
 do honor to a distinguished ballet-dancer. 
 
 Higher than this, it is hardly possible for the man 
 of fashion to go. He is now become the Achilles of 
 the street, and the Apollo of the boudoir. If his 
 funds diminish, or his coiffeur hints at need of a 
 hair dye, he turns his thoughts to marriage ; and 
 presently all the ladies of a certain age are be- 
 witched to secure him. Not because he has for* 
 4 
 
36 THE LORGNETTE. 
 
 tune, or much mental calibre, or because he is a man 
 to turn the world upside down, or to make a figure 
 on the Exchange, or in the courts, or because pos- 
 sessed of any really intrinsic grace of character, — 
 but then he is such a charming man, — so very 
 agreeable. — such a funny man, — so elegant, — with 
 such handsome eyes, — or such a moustache, — and 
 then he polks so prettily, — in short, he is such a 
 dear love of a man ! 
 
 And as for the stories about him and Madame 
 So-and-So, there can surely be nothing in them ; he 
 is so audible in his responses at Grace Church, and 
 
 such a friend of Doctor ; it must be all envy ; 
 
 but perhaps Madame So-and-So courted him ; and 
 then he is so kind ; and even if he did, how peni- 
 tent he must be ; and what a delightful thing to 
 win him back to the paths of virtue ! And the fair 
 apologist, very strong in her love of mercy and 
 purity, and shedding religious tears of hope, throws 
 herself back upon her luxurious lounge, and gets a 
 new lesson of Christian charity and morals, out of 
 that dear Catholic story of the Lady Alice . 
 
 But the Papa has perhaps in this arrangement, a 
 keener eye to prudence, than to piety. He is very 
 earnest in his inquiries about stocks, and expecta- 
 tions ; and is anxious to know of what timber the 
 fashionable man may be built. A moustache, 
 
THE FASHIONABLE MAX. 37 
 
 though a very good recommendation to my lady's 
 boudoir, or balls, is not, he shrewdly thinks, so tak- 
 ing on exchange ; nor is it altogether the readiest 
 passport to the confidence and inveiglement of such 
 clients as manifest a decided wish that their busi- 
 ness should have attention. White kids appear 
 very prettily in the handling of a Lorgnette, but 
 they must be cast to manage the execution of a 
 deed, or to draft a bill of exchange. The pretty 
 babble about the Dusseldorf, or the tenor of Forti, 
 may do very well to win a weak lady, but it will 
 not have very great weight with a jury. Our man 
 of fashion has then one position up-town, and quite 
 another in "Wall street : among the women, he 
 passes for a man ; and among the men, he passes 
 for a woman. 
 
 If in this emergency of his life, his funds abso- 
 lutely fail, he may possibly find friends, who for 
 the credit of the family, will subscribe for him an 
 annuity, payable until he shall secure an heiress. 
 He is now obliged to cut his old acquaintances of 
 the Opera troupe, and hushes up his reputation for 
 intrigue, except so much as shall find its way by 
 friendly lips, to the ears of his victim. For in this 
 quarter, no acquaintance can do him worse service, 
 than by sneering at his past gallantries, as sheer 
 affectations ; and he may safely say with the lover, 
 
38 THE LORGNETTE. 
 
 in the French Comedy : Je ne demandais pas d 
 etre mauvais sujet ; mats, maintenant que c'est 
 reconnu et etabli, il ne faut rien dire ! Car en 
 m^otant mes torts, on m'dterais tous mes avantages 
 
 However, he is regular at church, and affects 
 thoughtfulness, for he is put perhaps, by some 
 form-loving mamma, upon probation. 
 
 What a changed man ! — whispers the delighted 
 Fredonia ; and presently, from a rake, our fashion- 
 able man has become a husband. He has married 
 a plump five thousand a-year, a delicate complex- 
 ion, a great deal of whalebone and bustle, a smat- 
 tering of French talk, whole reams of poetic senti- 
 ment, and an incalculable quantity of new novels. 
 
 He can now take a box at the Opera, and ride to 
 Grace Chuich; he can wink at the sexton, shake 
 hands with the parson, and utter his responses as 
 audibly as he chooses. He cuts his poor acquaint- 
 ances of the club, and doesn't let his country cou- 
 sins know his town address. He drops pennies 
 into the parish box, wrapped In dingy brown paper, 
 which resembles old bank bills, and passes with 
 pious, middle-aged ladies, for a worthy and charita- 
 ble Christian. He gives parties, but he does not 
 pay his grocer's bill. 
 
 His wife has expectations, and he takes her rheu- 
 matic uncle out to ride, and presses upon him his? 
 

 THE FASHIONABLE MAN 
 
THE FASHIONABLE MAN. 39 
 
 poor cigars, and is very urgent that he should come 
 to dine with him, when he knows him to be laid up 
 with an attack of the gout. He sends bouquets, 
 and valentines, anonymously, but in his own hand- 
 writing, to his wife's rich aunt. He employs a 
 fashionable physician, and doesn't venture into "Wall 
 street. He goes to play billiards at the club, and 
 tells his wife he has business with his lawyer. He 
 goes to parties, and waltzes with the youngest girls 
 in the room. He figures on committees for public 
 balls, and wears white rosette ; he consults his 
 wife's complexion in the purchase of dress, and dra- 
 pery, and has long and serious interviews with his 
 tailor. He subscribes to a morning and evening 
 paper, and to the Home Journal ; and he has his 
 arms cut upon a signet ring. He reads general 
 news in do Trobriand's Revue, and the religious 
 news, in the directions for church service, of the 
 prayer-book. 
 
 He talks with his clergyman about church archi- 
 tecture, — with his lawyer about marriage settle- 
 ments, — with his wife about the last party, and 
 with his lady friends about velvet cloaks, and the 
 new third fiddler of the orchestra. 
 
 At this stage, he may be reckoned firmly and 
 fairly a leader of the ton ; and he has only to show 
 himself liberal, to have his name heralded, or his 
 
40 THE LORGNETTE. 
 
 likeness cut for the Sunday Mercury ; and ver^ 
 especial services may secure to him the honor of a 
 statuette in the shop windows of the town. 
 
 His moneyed character is of course understood 
 to be beyond impeachment ; or if some unfortu- 
 nate developments of an irksomely keen morning 
 paper, should make his name and note discredited 
 on 'Change, he has only to appear in a dignified, 
 exculpatory card, drafted by his lawyer, — to with- 
 draw his funds at the bank, — make over the result 
 of a few private transactions to his wife, — contract 
 a few debts of honor, from such friends as will not 
 bother him for pay, and live upon his wife's char- 
 ity, — another gorgeous, and dinner-loving martyr 
 to town speculation, and to bitter tongues. 
 
 This, as I am assured by my friend Tophanes, is 
 a fair representation of the usual growth ; but the 
 exceptions are very various, and the grades of fash- 
 ionable men are very numerous. There are, for 
 instance, — the fashionable beaux, the fashionable 
 street-men, the fashionable authors, the fashionable 
 roues, the fashionable merchants, the fashionable 
 respectables, the fashionable defaulters, the fash- 
 ionable grocers, and the fashionable doctors. And 
 when I come to detail their characteristics at 
 length, they will, I am sure, my dear Fritz, amuse 
 you wonderfully. 
 
SERVICES TENDERED. 41 
 
 I shall not venture to give you thus early any 
 sketch of the fashionable development in the wo- 
 men; for since it is a more delicate matter, I 
 must make my observation a little finer, and have 
 a few more quiet talks with my old lady friend, 
 who as I told you, sometimes indulges me with a 
 ride in her britska. And I may further say, that 
 any advices in regard to this topic, from genteel 
 young women, of good taste and connections, will 
 be very gladly received. My friend Tophanes, who 
 is an up-town liver, has kindly volunteered to take 
 charge of any such communications as may be left 
 for John Ttmon, at the counter of Henry Kernot, 
 bookseller. He has, moreover, tendered his ser- 
 vices to make personal calls, between the hours of 
 twelve and three, upon such ladies as have any- 
 thing of a special nature to communicate. (To- 
 phanes moves in " top society," and he will engage 
 to call, in blue coat with brass buttons, yellow 
 gloves, and a jaunty-looking hack; and if desired, 
 the coachman will wear a gilt band around his 
 hat.) 
 
 I am determined to spare no pains to make my 
 portraits of town life, true to the spirit of the times ; 
 so that any future historian of our social growth, 
 may find in these humble papers, the material 
 suited to his purpose. 
 
 Timon. 
 

 FEB, 7. 
 
 NEW-YORK, 
 
 NO, 3, 
 
 " It is the same vanity, the same folly, and the same vice, only appear- 
 ing different, as viewed through the glass of fashion. In a word, all 
 mankind are a ." — Goldsmith. 
 
 You will be amused to learn, my dear Fritz, 
 that a city paper has set you down as a respectable 
 maiden aunt of a certain poor literary jobber, to 
 whom has been ascribed the authorship of these 
 papers. I do not doubt but that you would become 
 the petticoats as well as any Catholic Sister of the 
 " People I have met ;" still I feel bound to enter a 
 caveat against such wanton and gratuitous meta- 
 morphose of your dignity and sex. 
 
 As for the alleged authorship, — notwithstand- 
 ing the allegation is supported by " undoubted 
 sign?,"— I have only to say that the editors must 
 
44 THE LORGNETTE. 
 
 set their wits at work anew. It is certainly not a 
 little singular, that after having plainly told the 
 public, that my name was wholly unknown, gen- 
 tlemen should persist in ascribing the work to 
 persons of acknowledged experience. Will not the 
 dear Critics believe, that a plain and simple observer 
 may use a pen with some little adroitness, although 
 he has not dipped into the muddy Bethesda of 
 city literature ? May not a man speak out honestly 
 his sentiments, and detail the pleasant passages of 
 his town-life, without being set down as one of the 
 old brood of inordinate and pretentious scribblers ? 
 Is there anything in the nature of the thing, that 
 forbids the propriety, or the truth of my claim ? 
 Will not the kind gentlemen — the bell-wethers of 
 the sheep-flock — who have in their keeping the 
 literary interests of the town, suffer a quiet fellow 
 to have a word for himself, but they must forth- 
 with credit his speculations to some of their own 
 kith and kin ? 
 
 As for the honor they do me, deeply sensible as I 
 am of its importance, I must yet entreat their for- 
 bearance in the bestowal ; it hurts my modesty, to 
 say nothing of my character. 
 
 It seems that not a few curious smelfungi, mis- 
 led, perhaps, by the taking figure of the cover, have 
 anticipated in the Lorgnette a sort of duodecimo 
 
TOWN CELEBRITIES. 45 
 
 Judy, with its grinning conceits ; they are as 
 much mistaken as if they were to look for classic 
 acting at the Broadway Theatre, or for a conscience 
 among the City Fathers. Those earnest for such 
 funny delicacies, I would commend to the Chatham 
 Theatre, an old file of Yankee Doodle, and a pewter 
 mug of ale; and with these helps, I feel quite sure 
 that they may turn them out, as plentifully, and of 
 as good quality, as any at the bar of the Jefferson 
 Lunch, or among the city items of the Commercial. 
 
 TOWN CELEBRITIES. 
 
 "If you wish to make people stare by doing better than others, why 
 make them stare till they stare their eyes out 1" — Johnson. 
 
 I should give you a poor idea, Fritz, of the 
 winter life in town, if I did not keep you advised 
 from week to week of the celebrities of the time ; 
 yet they come up so fast, that it will be very hard 
 to tell how they gain such character, and harder 
 still, to tell how they lose it. But we are a quick- 
 working people, and do these things at very short 
 order ; while, you know, in the old states of 
 Europe, it takes a long time for either man, 
 woman, or child, to become any way famous. There 
 the most extraordinary men may move about with- 
 out a procession of gapers ; and a Lolah Monte? may 
 
*6 THE LORGNETTE, 
 
 take her dish of coffee at a public table, without so 
 much as a single man being choked with his roll 
 at the. sight. 
 
 This is not the way we do things in our town. 
 Nothing out of the common course can happen but 
 there arises a tremendous buzz, which carries know- 
 ledge of it to all the salons of the town, and to 
 every loge of the Opera. Not a man above the 
 capacity of country Judge, or skipper of a coasting 
 schooner, can arrive upon the island, but he is an- 
 nounced in the gossiping papers under the head of 
 personal movements ; and I do not believe that a 
 man could kiss his wife in the street without its 
 forming a nucleus for a " mysterious circumstance" 
 in an evening journal, or that a lady could rup- 
 ture her lacings, without its being chronicled in the 
 Express, under head of " Casualties." 
 
 The ingenious de Tocqueville would have found 
 a reason for this itch of multiplying the marvelous, 
 in the character of our institutions, and in the 
 absence, throughout our social system, of all estab- 
 lished and time-honored celebrities. We must have 
 something near us to wonder at and admire, and 
 if the State does not give us the means, why our 
 own fancies will. Hence it is that mountebanks 
 of all classes and characteristics, are passing before 
 us, and growing in a breath into celebrities. 
 
TOWN CELEBRITIES. 47 
 
 Tophanes, who is au courant of such matters, 
 has frequently diverted me, by pointing out, upon 
 the street, the lions of the day. There, for in- 
 stance, — he will tell me, — goes a woman who is 
 well known for having the prettiest ankles in the 
 town, and who is remarkable for a partiality to 
 damp pavements. Another is known for her 
 artistic arrangement of dress, and has even been 
 honored, under a feigned name, with a compli- 
 mentary paragraph, under head of " things talked 
 of" in the Home Journal. A third has given a 
 magnificent ball, with which the town talk, from 
 that of the prim nieces in the attic, to that of a dis- 
 tinguished French reviewer, has been busy for a 
 week. Mention in the last-named quarter has, of 
 course, established reputation beyond all attempt 
 at cavil. 
 
 A fourth, who is a prim gentleman in very shag- 
 gy coat, is pointed out to you as the hero of every 
 salon ; and if he but add to this claim a certain 
 celebrity in the Rackett court, or the authorship of 
 a few sonnets, he will be gazed at admiringly by 
 all the young ladies upon town. A fifth, is a mil- 
 lionaire, or son of a millionaire, who has a hundred 
 sly fingers and beaming eyes directed toward him, 
 whenever he shows himself upon the walk. A 
 sixth, will be named and noted as the hero of somo 
 . 5 # 
 
48 THE LORGNETTE. 
 
 little piquant intrigue, which the dear ladies name 
 always with a Christian shudder, and such fond 
 sigh of regret as might win a Joseph. Another, is 
 some blooming author, or artist, who, by dint of 
 newspaper mention, has grown Raphaelesque in 
 celebrity, and who wears his honors like a moun- 
 tain. I do not mean to say, Fritz, that these are 
 characters whose fame has reached you, for their 
 celebrity, unfortunately, blossoms and fades within 
 the limits of the city. If they were to migrate, 
 they might become lions in small country towns 
 for a season ; but it is to be feared, that without the 
 ambrosia of town Deism, they would soon sink to 
 the level of ordinary men. 
 
 Indeed, so determined is the disposition to build 
 up easy celebrities, that I have had my fears, lest 
 some of the paper limners, who are the most prying, 
 inquisitive fellows you can imagine — should get 
 wind of my box at the Opera, since I am a stranger, 
 and vexy indefatigable with my glass — and serve 
 me up in a paragraph under some such dainty 
 head as "Riff Raff," or "Floatings By." Indeed, 
 what with my rustic air, huge lorgnette, and bald 
 head, I think I should cut rather a pretty figure 
 in a statuette. And if Heaven were to spread be- 
 fore me the snare of a town marriage, I should 
 expect to find all my better feelings harrowed up 
 
FOREIGNERS 4S 
 
 by some such announcement as this : — " We under- 
 stand that a buxom old country gentleman, Mr. 
 John Timon, led yesterday to the altar the young 
 and blooming Miss Euphemia Trymen. The cere- 
 mony was performed in Grace Church, and the 
 powerful and sonorous voice of the distinguished 
 Doctor added powerfully to the interest of the stir- 
 ring occasion. Several carriages were in attend- 
 ance, among which we noticed a few of the taste- 
 ful equipages of our leaders of fashion." 
 
 Foreigners in general may, so far as I have ob- 
 served, be reckoned among the town celebrities. 
 A German, with his guttural sounds, and with his 
 taste in music, which, by dint of foreign terms, can 
 be very well assumed, is almost certain of being 
 hunted down, and bagged by all the good-natured 
 celebrity mongers. And if he can scrape a fiddle 
 daintily, or talk, with his eyes rolling to heaven, 
 about Goethe, or cultivate a Faust intensity of look, 
 he will be in demand all over the town by German 
 loving young ladies, — and all this, notwithstand- 
 ing he may drink all the small beer in the world, 
 or smoke the filthiest of Meerschaums. It is ot 
 but little account what name or position he may 
 have held in the Fatherland : we democratize with 
 a vengeance, where a distingue, sandy whisker is 
 in the case; and our autocrats can open their doors 
 
50 THE LORGNETTE. 
 
 to the veriest valet, if his lingual acquirements 
 and naive foreign air will but make him a taking 
 card in the salon. 
 
 As for the Frenchman, though now between the 
 valorous Poussin and the long-faced Bonaparte, a 
 little under the weather, yet a good polka educa- 
 tion, delicate perfumes well laid on, and a roundly- 
 uttered " superbe" and " magnifiqiie" in a lady's 
 ear, will do for him vast execution. And as for a 
 genuine Cockney, in exceedingly sharp shirt collars, 
 straight-brimmed hat, and plaid tights, who' mouths 
 his words, and says, — "I de-say," and "it's very 
 odd," and " nice person," and who talks easily about 
 "Yicty," and the "Duke,"— he will be witch half the 
 women of the town. And if he can manage to drop 
 a compliment, not too clumsily contrived, into the 
 ear of some respectable, established lady, who doats 
 upon herself, her suppers, and her equipage, he will 
 be heralded presently in the town gossip, as a "dis- 
 tinguished son of Albion," with supposed acquire- 
 ments enough to make him a ten days' wonder. Of 
 course, if a shrewd fellow, his acquaintance at 
 home will be all be-duked, and be-duchessed, and 
 he will prove a rare trump for such ladies as turn 
 up their noses at " money," and who have a keen 
 scent for " blood." 
 
 But all these have latterly been cast in the shade 
 
THE HUNGARIANS 
 
THE HUNGARIANS. 53 
 
 by the Hungarian exiles ; among which were the 
 valiant little Demoiselle Jagello, and Governor Uj- 
 hazy, whose names the whole town has learned to 
 pronounce, by aid of the philological developments 
 oi a morning paper. Now nothing in the world is 
 more proper than to welcome these poor fellows ; 
 and nothing more generous than Stetson's kind 
 bounty in giving them a home. But they have 
 been feted, and visited ; and the stout little cur- 
 mudgeon of a Governor drugged with dinners, and 
 Mademoiselle tolled out to town balls ; and import- 
 ant committees have been busy making up for us 
 a set of celebrities as large as the Mexican con- 
 querors. They have been sent for to make a house 
 at the Opera, and have proved grand capital, not 
 only for Senator Seward, but for aspiring ladies 
 who give thin soirees. "Would it not be well for 
 them to secure, as standard lions for the season, a 
 score or two of those who are now on their way 
 from Hamburg ? 
 
 Now if the Governor, who is a stern old country- 
 man, with a long grizzled beard like a Hebrew, 
 would take honest advice, I would caution him 
 against celebrity mongers, and urge upon him a quiet 
 life, and a careful look-out for his estates at home ; 
 which, if they pass from him in the lion's division 
 of the spoil, he had better renew somewhere in the 
 
52 THE LORGNETTE. 
 
 West, and bend that sturdy back of his to work upon 
 American soil, and that brave soul to the apprecia- 
 tion and advancement of the American State. 
 
 As for Mademoiselle, who is a brisk, snug-built, 
 dark-eyed little maid, they have made all manner 
 of paragraphs about her shape, her tears, and 
 her war-dress — in short, they have married her to 
 town celebrity ; and though it is a far better 
 match for her, than if she had married the best of 
 the celebrity mongers, yet it will make for her an 
 unquiet home, and will give her but flimsy altar- 
 gods for her hearth-stone. 
 
 Another poor victim they have tried to make of 
 a splendid violinist, ushered in by a blast of town 
 trumpets, and the taking announcement of a 
 weekly journal that he was a u handsome young fel- 
 low." The town ladies were naturally bewitched to 
 see the charming Remeyni, who, though scarce out of 
 his teens, had the sense to perceive the lure, and 
 as Tophanes informs me, has escaped the martyr- 
 dom. 
 
 But the Hungarian fever, thanks to the stupidity 
 of that lover of monarchs and the London Times — 
 Mr. Bowen, has become almost chronic ; and we 
 hear of respectable young men and women, sane on 
 other matters, who have actually taken to study of 
 the Magyar dialect, and talk of some such rodeem- 
 
TOWN CELEBRITIES. 53 
 
 ing pilgrimages to the banks of the Danube, as 
 crazy Southey once plotted to the wilds of Mis- 
 souri. In all the bals costumes the Hungarian cos- 
 tume is just now carrying the day, even against a 
 Buena Yista hussar coat, or the lace trimmings of 
 a Debardeur. Street mountebanks are wearing 
 Hungarian caps ; the Hungarian balsam is in new 
 demand; and Miss Lawson (Tophanes is my au- 
 thority), who divides, with the Home Journal, the 
 honors of being Pythoness of modes, is about to of- 
 fer to the enchanted town a Jagello hat ! The next 
 step will be a Weehazy polka, and a Weehazy beard, 
 which, if they be duly chronicled in the Express* 
 
 and countenanced by her Grace, Madame J , 
 
 and deftly dished into an oily paragraph, by the 
 Journal that dishes such things so well, will become 
 the established order of the city. 
 
 As for native growth, now that the Mexican war 
 is fairly over (which, as I am told, crowded the town 
 with heroes), the ways of achieving a really avail- 
 able celebrity are reducible to some one of these : — 
 by getting, or seeming to get, inordinately rich ; by 
 giving a ball so splendid that it shall not lack no- 
 tice even in the staid columns of a Revue ; by writ- 
 ing a stupid book (if I said letters, you might con- 
 demn me for an aspirant !) ; by newspaper mention 
 under head of " PeTsonal Movements," or the com- 
 
5-1 THE LORGNETTE. 
 
 mittal of some extraordinary absurdity ; by default- 
 ing to the tune of some really clever sum ; by mak- 
 ing a dinner speech, or getting drunk at the balls ; 
 by running away with an heiress, or arriving as 
 " bearer of dispatches ;" and finally, by being candi- 
 date for, or recipient of a public office. 
 
 There are many of them so important as to be 
 worthy of a separate paper ; and I shall go on now 
 to note only the casual and accidental celebrities 
 which have fallen under notice. 
 
 An Opera ball, one of which has lately miscar- 
 ried, owing to an unfortunate clash of jealousies, 
 might be made, by a little dexterous management, 
 a thorough celebrity. I have the authority of my 
 neighbor, the tasteful gentleman, for saying that 
 the only one of the winter was quite recherche ; and 
 he has kindly offered to interest himself with the 
 managers, for securing me a ticket to such others 
 as may be in store. He tells me that it is strictly 
 understood between Mr. Maretzek and the tasteful 
 managers, that no parvenus are to be admitted ; 
 and as I am quite anxious to see the pure ton sift- 
 ed of all riff-raff, parvenu rubbish, I shall certainly 
 avail myself of his kindness. It is true I have 
 had my misgivings about his own title to the 
 floor ; but it appears that he is intimate with 
 the chief of the orchestra, and has performed 
 
TOWN CELEBRITIES. 55 
 
 some private service of a delicate nature, for a 
 gentleman, prominent on the committee ; more- 
 over, he wears a very respectable moustache, a 
 jaunty-setting blue coat with brass buttons, and 
 an air of easy indifference, so that he passes 
 without challenge. 
 
 Some of the " old families," as he calls them, have 
 turned up their noses at these public balls ; but he 
 hints that it is out of sheer jealousy, and that they 
 are fast being overtopped by the ton of the Opera- 
 house. And he went on to say, that the manners of 
 such were altogether rusty and stiff, not brilliant 
 enough for the times, and that they must soon sink 
 into oblivion. I am inclined to think that he is 
 more than half correct ; and if the old Dutchmen 
 do not take warning — add a new cape to their coach- 
 men's coat, trick out their daughters in more dash- 
 ing cloaks, buy a seat at Grace Church, (though 
 Dutch Reform stock may rise a little with the cross 
 of the Fifth Avenue Meeting-House,) abuse Forti, 
 subscribe to de Trobriand's Revue, and the Lor- 
 gnette, they will be very sure to lose caste. 
 
 There are not a few diminutive celebrities of the 
 bails — people who get a name for constant attend- 
 ance, or for a particular dance ; and I remember 
 quite a young gentleman with a little down upon 
 
 his lip, carefully turned up at the ends, who was 
 6 
 
06 THE LORGNETTE. 
 
 pointed out by my friend Tophanes, as an extraor- 
 dinary prodigy in this last way. He seemed to have 
 a due sense of his lion state, albeit his mane was 
 not of very robust growth, and seemed as thorough- 
 ly satisfied with his celebrity, as if it had been gain- 
 ed by the invention of a steam-engine, or a patent 
 elastic boot shank. 
 
 I don't mean, dear Fritz, to affect the cynic, in 
 making invidious comparisons, and by throwing 
 ridicule on the favorites of the balls. Each phase of 
 life has its brilliancies, and each pursuit its celeb- 
 rities ; and there is no reason in the world why 
 our heroes of the polka should not wear their honors 
 of the pump, as serenely, and gaily, as the first whij. 
 at Astley 5 s his success upon the box — as Celeste hei 
 verdicts of applause at the Lyceum, or as our new- 
 fledged writers their sprouting and hot-bed glories. 
 
 The lady celebrities of the ball-room are distin- 
 guishable sometimes by gracefulness in the dance, 
 and sometimes by a most delectable familiarity. 
 "Why, if our old flame Amy, of bal masque memory, 
 were to cling to you in the waltz with such lan- 
 guishing and tender air as belongs to some of 
 our salon dancers, you would find yourself doubt- 
 ing if she were as honest as she seemed. 
 
 Only fancy to yourself, Fritz, a tall girl with 
 shoulders bare to the lower edge of decorum,- — your 
 
TOWN CELEBRITIES. S7 
 
 arm clasped round her waist well bound up, — her 
 hand lying hard upon your shoulder, and her head 
 sometimes reposing on it, so that her head-dress 
 tickles your chin as you whirl in the dance, and a 
 round eye full of a luxurious languor looking up at 
 you from the faint head ! To tell you the truth, it 
 would do honor to the Chaumiere. 
 
 My old lady-friend the dowager explained this to 
 me, however, as a pleasant eccentricity of the dan- 
 cer ; and supported her statement by pointing out 
 to me presently the same individual, in the act of 
 borrowing a gentleman's handkerchief to wipe the 
 perspiration from her neck ! The town is certainly 
 on the gain in these matters ; the old prurient mo- 
 desty of our day is gone by ; and we may expect to 
 see, in a winter or two, some of these eccentric char- 
 acters appearing in satin breeches. Indeed, I would 
 by no means vouch for the fact, that they have not 
 enjoyed particular divertisements of the sort, before 
 a select company of gentlemen, already. 
 
 I cannot help noticing in this connection, though 
 they hardly rank among the celebrities, the great 
 number of small fry, who swarm at the balls. The 
 age of school-boys seems to have utterly gone by , 
 and you will find little witlings in straight sharp col- 
 lars talking robustly of polking, and balls, at an age 
 when, judging from their chin and brain, they 
 
58 THE LORGNETTE 
 
 should be busy with their Latin readers and Colum- 
 bian class-books. And if you fall to talking with a 
 hoydenish miss, or decayed spinster, about Rossi, or 
 the new tenor, (for these are safe topics) you will 
 find yourself supplanted by some little beardless 
 fellow, who scarce comes up to your shoulder, and 
 who yet insists with ail the gravity of a man, upon 
 the next polk, with your belle ! 
 
 It used to be the order, that men should have the 
 gain of a year or two upon the ladies ; but the order 
 S3ems now reversed, and a boy in his teens is reck- 
 oned a fit partner for a woman of a score. Whether 
 the ladies have degenerated, or the youngsters 
 gained four years upon them in wit, since our 
 day, I have not yet observed enough to determine 
 correctly. 
 
 Another sort of celebrity at the balls is the diner- 
 out, who is heavy with Port and Champagne, and 
 stupified with a new lift at the punch-bowl. He quite 
 shocks sensitive girls by the boldness of his dance, 
 and thinks it a pretty play to reel like a Bacchante 
 through the waltz. In this matter, New- York 
 fashionables decidedly take the lead of the rest of 
 the civilized world ; in most quarters such unfortu- 
 nate diners-out would be politely shown the door ; 
 but it is by no means certain that here, it does not 
 add to a gentleman's attractions. 
 
THE TRAVELED LADY. 59 
 
 Here and there you may meet with a traveled 
 lady who becomes a pretty subject for salon celeb- 
 rity. She wears an air of most captivating impu- 
 dence, and pronounces the names of a great many 
 foreign towns unexceptionably, even to the Graelic 
 guttural in Munich. She wears gloves from Boivin's 
 in the Rue de la Paix, and hopes she shall never be 
 obliged to wear any others : she subscribes to the 
 Courrier des Etats-Unis 5 and criticises the Ameri- 
 can translations of French authors. She drops her 
 cards about town, dating from the Rue Lavoisier, 
 or de Lille, and leaves a regret with the servant, 
 that she has no American cards about her. She 
 talks in a hurried, broken, epigrammatic way of 
 Paris shops and soirees, — assumes that air of easy 
 languor, which becomes the elegant faineant, weary 
 of admiration, and gives such interesting details of 
 city life abroad as dazzle her beardless devo- 
 tees, but which it is plain to see are picked up from 
 a gossiping French femme de chambre. It is won- 
 derful how much pretty talk of travel, and scandal 
 of Paris life, can be accumulated from the morn- 
 ing chats with a little piquant grisette ; and if any 
 ambitious conversationist is desirous of lighting up 
 her evenings with richer foreign tattle than can be 
 gathered from any " scissorings from foreign files," 
 there could scarce be a happier method hit upon 
 6* 
 
60 THE LORGNETTE. 
 
 than to import for private service, a middle-aged, 
 faded, Paris femme de chambre. 
 
 Our foreign celebrity criticises in ex cathedra 
 style the dresses of the town, and makes modest 
 young women, who are simply respectable, very 
 uneasy in their simplicity. If a friend questions 
 the propriety of certain extravagances of dress, she 
 meets it with an inimitable toss of the head, that 
 quite sets the matter at rest. Or if some prudent 
 old lady inveighs against a too lavish display of her 
 personal charms, — Pho ! has she not seen the 
 dress of the Duchess of So and So, and shall she be 
 taught proprieties in our i own ? 
 
 A young gentleman of ' parts,' and high res- 
 pectability, will be presented by some middle-aged 
 spinster as a gentleman lecently returned from 
 abroad, and possibly a hint will be dropped about 
 superior acquirements, a Grerman university, or a 
 finished education. At all which, the young gen- 
 tleman of ' parts' adjusts his shirt collar, looks 
 down at his Paris boot, bows graciously, and thinks 
 " it is a fine day." Or if last from England, he 
 coughs " ahem," and says " aye," in affirmation, 
 — clips his words very uncommonly short, and af- 
 fects a most extraordinary coolness, with which 
 the young ladies are delighted, and think " he is se 
 very gentlemanly." He says that St. Paul's ia 
 
THE TRAVELED GENTLEMAN. 61 
 
 a fair sort of a church, and also Westminster Ab- 
 bey, in its way ; and he thinks the Duke of North- 
 umberland has " rayther a clever 'ouse" at Char- 
 ing Cross, but he doesn't think his equipage is the 
 < thing.' 
 
 He intends " going over" again presently to hear 
 Jenny Lind, or to see Cerito. Of course he thinks 
 Truffi is very well in her way, but quite provin- 
 cial — quite ! As for Paris, which he pronounces 
 inadvertently Paree, he was quite charmed with it 
 — quite ; and he can give a very particular and 
 graphic description of the Hotel Meurice, and such 
 statistics about palaces and gardens, as he has 
 picked up from his valet de place, or Gralignani's 
 Gruide. Of course he became perfectly familiar 
 with French, and has a practical knowledge of 
 Italian and Spanish ; though it seems to him a con- 
 founded affectation to be using these unusual ac- 
 quirements in company ; for his part, he could not 
 so far forget himself. He can tell some very rich 
 stories about brigands in Italy, which date about 
 the time of his visit. 
 
 For the matter of Art, he must confess with some 
 pain, that he has not been able to enter our small 
 collections since his return ; but he hopes that after 
 a little further depletion of the foreign habit, he will 
 be sufficiently reduced to enjoy even the Art-Union 
 
62 THE LORGNETTE. 
 
 Yet he would by no means sneer at our artists — lie 
 would not be thought to do so ; he thinks they need 
 encouragement, particularly that of men of taste 
 and travel. 
 
 He opens a conversation with a new acquaint- 
 ance, by observing, that upon the whole manners 
 are improving in this country ; he sees marks of it, 
 he thinks, all about him, — particularly in the little 
 naked statuettes which he has met with in private 
 parlors ; and he does sincerely hope that we shall 
 soon become thoroughly refined in such matters. 
 He doesn't know but the etiquette is as yet a little 
 provincial, but he kindly thinks that its taint will 
 wear off by degrees. 
 
 He talks about the London Times, and hopes he 
 shall not lose sight of it ; he feels quite an interest 
 in some of the noble families ; and says it was 
 rumored as he left town, that his acquaintance, the 
 son of the Marquis of So and So, was about to 
 marry the Honorable Juliana Titus. 
 
 Drop to him a remark about the weather, and he 
 says he quite likes it — quite the London air ; he 
 passed last season in London, and asks if the 
 steamer has arrived. At the hotels he affects the 
 English manner with the waiters — calling them 
 all ' John,' and the porter, 'boots' ; or he strikes his 
 tumbler with his fork, and calls out accidentally, 
 
THE TRAVELED GENTLEMAN.' 63 
 
 Garcon ! and will sometimes forget himself so far, 
 after dinner, as to call the stout Irish chamber- 
 maid — 77ion petit chat ! 
 
 He calls a hack-driver, cabman ; and the omni- 
 bus drivers, coachmen; he never says cents, but 
 pennies ; and sometimes talks of ha'pennies, and 
 calls the Hudson, "Terns*" He talks about rec- 
 tors, and curates, and vicars, and good livings, 
 and says he quite unconsciously found himself 
 praying, the other Sunday, "for Her Most Gracious 
 Majesty, the Queen, and all the Royal Family!" 
 
 I fancy, Fritz, that you smile ironically at these 
 learned and accomplished graduates of foreign tra- 
 vel; and your smiles are not ill-timed. And I am 
 half persuaded to cast aside reserve, and my quiet 
 habit of talk, to lash as they deserve these puerile 
 coxcombs, fed on their own vanity, and the tolerance 
 of the town. Yet there are plenty of weak ones— 
 not all of them weak from lack of years — who lis- 
 ten with unction to such conceited babblers, and 
 who fructify this sort of celebrity, by renewing ex- 
 pressions of applause, and studied smiles of adula- 
 tion. 
 
 You are enough of an American, my dear Fritz, 
 though you have wintered in the snows of Peters- 
 bourg, and lighted your spring with the delicious 
 glow of a Grreek sun rising over the iEgean, to wish 
 
64 THE LORGNETTE 
 
 for something more earnest, strong, and manly in 
 American life, than will permit the every-day pros- 
 tration before the social Juggernaut of Europe. 
 
 "When, in the name of Heaven, are we to have 
 an honest, simple, Republican basis for our sociali- 
 ties, which shall not need, nor ask the meretricious 
 adornments of foreign style, and which shall reject 
 all miserable pilferers of those trappings which be- 
 long to the lordly state of the Old World, as in- 
 capable of manly intent, and a severe Republican 
 dignity ? 
 
 The jackdaw may steal peacocks' feathers, but 
 they will not make him an eagle. 
 
 TlMON. 
 
FEB, 14. 
 
 NEW-YORK, 
 
 NO, 4, 
 
 Pen fais un aveu public ; je me suis propose que de representer la vie 
 des hommes telle qu'elle est ; a Dieu ne plaise que j'aieeu dessein de de- 
 signer quelqu'un en particulier ! — Le Sage. 
 
 I am sorry, Fritz, that my letters to you, writ* 
 ten down in the humor of the moment, and con- 
 taining such observations upon town life and socie- 
 ty, as I thought would be agreeable to you to read, 
 should have provoked the condemnation of bearing 
 too great a severity of remark, and of wearing an 
 air of bitterness. I had hoped to be so far sustained 
 by sensible men and women, in ridicule of what all 
 must confess to be worthy of ridicule, as to escape 
 such reproof. You know me well enough, Fritz, 
 to be aware that it is not in my nature to dislike 
 for the sake of disliking, or to sneer, from a habit 
 of sneering. 
 
ffi THE LORGNETTE. 
 
 Is it true, that what all the world reproves in 
 talk, is not to be reproved in print? and that excep- 
 tions which are taken every day to particular ex- 
 travagances, are no sooner made public, and re- 
 duced to the point of words, than they change to 
 imputed slanders ? I abjure this construction, and 
 the charges which it entails. 
 
 A lady of piquant talk will play off the shafts of 
 her wit upon ridiculous usages, but the moment 
 she sees the same invested with the dignity of type, 
 she must needs exclaim against the impropriety ! 
 How in the world, then, are our manners to take 
 healthier forms, if their abuses are to grow up un- 
 noticed and unchecked ? 
 
 Do not for a moment think, my dear Fritz, that 
 my reception in the town has been such as to sour 
 my temper, or to render my remarks the result of 
 an embittered and unworthy envy. There is not a 
 city in the world where a stranger is welcomed 
 with more hospitality, and where his short-comings 
 are treated with a more lenient hand ; nor is there 
 another upon this side the Atlantic, where a man 
 can pursue the bent of his own inclinations, so lit- 
 tle subject to remark and observation. Nowhere 
 are the ladies more kind and conciliating ; nowhere 
 are the men more obliging and courteous. But in 
 a new and growing society, where the old ele- 
 
GRATEFUL CENSURE. 67 
 
 ments are a^ the while blending into new combina- 
 tions, and where arbitrary distinctions are growing 
 up to stand in place of the fixed but factitious 
 ones of the European world, it is but natural that 
 abuses should creep into the body social, and the 
 gangrene of fashionable extravagance fester here 
 and there in the system. Grod forbid, that in ap- 
 plying the caustic to the diseased parts, I should 
 be ignorant or insensible of the healthful and vigor- 
 ous action of w~hat is sound and perfect ! 
 
 But while I deeply regret the reproval of some, I 
 am proud of that so freely bestowed by others. I 
 did have a fear, that in proposing a series of ob- 
 servations upon the fashionable life of the town, I 
 should in some measure seem to sympathize with 
 that class of persons who rail ignorantly and blindly 
 at whatever savors of wealth and respectability, 
 and who derive their spiritual nutriment from such 
 papers as the Sunday Courier. But by their most 
 welcome abuse, they have convinced me of my 
 error, and have relieved me of one of the worst em- 
 barrassments which beset me. I cannot enough 
 thank such for their labor, and shall try hard to 
 merit a continuance of their censure ; only regret- 
 ting that their capacities are unequal to the task of 
 rendering it as pointed and forcible as would be 
 wished. 
 
THE LORGNETTE. 
 
 WAYS OF GETTING- INTO SOCIETY. 
 
 Cy n'entrez pas machefains praticiens, 
 
 Clers, Tbasauchiens, mangeurs du populaire, 
 
 Officiaux, scribes, et pharisiens, 
 
 Juges anciens, qui les bons parroiciens 
 
 Ainsi que chiens mettez au capulaire. — Gargantua. 
 
 Liy. I. Cap. LIV. 
 
 Tophanes, who is something of a philosopher in 
 his way, as well as a wag, has arranged from his 
 note-book, what he calls a schedule of the prerequi- 
 sites to fashionable success. He has arranged it in 
 the pretentious manner of those public economists 
 and politicians who make a reputation by their sy- 
 nopses and arrangement of figures. It certainly 
 has a business-like and authentic air ; and though 
 I must confess to ignorance of its entire credibili- 
 ty, as well as to sundry of its allusions, it shall 
 come in precisely as he has prepared it. Prerequi- 
 sites : — 
 
 ! Money, 
 Name, 
 Swagger. 
 ! Person, 
 Impudence, 
 Mr. Browne. 
 ! Display, 
 Music, 
 A Coach. 
 
 7th. 
 
 ! Parties, 
 Politics, 
 Invention. 
 
 ! Literature, 
 Moustache, 
 Taste. 
 
 ! Religion, 
 Propriety 
 Honesty. 
 Good-Nature, 
 Modesty, 
 Indifference, 
 
WAYS OF GETTING INTO SOCIETY. 69 
 
 Following out his analytical arrangement, To- 
 phanes has written against each item of his sched- 
 ule the names of such as have gained, or still 
 maintain position, by possession of the prerequisite 
 with which they stand credited. But since I have 
 taken Heaven to witness, in the name of old Le 
 Sage, that I have no personal intent, the names 
 must be suppressed. 
 
 But although these are noted as the prerequisites, 
 they are not always the absolute causes of success ; 
 and I am assured that not a few with unbounded 
 means, either from lack of name, or too great im- 
 pudence — or, what amounts to the same, too great 
 modesty — are reckoned quite upon the outskirts of 
 society. Others again, with abundance of swag- 
 ger, yet from a want of either money or music, are 
 in an almost hopeless state of exile. Still others, 
 possessing creditable names, are so unfortunately 
 addicted to propriety or religion, as to render them 
 utter outcasts. Even Literature, as Tophanes in- 
 forms me, without the aid of a moustache, or Mr. 
 Browne (who I suppose to be a writer for the Lit- 
 erary "World), is a mere nullity ; and many a poor 
 poetaster, in sheer ignorance of Derby and Martell, 
 has uttered lamentable Jeremiads over his fallen 
 state, and hung his harp upon the willows. Relig- 
 ion of itself is not altogether hopeless, provided it be 
 
70 THE LORGNETTE. 
 
 of a striking and brilliant sort — well spiced up with 
 startling doctrines, which are altogether in advance 
 of the old hum-drum order. Thus, a bishop who has 
 a leaning toward the worship of the Virgin, or a 
 layman who is strictly tractarian, or a lady who 
 inclines to private confession and rosaries, or a 
 trinitarian who verges upon the unity, or a papist 
 who curses the Pope, are all in a fair way to make 
 their profession brilliant. 
 
 Taste will do very well, but must be properly 
 guided ; and I am assured, that several interesting, 
 and well-intentioned young men have ruined their 
 prospects by too great independence in this matter. 
 It is by no means worth while to express an opin- 
 ion about a new opera, or a new picture, before 
 ascertaining the views entertained by the Home 
 Journal, De Trobriand's Revue, or the Courier and 
 Enquirer ; and if these could be confirmed by the 
 opinion of a ' distinguished leader of the ton,' the 
 sooner they are promulgated the better for a man's 
 reputation. As for expressing a contrary opinion, 
 none venture upon it, except a few stupid /ogees, 
 who frequent the Society Library, and who read 
 the London Athenaeum. 
 
 So with regard to etiquette, and the parure of 
 balls ; nothing would be more fatal, Tophanes tells 
 me, than for a simple-minded young man to ad- 
 
THE TOWN TASTE. 71 
 
 vance observations upon these subjects, which 
 would militate against those entertained by a 
 ' French nobleman,' or Martell. 
 
 Taste, upon the whole, appears to be rather a 
 dangerous element in the character of an aspirant ; 
 and if it be rude — that is to say, cultivated under 
 such old-fashioned teachers as Burke, Alison, and 
 Reynolds, it had much better be kept in abeyance, 
 until it shall have become rounded into the graces 
 of the town dicta. On some topics, indeed, a little 
 latitude is allowable, such as Forti's singing, or Mel- 
 ville's last book, or Mrs. Butler's horseback riding ; 
 but woe be to the unfortunate young man, who in 
 a moment of forgetfulness, should express admira- 
 tion for Boneventano's voice, or smile at Sanquirico's 
 pantomime, or think Truffi any tiling but exquisite, 
 even in black satin. 
 
 Indeed, it would be quite unsafe for an ambitious 
 young man to venture without some previous prep- 
 aration on the score of tasty remark, into one of 
 our town galleries ; for if he should inadvertently 
 linger before a painting which had not received the 
 stamp of approbation from those who guide in these 
 matters, it would at once blast his reputation. I 
 am not a little surprised that some of our publishers 
 who have latterly taken to stealing occasional mat- 
 ter from the journals, should not venture upon the 
 
72 THE LORGNETTE. 
 
 preparation of a little text-book of taste, carefully 
 compiled from the Home Journal, the Day-Book, and 
 Sun newspaper, with notes by the author of ' Eti- 
 quette,' and a preface by N. P. W. They might 
 adorn the title with a Vignette — an Hyperion head ; 
 and for tail-piece, they might adopt a prize of the 
 Art-Union. 
 
 You will be on your guard, then, my dear Fritz, 
 when you come to the city ; and don't make your 
 friends blush by running counter to the town stand- 
 ards; get hold, if you can, of an odd number of the 
 Revue du Nouveau Monde, and post yourself a page 
 or two in taste. 
 
 Kctj rcwb' 6 Xpt/^wv, 'kapvpog sCd', 6 ^ Ss'Xwv 
 Xiyal. 
 
 Whip up your Greek, Fritz, and tell me if this 
 line from Euripides comes not as pit-pat as in 
 the Attic Stage-piece, or as any on the fly-leaves 
 of St. Leger ? ' Follow the town umpires of taste, 
 and you may achieve a reputation ; neglect them, 
 and you had better be dumb ;' and this translation 
 is as near the mark, as Gdiddon's interpretation of 
 the hieroglyphics ; or as any Opera lady's construc- 
 tion of the quel che fa, in Don G-iovanni . 
 
 As for music, it will work social wonders, ab- 
 solutely Orphean ; and a young lady who cannot 
 boast her two or three months' tuition from some 
 
MUSICAL TASTE. T3 
 
 Signor Birbone, is lost to all hope of success. 
 Gentlemen who are without a decided bent in that 
 way, should cultivate a certain intensity of ex- 
 pression, which is to be worn at all private con- 
 certs, but rarely to be assumed at the Opera : he 
 should also learn the meaning of barytone, soprano, 
 and contralto, and if possible pronounce them with 
 the Italian accent ; he should occasionally look 
 over Saroni's Musical Times, and get some crude 
 notions about the difference between the German 
 and Italian composers. It would be well for him 
 to know something of the personal history of La- 
 blache, or Grisi, and he should speak enthusiasti- 
 cally of Meyerbeer, and rather doubtingly of Du- 
 prez. If caught in the society of those who really 
 talk knowingly on these topics, it would be best for 
 him to keep silent, look very wise, and to fill up the 
 intervals of talk, by humming the ' Last link is 
 broken,' or Yankee Doodle. 
 
 It would never do to admire the old fashion ballad 
 singing ; and as for psalm tunes, a man had better 
 be caught listening to i Love not,' from the band 
 of the Anatomical Museum. 
 
 But I must defer, my dear Fritz, saying what 
 might be said of town coaches and politics, in their 
 connection with social position, to another letter ; 
 and I shall entertain v>u, while vour are smoking; 
 
74 THE LORGNETTE. 
 
 the lower end of j our cigar, with a fragment of a 
 curious diary, from a fashionable friend of Tophanes'. 
 You will see that he is almost as little used to 
 ■journal making, as many of our later writers of 
 travels ; but there are sparks in him of capital 
 good taste ; and, if I might use the language of the 
 town critics, though not very scholar-like, it is 
 clearly the production of a gentleman, and per- 
 haps a soldier. Tophanes has recommended that 
 it should be entitled the 
 
 DIARY OF A FASHION HUNTER. 
 
 Dec. 20. Went to Trimum's party last night ; 
 danced with Miss Thuggins, — rather tasty, but 
 devilish blue. I wish she wouldn't wear such 
 a ridiculous head-dress; found everybody laughing 
 at us ; very well for a chat, but musn't dance with 
 her. Talked with Mrs. Knowem, — a good lady 
 to be acquainted with, ugly as sin ; but then she's 
 a favorite, and good-natured as possible ; offered 
 to take me to the Blinkum's — kind of her. Hope 
 it'll be stormy, so we can go in a carriage ; don't 
 like to be seen walking in the street with her. 
 Must send her a bouquet. 
 
 Dec. — . Called to-day on the Blinkum's — rather 
 cool ; but had enough compliments ready to warm 
 'em down ; must get a new stock against I go again. 
 
DIARY OF A FASHION HUNTER 75 
 
 Grot an invitation to receptions — shall accept; shan't 
 be very particular ; they are nice people, very re- 
 spectable, but confounded poor. 
 
 Dec. — . Gro to a ball to-night at "Widge's. They 
 say it's a splendid affair ; hardly know how I got 
 an invitation. [Mem. To call on Browne to-morrow, 
 and settle up ; he'll be blabbing.) Want confound- 
 edly to get an introduction to Miss Blank — capital 
 dancer, and very distinguished-like ; it would be 
 quite a feather to take her up to supper; must con- 
 trive it somehow ; mustn't forget to wear the em- 
 broidered waistcoat — that's killing. Am afraid I 
 shall meet Mrs. Dandy, a dear good friend — do 
 any thing for her ; but she'll keep me in the corner 
 for an hour ; must try and not catch her eye. How 
 infernally she does dress ! 
 
 Jan. 1. Fagged out! Let me see — a hundred 
 and fifty calls, — there's a gain of forty-two on last 
 year — capital gain too — all top-knots ! The Widge's 
 rather cool, but then half a dozen saw me there— 
 that'll count. There's a stupid set a body must 
 call on, or they'll be talking him down, and that'll 
 never do. After all, it's cheap to get a good word 
 for a visit once a year. Mean to go in a carriage 
 another year, if the salary don't fall off. 
 
 Jan. — . Grot an introduction last night to Miss 
 Tubins ; she's an heiress — a hundred thousand, they 
 
76 THE LORGNETTE. 
 
 say, in her own right. She's a little literary — wish 
 I'd known it before ; might have quoted any quantity 
 from Byron and Shakspeare. [Mem. To look over 
 book of extracts.) Is it best to call on her ? Am 
 going to the Opera to-night ; hope she'll be there ; 
 no idea of being particular ; but then it's a capi- 
 tal thing to be seen with an heiress; it makes 
 people talk. And then again, chatting during the 
 music is capital; it makes one appear indifferent, 
 as if he had heard better in his day ; and, moreover, 
 it allows you to put your head very close to a lady's 
 ear, which looks very familiar and confidential-like. 
 It looks well. [Mem. To put some peppermints in 
 my vest pocket.) 
 
 Jan. — . That cursed fellow B tells me he 
 
 suggested my name to Mrs. Figgins as a nice, gen- 
 tlemanly young man — first among the l admissi- 
 bles' — and yet haven't got an invitation. Must 
 look very bold and unsuspicious when I pass her 
 carriage ; think I shall give her a downright stare. 
 It'll look well — as if I had never heard of her before. 
 Bowed to-day to the Miss Widges — think they took 
 it kindly ; must call some day next week, and 
 rub up my French a little before going ; they say 
 they talk French capitally. Should like to manage 
 to walk home from church with them some Snn- 
 dav ; all the world is out, and of course it will 
 
DIARY OF A FASHION HUNTER, 77 
 
 make remark. They say, too 3 they are great 
 church women — better humor it. (Mem. To look 
 over Dr. Hawks' tract on Auricular Confession, and 
 to buy a new box of pomade.) 
 
 Jan. — . "Wonder where Shanks buys his cravats ? 
 They have a devilish pretty tie. Ask Mrs. Beman 
 about it, and when the new shirts are coming home. 
 Am going to the Dangle's to-night — magnificent 
 house, fine flowers, plenty of money, but only so so 
 for ' blood . ' They say she wants to ' work "up ; ' think 
 she may in the course of a winter or two, seeing 
 that the — — -'s have done as much. "Wonder what 
 it'll cost her? Shall try, I think, to get into their 
 graces ; they'll be grateful for attentions — know 
 they will. Needn't be afraid of compliments — can 
 put 'em on raw ; they can't see the edges. They 
 say Mrs. Dinks visits them, and she's of an old 
 family ; must find her out — meet her as if I knew 
 her ; it'll tell well. 
 
 Jan. — . G-ot an invitation to Swivel's ; — made his 
 money by some small manufacturing, either sad- 
 dles, horse-shoes, or book-backs, but musn't de- 
 cline. Besides, he has a pretty daughter, though 
 she don't know much ; — all the better for that. Am 
 to dine out to-morrow. Wonder who'll be there ? 
 Must look over my dinner stories : heard a deuced 
 8 
 
78 THE LORGNETTE. 
 
 good one the other day, but afraid I've lost it, 
 "Wish I had learned to sing. 
 
 Met Stokoskinski the other day ; wonder if it'll 
 pay to ask him to dine ? He's a vulgar toad, but 
 then he's a lion : it won't do to lose him : and these 
 poor scape-goats are, they say, very grateful for a 
 dinner. 
 
 There's Mangle, too — has written a book, — I 
 don't know what : strange that the ladies can re- 
 gard such fal-de-ral matters ; but they do. I must 
 try and see him — of course, meet him as an old 
 friend, and tell the women I'm intimate, and 
 that he's a sad dog. The jackanapes won't know 
 the difference — talk to him about his book, and I'll 
 play him just where I want him; he's as poor as a 
 crow. (Mem. To step into Putnam's, and ask what 
 he wrote ?) 
 
 Jan. — . They've got a new singer at the Opera — 
 wonder what they say of her ? Must call on Mrs. 
 
 H ; it won't do to be precipitate ; can't depend 
 
 now on the Home Journal ; they say it's growing fash- 
 ionable to dispute even "W . How shall I manage 
 
 to get at some of 's literary soirees ? To be sure, 
 
 they sneer at her, but it's sheer envy ; besides, one 
 sees the lions, and as they say, a great many first- 
 rate people ; and gets a deal of serviceable mattei 
 
DIARY OF A FASHION HUNTER. 79 
 
 — rather heavy, bat do very well to spice with. 
 Should like to know an artist or two ; one gets sup- 
 plied with genteel terms about the paintings ; and 
 that reminds me to buy an Italian Dictionary ; 
 what the d — 1 is chiaroscuro ? Miss Sweepstakes 
 asked me the other day, and had to tell it was a 
 particular sort of varnish; hope it is. 
 
 Jan. — . Went to a concert last night with the , 
 Swet's — horrid hot, and stupid. But then they are 
 serviceable bodies, very respectable, and all that ; 
 very good recommends in case I want to get mar- 
 ried ; musn't let the acquaintance drop. What a 
 fool I was to talk about the Opera — ought to have 
 remembered that they were sad blues ; must ask 
 Wiley for a list of Dr. Cheevers works, and if not 
 
 too long, commit to memory. — Asked the S 's if 
 
 they knew the author of Gr ringers, and pointed him 
 out ; it's all very well to know these characters, but 
 it is bad to talk too admiringly, — best to be a little 
 flippant, and patronizing. Shall try and get ac- 
 quainted with Dr. G- of the Prose Writers ; they 
 
 say he knows everybody, and everything, and tells 
 the oddest stories! A devilish fine acquisition. 
 {Mem. To ask him if he knows Dr. Headley?) By 
 Jove, I must write a book ! — think the Harpers would 
 publish if I'd pay for the printing, and advertising. 
 
80 THE LORGNETTE. 
 
 and guaranty against loss by fire ; and as for its moral* 
 about which they say they are rather tidy, why I'd 
 stick a verse from the Psalms in the title-page, and 
 dedicate it to some D — D fellow, or other. 
 
 Passed an evening a day or two ago at the 
 Shrimp's — very learned indeed ; quite scientific-like 
 — talk Greek, they say; yet there was a capital set 
 — uncommon respectable. Must cultivate the sci- 
 ences a little more ; wonder what the subscription 
 price is to Littel ? 
 
 Jan. — . Have just found out who drives that mag- 
 nificent equipage with the splendid harness cloth ; 
 shall try and get upon speaking terms ; to be sure, 
 they are stupid parvenus ; but then it tells well to 
 take off your hat to a showy equipage. The talk 
 last night at Fidge's ran upon books, and I had the 
 stupidity to run off in a string of praises upon Ws 
 book, that I picked up in the newspaper. Found 
 3ut that the Fidge's felt scandalized at something 
 he had written ; of course they looked horror at 
 me ; must be more careful ; — will try and fish up 
 some abuse against I go there again. 
 
 Jan. — . Had a visit from Mapes, a country cou- 
 sin ; what on earth sent him to town ; the fellow 
 will be insisting on my showing him the lions, and 
 he's most unconsciously gawky. Wonder if he's 
 
DIARY OF A FASHION HUNTER. 81 
 
 got the money to buy another hat — am afraid I 
 shall have to lend it. Shall change my lodgings in 
 the spring. 
 
 Went the other night to take supper at Dob- 
 son's — a very scholarly sort of a catch, who wants 
 to be a high liver, and all that ; but he can't make 
 it go. — at least, don't think so. Latin quotations 
 won't go downnow-a-days. He had better take to 
 music or horses. However, it looks well to be seen 
 with such book chaps — glad there are such- — you 
 get up a little reputation for book-knowledge, and 
 as you don't use it, people think you are very mod- 
 est ; — I think so too. 
 
 Jan. — . It won't do, lam convinced of it, to go to 
 a Presbyterian Church any more ; it may answer 
 when a man's established in the town, but it ain't 
 fashionable : can't humor my religious scruples 
 any more — feel attached to 'em, very much,— but 
 it won't do : — must try and smuggle into Grace. 
 The Holy Communion is very well, but rather low ; 
 besides, everybody can go there, so there's no par- 
 ticular merit. {Mem. To buy one of the fancy 
 prayer-books, and get a velvet collar put on my 
 coat.) There's more in this church matter than 
 a body thinks for ; — used to slight it, and go regu- 
 lar as a deacon to Dr. S 's ; but it don't tell at 
 
 all. 
 
 8* 
 
82 THE LORGNETTE. 
 
 They say it's getting quite the thing to be vestry- 
 man ; must lay an oar to windward for that berth. 
 As for Puseyism, it's best to keep cool, and see how 
 the wind lies. 
 
 Jan. — . Went to the Opera last night ; got for a 
 moment into the Shrimps 's box — very chatty, but 
 uncommon stupid : told the Blinkum's so, at which 
 they laughed (never smiled at any thing I said be- 
 fore), and thought me very funny — asked me to 
 spend the evening with them. 
 
 D — n it, I think I'm getting on ! 
 
 Such, dear Fritz, is the rude but racy account 
 which Tophanes' friend has given of his prospects 
 and tactics. You will, I know, agree with me in 
 saying, that it bears the stamp of earnestness, and 
 very many internal proofs of authenticity. Very 
 many of its allusions are of course unknown to me ; 
 but should they prove to be apt, and pointed, I 
 shall insist on publishing further extracts. At the 
 same time, I may add, that while Tophanes holds 
 himself responsible for all the material statements 
 of his friend, yet should anything about them prove 
 offensive to the parties alluded to, such parties 
 shall have the amplest opportunity for denial or ex- 
 planation, and their letters shall be treated with 
 the utmost consideration. 
 
CORRESPONDENCE. 
 
 CORRESPONDENCE . 
 
 We shall give tlie following letter and its an- 
 swer ; for although they are hardly worth printing, 
 they may perhaps serve as an encouragement to 
 such letter-writers as have never ventured out of 
 the Sunday papers, or the Globe. 
 
 Mr. Timon : 
 
 Dear Sir, — I wish you would send me, soon as 
 convenient, the card of your friend Tophanes. I 
 think he must be a ' stick ;' and I rather imagine 
 he can give me the right sort of advice. For you 
 must know that I've been hanging on the town 
 nearly the whole winter, and yet the d — 1 of an 
 invitation have I got. 
 
 Mind you, I don't act hurriedly in this matter. 
 I want you to know that I've done all that a man 
 could be reasonably expected to do. In the first 
 place, I've paid Martell a bill of some $10 121 ; I 
 have cultivated what I consider one of the prettiest 
 moustaches afloat ; I have worn out nearly three 
 dozen of Alexander's best kids at the Opera, con- 
 certs, at Grace Church, and on Broadway. I have 
 even stepped into Crowen's several times to sub- 
 scribe to De Trobriand's Revue — but confound it, I 
 can't read French. I get my breeches cut at Der- 
 
84 THE LORGNETTE. 
 
 by's, and have sent a bouquet to Madame P ; 
 
 besides, I've written a sonnet to one of the most 
 fashionable ladies of the town, for the Day-Book 
 (the Home Journal wouldn't print it), and sent hei 
 a copy. 
 
 My name is on the books at the New York Club, 
 and I've got all the tittle-tattle of the day at my 
 tongue's end ; I don't wear a scratch, and as for 
 the polka, I've been taking lessons all winter. It 
 wouldn't be of so much importance, if these accom- 
 plishments had not given me rather a bad name down 
 town; there's no hope of a law office, and my ap- 
 plication the other day for a clerkship in a Broad- 
 way store was sneezed at. Couldn't Tophanes 
 help me out ? 
 
 Very confidentially 
 
 Tim. GrREEN. 
 
 N. B. — They take in my letters at the New 
 York Club. 
 
 P. S. — I forgot to tell you that I carry a cane, 
 and part my hair behind. 
 
 REPLY. 
 
 Tophanes' compliments to Mr. Green, and would 
 recommend to Mr. Green, Mr. Browne. 
 
 University Terrace, 5 P< M. 
 
CORRESPONDENCE 85 
 
 With this, my dear Fritz, I leave you to your 
 quiet country avocations, until the mail of another 
 week shall light up your solitude with a glowing 
 No. V. 
 
 TlMON. 
 

 FEB, 21, 
 
 NEW-YORK, 
 
 NO, 5. 
 
 44 Chi s'insegna ha nil pazzo per maestro." — Italian Proverb. 
 
 The Opera-going ladies are, of course, so familiar 
 with Italian that I shall have no need to translate 
 for them an Italian motto ; but for you, Fritz, over 
 whom ten years have rolled (and don't blush for 
 your age) since you regaled yourself on stewed kid- 
 neys, and Orvietto wine, in the dirty trattoria that 
 stands under the lea of the Roman Pantheon, I 
 will render the proverb into plain English:— ' Who 
 teaches himself has a fool for his master !' And 
 now for the application. Sundry wiseacres, guided 
 by their own penetration, have fixed the authorship 
 of these papers. Unfortunately however, both for 
 themselves and the public, they do not at all agree 
 9 
 
88 THE LORGNETTE. 
 
 in their conclusions ; and my publisher has latterly 
 supplied an inquisitive friend of mine with a list of 
 no less than six or seven different persons, each one 
 of whom had been represented to him as the un- 
 doubted author of the Lorgnette. 
 
 Among the names, I notice that of a prominent 
 journalist, a classical editor, a newspaper reporter, 
 a sagacious musical critic, a professed book-maker, 
 a doctor of divinity, a vamper-up of old jokes, an 
 erudite merchant, a slashing medical man, and — 
 would you believe it ? — an enterprising literary lady! 
 
 Indeed, I had the pleasure, at a late evening en- 
 tertainment, of hearing the whole of the last num- 
 ber read aloud, from beginning to end. And it 
 heightened not a little the mirth of the matter, to 
 find that certain critiques upon the piece, which I 
 hazarded in course of conversation, took vastly well, 
 from their unsophisticated nature ; and they even 
 drew down upon me, in the end, the titter of the 
 whole company, to think that a man should be so 
 ignorant, as I seemed to be, of town society . To 
 tell the truth, I showed such lamentable ignorance 
 of the more pointed allusions, that the hostess was 
 evidently much mortified, and would have come 
 near to blushing — though she was over forty— had I 
 not apologized, by pleading a recent return from 
 the country. 
 
THE SUSPECTED AUTHORS. 89 
 
 The whole of this company, which was variously 
 made up of keen, middle-aged women and astute 
 young fellows of five-and-thirty, persisted in attrib- 
 uting the work to a certain gentleman of high scho- 
 lastic attainment, who has spent many years abroad , 
 and who was represented to me, as a person of ex- 
 traordinary character in various ways. Of course, 
 I expressed a great desire to see such a lion, and 
 am promised, by my friend the old dowager lady, 
 a sight of him at her rooms, on some evening of the 
 coming week. She hinted, however, that I would 
 do well to pay particular attention to my toilette 
 on the evening of the presentation, since otherwise, 
 he might serve me up in his next, as a bumpkin. I 
 expressed due thanks, and shall appear in one of 
 "Wyman's best blue coats, elegantly set off with fig- 
 ured gilt buttons. 
 
 A young gentleman who was directly accused of 
 concocting these weekly opinions in the book-shop 
 of my publisher, met the charge, as I understand, 
 with a simper, and a knowing smile — cocked his 
 hat a little upon one side of his head, and attempted 
 to whistle a stave from La Favorita, but broke up 
 before he w r as half way through. These were cer- 
 tainly suspicious signs, and had their weight with 
 the shop-boy. 
 
 The literary lady, too, as I am told, denied the 
 
90 THE LORGNETTE. 
 
 allegation with an air of evident embarrassment — < 
 as, indeed, any woman would naturally deny a 
 progeny of so very equivocal origin. I wish to 
 heaven, Fritz, that the state of our morals was such, 
 that no lady of the town should manifest any 
 greater anxiety to bely her offspring. And though 
 John Timon blurts the matter himself, — if the town 
 striplings did no more discredit to their parentage 
 than the Lorgnette, there would be little need ot 
 sharpening up these ' studies of the town,' aut res 
 tangere acu! 
 
 RESPECTABLES. 
 Vile bigots, hypocrites, 
 
 Externally-devoted apes, base snites, 
 
 Puffed up, wry-necked beasts, worse than the Huns 
 
 Or Ostrogoths, forerunners of baboons ; 
 
 dissembling varlets, seeming sancts, 
 
 beggars pretending wants, 
 
 Fat chuffcats, smell-feast knockers, doltish gulls. 
 
 Gate of Theleme. 
 
 There are an almost incalculable number of re- 
 spectables in town — both respectable things, as 
 churches, eating-houses, slop-shops, and the like ; 
 and respectable people, as lawyers, note-shavers, fops, 
 and women. I have been puzzling my brain for a 
 long time, in the hope of finding out what it was that 
 made a particular broker or play-house respectable. 
 
 You shall have, Fritz, the result of my observa- 
 tions, though they are by no means definitive, and 
 
THE RESPECTABLES. 91 
 
 will serve only to show a few modifications of what 
 the town, in its wisdom, is pleased to dub — respect- 
 able ! Nor will I promise but that these observations 
 themselves, shall be very much modified by further 
 discoveries. 
 
 My neighbor, the grey-haired lodger above stairs, 
 is certainly a most respectable man, though he has 
 rarely a sixpence of change about him. He bears, 
 so far as I know, a good name ; is regular in his 
 habits, and has struck me, notwithstanding a 
 greasy coat collar, as the very pink of respectability 
 — a sort of standard for the whole class of respect- 
 ables. You can judge, then, of my surprise, at 
 hearing my landlady say to a grocer's boy, who 
 came with a heavy bill for spermaceti, lemons, and 
 whiskey, against the tasteful lodger, and who was 
 very urgent for the money — ' that the gentleman 
 would surely pay — that she had never had a more 
 respectable gentleman in her house !' 
 
 But I find that it is not at all necessary to pay 
 bills to be respectable ; and have been credibly in- 
 formed, that very many men about town — both 
 authors and bankrupts — who are never known to 
 pay bills, rank as highly respectable. Indeed, on 
 asking the other day in regard to the character of 
 a defaulting gentleman, I was assured that he was 
 eminently respectable. My friend Tophanes informs 
 9* 
 
92 THE LORGNETTE. 
 
 me further, that certain ladies who are remarkable 
 for very great eccentricities of dress, as well as 
 certain obliquities of conduct, are notwithstanding, 
 exceedingly respectable. An opera -singer was 
 pointed out to me as being, off the stage, quite 
 respectable ; and a preacher, whom it was my fate 
 to hear a few Sundays back, was represented to me 
 as being, out of the pulpit, every way respectable. 
 
 A journalist who indulges in the most wanton 
 caricatures of good sense and decency, is called a, 
 respectable man; and a publishing house, which 
 supplies the slip-slop literature of the day, is repre- 
 sented as a most respectable house. 
 
 I hear in all quarters of respectable boot-makers, 
 respectable dancers, respectable ladies, and some- 
 times, though more rarely, of respectable doctors, 
 and even respectable authors ; and I am only sur- 
 prised that the Commissioners of the new code have 
 not included respectability in their list of qualifi- 
 cations for jurors. So acute a man as Mr. F. 
 should have had an eye to this matter. 
 
 In the general way, I find that a black coat a 
 little threadbare is a very good type of respecta- 
 bility ; but if it have a velvet collar, the matter is 
 subject to doubt. A man who comes up from the 
 country, and pays his house bill regularly, and who 
 does not abuse the pavements, or the papers, may 
 
THE RESPECTABLES. 93 
 
 pass current as a respectable man for a long period 
 of time. My landlady, I found, had recommended 
 me to my laundress, as a respectable country gen- 
 tleman, of respectable connections. 
 
 A respectable family, as I find, lives in a respect- 
 able, small house. — burns small fires, and enjoys 
 the acquaintance of a great many respectable peo- 
 ple. The master of the household does a small, but 
 respectable business ; the wife dresses in very re- 
 spectable dark mousseline ; the daughters attend a 
 respectable school, and the sons are clerks in a re- 
 spectable establishment. Respectable families are 
 very apt to give tea-drinkings, where you will find 
 a great many respectable old ladies, who sip Bohea 
 out of blue and white china — who talk in subdued 
 tones about the weather, the fashions, the scandal, 
 the respectable books, and the babies, — and who 
 discourage hilarity in the younger branches of the 
 household, by saying, — ' My dear, it is not respect- 
 able.' They have a small library of most re- 
 spectable books, such as Pilgrim's Progress, Arthur's 
 Tales, Science Made Easy, an odd volume of the 
 Arabian Nights, and Headley's Sacred Mountains. 
 They, of course, subscribe to so respectable a paper 
 as the Commercial Advertiser. They have a most 
 respectable w*y of talking, and do not say anything 
 of anybody or any subject but what is respectable. 
 
94 THE LORGNETTE. 
 
 They have a respectable card-basket filled with 
 very respectable names ; and having passed many 
 respectable evenings at respectable families, I can 
 of course, commend them to you, Fritz, when you 
 come up to town, as every way respectable. 
 
 The respectable lawyer (there are such) does a 
 quiet, counsel business, dresses in prim style, and 
 has copies of Chitty, Cowan, Johnson, and a thumb- 
 worn 'Acts; 5 — he borrows the New Code, and 
 Statutes at large, is Commissioner for Rhode 
 Island or Ohio, has a respectable sign at his office 
 door, and is known chiefly, if you are particular in 
 your inquiries, as a respectable lawyer. If a 
 bachelor, he dresses respectably (only respectably), 
 lives at a respectable house, — will possibly, in time, 
 unless a ne exeat be served, marry some respectable 
 woman, — drink respectable sherry to his Sunday's 
 dinner, and make out respectable ' writs of deliver- 
 ance.' 
 
 The respectable doctor looks very grum at men- 
 tion of the Scalpel, but subscribes to the Medico- 
 Chirurgical — laughs good-humoredly at Forbes' 
 wit — expresses respectable opinions of Brodie and 
 Liston — owns a respectably bound copy of Velp- 
 eau's Surgery, which he never reads — does a re- 
 spectable business — attends service at a respectable 
 church (near the door, so that the congregation may 
 
THE RESPECTABLES. 95 
 
 suppose him to be absent) — wears a wise scowl — ■ 
 has one or two respectable criticisms in condemna- 
 tion of homeopathy — drives a respectable gig — and 
 is known as a respectable practitioner. 
 
 The respectable clergyman preaches respectable 
 sermons, adapted chiefly to very respectable people ; 
 and he is, unfortunately, but too well satisfied with 
 a respectable weekly attendance, and a respectable 
 salary; his hearers are, of course, respectable; and 
 he leads them at a respectable gait, toward the 
 practice of a highly respectable Christianity. 
 
 A respectable author is of somewhat rarer acci- 
 dence ; it being generally understood among re- 
 spectable people, that all the pith, wit, and point 
 which go to make a writer popular, are by no means 
 respectable. Dullness may be reckoned eminently 
 respectable ; and not a few of the town authors, 
 with an eye to this last-named quality, have won 
 a reputation for respectability, absolutely gigantic. 
 Their works are read by all respectable old ladies, 
 and are commended by the New York Express. 
 But wo be to the writer, young or old, who thinks 
 to tread on the prejudices of respectable society, 
 whatever they may be ! "Wo be to him, if he thinks 
 to enter any protest against the insipidities and 
 hollow affectations of the town-life; or to plead 
 with such strength as lies in his tongue or brain 
 
96 THE LORGNETTE. 
 
 for a little more humanity of purpose — for a level- 
 ing of those hideous elevations which pride, or im- 
 pudence, or gold, have built up in our most Re- 
 publican City. Wo be to him, if he pricks, with a 
 sting that punctures, the wind-blown reputations 
 that conceit and effrontery have fecundated . Wo 
 be to him, if his stylus, sharp as a knife, cuts 
 deep into the calf-skin integuments that hold to- 
 gether our most worthy life of fashion . Wo be to 
 him, if he attempt to lift off from the carcass of the 
 body social, those flimsy, patched-up coverlets of 
 respectability and propriety, which keep down the 
 smell of its corruption ! 
 
 Take breath, my dear Fritz, and we will come 
 back to respectable young women. The term does 
 not include genteel young women, or fashionable 
 young women, nor yet play-actresses — unless, in- 
 deed, the united efforts of Mr. Maretzek and a 
 prominent journalist, should snatch them from their 
 fashionable perdition, and set them in fashionable 
 salons. Irish servant maids are, of course, out of the 
 question, and much more, those of American birth. 
 French governesses and German teachers are always 
 eminently respectable. 
 
 Respectable people are remarkably tenacious of 
 their dignity ; and they do not think it respectable 
 for shabby-looking old ladies, in faded bombazine, 
 
THE RESPECTABLES. 97 
 
 to be shown into their pews at church ; nor do they 
 like to have young women in pea-green silks and 
 ancient bonnets, ring at their door-bell. They do 
 not like to have a poor, respectable man build on 
 the same block where they are living ; they do not 
 think it respectable. They are cautious how they 
 suffer their respectable boys to play at ' hide and 
 go seek 5 with poor respectable boys. Of course, 
 they give respectably to public charities, but do not 
 like to ask their poor country cousins to dine with 
 them, when they expect respectable company; — or 
 to church with them, except on rainy Sundays. 
 
 We have seen, you know, Fritz, the best bred 
 European ladies dining, and even chatting some- 
 what gaily with their bonnes ; but it would quite 
 shock the highly respectable women of our Repub- 
 lican town, to be seen publicly on any terms of fa- 
 miliarity w T ith a dependant ; it would not be re- 
 spectable. It is even advisable to close the windows 
 of a respectable coach, when the respectable owner 
 is riding with her nurse. 
 
 Fashions of dress become respectable for respect- 
 able people, only after the milliners and fashionists 
 have made them so. The Jagello hat, for instance, 
 which we are looking for with intense interest, 
 would be sneered at for a month by all respectable 
 ladies; after which time of probation, it would be* 
 
96 THE LORGNETTE 
 
 come, by the ordinary current of the town-life, a 
 most respectable hat ; and all the respectable la- 
 dies would tie it to their very respectable chins. 
 A stage play becomes now and then respectable ; 
 and the Serious Family, after stirring into mirth 
 the critics and habitues, begins to draw a few re- 
 sped able people, who steal in as it were, clandes- 
 tinely, in respectable old hats ; after a time, they 
 come openly and laugh boldly at Burton, while be- 
 tween the acts, they assume a cool air of the high- 
 est respectability. 
 
 Ancestry too, comes in for a share of respecta- 
 bility, and is, I find, the source of a great supply 
 of the staple. If fathers have not been altogether 
 respectable, it is well for a respectable young man 
 to go back to his grandfather, who, if he turns out 
 one of the small fry of honest mechanics, had best 
 be docked off the ancestral list, and a trumpery 
 story dished up, of old English, or Dutch names, 
 and connections. And such story will serve as ad- 
 mirable fecund matter for the ingenuity of those 
 small artists who draw genealogical trees, and for 
 those enterprising foremen of coach painters, and 
 card engravers, who contrive coats-of-arms. 
 
 It should be remarked, however, that in adopt- 
 ing this course, the parties will overleap the range 
 of respectables, and swoop down among genteel 
 
THE RESPECTABLES. 99 
 
 people, or even among l leaders of the ton.' In- 
 deed, for a matron of rather weak wits, who wishes 
 to put her boys on an elevated plane — at the very 
 top, indeed, of the parabola which Mr. "W. has so 
 gracefully cut out of an apple with his pen — it is 
 much safer to be genteel, than respectable. 
 
 Respectability is, after all, slightly vulgar, and 
 will not cramp inquiry or gossip, one half so well 
 as decided gentility. Moreover, gentility, from the 
 fact that it is a trifle more exclusive, comes less in 
 contact with strong, investigating habits of mind, 
 which might, in times of forgetfulness, prove fatal. 
 A substantial coach, with the blinds drawn, and a 
 magnificent house, very quiet, gloomy, and close, are 
 almost impenetrable ; and if the house should be open- 
 ed for a ball, why the men are accessible (unless en- 
 gaged on church business) who will supply music, 
 suppers, crockery, carriages, and company, for a 
 respectable commission on the valuation. 
 
 In the rub and jam, nothing will be easier than 
 to escape irksome tete-a-tete ; and the little bijou- 
 terie, and papier mache ornaments, will establish 
 reputation on the score of taste — to say nothing of 
 a few well -scattered French novels — De Trobriand's 
 Revue, and a well-thumbed Lorgnette. 
 
 Respectable tea-parties, you must observe, are 
 
 subject to quicker scrutiny ; they should by no 
 10 
 
100 THE LORGNETTE, 
 
 means be indulged in, by those who have any 
 doubts on the score of their breeding. You may 
 take this as an axiom not without its worth : — vul- 
 gar people had better not ape respectability ; it is 
 safer to be genteel. Or, if I were to put it in the 
 form of a syllogism — which, if it were not better 
 than the best of Senator Foote's, I should be asham- 
 ed to repeat even to myself — it would be thus : — 
 
 Respectability promotes inquiry ; 
 
 Ill-bred people are sensitive to inquiry ; 
 
 Therefore, ill-bred people had best eschew re- 
 spectability. 
 
 Please to lodge that middle term, Fritz, in your 
 cranium, as another axiom which will prove ex- 
 planatory of a great deal of town talk, and action. 
 
 As for Ancestry, I must say no more of it, since 
 I am intending to furnish, with the aid of the gray- 
 haired lodger, a full chapter upon pedigree ; which, 
 when it appears, you may be assured, will be as 
 well worth possession by town livers, as the British 
 Herd-Book to Durham-Cattle Breeders, or the Turf 
 Register to cockney sportsmen. 
 
 Town respectability may be summed up, as a 
 tort of emasculated honesty. It is a kind of decent 
 drapery, which society purloins from what Burke 
 calls, \ the wardrobe of the moral imagination,' to 
 cover the shivering defects of poor human nature, 
 
THE OLD BEAUX. 101 
 
 If you can say nothing good of your friend, at least, 
 — call him respectable. If your neighbor has de- 
 frauded the business community , time and again, 
 and yet lives in the best of style, prospering in a 
 new commerce of coffee or cotton, — call him re- 
 spectable. If a lady has forgotten herself, her duty, 
 or her husband, she can creep under this elastic 
 screen of respectability. If a clergyman preaches 
 doubtful sermons, or practices doubtful sins, — dub 
 him respectable. If you are caught chatting famil- 
 iarly with your coachman, or your tailor, you have 
 only to say — they are respectable. If your news- 
 paper is dull and prosy, and given to long, tedious 
 twaddle, — it is, at least, highly respectable. There 
 is no vitality, no earnestness, and no independ- 
 ence in town respectability. There are plenty 
 of respectable politicians, respectable writers, and 
 respectable women ; but I never heard of a respect- 
 able hero, a respectable Christian, or a respectable 
 philanthropist. 
 
 i 
 
 OLD BEAUX. 
 
 " He has an excellent faculty of bemoaning the people, and spits with 
 a very good grace. He will not draw his handkercher out of his place, 
 nor blow his nose, without discretion." — Bishop Earle. 
 
 I now and then meet, dear Fritz, with some old 
 vestiges of the beau-craft, which existed twenty years 
 ago. They were nearly my contemporaries, it is 
 
102 THE LORGNETTE. 
 
 true, but they have much the advantage of me in 
 having kept up an acquaintance with the beau 
 monde of the town, while I have been wandering, 
 — Heaven knows where. They are quite curious 
 specimens of our kind, and are deserving of one of 
 those accurate observations, which my lorgnette is 
 sure to furnish. 
 
 With no great physical attractions, they yet 
 dress in the top style ; — perhaps sport a beard, or 
 imperial, or both, to conceal the lines which age 
 has wrought in their chins. They use the best 
 pomades on the town, and are capital authorities 
 for whoever is on the look-out for a good tailor, boot- 
 maker, or barber. They sneer, of course, at what 
 they call the frippery of the day, and are particu- 
 lar in their attentions to very young ladies. They 
 are usually club-men, and assume a sort of dignity 
 and importance in the reading-room and restaurant, 
 which is graciously accorded them. They play a 
 good hand of whist, at a quarter the corner, with 
 some old-fashioned observances in the game, which 
 would not have done discredit to Mrs. Battle. 
 They take, too, a quiet pleasure in an occasional 
 half hour at ' old sledge.' 
 
 They make excellent diners-out, and are sure to 
 fish up an invitation or two a week, from some of 
 their former companions, who have now homes of 
 
THE OLD BEAUX. 103 
 
 their own. They take the liberty of cracking very 
 bold jokes with their friends' wives ; and are partial 
 to ' old particular' Madeira. They, of course, are 
 full of anecdotes, more especially of that equivo- 
 cal sort, which follows the retirement of the ladies, 
 and which, for one hearing, are quite passable. 
 They are full of wise saws about government and 
 'society ; and are exceedingly violent in their ridi- 
 cule of the parvenus of the day. Though they are 
 not partial to parties, — most of them having become 
 slightly rheumatic, — they pay evening calls, and 
 are particularly earnest in their movements among 
 the boxes at the Opera House. 
 
 They are great admirers of beauty, — make fre- 
 quent mention of the favors they have received 
 from certain ladies, 'they would not like to name,' 
 and are particularly delighted when they are ac- 
 cused in private conversation, of being i dangerous 
 dogs.' They talk of marriage as if every lady of 
 the town was on the qui vive to possess them, and 
 as if they had still fair prospects of a numerous 
 and stalwart progeny. They are great favorites at 
 tea-parties, where spinsters congregate, and can 
 handle a pair of sugar-tongs as daintily as their 
 own legs. They are dabsters at a compliment ; 
 and some few of a literary turn, have been known 
 on special occasions to make sonnets, scarce infe- 
 10* 
 
104 THE LORGNETTE. 
 
 rior to those of Mr. Benjamin. They have no 
 charity for the small fry of authorlings, which 
 swarm upon the town ; and abuse them all in round 
 style. 
 
 They know, of coarse, nearly all the world, and 
 sneer very confidently at the few whom they do not 
 know. They talk in a familiar strain with clergy- 
 men and editors of popular journals ; and they cul- 
 tivate a certain indifference and carelessness of 
 manner in the bar-rooms, and in the street, which 
 is quite remarkable. Nothing disturbs them more 
 than to fall in with a really earnest man, who is 
 disposed by his talk to prick them out of their leth- 
 argic state, and to try the metal of their old coin of 
 opinion ; they have no means of dealing with such a 
 fellow, but to condemn him as a flippant coxcomb. 
 They affect an uncommon knowledge of French, 
 and of all the finer accomplishments ; they are quick 
 to detect, what they reckon breaches of etiquette, 
 and are precise — even to pocketing a dry crust at 
 table, to clean their white gloves for an evening. 
 
 They manage to get an introduction to most of 
 the reigning belles, and talk much about them, 
 though they know very little. They call themselves 
 connoisseurs in brandy and paintings; and have 
 a peculiarly sweet tooth for French entremets ; and 
 such as have an unpronounceable name, they think 
 
■- ,/ "'^r> *£j 
 
 Sw 1 
 
 if 
 
 THE TOWN BEAU. 
 
THE OLD BEAUX. 105 
 
 very fine. They wear a heavy signet ring, and cul- 
 tivate a delectable familiarity with house-maids, 
 and opera-singers. They assume a very patroni- 
 zing way with the daughters of their old friends, — 
 call them by their first names, — will sometimes 
 venture a kiss, — write them valentines, and give 
 them small presents of bijouterie. 
 
 They pride themselves hugely on a handsome 
 foot, a genteel figure, or a very bushy beard; and 
 express plaintive regrets for the great number of 
 young women whom they have unsuspectingly 
 made unhappy. They are fond of showing their 
 friends little billets, directed in a very delicate 
 hand -writing, and though they do not exhibit their 
 contents, they wink in a way that makes one sym- 
 pathize deeply with the unfortunate victims of their 
 address, and agreeable qualities. They have a 
 carefully cultivated laugh, and if their teeth re- 
 main sound, it is open-mouthed. They are of 
 course very jocular and gay-humored, and are 
 careful to conceal their occasional sighs ; they do 
 not like to read very fine print. They write very 
 delicate notes of acceptance to evening entertain- 
 ments and dinner parties, and seal with a very 
 large private seal. They commit to memory the 
 best portions of the musical critiques in the news- 
 papers, and yet sneer at the critics as poor starve 
 
i06 THE LORGNETTE. 
 
 ling vagabonds ; they adopt the editorials of the 
 Journal of Commerce on matters of trade, and yet 
 turn up their noses at the opinions of the press. 
 
 As for profession, they are very likely (living on 
 a snug two thousand a year) above that sort oi 
 thing ; or perhaps, are plethoric bill-brokers, or 
 silent partners in a jobbing concern, or small law- 
 yers with a great many trusteeships in their hands, 
 or doctors who visit respectable old dowagers, that 
 have been lingering under hypochondriasis for an 
 indefinite period of time. 
 
 And one of these very old beaux will read the 
 Lorgnette over his cigar at the Club-house — his 
 remainder bottle of port at his side, — his head in- 
 clining back, — his varnished boots upon a chair, 
 and with the most self-satisfied air in the world 
 wall condemn the writer to perdition as an arrant 
 literary coxcomb ; — never once imagining that 
 John Timon is perhaps his senior by half a score, 
 that he has helped him out of innumerable scrapes, 
 and has very possibly seen as much of the world 
 about us, as he or any of his fraternity. 
 
 Pray take it kindly, old fellow ; don't let your 
 asthma or weakness in the joints annoy you too 
 much ; semel senescimus omnes. 
 
 There are old belles, too, my dear Fritz, who are 
 biding their time ; and when the humor is upon 
 
CORRESPONDKNCE. 107 
 
 me, you shall have their portraits, even to the coloi 
 of their eyes, and of their stockings. 
 
 CORRESPONDENCE . 
 I shall publish without any prefatory remarks, 
 the following letter from a lady : if I might, how- 
 ever, be permitted to judge from a certain graceful- 
 ness of expression, and an indescribable under-lying 
 of the savoir-faire , I should say that it came, not 
 only from the hands of an accomplished lady, but 
 from one who is perfectly familiar with the impro- 
 prieties of the town. 
 
 My Dear Mr. Timon: 
 
 It has been hinted to me that you are an old 
 friend of my former husband ; if you are, I wish you 
 would do me the favor to call ; any little remem- 
 brances of the dear, good man are most satisfying. 
 I want to tell you, too, how much I approve your 
 work ; your judicious remarks upon taste, I cannot 
 praise high enough. I have long felt the want of 
 just such a book as you propose. As for the polka, 
 you've said just what you ought to say ; it's a pos- 
 itive shame, the way our young folks do go on in 
 these matters ! Only to think that my little cousin 
 Polly went so far the other evening as to lay her 
 head outright on a gentleman's shoulder, out of 
 
108 THE LORGNETTE. 
 
 sheer exhaustion ; why, Sir, it made all the blood 
 boil in my body ! 
 
 I've talked with my clergyman about it, a dear, 
 good man, (are you a clergyman?) who makes long 
 parochial calls. He says it's 'an abomination,' and 
 he quoted a passage from scripture, but I have for- 
 gotten it. 
 
 I wish you'd say something about the way some 
 people hold up their clothes at the street-crossings ; 
 its growing worse and worse ; and I see they are 
 beginning to trim off their drawers with delicate 
 lace edgings, — as if such things were expected to be 
 looked at, except by the chaste eyes of servant 
 maids, and little poodles. 
 
 Do goon, Mr. Timon — you seem to me to be a 
 sober, rational minded old gentleman ; and since 
 my dear husband's death, I have met with very few 
 of that sort. 
 
 Respectfully, 
 
 Dorothea. 
 
 P. S3. — If you wish, I can give you my address. 
 
 Another letter which has come to hand, as my 
 paper is going to press, appears to be from a 
 vivacious young lady, of quick parts. She writes : 
 
CORRESPONDENCE. 109 
 
 Dear Mr. Timon : 
 
 I wish you would let me know who you are : — 
 do ; I think I could give you some capital hints ; you 
 know a lady knows a great deal that a gentleman 
 never can know, try as hard as he may. Besides, 
 I should like amazingly to dance a polka with you ; 
 I know from the way you write about it, that you 
 must understand it a great deal better than the 
 fussy little fellows who almost pull me over, and 
 havn't got an idea of the spirit of the thing. A 
 lady want's some sort of support, — doesn't she? I 
 think you could give it, and not be pushing one 
 about against the wall-flowers, and getting dizzy 
 and stupid. 
 
 I and my cousin go to nearly all the balls ; and 
 though there won't be any but Presbyterian ones, 
 now that Lent has come in, still I know some real 
 gay blues, who dance as mad as any Episcopa- 
 lians. I'll introduce you, and we'll have some cap- 
 ital times. 
 
 I've got an aunt, who says such witty things ! 
 Do let me know who you are. I'm not a bit afraid 
 to send you my address ; wont you call in the morn- 
 ing? There are a half dozen fellows from the New 
 York Club, that come in every evening. I want to 
 tell you something about them ; they do say such 
 stupid things ! 
 
MO THE LORGNETTE . 
 
 Do you visit Madame T ? Try to. It's a de- 
 lightful place ; — such splendid oyster suppers ! T 
 don't care if you print this ; only if you do, punc- 
 tuate it, and correct the spelling. I'm so familiar 
 with French, that I misspell my English half the 
 time. Don't talk hard about the Home Journal ; 
 it's a love of a paper ! I've written a letter for it 
 that's going to be published by-and-by. 
 
 Yours, affectionately, 
 
 Lucia. 
 
 I am most sorry to be compelled to withdraw 
 my claim to Lucia's acquaintance. I am sure she 
 must be a love of a girl ; but Tophanes is her man, 
 and I shall hand over to him the necessary docu- 
 ments. Nothing makes me regret my age and 
 baldness so much as these little kind testimonials, 
 from genteel young women. Still, Fritz, we can 
 be young on paper; — and so, thank God, I will be 
 young ! and my pen shall dance its weekly fandan- 
 go, as lively as the liveliest of the polka striplings, 
 « — though the rheumatics are warping my shoulder- 
 blades, and age is wintering my beard with gray. 
 
 Timon. 
 
FEB, £8 
 
 NEW-YORK, 
 
 NO, 6 
 
 Ne demandez pas de quelle complexion il est, mais quelles sont sea 
 complexions ; ni de quelle humeur, mais combien il a de sortes d'hu- 
 meurs. Ne vous troinpez-vous point 1—La Bruyere, 
 
 Pardon me, Fritz, if over your shoulder, and by 
 a few taps upon the tympanum of your most friend- 
 ly ear, I pass an explanatory word or two, for the 
 digestion of our cormorant public. It would seem 
 that I have been set down by not a few newspaper 
 critics, gossiping ladies, and by some respectable 
 book-sellers, (for whom I ought to say in way of 
 apology, that they rarely read the books they sell,) 
 as a caterer to the tastes of those who are facetious- 
 ly termed by the Sunday Journals, and oyster-cel- 
 iar men — ' the upper Ten Thousand.' Now as I 
 11 
 
112 THE LORGNETTE. 
 
 have no particular desire of being mobbed, or burn- 
 ed in effigy, and stiil less of being reckoned the pli- 
 ant toady to any scale or degree of social eminence, 
 I most respectfully decline the acknowledgment of 
 an)" imputation of this kind. And although I by no 
 means profess fraternization with those very earnest 
 paragraphists who rail at the people ' above Bleeck- 
 er,' as if they were altogether destitute of those 
 human sympathies, which a kind Providence has 
 mercifully vouchsafed to people in other parts of the 
 town, (particularly Nassau Street, and Centre,) — 
 and while I cannot avow an entire coincidence of 
 opinion with the abettors of any Astor Place mob, 
 or haters of Macready, or Forrest worshipers ; — 
 and though I do not feel at liberty to subscribe to 
 all the pleasant inuendos which come from the lips 
 of my neighbor the tasteful lodger, about the equi- 
 pages sometimes seen in Leonard Street, and the 
 coupes with closed windows, and the ball-room in- 
 trigues, — yet, Heaven forbid that Mr. Crowen, or 
 any of his fashionable customers, from the subscri- 
 bers to the Home Journal downward, should reck- 
 on me the mere caterer to the appetites of those 
 only who are rich, or — even worse — those who 
 would seem to be rich. 
 
 A rough-and-tumble observation of a great many 
 phases of life, both in the Old World and the New, 
 
THE AUTHOR'S PURPOSE 113 
 
 has taught me, that sincerity and worth are not 
 confined to any particular station of society ; — that 
 modesty and purity are sometimes struggling un- 
 der the motherly-imposed haberdashery of a belle; 
 and that inordinate vanity, and a hankering after the 
 lusts of the flesh, are occasionally tossing under the 
 tawdriest ribbons that come from the Canal Street 
 shops. 
 
 But poverty I find to be the same unfortunate bed- 
 fellow here, that it is in every quarter of the world 
 — Monsieur Cabet's Icaria (which I have not yet 
 had the good fortune to visit, save in the columns 
 of the Tribune) alone excepted. Town poverty has 
 at command but very indifferent means of conceal- 
 ing the vices which attach to it ; — thus the poor 
 buck from Greenwich Street, or the critical chair 
 of the smaller newspapers, living on forty dollars 
 a month, who swaggers upon Broadway of a Sun- 
 day afternoon with a poor cigar, and one glove, will 
 be the mark for abundance of most friendly sneers 
 from the Christian people who live along the way ; 
 and yet your pretentious man who pulls on his 
 couleur de paille kids, upon the steps of the New 
 York Club, — who sports a well-stitched palletot, and 
 very square-brimmed hat, — who scents Julien's 
 dinners, or the bouquet of mock Chambertin, as 
 fondly, and yet as ignorantly, as his compeer does 
 
114 THE LORGNETTE. 
 
 the Ann Street stews, or Albany beer, will not 
 only escape the odium of condemnation, but 
 will be counted a miracle of a man, by hosts of 
 young ladies at the front parlor windows ; — not that 
 the ladies are looking out ; on the contrary, they 
 are very intent upon their reading, or with kissing 
 the baby, and of course very unconscious that any 
 such gentleman, in stitched palletot, is any where 
 to be seen. 
 
 Now what the distinction is between these two, 
 in purpose, dignity, or humanity — that one should 
 be the object of adulation, and the other of sneers — 
 I think it would puzzle a nicer inquirer than Mr. 
 Calhoun to determine. Even in the matter of 
 taste, which in a highly adulterated state, is the 
 pabulum on which those disposed to fashionable 
 display inordinately feed — the advantage may lie 
 largely on the side of the Greenwich aspirant ; and 
 this, notwithstanding his risral of the Club shall 
 have consulted incontinently the plates of La 
 Belle Asse?nblee. 
 
 So, too, a rich Cashmere, and Miss Lawson's 
 toggery of wadding, wreaths, and lacings, will not 
 only make a crooked form straight, a blanched 
 forehead ruddy, and restore fullness to the withered 
 hulk of six-and-thirty, but they will marvelously 
 deaden searching inquiry, and blunt the eyesight 
 
HIS POSITION DEFINED. 115 
 
 of popular sagacity. A poor girl who scrimps the 
 frugal meal of a mother, that she may gratify her 
 woman's vanity with a flimsy mantilla, or a faded 
 hat ribbon, is smiled sourly upon as a worthless, 
 heartless creature; yet the ladies of ton, squandering 
 thousands upon equipage and laces, deaf to the low 
 cries of a hundred mothers, going supperless each 
 night to their straw pallets, — are elegant fashiona- 
 bles, — most generous lady patronesses of the 
 Opera, — most worthy pew-holders, — most com- 
 mendable Christians ! 
 
 If, then, my observation should seem to confine 
 itself to that class of society whose position ought 
 to render it independent in action, and unimpeach- 
 able in character, it is not surely in view of making 
 personal interest, for access to our Almack's, or to 
 tickle a vanity which needs no delicate touches of 
 a quill feather to be enlivened ; or even were it 
 otherwise, enough of the town litterateurs are en- 
 gaged in the pursuit already ; and I will do them 
 the credit of saying, that their adroitness is only 
 less commendable than their successes. 
 
 The Lorgnette adapts itself, then, to what the 
 booksellers may call, if they please, the higher 
 circles, only because the lower ones have less need 
 of the exposition intended. The follies of the latter 
 are bald and palpable, while those of higher life 
 11* 
 
116 THE LORGNETTE. 
 
 need closer examination, — nay, they would at first 
 sight pass for real beauties ; but the lorgnette, 
 properly directed, will expose — what touches oi 
 carmine, — what dust of pearl powder, — what 
 shaven foreheads, — what ugly wig seams ! How 
 many follies need only a gilding to vanish ; how 
 many vices need only the covering of luxury to 
 disappear ! 
 
 When, therefore, Mr. Crowen, or my worthy 
 publisher, think fit to announce to their customers, 
 that the Lorgnette confines itself to glimpses in 
 high life, let them be fairly understood ; let it be 
 fully known that it is from no lack of earnest Re- 
 publican intent, and from no desire to foster the 
 prejudices of a self-constituted, prurient town aris- 
 tocracy. In the honesty of a straightforward, 
 country purpose, John Timon begs leave, not in- 
 solently, nor ill-naturedly, but firmly, and good- 
 humoredly, to lay his pen upon such social sinnings 
 of the hour, as seem to him worth the ink-lines of 
 demarkation ; and in the full knowledge, intuitively 
 gained, and dearly cherished, that very many of 
 those whose wealth and position are pre-eminent, 
 will thank a stranger for speaking plainly of foibles, 
 which they acknowledge, discard, and deplore. 
 
 And now, Fritz, having laid the matter straight 
 between our obliging booksellers and the public, 
 let us ccme back to our moutons. 
 
THE LIONS. 117 
 
 LIONS. 
 " Veniunt spectentur ut ipsao." — Ovid 
 
 Lions, my dear Fritz, are not confined to the 
 Jar din des Plantes, to the Regent's Park, to 
 "Welch's Circus, or to Timbuctoo. They are bred, 
 it appears, in our town, and of such marvelous 
 thrift are they upon the diet, which this climate and 
 pasturage affords, that they will roar you, l as 
 'twere a nightingale,' or as stoutly as any Joiner of 
 the Night's Dream. We have, too, our allotment 
 of dear good Mrs. Leo Hunters, who are on the 
 search for the little cablings as soon as they are born ; 
 and if so be they can roar, though only so much 
 i as a sucking dove,' they will be fondled and 
 nursed more daintily by them, than ever the 
 sinning Ephesians by the old three-breasted Diana. 
 
 These zoologic patronesses are not only mighty 
 quick of ear, but they have also a most delicate 
 sense of smell ; and they will scent you a young 
 lion by the mere perfume of his mane, though his 
 voice is capable of only the most incipient roar. 
 They will feed him on such dainty food, and so 
 tickle him in the throat and haunches, that presently 
 he will roar, ' as would do a man's heart good to 
 hear.' Thenceforth, he will be a caged animal, with 
 
118 THE LORGNETTE. 
 
 his hours for feed, and his hours for relaxation, and 
 be as regularly stirred up for the admiration of 
 curious spectators, as the old Bengal Tiger at the 
 Surrey Gardens. 
 
 These lions are not only highly useful in offering 
 subjects for zoologic study to the common people, 
 and in affording agreeable diversion to children, but 
 they are of signal service, and I think I may add, 
 highly profitable, to their zealous and sagacious 
 captors. The methods of capture are numerous, 
 and adapted to the size, strength, and habits of the 
 animal. A well-roasted haunch of venison is con- 
 sidered very capital bait for full-grown lions, 
 whereas whip syllabubs, and even water-ices, are 
 used with great success, as decoys for the younger 
 animals. Some few well-known lion-takers are 
 so sagacious in laying their bait, that a strange 
 lion can scarce venture within the town, but he is 
 at once taken in their toils. 
 
 It is almost needless to say, after so much has 
 been written upon the subject by Buffon and others, 
 that the lion is the king of beasts ; but I may safely 
 add, what has escaped the notice of nearly all the 
 writers upon Natural History, that the lion is a 
 fashionable animal. 
 
 Indeed, there is scarce a lady of i parts' in the town, 
 who maintains an elevated position, — who is, in fact, 
 
THE LIONS. 119 
 
 a ' leader of the ton,' but has her bevy of lions, of 
 different degrees of age, virility, and tameness. 
 Some of these are so gentle that they can be 
 safely led about, even in public places, without 
 danger to the bystanders. Others are reserved for 
 the salon — or, as I should say, keeping up the 
 zoologic illusion — for the cages, — having a large 
 run, but under cover. Here they are made to roar, 
 by being fed or tickled. Others again are never 
 dealt with, but on special occasions, being irascible 
 in their nature, and at times somewhat dangerous. 
 They roar only as the humor takes them, and have 
 been known to show their teeth even to their captors. 
 They are, however, somewhat rare ; but are in great 
 demand, and much sought after by connoisseurs. 
 Lions, of course, differ in breed ; some being of the 
 royal stock — true Afric ; and others of so diminutive 
 a make, that those who are knowing in the matter, 
 hint at the probability of there having been some- 
 time a cross with the jackal. 
 
 The greater part of the town-lions are brought 
 into the world under favor of the professional 
 servioes of the gossiping journals ; the Express 
 newspaper is specially to be commended in this 
 matter, and its delicate manoeuvring would scarce 
 do discredit to the best Sage-femme of the quarter 
 of St. Antoine. 
 
120 THE LORGNETTE. 
 
 "When fairly born, they are handed over to a 
 standard corps of wet-nurses in the shape of penny- 
 a-liners, and Mrs. Leo Hunters, who feed them on 
 pap and such like dainties, as I have already stat- 
 ed, until they gain their full strength. Too 
 strong food at an early stage is hazardous, and in 
 some instances has produced a constriction that 
 has carried off the young lions in a stage of tender 
 infancy. Great numbers, too, of such as have en- 
 joyed the over-nursing of the Home Journal, and 
 the Literary World, have died from sheer surfeit ; 
 and yet others, who have been fondled in the arms 
 of the old gossiping Lady, late of Broadway and 
 now of Wall Street, have lingered only a short fe- 
 verish existence — attributable, no doubt, to the 
 crude and weakly nature of the pap. 
 
 Lions, as I have already told you, are of numerous 
 sorts; — there are the musical lions, the literary 
 lions, the critical lions, the political lions, the fash- 
 ionable lions, the conversational lions, the play- 
 house lions, and the lions extraordinary. 
 
 Tophanes, who (I may as well say it) has been 
 in his day a fashionable Hon, has supplied me with 
 a little epitome of their successive stages of growth ; 
 and I shall select from it such examples as seem 
 suited to my purpose, at the same time adding 
 largely from my own observation. 
 
THE MUSICAL LIONS. 121 
 
 The musical lion, for instance, he tells me, if 
 intended for public exhibition, must have a rhyth- 
 mical foreign name, and be announced in the jour- 
 nals as the distinguished performer, who has re- 
 peatedly delighted all the members of the first Eu- 
 ropean Courts, (I pray your particular attention, 
 Fritz, to that word Courts, which has an uncommon- 
 ly happy odor for all the lion hunters of the town.) 
 
 He must next have a private trial in a public 
 room, possibly of the Astor, or Irving, — having pre- 
 viously invited the critics, who are spare, hungry 
 dogs, to dine with him. This exhibition is herald- 
 ed next day as one eminently successful, and as 
 having given unfeigned satisfaction to a distin- 
 guished circle of unprejudiced gentlemen and la- 
 dies, of the highest critical taste. 
 
 The critics are honored with season tickets ; the 
 journals, (such as do the advertising,) are profuse 
 of praises, and the Mrs. Leo Hunters are wide 
 awake to secure a capture. He becomes a lion in 
 the papers, is applauded at the concerts, is invited 
 to a soiree at the house of a ' leader of the ton,' and 
 repays the condescension of the elite, with a song, 
 or a dexterous dab at his fiddle. 
 
 He has only now to manifest a proper insouci- 
 ance, wear white gloves, and tolerably clean linen, 
 to remain for his month the musical lion. Or if 
 
122 THE LORGNETTE. 
 
 he fails in circles strictly fashionable, he can cut 
 off his beard, and try his hand in moderate Pres- 
 byterian, or Baptist circles, where by cool, and as- 
 siduous attention, and naive repetition of fashion- 
 able scandal, he may have a fair chance of renewing 
 his age of heroism. 
 
 The private musical lion gains his degree without 
 any newspaper noise. He is talked of in very ex- 
 travagant style by the young lady who sings duetts 
 with him ; he volunteers (by request) his aid at an 
 amateur concert ; and if he be really deserving in 
 voice, or execution, or possess any special attrac- 
 tions, or even pleasant eccentricities, he will be 
 pounced upon by some watchful old lady hunter, 
 who is needful of just such advantageous commo- 
 dity to give a ' pleasing variety to her receptions.' 
 He is petted, invited earnestly to come and pass 
 an evening — sometimes (but more rarely) asked to 
 dine — is talked of — wearies his lungs with constant 
 effort, — is entreated to favor that charming 
 young lady with the love chanson, — is assured that 
 his voice is absolutely bewitching, — is urged to sing 
 a duett with the lady in pink, — can of course make 
 no refusal to the deaf old lady, who has been shed- 
 ding tears — would ' exceedingly gratify a distin- 
 guished amateur' by repeating that passage from 
 the Puritani — in short, he finds himself unsuspect- 
 
THE FASHIONABLE LIONS. 123 
 
 ingly, become the property of the lion-hunting 
 town. 
 
 As for Jenny Lind, — whose name has been, I do 
 not doubt, bobbing in the reader's thought ever since 
 he commenced the reading of this musical topic, — 
 there is no estimating the height to which the 
 Lind fever will run, by the time of her landing on 
 this island. Already the shirt-makers are adver- 
 tising Jenny Lind Kirtles, and we shall soon have 
 Jenny Lind ties, stomachers, and cuffs. Blue eyes 
 and light hair are more than ever rejoiced in ; we 
 shall have before the summer is over a whole army 
 of Jenny Lind babies ; and the nurses will take 
 good care to pinch the noses of the young bawl- 
 ers into the Jenny Lind shape. 
 
 As for the gentlemen, Mr. Barnum will be able 
 to double his Tom Thumb fortune, by selling them 
 scraps of Jenny's old shoes for love charms ; and 
 if Mr. B. is properly grateful for this suggestion, I 
 shall expect a generous heel-tap from him, on my 
 own score. 
 
 Fashionable lions are to be found in plenty • 
 they are those you will read of, Fritz, in your fash- 
 ionable weekly, as 'leaders of the ton,' 'distin- 
 guished patrons of the Opera,' eminent foreigners, 
 or French or Italian noblemen. They are of course 
 cordially hated by all shabby genteel people, and 
 12 
 
KM THE LORGNETTE. 
 
 are treated with marked indifference at the hands 
 of such as, by sensible conduct, and independent 
 action, are placed beyond the need of any lion fa- 
 vors. These lions, however, are in great demand, 
 and have been the making of a great many unfor- 
 tunate belles, and witless coxcombs. They are 
 not supposed to be engaged in any other pursuit, 
 than simple study of the savoir-faire, or what 
 amounts to much the same thing, the far niente. If, 
 however, they lend their faculties to verse, music, 
 or painting, it is understood to be only in the form 
 of accomplishment — an accomplishment which, 
 however doubtful in its merit, will be sure to bring 
 down a great clatter of golden, and most disinter- 
 ested praises from all whose position is uncertain. 
 
 If housekeepers, these lions live in fashionable 
 streets, and keep fashionable hours. They will 
 not be guilty of any such stupidity as allowing an 
 Irish servant maid to attend the door-bell : they 
 will insist on reception-days, — first, because it 
 gives opportunity to shine in their own sphere, be- 
 fore numerous admirers ; and next, because they 
 may be sure of having their chair in the best pos- 
 sible light — the stupid books all out of sight, the 
 little poodle in a clean ribbon, and their man Fid- 
 kins in his best white gloves ; — and there will be no 
 possible chance of their being mortified by the 
 
THE FASHIONABLE LIONS. 125 
 
 stupid Irish nurse rushing down stairs, with the 
 baby in her arms, to see who is calling — simply 
 because on that day the key is turned upon the 
 nursery door. 
 
 Their topics are fashionable topics : the Hague 
 street matter is commented on in a sad, sad way, 
 very much as fashionable clergymen talk of the 
 destitute heathen of Polynesia. They never walk 
 Broadway at unfashionable hours ; and the color 
 of their equipage will give the cue to a large pjr- 
 tion of the equipage-driving town. A hint in the 
 Paris correspondence of the Courrier, as translated 
 by an eminent Journalist, will lead to the selling 
 of their bays, and the spanning together of black 
 and gray. A marriage will be negotiated in the 
 best Paris style ; and it will be announced by an 
 amiable penny-a-liner, who has been kindly smug- 
 gled into their punch-room, on a reception-day, as 
 a high-life marriage, in w T hich the beauty and 
 grace of the young bride was only equaled by the 
 elegance, and fashionable contour of the distin- 
 guished and fortunate bridegroom. 
 
 It should be said, however, in justice to the 
 class, that no lions are more innocent than fashion- 
 able lions ; they are not ill-tempered, or savage ; 
 they are the most good-natured lions that can pos- 
 
126 THE LORGNETTE. 
 
 sibly be imagined ; their roar would never ' fright- 
 en the Duchess.' 
 
 As much, however, cannot be said of the critica* 
 lion ; he is a useful attache to old ladies, to the 
 editorial corps, and young author lings. He sneers 
 at mere literary lions, and boasts of having 
 given them their rank ; he is cheek by jowl with 
 the publishers, and is perfectly au courant of all 
 that is transpiring in the literary world. 
 
 He dashes out opinions upon pictures, statuary, 
 and music, as freely as upon books ; — pushes his 
 name liberally into print, and wears an air of such 
 recondite observation as astonishes and perplexes 
 young authors and school-girls. He mixes his 
 pills of praise with such chemical tact, that a little 
 irritant will go down with the lump, — just enough 
 to inflame the mucous membrane of the vanity, 
 which lines the whole stomach of an author, — and 
 so, keeps the poor dog mindful of the power and 
 agency of the druggist. 
 
 He is of course familiarly acquainted with every- 
 body who is worth knowing, and is on terms of in- 
 timacy with vast numbers of extraordinary men. 
 He assumes an air of high dignity at small literary 
 soirees, is very patronizing toward young authors 
 who are beginning to be talked about, and will 
 
THE CRITICAL LIONS 127 
 
 even condescend to dine with them (at their ex- 
 pense). He affects something of a foreign air, and 
 may perhaps boast, though it be only through books, 
 of foreign cultivation. 
 
 He is coy of commending American success, 
 whether in music or letters, simply because his 
 much boasted principles of taste are not inherent 
 and sound ; and because he trembles greatly lest 
 their suggestions should carry him counter to the 
 courtly charts of foreign importation. Thus 
 while he professes himself a patron, he is in fact 
 the worst enemy to true republican endeavor. 
 
 It is this, my dear Fritz, that I want most to 
 stigmatize — this coy-stepping, fearful, England- 
 worshiping spirit of American criticism. It is a 
 base habit of measuring everything by the standards 
 of the old world, — which may be great, indeed, but 
 great only by their association with the old world 
 fallacies. In taste, in ease, in grace, in a cultivated 
 idlesse, and in all the appliances which go to make 
 life an amusement, and not a peril and a work, I 
 grant you, Messieurs critics, thatthe old world leads 
 us, by very much ; yet surely therein lies no reason 
 for relaxing the effort to create in our social life, our 
 literary opinions, and our more earnest action, an in- 
 dependence of things European. Are we not, under 
 
 God, the administrators of a grand political, and 
 12* 
 
128 THE LORGNETTE. 
 
 even social experiment ; and shall we not have pride 
 enough to reckon successes by their agreement 
 with the great principles of freedom and equality — 
 of manly dignity, and individual earnestness, — 
 rather than the factitious standards which belong 
 to an older, and what we righteously deem a false 
 system of polity ? Let us not bow down to courts, 
 though we have warmed our vanities in their 
 blaze ; and let us not bespeak courtly sanction, 
 though it rise like sweet incense in our nostrils. 
 When shall we cease to be provincial in our tastes 
 and judgments, and begin to be American, and 
 earnest ? 
 
 But — revenons a nos lions. 
 
 The literary lion is of somewhat casual and acci- 
 dental celebrity ; a few, indeed, of large growth, are 
 much in request, and will command, at all times, 
 very full salons. The growth of the lesser ones is 
 something curious in its way, and worthy to be 
 set before you, Fritz. 
 
 The prospective lion must be supposed to have 
 written a book, or perhaps to have edited a book, or 
 if not this, at the very least, — to have written a 
 preface for a book. He must bespeak early the 
 friendly services of those sly old paragraphists who 
 live in remote corners of the town, and who are em- 
 ployed for a ' reasonable' compensation, as supernu- 
 
THE LITERARY LIONS. 129 
 
 meraries in the offices of the journals. He will expect 
 this in most instances, by sending a copy of the 
 new book to the old gentleman, ' with the kind 
 regards of his unknown, and humble friend, the 
 author.' 
 
 Upon this, spliced with a mug of punch and a 
 cigar, the young lion may count upon a compliment- 
 ary line or two, which his private friends, if 
 properly advised, will be studious to promulgate in 
 every possible way. A huge placard bearing the 
 title of the book, and the name of the new author, 
 will be hung in a prominent place at the shop doors. 
 His literary friend whom he has invited to dine, 
 and whom he has pushed into remarkable good 
 humor, with a bottle of Heidsieck, writes a cap- 
 tivating little paragraph for a prominent journal, — 
 naively wondering who this new and rising author 
 can be, and intimating in a most delicate, and 
 scarce perceptible way, that he has a brilliant career 
 of prosperity, and heroism fairly dawned upon him. 
 
 The Mrs. Leo Hunters are now fairly put upon 
 the scent, and address rose-colored notes to dis- 
 tinguished editors, asking the pleasure of their 
 company, and begging that they will introduce to 
 them the new author who has been so highly com- 
 fliended. The new author has now only l to help 
 himself.' and without further effort becomes enrolled 
 
130 THE LORGNETTE. 
 
 upon the zoologic list. He is presented as the 
 writer of that i charming book/ and our lady- 
 patroness has a prettily-contrived compliment in 
 store for the gentleman who has ' beguiled so 
 sweetly her hours of ennui !' 
 
 The lion, at this early stage, should not forget 
 how to blush ; indeed, it would be well to — positively 
 blush, — bow, — be very glad, — be very sorry it is 
 no better, — regret that it was carelessly written, — 
 express boldly the opinion that it was not intended 
 for publication, — disclaim the distinction of author- 
 ship, &c, &c. 
 
 At all which the lady patroness will rally him with 
 very tender and approving smiles ; and introduces 
 him successively to Mrs. Mulkins, who is a charm- 
 ing old lady, of extraordinary literary taste ; to Miss 
 Bidkins, a poetess of very great grace ; to a green- 
 spectacled old gentleman, who looks very astute, 
 and says very cutting things, in order to inspire 
 the young lion with a proper degree of awe ; — to a 
 distinguished foreigner, who is bien charme to 
 make the acquaintance of the author of — (he for- 
 gets — ne se souvient pas de nom, for which he asks 
 a thousand pardons) ; — to a lovely little girl, who 
 looks languishingly at our author's moustache, if 
 he has one, or his eyebrow, if he is without ; and 
 lastly to a decayed spinster or two, who express 
 
THE LITERARY LIONS. 151 
 
 themselves very extravagantly in admiration of his 
 work, and go on to quote some lines from Lord 
 Byron, which of course the young author is very 
 familiar with. 
 
 The lions of a month or two longer standing, will 
 meet him with a little hauteur, which by degrees 
 will wear off into an eminently patronizing manner. 
 Miss Sibdilkins will beg the honor of his company 
 on a certain evening, that she may introduce 
 him to an eligible young lady, who has been in 
 raptures with his book. 
 
 Corner conversations of very young ladies will 
 centre very naturally on the new lion ; and though 
 I can hardly hope to throw the grace of their lively 
 bon mots into my serious page, yet, Fritz, you shall 
 be tempted with an echo. 
 
 " Isn't he handsome ?" says one. 
 " Not handsome, but then so intellectual! I 
 wonder if he is married ?" 
 " No, they say not." 
 What a forehead !" 
 
 Yes, and lip !" 
 
 ; And such eyes !" 
 
 : And then his nose !" 
 
 : Yes, and his chin I" 
 
 : And such a dear moustache ! w 
 
132 THE LORGNETTE. 
 
 " And what dear stories he tells about those Afri- 
 can girls !" 
 
 And those naked Islanders !" 
 
 That sweet little Alice !" 
 
 And those grisettes !" 
 
 And those Spanish ladies !" 
 
 How they must have been in love with him !' 
 
 "I shouldn't wonder; but do you know they 
 say" (and she whispers something about dissi- 
 pation — wild fellow — at which they put their hand- 
 kerchiefs to their faces, and turn their eyes up to 
 the ceiling.) 
 
 •'Oh, I don't believe it," says one. 
 
 " Besides so far away," says another. 
 
 " I wish I knew him ; will you introduce me ?" 
 
 " Yes ; but then — you know — that dear Strin- 
 kiski — you promised to present him." 
 
 On a moderate computation, Fritz, I am assured 
 that the number of literary lions reaches five or 
 six a season ; after which period of zoologic emi- 
 nence, the greater portion sink into comparative 
 obscurity, and sustain a miserable and precarious 
 existence between newspaper paragraphs and tail- 
 ors' bills, 
 
 A most abominable feud exists^ as I am told, 
 among all classes of these lions, and I am crodibly 
 
THE LIONS. 133 
 
 informed that there is not so much as a pair of 
 them, who are not pawing, and roaring at each 
 other. They seem to delight in pulling out each 
 other's manes ; and as for anything like literary 
 amity, or cohesion, they are as far removod from 
 it, as from an International Copyright, or from any 
 really manly effort to better the condition of their 
 craft. 
 
 Even now T have given you no sketch of the 
 more prominent literary lions, and have not even 
 touched upon the political and extraordinary spe- 
 cimens. 
 
 You see, my dear Fritz, how this labor of paint- 
 ing the Town-life is growing on my hands ; and 
 there is reason to fear that this soft dalliance of the 
 Spring breezes will catch me half through my la- 
 bors, and lure me to a share in your country com- 
 panionship. Meantime give me your best wishes, 
 and splice them with a mug of your mountain ale. 
 
 TlMON. 
 
MARCH 7. 
 
 NEW-YORK, 
 
 NO. 7. 
 
 "In our day, the audience makes the poet, and the bookseller the au- 
 thor." — Shaftesbury. 
 
 "Geese were made to grow feathers, and farmers' wives to pluck 
 them." — Dr. Southey. 
 
 I have a long letter in store for you, my country 
 Fritz, upon the authors and authorlings of our day ; 
 but meantime, by way of prelude to that full or- 
 chestral overture, I want to tell you something of 
 the booksellers' opinions 
 
 The sentiment which I have taken from Shaftes- 
 bury contains a truth, which I had not believed to 
 be so palpable, until I had become, in virtue of my 
 present vagary, a sort of book-maker myself. This 
 18 
 
136 THE LORGNETTE, 
 
 accident of position has brought to me a little 
 knowledge of the craft of book-making, and book- 
 selling, which is not without its value, and which 
 may come in from time to time, to point a moral 
 of my text. My anonymous character has render- 
 ed this observation more truthful and easy ; for the 
 shop-keepers have by no means thought it worth 
 their while, to withhold, from motives of delicacy or 
 interest, any information sought after by a plain 
 country gentleman, who secures their good graces 
 by a courteous admiration of their shelves, and oc- 
 casional purchase of a shilling pamphlet. 
 
 I have entertained myself not unfrequently by 
 long chats with my worthy publisher, who, as I 
 hold all communication with him by writing, is 
 quite ignorant of the identity of his gossiping cus- 
 tomer, with the editor of his i smart little weekly. 5 
 He of course speaks very highly of the merits of 
 the Lorgnette ; affirms that it has created l quite 
 a sensation ;' insists (very properly) upon the high 
 moral tone of both paper and author, and is quite 
 confident that it will have its effect in improving 
 the tone of the New York society. Like a shrewd 
 man, he of course varies his tactics with the par- 
 ties he has to serve ; — to a young lady, he dilates 
 upon the piquancy of the sketches of high life 
 which the paper contains, and piques her curiosity 
 
MY PUBLISHER. 137 
 
 by pointing out, with a knowing wink, certain ini- 
 tials, and blank allusions, which he recommends 
 to her especial attention. 
 
 To an old lady, he either talks of the serious and 
 moral caste of the affair — as being a very proper 
 matter to be placed in the hands of children — or he 
 commends in vivid terms its stores of gossip and 
 scandal. To an old gentleman of literary habits, 
 he enlarges upon the finish of the style, and the 
 clear and bold character of the type. To young 
 gentlemen of a rakish appearance, he hints that 
 they may find in it touches upon etiquette which 
 will prove diverting. To critics, he commends his 
 paper as fair game, contenting himself with the 
 moderate praise — that it is 4 worth their reading.' 
 
 He further amuses one by the sincere and 
 manly air with which he denies all knowledge of 
 the author ; and on my remarking casually, that I 
 was a stranger in the town, he commended the 
 work particularly to my notice, as giving a very 
 fair and just view of the town-life and habits ; and 
 he begged leave to say to me further, that he had 
 no doubt, for his own part, that it was the produc- 
 tion of a man of considerable mark in the literary 
 world, — and that all the statements to the contrary 
 in the paper itself, he was compelled to look upon 
 as ' sheer gammon.' I evinced my agreement 
 
138 THE LORGNETTE. 
 
 with his opinion, and my gratitude for his compli- 
 ment, by buying an entire set, and by entering my 
 name for all the future numbers, which he told 
 me with an air of authority, would amount to at 
 least twenty. 
 
 Another bookseller thought the chief objection to 
 the work was its size ; twenty pages of matter, 
 now-a-days, is so mere a trifle in the book-world, 
 that it is not easy to find a man who is willing to 
 undertake the reading of so small a quantity — 
 much less at the cost of a shilling. He thought if 
 the author could be induced to increase the matter 
 by half, and reduce the price to sixpence, it might 
 prove a profitable thing — to the publishers. As to 
 the author's additional labor, he seemed to regard 
 it, as most publishers do, very much like so much 
 vapor, or wind (I fling you here, Fritz, the handle 
 for a witticism, at my cost), which was only to be 
 thought of, in connection with the capacity of the 
 cylinder, or vessel, which the kindness of the pub- 
 lisher was to furnish for containing it. 
 
 He compared the Lorgnette, in this view, with 
 one of the flashy novels of some two hundred pages, 
 at two and sixpence ; and with an enormous week- 
 ly, containing, as he said, fourfold the matter, 
 for the small sum of six cents. 
 
 Another bookseller, of large experience in his line, 
 
THE BOOKSELLER'S OPINION'S 1£9 
 
 thought the paper altogether too quiet for the spirit 
 of the day. ' If,' said he, ' these sketches had 
 been written in the style of ' Napoleon and his Mar- 
 shals,' or Mr. Poe's works, or even of the ' Monk's 
 Revenge,' they would have been in great demand. 
 The public taste wants, just now, high spicing — a 
 great deal of ginger and mustard ; and if the writer 
 had ventured to be a little more severe, and made 
 personal attacks, or even given personal descrip- 
 tions like those in the elegant summer corre- 
 spondence of the Express newspaper, with dashes 
 thrown in for vowels, there wonld have been no pos- 
 sible doubt of his success.' 
 
 Another thing, he very kindly told me, which 
 went much against my letters, was the evidently un- 
 befriended state of the author. ' He doesn't seem,' 
 he told me, ' to have secured the good offices of a 
 single journal, or to have a good-natured paragraph- 
 writer in the whole town clique ; — of course he can 
 hardly hope for any puffs. Depend upon it, sir, 
 these little puffs are the making of books now-a- 
 days, as much as advertisements are the making of 
 pills, or ' bosom-friends' the making of women. The 
 publisher might mend the matter somewhat, if he 
 would enclose a curt little notice to several of the 
 journals, with a long advertisement, or a small bank 
 note — but that is his concern. Moreover, a literary 
 
140 THE LORGNETTE. 
 
 adventurer, as this fellow appears to be, is fair game 
 for the whole tribe of critics to peck at, and no edit- 
 or thinks it worth his while to say a good word for 
 a person that nobody knows. Good opinions are 
 not so cheap now-a-days, as to be hazarded with- 
 out an equivalent, either in money or flattery.' 
 
 ' If,' said a publisher whom I happened to have 
 known in the country, ' this author, who seems to 
 be a handy fellow with his pen, would make up a 
 dashing book of travels in some new country, such 
 as the Rocky Mountain Region, or along the Gua- 
 temala shores, I have no doubt but that it would 
 meet with a fair sale, and I should not object under 
 suitable guarantees, to undertake the work of pub- 
 lishing.' On my hinting that possibly the writer 
 might not be familiar with those regions, he answer- 
 ed that it made but very little difference ; — that in 
 fact, one half of the more popular books of travel, 
 just now, were made up by persons who had never 
 visited the localities described, — that it was only 
 necessary to make the general features and geog- 
 raphy correct, — that, in short, the Universal Ga- 
 zetteer and Morse's Cereographic Maps afforded 
 sufficient data for a man of proper genius to make 
 a reputation in that line. The old class of writers, 
 who dealt stupidly in facts, he informed me, were 
 
THE BOOKSELLER'S OPINIONS. 141 
 
 now quite given up, and were not worth considera- 
 tion. 
 
 Even the soberer subjects of History, he told 
 me, must be re- vamped in some tasty way, and all 
 the little tittle-tattle of the times, if it could only 
 be seized hold of, would go farther to make a his- 
 tory-writer great, than all those leading political 
 facts which used to be considered essential to the 
 very name of history. And he instanced in this 
 connection Mr. Parley, Mr. Abbott, and even Prof. 
 Frost, who, by proper attention to this habit of 
 the popular mind, had achieved immense reputa- 
 tion, and what was still more rare — indeed almost 
 unknown with the whole race of American writers — 
 very considerable incomes. 
 
 A popular publisher of startling pamphlets, has 
 conveyed to me privately, the suggestion of putting 
 my periodical into more popular shape, by intro- 
 ducing some extravagant diablerie upon the cover, 
 printing in blue and crimson, and by giving more 
 details of private life than I have yet ventured 
 upon ; and he hinted that if it could be made up 
 in the literary style of a late pamphlet, the ' Rich 
 Men of New York,' with a little of scandal inter- 
 spersed, in what he was pleased to term my ' very 
 readable style, 5 it would be much more to my 
 credit, and he would engage to take three hun- 
 
142 THE LORGNETTE. 
 
 dred copies of each number off my publisher's 
 hands. 
 
 Of course, my dear Fritz, I should be very un- 
 grateful not to be anxious to please the booksellers, 
 who are so full of their friendly suggestions, and 
 who are so clearly anxious to please me. But as 
 the gaining of a little money is not so much my 
 object, as the gratification of a curious desire I am 
 possessed of, to say whatever my humor disposes 
 me to say — in my own way, at my own time, and 
 at my own length — I shall hold on very pertina- 
 ciously to my present system, until my letters are 
 done. Meantime, however, I would not object to 
 proposals, coming from respectable publishers, with 
 suitable references, for entering during the summer 
 upon a two- volume book of travels in Ethiopia, or 
 along the Upper Mississippi — a short, didactic 
 homily upon the ' Rochester Knockings,' — 'Unpub- 
 lished Poems of John Milton, by his great-grand- 
 son,' or i Astounding developments connected with 
 the life of Q, n Y-ct-r-a !' 
 
 Do not think, Fritz, that I am disposed to mis- 
 judge the bounty, or the literary acumen of most 
 of our town-publishers. Not a more charitable 
 body of men, in their way, than our publishers 
 and booksellers, are to be found in the world ; and 
 the number of authors who are maintaining from 
 
AN EMINENT HOUSE. 143 
 
 day to day a subsistence upon their benevolence, is, 
 T am told, past all computation. 
 
 It has even been suggested by the refined and 
 elegant of our town (and the suggestion does even 
 more credit to their heads, than to their hearts), 
 that a committee of the most respected authors, 
 with Dr. Grriswold at their head, be named, to erect 
 some suitable testimonial to a well-known publish- 
 ing house of C Street ;— to commemorate its 
 
 Herculean and most self-denying efforts, in encour- 
 aging a taste for an elegant and refined literature ; 
 and in creating, by its unwonted and most praise- 
 worthy attentions, an esprit du corps among Amer- 
 ican authors, which has given birth to a pure and 
 a manly spirit in our indigenous literature. 
 
 A design, which would not be improperly com- 
 mitted to the genius of the distinguished architect 
 of the late Bowling Green fountain, # might em- 
 brace a colossal statue of a prominent member of 
 the house, with one hand clasping to his bosom the 
 "Wandering Jew, and James' last novel, and with 
 the other raining down gold upon the Bryants and 
 the Sedgewicks ; — while at the watch-fob, in the 
 
 * This dief-d'Geuvre consisted of a magnificent structure of native 
 American rocks — arranged with an eye to the picturesque— over which 
 the waters constantly bubbled, in most graceful and unceasing jets. It 
 was found to leak badly, however, and has been taken down. 
 
144 THE LORGNETTE. 
 
 nature of a charm, might hang a copy of i Harper's 
 Pictorial Bible.' 
 
 An inscription might be written on the pedestal, 
 rendered classical by Dr. Anthon, but spelt accord- 
 ing to "Webster in the vernacular : — 
 
 THIS HIGH MONUMENT 
 
 IS BILT BY THE GENIUS OF AMERICA, TO HONOR 
 
 2T|)e J&ost JBisttusuisjjeU gtctov 
 
 ON THE THEATER OF AMERICAN LETTERS. 
 
 mltndo mater librorum fecundissima, 
 Nobis nutrix verborum liberrima. 
 
 " Non possebat enim rumores ante salutem ; 
 Ergo postque magisque nunc gloria claret !"* 
 
 But not to a single house should all such honor 
 be due ; generosity and literary kindliness are uni- 
 versal in the profession ; and dozens of impoverished 
 publishers are understood to be the martyrs of 
 books, whose authors are dining sumptuously every 
 day. Is no new Horatius Flaccus to be found ? 
 
 * A little latitude of translation, Fritz, is allowable in our day ; were 
 it otherwise, I think I should not be very wide of the intent, that schol- 
 ars would put upon the couplet, in rendering it by this doggerel : — 
 
 He didn't reckon honor so highly as his purse, 
 
 So now there's not a man, whose honor shines the worse ! 
 
THE opera: 145 
 
 Will not the author of I Liberty's Triumph' make 
 an ode in honor of our Maecenases ? 
 
 To this topic, my dear Fritz, we will recur at 
 our leisure . 
 
 THE OPERA. 
 
 "Why, if thou never wast at court, thou never saw'st good manners ; 
 if thou never saw'st good manners, then thy manners must he wicked ; 
 and wickedness is sin, and sin is damnation." — Totxhstone. 
 
 I have not as yet, Fritz, given you a look at 
 what passes for the nucleus of much talk, many 
 amiable newspaper quarrels, and very erudite crit- 
 icism, — I mean the Opera. It was, I must admit, 
 with a little pardonable vanity, and perhaps 
 finesse, that I put upon my cover the name of 
 1 Opera-goer ;' knowing very well that without 
 such passport to fashionable salons, scarce a single 
 number of my paper would be sold. But since 
 the suspicion, as I learn through my publisher, is 
 now afloat, that John Timon is in fact no Opera- 
 goer at all, and is only making pretences toward a 
 fashionable distinction, which does not at all be- 
 long to him, I must do away with it at race, by 
 placing you within the doors. And I may tell 
 you, Fritz, that to be placed within those doors, ei- 
 ther as critic, belle, or spectator, is a circumstance 
 
146 THE LORGNETTE. 
 
 which would greatly help you out in any intentions 
 you might have upon New York society. 
 
 To be an Opera-goer, is in fact a sort of distinc- 
 tion, which very few can afford to be without ; and 
 nothing but extraordinary distinction, a very repu- 
 table name, or superior attainments, can in any 
 way balance a neglect of the Opera-house. There 
 is a charm in the very name of Opera-goer, to 
 all who are in search of eligible young men ; 
 and a seat secured by a bachelor, or a box of 
 a regular subscriber, are points cP appui which 
 nothing but the most gross inattention can fail 
 to render efficacious, in securing a respectable 
 position among those who guide us, in matters of 
 taste, etiquette, and morals. 
 
 At the same time it is a distinction which must 
 be coyly ventured on ; and a little undue haste in 
 posting one's self thus far, has sometimes subjected 
 the unfortunate aspirant to most invidious abuse. 
 
 Thus a grocer, upon the eve of rising above his 
 business, and making a stir with equipage, and 
 balls, should by no means venture at once upon 
 Opera-going : it is too hasty a step, and will in- 
 duce remark about his knowledge, or appreciation 
 of the music, that if he be at all sensitive, may 
 provoke him to a retort, which would be social 
 death ; — or to a relinquishment of endeavor, which 
 
THE OPERA. 147 
 
 would, of course, forever debar his girls from an 
 entrance upon the social platform. He should 
 gain, by coy means, a little street position in the 
 first place, and should endeavor to win respectable 
 opinions by bounteous suppers, or by heavy sub- 
 scriptions to popular charities — such as the Wash- 
 ington Monument, a Dickens ball, or contributions 
 to political roues who make successful speeches ; 
 and after a winter or two of this management, well 
 backed up by plenty of (xerman music teachers, 
 and a pew in Grace Church, he may safely ven- 
 ture on securing a pretty loge, and taking to it 
 his daughters, three times a week, arrayed in the 
 prettiest of Martel's beetle head-dresses. 
 
 A bachelor has the same observance to keep in 
 mind ; and without some such position as member- 
 ship of the New York Club, or sometimes driving 
 a tandem, or invitation to Mrs. J.'s parties, or at 
 least a fair place on Mr. Browne's roll of ' admissi- 
 bles' may give him, it would be quite unsafe to 
 make the Opera- venture. He would inevitably be 
 set down, either as a curious music-lover from the 
 country, or some poor starveling of a critic, and 
 not receive the notice of so much as a single opera- 
 glass. 
 
 At the same time, it may be said generally that 
 
 the subscription to an opera-box is a safe venture 
 14* 
 
148 THE LORGNETTE. 
 
 in its way, and will, under favorable circum- 
 stances, do more to establish a man's position upon 
 the town, than any subscription for the building of 
 a church, or the very largest of private, and quite 
 ignoble charities. 
 
 Such absurd, and unnecessary acts of benevo- 
 lence as endowing a school, or helping out of their 
 straits a poor family, are of very little worth in 
 comparison with a liberal opera support ; and they 
 will really do no more to make a man's name re- 
 spectably known with the leaders of our ton, than 
 if he were to subscribe to the Church Record, or 
 go to morning prayers in Lent. 
 
 I could easily draw my pen over the names of 
 not a few unfortunate gentlemen, who, by a most 
 incomprehensible devotion to such indifferent mat- 
 ters, and persistance in a quiet, and most unosten- 
 tatious scale of charities, have forfeited all oppor- 
 tunity of securing for their wives and daughters, 
 however attractive they may be, high social emi- 
 nence, or even the most casual mention in the fash- 
 ionable papers, or the billiard-room of the New York 
 Club. Such men sin, too, with their eyes wide 
 open ; and if they lose caste and social position, the 
 loss will doubtless be rendered more harassing by 
 the conviction that Mr. Maretzek, his troupe, and 
 their newspaper admirers, have, with a generosity 
 
THE OPERA COMPANY. 149 
 
 and foresightedness which do them honor, placed 
 within their reach, at a small cost, every hope of 
 achieving eminence. 
 
 Indeed, the Opera company, and above all, the 
 managers, may be regarded as missionaries, who 
 have, with a disinterestedness and love of souls, 
 most commendable, left the attractions and luxu- 
 ries of European Society, to come to this land of 
 almost Pagan socialism ; and they are here putting 
 forth their best efforts in a variety of ways, to save 
 us from our lost condition, and to bring us nearer 
 to the elevated plane of fashion, morals, liberality, 
 and taste, which they have left behind them. 
 They find too, fortunately, not a few, who are 
 willing to take them by the hand, and cheer them 
 in their undertaking — nay, to give them the aid of 
 little piquant paragraphs of praise, which go 
 forth like so many gospels of mercy, to redeem us 
 from our social barbarism, and to gather us into 
 the sheepfold of Opera-goers. 
 
 Were I disposed, Fritz, to the Carlyle manner, I 
 might exclaim here — "What heroism ! what devo- 
 tion ! 
 
 Music, and the love of it, high as they seem to 
 stand, are, I assure you, but secondary matters, 
 and entirely subordinate to that higher culture of 
 what is elegant in chit-chat, and striking in ad- 
 
150 THE LORGNETTE. 
 
 dress, for which the Italian missionary house offers 
 such wonderful facilities. "Where can a man find 
 a more lavish display of the beauties with which 
 Providence has adorned the faces and figures of the 
 sex ? where a more delectable interchange of plea- 
 sant and instructive conversation ? where can a 
 man gain easier an exalted position upon the social 
 gradus ? where can he put off better the air of his 
 shop, and the taint of his shop-keeping ancestry? 
 where will he have better opportunity of studying 
 the anatomy, not only of the social life, but of pou 
 trinal development and action ? where else can a 
 man look for patterns of moustache, head-dress, or 
 gloves ? where else, in short, can be found such a 
 theatre for observing the successive advances of 
 town-society, in taste, refinement, and all manner 
 of polite accomplishment ? 
 
 The boudoir, in the comparison, is but a green- 
 room to the stage ; the salon, but the field for little 
 excursionary forays ; the ball-room, a recreative 
 play- ground ; and the old-fashioned parlor-circle, 
 but the arena for sensible stupidities and frightful 
 proprieties. 
 
 Fritz, my dear fellow, when you come up to 
 town, take a box at the Opera ! You will gain po- 
 sition, refinement ; and by assiduous attendance, 
 you will acquire a cultivation that no mere book- 
 
OUR OPERA HOUSE. 151 
 
 reading can blunt ; and a bien-seance that all the 
 good sense in the world will be utterly unable to 
 subdue. 
 
 If you are painting now upon the retina of your 
 remembering eye, a vision of those great Italian 
 Opera-houses, such as San Carlo, where tier above 
 tier of eager ones, half shielded by the facade of 
 their dimly-lighted loges, are listening to the mu- 
 sic, or receiving their evening salutations, — let me 
 beg you to mend the image. Our Opera-house is 
 constructed more especially to see, and to be seen ; 
 such quiet hearing-place as a box of the fourth tier 
 at La Scala, would pass without a call from Ameri- 
 can Opera-goers. 
 
 The Italian Opera had probably (as the biographers 
 say) its origin in Italy ; at least we have a right 
 to infer it, from the language in which it is usually 
 recited. It seems a natural exponent of the char- 
 acter and fancies of a poetic, passionate, musical, 
 and idle people. You will remember, Fritz, our 
 earnest admiration, years ago, of the recitativo of 
 the street-singers in the long Via Toledo ; and our 
 listening by a midnight moon, in the city of Bo- 
 logna, to the musical patrols ; — scarce less en- 
 chanting to the imagination of a foreigner, than the 
 leaning towers, the sausages, or the Guido pictures 
 
 of that old city of gloomy arcades. It was but 
 14* 
 
152 THE LORGNETTE. 
 
 natural that the Northern cities of Europe should, 
 for the gratification of their traveled and luxuri- 
 ous population, and above all, their courts, intro- 
 duce the Southern music, and should secure, by 
 their superior wealth, the first performers. Hence 
 it is, that the Italian Opera finds its best present- 
 ment in Vienna, St. Petersburg, Paris, and London ; 
 that is to say, the primi singers are superior in 
 those cities, while the chorus maintains its excel- 
 lence in the south. 
 
 With the importation of other foreign luxuries 
 and habits to the American metropolis, the Opera 
 could not fail to make its appearance. It com- 
 mended itself singularly to those who had brought 
 back from the Old World a love of its peculiarities 
 and courtly tastes — saying nothing of the few who 
 would regard it as a pleasant souvenir of musical 
 intoxication. From its very artificial nature, it 
 would serve as the germ for a new amusement, to 
 such as had exhausted their merely natural incli- 
 nations ; its enjoyment, or pretended enjoyment, 
 implied too, the possession of a cultivated and 
 artificial taste, which would lift it above the level 
 of ordinary and popular appreciation ; and this 
 would specially commend it to many worthy dem- 
 ocratic citizens, who are forever on the lookout for 
 any pardonable means of rising above the common 
 
ADVANTAGES OF THE OPERA. 153 
 
 atmosphere, and for breathing an air whose rare- 
 fied state should give a pleasing delirium to their 
 senses. 
 
 "Wealth, too, which had tried all the vulgar 
 means of manifestation in houses and plate, was 
 anxious to seize on a new medium of representing 
 itself in alliance with what was dignified as an 
 art. Young ladies, not lacking attractions, and 
 not having the entree of the salons where they 
 might shine, could at the Opera, find a common 
 ground of display, with the most high-bred. Whole 
 families could rise from obscurity upon the wings 
 of subscription tickets ; and pining street beauties 
 enter upon a new life of head-dresses, of negliges 
 hoods, and pink-lined cloaks. Middle-aged gentle- 
 men, too, whose position was indefinable, from some 
 unfortunate prejudice attaching to birth or employ- 
 ment, could now appear in ball costume, and dain- 
 tiest of neck-ties, and do the faint execution of for- 
 ty-year-old bucks upon the belles of the hour. Ill- 
 matched ladies, moreover, condemned to the society 
 of such rheumatic husbands as could not venture 
 to balls or concerts, might now secure their private 
 boxes, and be ogled and admired by whomever they 
 wished. 
 
 It was, in fact, a charming device for measuring 
 our refined, democratic society, by general observa- 
 
154 THE LOBGNETTE. 
 
 tion. But as it was to become in some sort the 
 nurse, or directress of social education, it was 
 deemed advisable to drop the ballet which had uni- 
 formly belonged to the Opera in Europe ; — so that 
 tender nerves should not be rudely shocked, and 
 that the amusement might thus become as pure 
 and wholesome, as it was natural and enjoyable. 
 There were no provisions, however, in regard to 
 low-necked dresses and strong lights ; the Homeric 
 women, or ' high-bosomed,' being reckoned superior 
 to the ballatrice, or long-legged. 
 
 At first, I am told, the Opera had its locale in a 
 comparatively humble situation, where it was ex- 
 posed to the inroads of common people, and where 
 the ton of the hour were horrified by the presence 
 of a great many ignorant country merchants, from 
 the neighboring hotels, — men who very sensible 
 and business-like in their way, had neither the re- 
 quisite finish of dress, or the right mode of listen- 
 ing, to adorn such shrine of taste. This defect has 
 been remedied by placing the Opera-house upon a 
 more elevated footing ; it is removed to a fash- 
 ionable quarter, and a special regimen of dress (that 
 of the Queen's Theatre, London) has been adopted ; 
 without which, it is now generally understood, that 
 the finer Italian music can be but very faintly ap- 
 preciated. 
 
THE OPERA HOUSE. 155 
 
 These means and appliances have made the town 
 Opera a most noticeable matter. Three times a 
 week, during the winter, its sofas, music, and light 
 have brought together all that was supposed to be 
 lovely, or learned in our town. There may be, in- 
 deed, good, common creatures for household pur- 
 poses, or such women as would make most excel- 
 lent mothers without the Opera doors ; but they can- 
 not aspire to that apex of our social pyramid, which 
 can be scaled only through the agency of our most 
 devoted patrons of Italian song. 
 
 I have amused myself often, Fritz, in running 
 my glass over the interested faces which grace this 
 temple of our social worship. Admirers and ardent 
 lovers of the music, of course they all are ; but 
 their loves do, somehow, wonderfully vary. You 
 might see in one box some little fair-faced girl, 
 not too modest, — j ust having left behind her at her 
 school, — amare, the Paradise Lost, and Porqueth 
 Tresor, — blush into our town-world under the dain- 
 tiest of head-dresses, and with the most naive at- 
 tention to the scenes and drapery. She can scarce 
 manage that huge lorgnette ; but its handling has 
 been well practiced ; her glove is a fit ; and if she 
 do not see plainly, she at least seems to see. Her 
 mamma, with eager eye, cultivated by such optic 
 study, calculates, with motherly discretion, the 
 
156 THE LORGNETTE. 
 
 range of the various lenses that turn that way. She 
 slyly pulls the dress of her daughter if the poor 
 thing is disposed to break into raptures at the mu- 
 sic, when Mrs. J is only smiling. She chides 
 
 her, too, if neglectful or inattentive, when the sig- 
 nal has been given by one of Forti's die-away ef- 
 forts, for enthusiastic applause. 
 
 Yonder you will see a fresh aspirant for social 
 honors, in the best of Miss Lawson's 'fixings/ 
 studying — not the scene, but the conduct of a pair 
 of old stagers. She is laying up in her memory, 
 from observation of every fold of a lace mantilla, 
 from every swoop of the neck, and from every ma- 
 noeuvre with the glass, a set of rules which, on fu- 
 ture nights, will stand her in great stead. Anoth- 
 er, not familiar with the atmosphere, but too na'ivc 
 to be studying dress or attitude, is very fearful lest 
 she, in some way, offend against the practices of 
 that august court. She scarce dares smile at San- 
 quirico, for she sees a sober expression on the face 
 of the elegant lady of an adjoining box ; and when 
 she is near dying with admiration, she blushes to 
 find that her companion is talking behind her fan 
 with the gentleman of the long moustache. She 
 wonders, indeed, overmuch what she ought to ad- 
 mire ; she wishes heartily she knew ; but for her 
 
THE OPERA GOERS. 157 
 
 life she cannot imagine what are the rules of the 
 Opera taste. 
 
 An old gentleman, the father of a family, who is 
 not an habitue, but who has come to have an eye 
 upon what he terms his wife's vanities, will sadly 
 mortify his family and family connections, by yawn- 
 ing in the corner of his box. In vain the distressed 
 wife will pinch his elbows, or put on an indignant 
 scowl ; in vain the daughter will look appealingly? 
 and murmur reproachfully, ' Why, papa!' — the 
 poor man turns to the stage, trying hard to smile — 
 to look serious — to admire, as he gets the cue from his 
 wife's glances ; and he casts a timid eye to the 
 boxes to see if his gaucherie is observed. Yet he is 
 patron of Italian music, and will furnish his wife 
 with an heraldic panel to her carriage. 
 
 The travelled admirer who is of course very ar- 
 tistic in her admiration, will assume an easy care- 
 lessness, — be very indifferent when there is show 
 of pathos, — play with her lorgnette at a stroke of 
 humor, and whisper in a languishing way to her 
 companion, when the singers have achieved their 
 greatest triumph, — that it is only comme ga. 
 
 The old ladies who are looking out for new emi- 
 nence in these capitally-contrived boxes, — now that 
 their ball-age is utterly gone by, — and who know 
 as much of Italian as of music, and as much of 
 
158 THE LORGNETTE 
 
 4 
 
 both, as Sancho Panza knew of temperance, or 
 Faublas of chastity, — will study pretty disposition 
 of colors, and shades, and make their old eyes 
 blaze anew with the opera gas, and coquetry. 
 
 The critic who is treasuring in his brain partic- 
 ular Italian expressions, and who cons his copy to 
 learn the orthography, will look wise as an owl, — 
 sneer when the vulgar old gentleman yonder is 
 patting his fat hands in clamorous applause, and 
 will listen intently, and with an artist cock of the 
 eye, to the more delicate execution — which to the 
 mass of our earnest Opera-goers (and perhaps to 
 the critic himself) is as much Greek, as the Lilli- 
 bullero of my uncle Toby. 
 
 As for critical appreciation and remark, it re- 
 solves itself after a few nights, and the issue of a 
 few Journal leaders, into an established set of 
 opinions, which do not vary to the end. Thus 
 Bertucca, who has Italianized a French name and 
 a French habit of song, is the i wooden Bertucca.' 
 Beneventano, with a voice windy as a blacksmith's 
 bellows, is the stout swaggerer, who makes love like 
 a butcher, but whose stature fills up classically the 
 scenes. Forti, with nice ear, and artistic apprecia- 
 tion, is a trifle Jewish, — yet with no Hebraic vol- 
 ume in his lungs ; — not handsome enough to be 
 admired, nor ugly enough to call out raptures from 
 
THE ITALIAN DIVINITIES. 159 
 
 eccentric ladies. Truffi is the Divine — the goddess 
 of the scenes, whose action is the worship of the 
 critics, and whose singing will cause a delirium in 
 the pit. As for Benedetti, his retirement has been 
 honored with more sighs of regret, than ever fol- 
 lowed the best missionary expose of heathen Poly- 
 nesia. John Rogers at the stake (in the primer) 
 was nothing to the martyred Benedetti. The new ' 
 Thaddeus of Warsaw ! — for seasons to come, ditties 
 will be pointed with his name, — recorded honors 
 will gather round his memory, and lady-sighs will 
 thicken over him. 
 
 These, our Italian Divinities, my dear Fritz, 
 have been the centres of more active conversation, 
 and the subjects of livelier debate in salon, at ball, 
 and upon the street, than all the political heroes of 
 the hour — not excepting the sick lion of the South, 
 now mumbling like Dagon in his cave, over the 
 bones of his victims. 
 
 Gro where you will, if only the aspiring beauties 
 of our town be present, and the Italian aperient 
 shall open the lady-talk, and lovers paying their 
 vows in operatic fragments, shall sigh, — Non so, 
 perchti non posso odiarti ! 
 
 It would be impossible, indeed, to compute the 
 
 amount of influence in our town, flowing from that 
 
 company of singers who enjoy the presidence of 
 15 
 
160 THE LORGNETTE. 
 
 Maretzek. All the clergy influences combined, — 
 the anti-dramatic counterblasts of the Tabernacle, 
 — the secessions of distinguished doctors, — the 
 newspaper letters of a bishop, — the pro tempore 
 harangues of the Head of the Pilgrims, and all the 
 fish-bladders of the Ecclesiologists, are dust and 
 chaff, compared with the prevailing animus that 
 enlivens the body of our opera-worshippers ! Vic- 
 toria is scarce so much the subject of talk in the 
 court circles of London, as are our heroes of the 
 Astor-place among the ■ leaders of our ton.' 
 
 Carlyle says our people have not contrived yet 
 any great, new, social idea ; — let him sweat us out 
 of the mazes of his contorted words, a greater one 
 than this very Musico-socio-operatic Idea, belonging 
 to our town and ton ; and if he can do it, I for one, 
 Fritz, will link myself to the herd of his admirers, — 
 who, though capital fellows, with their inverted op- 
 tics, to reduce every existing system to apparent 
 confusion, are yet, like their great demi-god, the 
 weakest of weaklings, to devise any tangible , or 
 practical method of Reform. 
 
 TiMor 
 
MARCH 14. 
 
 NEW-YORK, 
 
 NO. 8. 
 
 '' II vaut mieux souffrir d'etre au nombre des foux, 
 Que du sage parti se voir seul contre tous-" — Moliere. 
 
 It is the mode for periodicals of credit and abil- 
 ity, to give from time to time upon their covers, 
 the 8 Opinions of the Press.' But from these opin- 
 ions are generally carefully eliminated all such as 
 count against the merit, or success of the publica- 
 tion. Now as I wish to be a la mode, Fritz, and 
 am at the same time too thoroughly a foe to all 
 sorts of quackery, to deceive the public by expur- 
 gated notices, I shall give you upon the cover of 
 
 the present paper, a taste of the opinions of Jour- 
 16 
 
162 THE LORGNETTE. 
 
 nals : — thanking most cordially those who have 
 done me the honor of commendation, and entertain- 
 ing at the same time, a most respectful sympathy 
 for those who have i not seen the point. 5 My par- 
 ticular favor is due to the erudite editor of the 
 Express, who has furnished me with a sarcophagus 
 in his columns, and a pretty epitaph from his 
 French reading ; a more successful undertaker in 
 all literary matters could hardly be wished for ; — 
 his types make a fitting entombment, and his com- 
 ment a proper shroud. 
 
 PEOPLE IN SOCIETY. 
 
 " Caotera de generehoc, adeo sunt multa, loquacem, 
 Delassare valent Fabium " Hor. i. Sat. 1. 16. 
 
 Others like these are left, enough to tire 
 A Timon's pen, *or all the Scalpel's fire. 
 
 Our neighbors next door, some of whom I occa- 
 sionally see in the back-court, hanging out a bit or 
 two of mock Mechlin to dry, or a crushed petticoat 
 to be blown into proper rotundity, are worthy peo- 
 ple, of whom my landlady sometimes borrows a 
 half a pound of tea, or a little ' spirits,' to tincture 
 the sauce for the apple-dumpling. I had expected 
 to meet them nearer by at one of our little parlor- 
 soirees, which came off not long since. After 
 being presented to a very showy girl in green silk, 
 
PEOPLE IN SOCIETY 163 
 
 who sang in bewitching style, and to an old lady 
 in bombazine, who had a good deal to say to me, — 
 about genteel education, I ventured to ask after 
 the neighbors. My landlady shook her head quite 
 seriously, and told me that though they were very 
 good sort of persons in their way, yet they were 
 1 not in society.' This would not have been so 
 curious, if I had not remembered that the tasteful 
 lodger had remarked to me a few weeks back, with 
 a very sober, and I thought, sympathizing air, that 
 the landlady, though a very nice person, was ' not 
 in society.' 
 
 . The maid informs me that this tasteful lodger 
 1 goes into society,' once or twice a week, on which 
 occasions there is a prodigious stir in his chamber ; 
 the maid is running up and down stairs with hot 
 water and ' fixings;' and the tasteful gentleman 
 gives very loud orders from the hall, about his var- 
 nished boots, and the carriage. The Irish girl 
 dresses his wife's hair, and does the lacing ; after 
 which she uniformly steps into the parlor to have 
 the landlady's opinion, which is, of course, always 
 highly enthusiastic. 
 
 I must say that I have long felt no little curios- 
 ity, to ascertain what sort of society the tasteful 
 gentleman adorns with his presence : but not until 
 recently have I been gratified. Finding that the 
 
164 THE LORGNETTE. 
 
 old dowager with whom I take an occasional ride, 
 was really possessed of a carriage with a small de- 
 vice upon the door-panel, he volunteered one even- 
 ing last week, to introduce me ' in society.' I ex- 
 pressed myself charmed, and at the time appointed, 
 was duly ready. He gave a running glance at my 
 equipments, which seemed to him to be satisfac- 
 tory. We were set down at the door of a small 
 house, in what he said was a very respectable 
 street ; though he had previously admonished me 
 that I must not look for any very great style, as the 
 family, though uncommonly high, were just now 
 rather under the weather. 
 
 I was therefore somewhat taken aback, to find, 
 on entering, an uncommon glare of wax candles, a 
 good many plaster statuettes, and some very showy 
 colored engravings, which the tasteful gentleman 
 informed me, by a whisper, were by 'crack artists.' 
 The everlasting folding-doors, or, as the author of 
 Alice elegantly terms them, the bivalves were 
 thrown open, and disclosed the usual vista of carpet, 
 book-case, and arm-chairs. The last Home Jour- 
 nal, an elegant book in papier-mache covers, and an 
 embellished copy of Tupper's Philosophy were 
 upon the centre-table, while a folded number of the 
 Express was doing duty underneath a leaky flower- 
 pot. 
 
INTRODUCTION TO SOCIETY. 163 
 
 The lady of the mansion, upon my introduction, 
 met me with a certain assured manner of the town, 
 well calculated to astound and bewilder a modest 
 country-gentleman who was making his first en- 
 trie. She asked me, with a glance over her com- 
 pany, if I had seen much of New York fashionable 
 society ? and upon hearing my embarrassed denial, 
 was clearly disposed to cheer me up, and to treat me 
 with very much of that kind and pitying regard, with 
 which missionaries look upon unmitigated Pagans, 
 or as our voyaging tourists regard such Marquesans 
 as are ignorant of the nature and uses of petticoats. 
 
 An elegant young lady in bare arms, three 
 flounces, and massive gold bracelets was at the 
 piano ; her head, set off with a wreath of green 
 leaves and blackberry blossoms, was thrown a little 
 to one side, and she was singing a fragment full 
 of cuori and amanti, with delicate accompaniment, 
 in what my hostess assured me was ' most captiva- 
 ting style.' 
 
 She presently rounded it off with a whirl of the 
 fingers over the keys, — serving very much like 
 those notes of exclamation, which young authors 
 are very apt to put at the end of what they reckon 
 their pretty periods. The tasteful gentleman pat- 
 ted his gloves together, and declared that it was 
 
 i quite charming.' The hostess kindly offered to 
 16* 
 
166 THE LORGNETTE. 
 
 present me to Miss Thuggins, who was just now 
 rising from the piano-stool. 
 
 Miss Thuggins bowed graciously. I thought — • 
 ' it had been a fine day.' She thought ' yesterday 
 was, too.' I assented cordially, and thought ' it 
 had been an uncommon mild winter.' She thought 
 — < very mild, — the mildest she remembered; 
 though she did not remember many.' 
 
 Of course she did not remember many — how 
 should she ? I thought ' it was most spring.' She 
 thought it was ' nearly.' I thought ' from her 
 charming performance she must be a lover of mu- 
 sic ?' She tossed her head prettily, and thought — 
 6 oh,- comme gaS 
 
 I thought — ' she must go occasionally to the 
 Opera.' She thought 'our box was rarely empty ;' 
 and she asked me what I thought of Forti, and 
 then what I thought of Bertucca, and then — of 
 Beneventano, and then of Don Giovanni? And 
 she interspersed the questioning with pretty little 
 opinions which, Fritz, you will find condensed in 
 the last number of the Lorgnette, or sown broad- 
 cast through the winter's file of the Home Journal. 
 Occasionally an Italian term or two were thrown 
 in, which, if my memory does not misgive me, were 
 not strictly of Roman pronunciation. 
 
 This topic, and the last ball at the Widges being 
 
A LADY IN SOCIETY. 167 
 
 duly discussed, I diverted talk to the evening, and 
 toward the tasteful gentleman, who I supposed ' was 
 an old acquaintance.' ' Only slight ;' she had met 
 him she believed, but she did not think he was ; in 
 society.' I directed attention to our hostess, and, 
 as in duty bound, spoke highly of her taste and 
 accomplishments. l Oh yes,' said Miss Thuggins, 
 1 she's very well ; I sometimes run in here on the 
 • i Off-nights ;' she's a good body, though ' not much 
 in society.' Indeed, since her return from abroad 
 (there was a little interruption, and she repeated) 
 — since her return from abroad, she felt little relish 
 for most of New York Society. 'Ah! indeed,' 
 said I, (it is well, Fritz, to counterfeit a little sur- 
 prise at any such announcement ; but not too 
 much ; you should have l half suspected it from 
 her manner',) ' and is society so superior abroad ?' 
 
 1 Vastly, sir ; such breeding you see, (she un- 
 clasps a bracelet,) and the gentlemen are so pol- 
 ished — so agreeable — so ' And she reclasps 
 
 her bracelet, and looks across the room with an ex- 
 pression of most intense ennui. 
 
 I ventured to ask ' if foreign society was acces- 
 sible ?' 
 
 6 Oh no ; but then we had letters, (with an air 
 of indifference and careless dignity.) It was noth- 
 ing but dining out ; — one day at the Clarendon 
 
168 THE LORGNETTE. 
 
 with a party of friends, and then down at Green- 
 wich to eat white-bait, and then with a merchant 
 who has a bijou of a place out at Hamstead, and 
 then at Carleton Terrace ; and in Scotland we met 
 Lord Somebody at an inn, and were so sociable 
 together — a delightful man, I think I have his au- 
 tograph.' 
 
 Judge, Fritz, of my humiliation in talking with 
 a lady of such extensive parts ! ' This Miss Thug- 
 gins,' thought I, ' must be a trump card ; doubt- 
 less one of the shining ornaments of the town soci- 
 ety ; she has very likely learned the schottisch ; 
 she is an admirer of Truffi ; she has passable com- 
 mand of French ; she even limps in Italian ; she 
 probably has her carriage — perhaps a coachman 
 with hat-band, and very likely a seat ^in Grrace 
 Church, or even a coat-of-arms on her card, or over 
 her door. 
 
 I determined to risk the mention of her name to 
 my old dowager friend on my next ride. ' Thug- 
 gins,' said she — ' Thuggins, upon my word, I don't 
 know her.' 
 
 ' But, my dear madame, she is an extraordinary 
 young lady ; she has a box at the Opera ; she 
 dined at a Scotch inn with a Lord ; she wears tre- 
 mendous bracelets ; she talks French ; she is hor- 
 ribly ennuyee by New York Society.' 
 
BEING IN SOCIETY. 169 
 
 ' These are good points — very,' said the old lady. 
 i Fidkins, (pulling the check-line,) whose drab 
 coachman comes to the kitchen for you so often — 
 the rich grocer's you spoke of?' 
 
 1 Thuggins, marm.' 
 
 * Oh,' said madame, ' I know now — a nice girl, 
 I have heard, in her way ; a parvenu — she is not 
 4 at all in society.' By the way, would you like 
 to call with me at the Widges ?' 
 
 4 My dear madame,' said I, appealingly, ' I should 
 like exceedingly to know what it is to be in ' soci- 
 ety' in your town ?' 
 
 ' Justement — at the Widges, mon cher Timon, we 
 shall be in society.' 
 
 To the "Widges we went. Tophanes happened 
 to be there, and came across the room to say to me, 
 sotto voce, ' Eh, Timon, getting in here ? A devil- 
 ish good place (piano) to come for suppers, but 
 vulgar after all ; interlopers, — well posted in mu- 
 sic matters, — drive a good ' turn-out,' but only 
 half a year or so in standing ; and as for Monsieur, 
 
 (pianissimo,) he is a d n scoundrel !' And he 
 
 moved off to tell madame how charmingly she was 
 looking, this bright spring weather. 
 
 If you expect me, Fritz, to tell you definitively, 
 from such observations as these, what it is to be 
 i in society,' you are hugely mistaken. To be in 
 
170 THE LORGNETTE. 
 
 society is after all only a relative state of being, 
 and changes with your company, like the kaleid- 
 escopic colors in a man's hand. You may meet 
 with warm receptions, most kindly attentions, gen- 
 tle manners, winning address, and extreme cul- 
 tivation, yet it may not be ' in society.' You may 
 be startled with most lavish display of wealth, or 
 the most gorgeous of velvet cloaks, yet perhaps 
 ' not in society.' 
 
 Impudence may set a man in society, or it may 
 throw him out. Goodness will never bring him 
 in, and it is a shabby standard of faith if among 
 the elect. Particular professions belong to i people 
 in society ;' but they are in the general way, pro- 
 fessions without practice. The broker is depend- 
 ent on age, brain, marriage, or presumption. The 
 cloth-man (nothing now of coats or tailors) is sub- 
 ject to the amount of cloths he may bargain for, — 
 whether by piece or bale. The dentist is in a most 
 doubtful place, hanging as it were, upon the lip of 
 society. The doctor (if of Divinity) passes current 
 like old coin which rings with a jingle, though the 
 device, or date of stamp cannot be made out. 
 The physician ' in society' takes very few fees, has 
 few patients, (except his listeners,) is tidy, prim, 
 buckish, and marriageable. The bankrupt gives 
 good dinners, is shy of his creditors, and is a most 
 
TO BE IN SOCIETY. 171 
 
 excellent churchman. Authors and pastry-cooks 
 are of a doubtful class, depending very much on 
 the tastiness of their wares : a piquant sauce to a 
 pate, or a pair of pants to a lady Alice, will be irre- 
 sistible. 
 
 Mr. B you do not know, or care to know, 
 
 though you have met him affectionately in ' soci- 
 ety.' Miss C you do not know, though you 
 
 have hugged her in the waltz, and felt her breath 
 steaming on your cheek — it was only* ' in society.' 
 Madame is a dear, delightful old lady — but only < in 
 
 society.' Mr. D is a man in ' society ;' it is for 
 
 him not only a state of being, but of action. He has 
 the most taking chit-chat of the Journals at his 
 tongue's end ; he has studied Count D'Orsay's eti- 
 quette to a fault ; he wears a cravat as wide as the 
 wings of a turkey-cock before moulting time ; he 
 cultivates his incipient moustache with the most 
 assiduous handling ; he compliments old ladies for 
 their youthfulness, and young women for their 
 beauty, and ugly ones for their sweet expression; 
 he goes to dinners, and wins the champagne for his 
 stories ; he goes to balls, and wins a waltz, a sup- 
 per, and a headache for his pains. 
 
 1 To be in society' is not to be at home ; it is not 
 to be domestic — nor religious, except at church, or 
 when talking with the clergyman's daughter. It 
 is to say things you do not mean; to know people 
 
172 THE LORGNETTE. 
 
 you do not respect ; to bow to those you despise ; 
 to smile without intending it, and to live in mock- 
 ery. 
 
 To ' be in society ' is a most extraordinary posi- 
 tion ; — for a man, it is more than virtual death of 
 action, energy, or of anything worthy of his man- 
 liness. For a woman, it is to ensure her trappings 
 the widest talk, her failings the largest scandal, 
 and her salons the greatest crowd. For a belle, it 
 is to push her into the best market for tire poorest 
 bidders ; it is to expose her ancle, her bust, her 
 features, her accomplishments, and her worth (if she 
 have any) to as ' damned an iteration 9 as any in 
 Homer's verse ! 
 
 Passons, my dear Fritz ; we must not get heat- 
 ed in this warm spring-time. 
 
 Tophanes has furnished me, in furtherance of 
 this humor, which has just now seized me, a few 
 transcripts from the journal of a lady ' in society.' 
 It will I know amuse you, although it is not alto- 
 gether an artistic performance ; at the same time 
 it does high credit to the class in which it found 
 its authorship. It is naive, straight-forward, and 
 clearly written, without any suspicion of its being 
 one day laid before the public. To the present 
 state of popular taste, I am sure that nothing could 
 prove a higher commendation. 
 
JOURNAL OF A LADY. 173 
 
 JOURNAL OF A LADY IN SOCIETY. 
 
 " A lady's morning work : we rise, make fine, 
 Sit for our picture, and 'tis time to dine." 
 
 J. Shirley. 
 
 Wednesday. — What a sweet man that Signor 
 Birbone is. But then pshaw, only a teacher ! I 
 must dress particularly well to-night ; am to meet 
 Kawton they say — a love of a name ; and one of the 
 most fascinating men in society. Why don't Martel 
 send home that crimson head-dress ? It's so becom- 
 ing, the J s say ; and I haven't worn it now 
 
 these three evenings. I think my voice is good to- 
 night. L has promised to urge me to sing; 
 
 hope Strinski won't offer for the accompaniment ; 
 he is so anxious that everybody should admire his 
 playing, that he never has done with his inter- 
 ludes. 
 
 Marie is getting careless about my hair ; must 
 give her the porte monnaie that Stiver gave me the 
 other day, and if Figgins sends a bouquet to-day, 
 will let her carry it to the Minerva. What a dull 
 time this Lent, and black doesn't become me at 
 all ; I can't look solemn without giving that bad 
 expression to my lip. 
 
 Thursday. — Well, what a time, to be sure ! 
 
 Kawton is fascinating, very. How prettily he paid 
 
 that compliment about American women, so much 
 17 
 
174 THE LORGNETTE 
 
 prettier than Europeans — such complexions ; and 
 he looked very hard at my neck. (N. B. Must be 
 more careful about the pearl powder; Ma said 
 she saw it yesterday on my forehead.) And then 
 he polks so sweetly ; I never felt easier in all my 
 life ; I wonder if he has money ? To be sure, 
 Mathilde says he's a great toady, but then he's a 
 club-man, and knows so many distinguished men, I 
 hardly know if I baited him enough : — to be sure, 
 I didn't ask him to call ; but then I told him what 
 a delightful street this was, and that Papa said he 
 wouldn't live in any other — so delightful, too, to 
 be on a corner ; surely he must remember. 
 
 Positively, I will not dance any more with that 
 odious Scratch. Papa says I must not treat him 
 rudely ; he is very rich ; but he waltzes so horribly, 
 
 and then ! As for marrying him, it's 
 
 another matter ; but I needn't hurry ; twenty-five 
 isn't very old ; and I know I can catch the old fel- 
 low any time. He is quite desperate, I am sure of 
 it. How I should like to stir up a quarrel between 
 him and F ; how they would talk ! 
 
 Saw Noddle ; he talks everlastingly ; very well, 
 they say ; but who wants to hear talk at a ball ? 
 Besides, he admires every pretty girl he sees — the 
 puppy ! 
 
 Monday. — Went yesterday to Grace with tho 
 
A LADYS' JOURNAL. 175 
 
 Fidges — a most delightful place ; hope Papa will 
 take a seat there ; everybody listens so stupidly at 
 Dr. Hawks'. I do wish Strinski wouldn't talk 
 French to me in society ; it's so embarrassing ! 
 besides, there's no knowing who may hear you, and 
 you may make faults ; caught myself tutoying 
 him the other evening, as if I had been talking to 
 
 Marie ! how provoking ; if it had been S 
 
 wouldn't have cared ; it might have set him on ; he 
 is too modest. 
 
 Tuesday. — Was pale last night, but wore the 
 crimson head-dress, and took a seat near the scarlet 
 curtains. I must try and send to Paris for some 
 more of those gaiter boots, they are so pretty. 
 Marie has been trying to show me how to hold up 
 my dress as the French women do ; it's difficult, 
 but then it's worth a little study. 
 
 "What a handsome German teacher Miss Muggs 
 has got ! I wonder if I had not better learn Ger- 
 man ? I'll tell Papa that Dr. T has recom 
 
 mended it ; besides, it's very well to sing snatches 
 from the German Opera ; it gives an idea of culti- 
 vation. I wonder where Mrs. Fidge gets that de- 
 lightful perfume, and then she never has too much ; 
 must remember to let Marie smell me, before I go 
 out another evening. Miss Q,uiz asked me the 
 
176 THE LORGNETTE. 
 
 other day what had become of Snap, who used 
 to be so attentive ? Oh, I told her, we were capital 
 friends, better than ever, — and looked very consci- 
 ous ; dare say she will think I've given him the 
 mitten ; I do hope she will, for she is just the per- 
 son who will tell it all over town. 
 
 Thursday. — Walked up street the other day with 
 
 ex-President . "What a dear, good man ! And 
 
 then such a feather to be seen walking with him. 
 The Hidges saw me, and looked daggers ; the 
 Simpkins bowed two or three times ; how very 
 friendly they are getting ! I wonder if we girls 
 
 couldn't get up a class in reading with Prof. ; 
 
 they say he is so agreeable ; and then it gives a 
 delightful chance to practice ; one can ask such 
 funny questions, and all so honest. He isn't mar- 
 ried either, and if I could only get him desperate ! 
 for they say these literary characters do get des- 
 perate ; and how delightful if he'd only propose, 
 and then go off in a consumption. Heigho — how 
 sleepy I am ! 
 
 Friday. — I do wish that odious Miss Thingum 
 wouldn't be so familiar in the street ; people will 
 begin to call us intimates, and I am sure she's over 
 forty. She's very kind, certainly, but I don't like 
 to invite her to my soirees, she is so matronizing 
 
^%%^ -£idi r L 
 
 THE LlDI IN SOCIETY. 
 
A LADY'S JOURNAL. 177 
 
 and old maidish ; I must send the carriage for her 
 some rainy morning, and ask her if she won't come 
 and pass the day. 
 
 Sister Belle is beginning to be admired ; how 
 strange, and she only sixteen ! — must insist on her 
 wearing plainer clothes ; must tell T amraa that the 
 hat is altogether too gay for a person of her age. 
 
 Saturday. — Went to the Opera last night ; For- 
 
 ti was quite divine ; at least M said so, and 
 
 it's safe to say it. Mr. D came to our box, 
 
 and chatted for half an hour, — a horrid creature ; 
 strange that he can't learn how disagreeable he is, 
 and not at all tonnish ; yet they say he is very 
 
 clever — quite an ornament at Miss L s. It's 
 
 very well though ? upon the whole, to have a chat ; 
 it relieves the uniformity of one's face ; besides, if 
 any one asks me who it was, I can say,— oh, he 
 says such clever things ! 
 
 Saw Stroskinski in the Miggs' box ; what a 
 moustache he has got ! Must ask them to present 
 me ; they say he is all the rage. 
 
 Tuesday. — Met the Miggs' at the party ; — prom- 
 ised to introduce Stroskinski, but didn't, though 
 they danced three sets with him. I suppose Mabel 
 wants to keep him to herself; — I'll pay her, the 
 minx ! 
 
 Had to dance with that little puppy, Spindle ; 
 17* 
 
178 THE LORGNETTE. 
 
 couldn't refuse, because he is of good family, and 
 amiable as a country girl. He hasn't got a leg big- 
 ger than a pipe-stem, — and such a beard ! Mean to 
 cut off a little fur from the cat, and send him for a 
 valentine " mon chat, Monsieur, d voire chin.'' 
 
 How it helps a flirtation to drink a little cham- 
 pagne. Upon my word, I carried it off capitally last 
 night. "What little squeezes one can give a gentle- 
 man's hand ; and then the polka after two or three 
 glasses — upon my word, it is charming ! I must 
 get seme of those brandy lozenges Miss Fidge told 
 me of ; she says, they go straight to one's head. 
 
 I must learn, too, some more of those tender 
 French expressions from Marie ; it's a sweet, pret- 
 ty language ; have begun to read Raphael the third 
 time. 
 
 Wednesday. — How handsome Bidkins is ; and 
 rich too, they say, but so shy. Danced the polka 
 with him last night ; told him I adored it : but he 
 put his arm about me as if he were handling a 
 Vestal — yet I leaned on him very hard ; how stupid 
 some men are . I think he must be a Presbyte- 
 rian. I told him I was engaged for the next waltz, 
 and asked him if he liked waltzing. He said he 
 did — ' rather.' I can't hook him. 
 
 I do wish I knew those Fudges ; they give such 
 delightful parties ; everybody talks about them ; 
 
A LADYS' JOURNAL. 179 
 
 must persuade papa to go to the same watering- 
 place with them next summer ; then I think I can 
 manage it, particularly if Pa takes his carriage ; 
 I can get an introduction, and of course they won't 
 object to make a convenience of our carriage. 
 What a silly fellow Bunkum is. It's plain enough 
 he wants to please me, but he don't know how ; — 
 only to think of his praising the Squids ! To be 
 sure they are good friends of mine ; but then they 
 are pretty, very pretty. And then, too, the idea 
 of disputing me about the pictures, and trying to 
 set me right, — the coxcomb ! They say he has ex- 
 cellent taste ; for my part, I should like to see it. 
 
 Thursday. — Heigho — two bouquets ; one from 
 little Fidge ; what is the boy thinking of ? I sup- 
 pose he's heard them talk at the club of sending 
 bouquets to belles ; however, he is rich, and when 
 he grows up, will, I dare say, be good for some- 
 thing ; — must thank him kindly, and keep him in 
 tow. Besides, he is very useful ; he never objects 
 to escort one — puts on shawls, and picks up the 
 pins that you drop, and will go back for your ball 
 slippers; — oh no, it would be very ungrateful to 
 slight little Fidge ! 
 
 As for the other bouquet, it has no card ; who 
 can it be from ? There's the handsome music 
 teacher, I wonder if he would dare ? Well, I will 
 
180 THE LORGNETTE. 
 
 have it in my hand when he comes, and ask hlmi 11 
 it isn't sweet — watch if his fingers tremble wi;°.i 
 he takes it : and then I'll pull out a little flowei 
 from it — a forget-me-not, if there is one — and pui 
 it in my bosom. (Mem. to wear the open morning 
 dress, with lace.) The poor fellow, he'll hardly 
 have strength to get through his lesson ! What il 
 he should make love to me upon the strength of it ; 
 — how delightful ! 
 
 I am not sure whether it is best to be confirmed ; 
 
 Dr. H urges me ; but Miss Hicks, who is in 
 
 the best society, tells me not to be in a hurry. So 
 far as church attendance and devotion go, it's very 
 well ; it offers good contrast to one's action at a 
 ball, and you get the good opinion of a great many 
 proper ladies of excellent families ; but then on Ash 
 Wednesday, or any time in Lent, it may be very 
 inconvenient; mean to consult the Squids about it. 
 
 At any rate, I must buy a book of sermons to 
 have on a side table — get them bound up with a 
 little cross on the outside. I wonder if Dr. Grris- 
 wold hasn't written any good ones ? 
 
 I am sure, Fritz, you will have been delighted 
 with this fragmentary journal ; isn't it na'ive and 
 earnest? Indeed, if I had any suspicion of who 
 was the author, I would address her a complimen- 
 
MR- BROWNE, 181 
 
 tary note, and insist upon being favored with fur- 
 ther extracts ; and if she will have the kindness to 
 address her card, or any further communication, 
 to John Timon, at Mr. Kornot's bookstore, she 
 would confer a special favor. 
 
 I have already freely offered the use of my paper 
 to such persons as might feel aggrieved by any im- 
 agined personal allusions ; and it is in virtue of 
 this offer that I give place to a feeling letter, which 
 seems to have been drawn up by the counsel of the 
 person whose character has been unfortunately im- 
 pugned. It is needless to say, that in alluding to 
 Mr. Browne, (of whose name I had no knowledge 
 except through my friend Tophanes,) I was utterly 
 unconscious of doing injustice to a meritorious and 
 useful member of society. Far be it from me to 
 wound the feelings or to harm the business of any 
 individual whose merits are so striking and timely 
 as those set forth in the letter below : — least of all, 
 an individual whose connection with the church 
 should screen him from hasty or injudicious re- 
 mark. My sense of propriety, as well as what is 
 due to the Holy Catholic Church, would forbid. 
 
 Tophanes thinks from the style of the letter, that 
 it may have been drafted by a distinguished mem- 
 ber of the bar, Mr. B y. 
 
182 the lorgnette. 
 
 Mr. Timon : 
 
 Sir, — In some of your papers you have made 
 flippant, and I think I may say, indelicate al- 
 lusions to a Mr. Browne. A gentleman bear- 
 ing that name, though differently spelled, has call- 
 ed my attention to the fact, and has consulted me 
 (an advocate and attorney at law) upon the pro- 
 priety of instituting an action for damages. 
 
 Believing, sir, that you are not insensible to the 
 principles of duty and generosity, when well set 
 forth, I have determined to address to you this letter 
 of explanation and enunciation, which (if publish- 
 ed) will set Mr. B.'s character in the right light ; 
 and by its publication (as mentioned above), the 
 said Mr. B. will consider himself reinstated in the 
 brilliant position which, from allusions made (as 
 above stated), he had reason to fear might be tem- 
 porarily (so to speak) obscured. 
 
 Mr. Browne, sir, is a man who perhaps has done 
 more to the advancement of society toward its 
 present elevated position than any other man, or 
 indeed than any man whatever. Mr. B. not only 
 possesses, by virtue of his ecclesiastical connection, 
 a high moral consideration, but he is also the 
 generous patron of very many young gentlemen 
 
A LAWYER'S LETTER. 183 
 
 who, without Mr. B.'s services, would be sim- 
 ply and purely — young men 
 
 Mr. B.'s fees are moreover reasonable ; he has 
 never over-charged, even though supplying ladies 
 with gentlemen of the first water ; his arrange- 
 ments are ordered in the most researcha style ; he 
 gives advice in regard to the capacity of ball-rooms, 
 the time of arrival, the disposition of candles, ser- 
 vants, fiddlers, and hackney cabs, which few men 
 are capable of doing in an equally creditable man- 
 ner. Moreover, he receives with proper decorum 
 unattended ladies, sees to their safe delivery — from 
 their carriage — and closes the door upon them dis- 
 creetly, when the affair is over. He furnishes sta- 
 tistics in regard to character if desired, and can 
 inform uninformed ladies in regard to pretensions, 
 expectations, dancing properties, drinking disposi- 
 tion, gastronomies, and temper, of most of the 
 young men in society. 
 
 Few indeed could be so poorly spared from the 
 beau-monde ; and his retirement from his station 
 would leave a gap that certainly no man of ordi- 
 nary capacity could fill up. In that event^ sir, 
 which your injudicious allusions acting on a sensi- 
 tive and deserving conscience might possibly in- 
 duce, the ladies of our fashionable world would be 
 
184 THE LORGNETTE. 
 
 at a loss to fill up their lists, the young gentlemen 
 be without a patron, the carriages would stray 
 about like lost sheep, the servants be wayward and 
 fitful in their movements, and the whole charm of 
 our social assemblages be gone. In short, without 
 Mr. Browne, the balls would be without their orna- 
 ments, and the streets without a whistle. 
 
 Picture to yourself, sir, a man in an overcoat, 
 standing on the door-steps, braving the storms of 
 winter and the sleet of driving clouds, hour after 
 hour, — calling out to the hackmen ever and anon, 
 like a watchman of old, — deprived of the oppor- 
 tunity, even if he had the disposition, to go to 
 the corner, for a drink, — watching over the horses 
 and carriages of hundreds of dancing and immor- 
 tal creatures, — and, sir, I think you will say that it 
 is difficult for the mind to conceive of a higher and 
 worthier philanthropy. 
 
 I have addressed you this in justice to my client, 
 and if it be published I shall consider the honor of 
 my client satisfied ; otherwise, sir, the law must 
 take its course. Respectfully, 
 
 Attorney. 
 
 As I may have some testy correspondents in fu- 
 ture, who may use threats to get their letters pub- 
 
A LITERARY ASSISTANT. 185 
 
 lished, I beg to say that I have associated with me 
 Tophanes as a literary assistant. I shall therefore 
 have at command the same means of getting out of 
 scrapes that is now so generally adopted by the city 
 journals ; — that is to say, in case any article may 
 offend a pugnacious party, I shall have only to 
 state ' that the responsible editor was absent, — that 
 he deeply deplores the insertion of the offensive 
 paragraph, — that he has known the offended party 
 from boyhood, &c. 
 
 To be sure, Fritz, I have a dislike of imitating 
 the contemporary journals in any matter ; and it 
 is only in view of getting out of scrapes that 
 might endanger my incognito, that I should ever 
 presume to take advantage of a popular chicane, 
 v hich, to tell the truth, is as unworthy the dignity 
 of a journal, as it is bemeaning to the character of 
 a man. 
 
 My publisher advises me that inquiries are nu- 
 merous as to the probable length of this series of 
 Studies of the Town, and he asks what answer 
 shall be given. 
 
 Tell them, Mr. Kernot, that when my whim 
 changes, or the town reforms, the paper will be 
 stopped. And this is as safe and credible an an- 
 nouncement as any in the Literary World, or the 
 18 
 
186 THE LORGNETTE. 
 
 archives of the Historical Society; and the flash 
 weeklies may whip it into their chit-chat sylla- 
 bub, if they can. 
 
 IlMON. 
 
MARCH 28, 
 
 NEW-YORK, 
 
 NO, 9. 
 
 " J'ai parle beaucoup de moi dans cet ouvrage, sansrecourir au pluriel. 
 On ne peut me soupQonner de vanite. Je ne me nomme point : et en 
 parlant de moi, onne sait pas de qui je parle." 
 
 It is a cap; + al amusement for me, my dear Fritz, 
 to listen to the world of critical remark, which our 
 unpretending correspondence calls forth. But I ob- 
 serve that like most criticism of the day, it is not so 
 much based upon anything intrinsic, as upon the 
 supposed capabilities and the reputation of its ac- 
 credited author. I know no finer test, indeed, of 
 the critical acumen of our literary anatomists, than 
 the submission to their hands of some such amor- 
 phous and anonymous matter as these very papers 
 19 
 
188 THE LORGNETTE. 
 
 Putting all their keenness to the work, they fancy 
 they see some man's idiosyncrasy i sticking out' 
 in every line, and the whole is docked off with 
 some popular cant of judgment, which has attached 
 by habit to the supposed writer's manner. It is 
 thus that I am running the gauntlet of a hundred 
 opinions, and while I have been honored with the 
 praise that attaches to a popular author, I find 
 at times my mirth vinegared with the stinging con- 
 demnation that has swept some other unfortunate 
 book-maker to literary perdition. 
 
 One kind friend has assured me that he was 
 ready to produce irrefragable evidence, founded 
 on parallel passages, to prove that the Lorgnette 
 was written by the author of a late popular ro- 
 mance. I argued the point at length with him, 
 suggesting that the resemblance might have been 
 accidental or intentional, but without avail. He 
 prided himself particularly on his acuteness in 
 those matters. Nothing, I find, is harder, than to 
 convince a critic against his will. When he finds 
 that he has done me so gratuitous honor, my only 
 hope is, that he will not, as is the habit with most 
 of our litterateurs, seek to qualify the errors that 
 his ignorance entails upon him, by the fertilitv 
 and profusion of his abuse. 
 
 An eminent Journalist has seen a relapse into a 
 
MY STYLE. 189 
 
 good style, after putting on a worse one for novelty. 
 Now, for my life, I can neither see any change, 
 nor am conscious of any affectation. It seems to 
 me now, as at the beginning, a plain matter of 
 setting down just such whimseys as pop into my 
 brain, in good, old-fashioned English, available 
 by every well-educated man, and which even the 
 boarding-school mistresses cannot willfully set 
 their faces against. The truth is, I suspect, that 
 the critics and authors are so full of the tricks 
 of literary metamorphose, both in opinion and 
 style, that they have not the charity to give 
 any new ^en-man the credit of straight-forward 
 honesty. 
 
 A friend (Sheridan would have called him devil- 
 ish good-natured) was most earnest in his condem- 
 nation of the papers, as the flippant observations 
 of a mere boy, who, he told me, was occasional 
 contributor to a literary paper. Now, Heaven 
 knows, that I have none but the most kindly feel- 
 ing toward precocious literary boys ; but if my 
 paper is to be credited to any of them, I humbly 
 entreat that they would try so far to improve their 
 reputations, as to render the allegation no longer a 
 hideous reproach. 
 
 I have ascertained, too, by occasional remark, 
 which has been a sort of gauge to the current of 
 
130 THE LORGNETTE. 
 
 literary criticism, that the town opinion is divided 
 by coteries, each one of which thinks itself the spe- 
 cial and heaven-appointed guardian of the national 
 literary interests ; and, as is quite natural and 
 humane, each clique is tooth and nail against its 
 fellow. Whatever is accomplished under the 
 smiles of one, is reckoned the worst heresy by the 
 other ; and the two limbs of our most excellent 
 Presbytery, or the ' Standing Committee' and the 
 prayerful enemies of the Bishop, are not so sin- 
 cerely and cordially at variance, as the literary 
 coteries. 
 
 Now, as I am not acknowledged by any of them, 
 I find myself kicked about unceremoniously by all ; 
 and am very much in the position of some un- 
 fortunately humble Christian, who gets a fisticuff 
 from the Old School, because he refuses to send 
 babies to perdition, and a slap from the New, be- 
 cause a partial believer in the old doctrine of Ne- 
 cessity ; while he is heartily anathematized by the 
 advance wing of the Mother Church, because he 
 doubts the regenerating influence of Croton water, 
 or has the impertinence to prefer a black gown to 
 a white one. 
 
 It amuses me not a little, to watch the preten- 
 tious manner with which some middle-aged gentle- 
 men condemn me ; they wear a pretty air of au- 
 
THE AUTHOR'S CRITICS. 19] 
 
 thority, made good by the seductive smiles of ad- 
 miring spinsters, and sustained by a large amount 
 of apparent causticity and acumen. Such gentle- 
 men are the inoffensive Nestors of large circles of 
 very eager, and very moderately witted ladies. 
 They cherish a certain cultivated frown, and con- 
 demn by a twist of the lip, and are very sure never 
 to praise any who may come within hearing of their 
 praise, or whose proximity might throw their own 
 stature into the shade. I have been myself anni- 
 hilated time and again by these gentlemen ; so that 
 really the weekly placard in my publisher's win- 
 dow, has seemed to me an impertinence toward my 
 critics, that has made me almost tremble for my 
 temerity. 
 
 Yet they are worthy, kind fellows in a quiet way, 
 doing little harm in the world, highly amusing to 
 their indulgent friends, and critical enough for all 
 dinner purposes ; if they were ever to submit 
 their observations to print, they would doubtless 
 differ widely from those of the Lorgnette. I 
 should be very sorry, at any rate, to think other- 
 wise. 
 
 There is another class of men who boast too 
 
 a nil admirari air, who cultivate assiduously a 
 
 habit of condemnation, and who maintain a great 
 
 reputation with college boys, and under law-clerks, 
 
 17 
 
192 THE LORGNETTE. 
 
 as ' cutting fellows.' They are akin to that school 
 of politicians which is bent on equalizing, by pull- 
 ing back the foremost. For them, nothing is good 
 enough to be done ; and nothing that is done, is 
 well done. They quarrel incessantly with society, 
 manners, and religion ; they venture showers of 
 regrets that nothing is done to amend them ; at 
 every new literary endeavor, they curl their lip ; — 
 yet they do nothing. Grod forbid, Fritz, that I 
 should seem to urge them to any literary task, or 
 to become the innocent cause of deluging the town 
 with their efforts. 
 
 My only object is to give them this little mirror 
 of themselves. They maintain character by as- 
 sault : a sneer cannot be answered, therefore their 
 arguments are sneers. They live by spoils : they 
 are of a hybrid-hyena race, without much tooth, 
 but a great deal of claw and howl : they dig at 
 graves, where thoughts lie buried, and suck up with 
 their toothless gums the putridity — leaving the 
 bone behind. 
 
 Not a few ladies, 'town-bred,' have put to me 
 the direct question of authorship : if such ladies 
 had been blessed with a little more of the politesse of 
 M. de Trobriand,* and I quote him below, they would 
 
 * " II n'est que le voile de Panonyme pour permettre ces allusions 
 delicates qui trouvent toujours, quelqu' innocentes qu'elles soient, defl 
 
TWO LADY CRITICS. 193 
 
 have spared a harmless old gentleman the sin of 
 open denial, and been quit of a breach of proprie- 
 ty, which they have committed through ignorance. 
 Where is their gentle blood ? Let me warn them 
 to the search. 
 
 Qui nos commorit * melius non tungere !' clanio. 
 
 A little, truculent, round-eyed lady, who, as I 
 am informed, has been practicing a thousand arts 
 for a long period of years, to win notice, and to 
 thrust herself among those she worships and hates — 
 the people of the ton, has condemned my papers as 
 silly and foolish, and its author as a stupid fellow. 
 Softly, my dear Madam ; indeed, you must not 
 wince because I have unmasked your arts : by so 
 doing, you will only individuate yourself among 
 the innocent toadyists of our 'great:', and your 
 disapproval, so far from weakening the reputation 
 of my paper, will, I am sure, among those who 
 know you best, add a laurel to my humble chaplet. 
 
 Another ci-devant belle, of worshipful memory, 
 whose triumph-age has now passed, leaving to her 
 few of the rational pleasures of the fireside, has 
 told me that she thought the Lorgnette very in- 
 
 consciences chatouilleuses toute pretes a se gendarmer a la moindre 
 piqure, et quand on en use avec autant de discretion, c'est une curiosite 
 blamable que de s'efforcer d'en penetrer le secret." — Un ulil a la 
 Lorgnette 
 
194 THE LORGNETTE. 
 
 sipid ; and in an excess of indignation, had burned 
 the numbers. She regretted that she had not 
 provided herself with the ' Squints ;' I joined 
 cordially in her regret, and expressed myself cer- 
 tain, that the desired work would be much more to 
 her taste. A belle passee, who has exhausted all 
 moderate means of mental excitation, and whose 
 vanities are sickening under the neglects that age 
 brings in its train, has no resource but in the 
 piquancy of ribaldry, or the grossness of open 
 license. As the passions of our merely worldly 
 women grow too faint for fleshly gratification, or 
 their charms too small to ensure it, they will in- 
 evitably run toward the debauchery of books, and 
 gloaf over the lusts of the pen. 
 
 These prefatory sketches are not, my dear Fritz, 
 foreign to my aim ; they give you, well as anything 
 can, an idea of the currents, and opinions of our 
 town life. We will return now to our special por- 
 traitures. 
 
 THE FASHIONABLE LADY. 
 
 '•' The town as usual, met her in full cry ; 
 The town as usual, knew no reason why." — Churchill. 
 
 " The husband or father, me thinks, is like Ocnus in the fable, who 
 
 is perpetually winding a rope of hay, and an ass at the end perpetually 
 eating it." — Cowley. 
 
 The fashionable lady is born of reputable parents 
 
THE FASHIONABLE LADY. 195 
 
 — not always of genteel, or even respectable pa- 
 rents — but reputable ones. Her early years are 
 passed variously between baby-jumpers, and wet- 
 nurses. "While at a tender age, she is taught the 
 advantages of dress by becoming lessons, and by 
 practice in very short petticoats, and very long 
 white stockings, as well as a hat, shaped like an 
 inverted slop-bowl, with proper quantity of ribbon 
 and flowers — to match. She toddles out in frills, 
 small sun-shade, and white gloves, with a shrewd 
 nurse, who has an eye 'for folks what is folks;' 
 and she may frequently be seen, with her nose 
 curiously flattened against the window of her 
 mother's coach. 
 
 She is taught early the impropriety of going out 
 alone, or of democratic, and careless association 
 with the neighbors' children. Her toy-books are 
 well selected ; and her library is specially rich in 
 those, which, as the advertisement says, have given 
 unfeigned delight to their numerous Royal High- 
 nesses — the children of Victoria. By these the 
 young fashionable lady is supposed to gain right 
 ideas about aristocracy of sentiment, and oourtly 
 proprieties. She is, moreover, favored with the 
 moral teaching and talking of a femme de chambre, 
 nominally from Paris, but literally, and pronun- 
 ciation-ly, from the Auvergne. 
 
196 THE LORGNETTE. 
 
 She is taught to look with proper languishment 
 upon little fashionable boys, and makes early ac- 
 quaintance with a cheap, second-story hair-dresser. 
 She is taken to Grace Church in her best hat and 
 gloves, — is pinched to kneel, and pinched again to 
 incline herself prettily in the confession. She is 
 told what a charming Christian place it is — is in- 
 doctrinated as to the ends and aims of such a de- 
 lightful religious assembly-room, and is taught to 
 look, with becoming feelings of pity, upon such 
 poor outcast creatures as go to other churches. 
 
 She spends four years at school — the most ex- 
 pensive accessible — where she learns that Europe 
 is quite populous and gay ; — that America is yet in 
 its infancy ; — that republic is the name of our go- 
 vernment ; — that Franklin drew down philosophy 
 from heaven, with a small kite-string ; — that tri- 
 cotage is of many sorts ; and that literature con- 
 sists mainly of Tennyson's poems, Byron's tales, 
 Shakespeare, Professor Longfellow, Tupper's Phi- 
 losophy, and Mister Tuckerman. 
 
 She learns collaterally, that the French is the 
 court language, and so, very desirable, — that 
 the Latin is technically 'dead,' — that the waltz 
 and polka are of the same family, and that 
 the chief end of man is to get houses, and to 
 behusband women. She is further taught, at a 
 
THE FASHIONABLE LADY. 197 
 
 surprisingly early age, the nature and uses of fans, 
 of beaux, of chemisettes, of gloves, the comparative 
 effects of plaid and stripes, the disposition of cuffs, 
 and the chemical nature of perfumery and aman- 
 dine. She catches early at the distinction between 
 moustache and whiskers, and has a correct general 
 idea of sack-coats and imperials. 
 
 She is put, at a certain stage of her educational 
 career, under the charge of some literary gentle- 
 man of quick wit and persuasive address, who ex- 
 pounds to her fine passages of the poets, and impor- 
 tant epochs in history ; all which is presented in an 
 attractive chit-chat shape, admirably adapted to 
 the ends in view. 
 
 She graduates in a pretty hat, with a deft use 
 of the fan, a passable familiarity with French ta- 
 ble-talk, an Italian song or two, a smart capacity 
 for purse-knitting, a general idea of the geographi- 
 cal divisions of the globe, and some few axioms of 
 political economy :— such as, that money is neces- 
 sary to luxury — that lace has a tendency to become 
 soiled — that the best gloves are manufactured in 
 Paris — that camphene will clean them, and that 
 the law of divorce is a sort of moral make-shift. 
 
 Now comes on her age of practice, — practice of 
 French talk, piano practice, practice of coquetries, 
 waltzing practice, and Christian practice. In each 
 
198 THE LORGNETTE. 
 
 of these she has practical professors, well taught, 
 of the highest prices, and fully equal to their busi- 
 ness. They will perfect a young lady of parts, in a 
 surprisingly short time. 
 
 Her ' coming out,' if adroitly managed, will be 
 a very taking card : it should not be too early or 
 too late, and will depend much on the strength, 
 height, and bodily capacity of the subject — on the 
 views of the advising aunts, and on the compara- 
 tive attractions and prospects of elder sisters. Thus, 
 a female member of a family, who has reached the 
 age of twenty -five, without inspiring any very ten- 
 der emotions, would do well to keep a junior sister 
 in pantalets, as long as propriety or prudery will 
 allow. If fairly 'engaged' before the age specified, 
 a year or two may be safely docked off from her 
 sister's probationary, and small-girl state. In the 
 case of several sisters whose looks are not killingly 
 captivating, the youngest will be apt to fare like 
 Cinderella in the ash-heap, and will run a sad 
 chance of nursery-tails, and short dresses, up to an 
 unfortunate maturity. 
 
 The ' coming out ' will indeed sometimes depend 
 on the mental development and age of the individ- 
 ual, and more rarely upon the common sense of the 
 parties. Great preparations must be made, and 
 assiduous efforts to secure the presence of certain 
 
THE FASHIONABLE EDUCATION. 199 
 
 well-known leaders of the ton. There will be con- 
 ferences with Martel, and distinguished chaperon 
 spinsters — to say nothing of those enterprising gen- 
 tlemen, Messrs. Browne and Weller. 
 
 If the mamma has the misfortune to be merely 
 respectable, the fashionable young lady will gain 
 upon her by wide steps, and comes soon to regard 
 her with due sentiments of pity. She instructs her 
 mother as to what soirees she had better attend, 
 and gives her discretionary advice about remaining 
 in the corner. She puts forward all her powers of 
 fascination, to attach to herself fashionable young 
 men ; and though at first, she will find herself 
 obliged to dance with very indifferent persons who 
 are i not much in society,' she must yet be discreet 
 in her refusals at this early stage of her career. 
 
 A little extra freedom in the waltz, if gracefully 
 caught, will not harm her prospects, but will rather 
 add a piquancy to her style, which if duly cultiva- 
 ted may come to counterbalance the most uninter- 
 esting face in the world. She should not be im- 
 measurably shocked at any double entendres she 
 may hear, but should credit them to a higher state 
 of fashionable culture than she has yet reached. 
 She might safely bear in mind, in this connection, 
 the advice Madame de Sevigne gives her daughter : 
 
 4 Tachez mon enfant, de vous ajusler aux rnxurs et 
 20 
 
200 Til*: LORGNETTE. 
 
 aux manieres des gens avcc quivous avez a vivre ; 
 ne cot's degoutez point de ce qui ri 'est que medio- 
 cre ; fiites vous un plaisir de ce qui rtest pas ridi~ 
 culeJ 
 
 As town fashion, like the town literature, is divi- 
 ded into numerous conflicting cliques, she would 
 do weil to select the most promising, and attach 
 herself firmly to it. This she can easily do by 
 lavishing very special praises upon all its members, 
 and still better, by hearty abuse of any rival clique. 
 It will not be reckoned indeed (as the opinion 
 runs), any gieat sacrifice of dignity, if she should 
 become the attachee of some enterprising lady of 
 fashion, whose suppers are good, whose balls are 
 splendid, whose religion is fair, and whose position 
 is undoubted. 
 
 The summer campaign, if rightly directed, will 
 be of essential service. She can easily ascertain, 
 by a lictie careful observation, the probable current 
 of the rrore fashionable l sets ;' and she will throw 
 herself, inadvertem-ly as it were, into the drift. 
 Th°^ United Stages at Saratoga, the Ocean House at 
 Newport, ana tLc Pavilion of Sharon, are upon the 
 whole safe places, and much may be effected in the 
 incipient stages of fashionable growth, at either one 
 Still she must be careful of her times ; a visit too 
 early in the Summer might do her serious damage, 
 
THE SPRINGS. 201 
 
 and an arrival just previous to the height of the 
 season will work capitally well. 
 
 She should be cautious, however, of meeting any 
 shabby country friends at either place ; and to this 
 end, should carry on an active correspondence for a 
 week or two in advance, with her country cousins 
 — engaging to meet them late in the season, A 
 thin old lady in calico, who says, ' our folks,' or a 
 young man who dresses in a flimsey, black dress- 
 coat of a morning, who carries a baggy cotton um- 
 brella, and who blows his nose on the ' stoop,' with 
 a 'silk handkercher,' might do her serious damage. 
 
 She should also be quite sure that she will not 
 be overtopped, — that is, that she will not be ' cut' 
 by any established habitue ; rather than expose her- 
 self to such deterioration, she would do well to 
 postpone her visit. If the Papa, in any matter-of- 
 fact way, sets his face against an expenditure he 
 cannot afford, and proves deaf to all entreaties for 
 the ' Springs,' she must change her tactics ; in that 
 case she would do well to speak deprecatingly of 
 the fashionable places, as being altogether 'too 
 mixed,' — drop hints about barbers, and bar-tenders 
 in moustache, — ' no knowing who one will fall in 
 with,' — c for her part she cannot bear it !' If this 
 is well executed, it will be very telling. 
 
 If a fancy ball should take place within her per- 
 
202 THE LORGNETTK. 
 
 mission, she will select such dress as bears a fair 
 stamp of gentility, by having been already honored 
 with the wearing of some lady of distinction. She 
 will farther, by dint of a few coy and well-covered 
 hints to a gentleman friend, who knows the Express 
 writers, accidentally make their acquaintance ; 
 and then, her Saracco and boudoir education has 
 been surely very poor, if she do not so beguile the 
 poor devils with her dance and smiles, as to secure 
 for herself a charming period about taper ancles, 
 and bust of Hebe, which will, of course, set her up 
 for the winter. 
 
 Her preparatives for the town season must be di- 
 rected with care and energy. Dress, she should 
 be slow to decide upon until the * leaders' have given 
 their orders ; and by a proper intimacy (spiced with 
 free use of money) with Miss Lawson, she will 
 learn in advance what Mesdames So-and-so have 
 ordered, and will, by a singular coincidence, hit 
 upon the same. No wide difference from the popu- 
 lar standard will be advisable, unless indeed, the 
 lady set up for an eccentric, or have recently re- 
 turned from abroad ; and even in the latter case, 
 there will be needed a strong savor of previous re- 
 spectability, and good connections, to legitimatize 
 any outre trimmings of either hat or cloak. "With 
 the vantage ground, however, of established posi- 
 
THE OPERA TACTICS. 203 
 
 tion, an extravagance will be smiled upon, and the 
 ' second rates' will be taught by conspicuous ex- 
 ample, that the popular idea, that Paris ladies 
 adapt their fashions of dress to the style of the 
 wearer, is a great mistake. 
 
 The Opera must not be forgotten ; whatever may 
 be one's love of music, it would be well to cultivate 
 a slight knowledge of the operatic art, a familiarity 
 with the more popular pieces, and effective criti- 
 cisms upon the different musical composers. If the 
 fashionable lady has been abroad, aL this will be 
 at once presumed, and her air of indifference will be 
 the most naive in the world. She must, moreover, 
 secure a bevy of tonnish visitors at her box ; noth- 
 ing short of it will sustain her rank. For instance, 
 it would be well to make sure cPavance of at least 
 one unmistakeable moustache, one journalist, one 
 foreigner, one ' handsome' man, one ' clever' man, 
 one young professional man of creditable position, 
 and a husband who is understood to be on uneasy 
 terms with his wife. A boy in wide white cravat 
 may be treated with provoking carelessness ; and a 
 polka dancer of doubtful grace, should be met with 
 equal indifference. A country cousin, who hap- 
 pens to be in town, should be tolled off with a free 
 ticket to a concert. 
 
 If sure of the place, and has seen a particular air 
 20* 
 
204 THE LOUGXETTE. 
 
 applauded at the Queen's Theatre, she may clap 
 her hands, when all around are gossiping ; unless 
 indeed? some lady of foreign birth should be near, 
 who would remark the exception. The fashionable 
 lady, if well instructed, will not be astonished at 
 any strange burst of music, or any eccentricities of 
 the singers. Indeed, she will never manifest sur- 
 prise, except when saluted cordially by some lady of 
 an under set. She will look patronizingly toward 
 young ladies of ' family,' and regard only through 
 her opera-glass, the beauties who are not yet 'in 
 society.' 
 
 After a winter or two of such experience, and 
 an open acquaintance with gentlemen of acknowl- 
 edged fashion, she can cast off the leading string 
 of her chaperons, and live her own life of fashion, 
 as proudly, and reasonably independent, as the 
 belly-full beggar in the play ; — 
 
 Non ego nunc parasitus sum, sed regum rex regalior; 
 (Tantus ventri commeatus meo adest in portu cibus.)* 
 
 Meantime, she is not supposed to be insensible 
 (few ladies are) to the virtues and necessities of a 
 husbanl. Threo reasons of single life display, if 
 the face wears well, Lre the minimum for a fashiona- 
 
 * Plautus, Capteivei, iv. 2. The clever critic of the Literary World, who 
 has detected in my papers a classical inaccuracy, will correct me if I am 
 wrong, and will confer a special favor by multiplying his 'instances' of 
 1 bad citations.' 
 
THE FASHIONABLE LADY. 205 
 
 Lie lady ; and as for the maximum, I fear I should 
 offend some very tender friends of mine, by even 
 hinting at its period. 
 
 "When the matter, however, really becomes seri- 
 ous, there must be a concentration of effort on the 
 part of our fashionable lady, to which her past life 
 has been altogether a stranger. It will not do at 
 all to retain the old flippancy when talking with 
 bald-headed bachelors of a certain age, who are 
 understood to be living on ' their means.' 
 
 It will be well, moreover, to practice a little sell- 
 denial in the polka, and not wear so languishing 
 an air with the young bucks, when the marriagea- 
 ble gentlemen are looking on. She may even ven- 
 ture, on extraordinary occasions, to abandon the 
 polka altogether, and her church virtues (not al- 
 ways Christian ones) should, in view of marriage, 
 be punctiliously attended to. Of course, she will 
 have a running knowledge of ' expectancies,' and 
 will detect easily how far the candidate is of a com- 
 pliant and yielding disposition. A little eminence 
 of position by marriage with a lion, is not to be 
 overlooked by the fashionable lady ; but if she have 
 sober judgment in the matter, she will see that it 
 is infinitely better to become the lion herself, by 
 overtopping the husband, and by possession of 
 abundant means. 
 
206 THE LORGNETTE. 
 
 Having through papa negotiated the preliminary 
 terms of a ' brilliant match,' she appears at care- 
 less exhibitory intervals, upon the public walks of 
 the town, never forgetting herself so much as to 
 show a spark of enthusiasm, and never so natural 
 as to indulge in regrets. 
 
 The wedding is the occasion for picking up and 
 cementing together, by engraved reception cards, 
 the dispersed fashionable elements which belong to 
 the respective ' sets ' of both parties. The ceremony 
 must not be without its tclat. The bridal presents, 
 disposed with a proper eye to our growing Repub- 
 lican magnificence, will make the talk of the bou- 
 doir and salon ; and the lace veil of the church, 
 and some manifest extravagances of dress, will give 
 chat material to gaping lookers-on, and the showy 
 finish to a ' City Item.' 
 
 And yet, Fritz, — such is the morale of our town — 
 you shall find that this very item eulogist, who will 
 panegyrize the splendor of the ceremony, the mag- 
 nificence of the dresses, the style of the equipages, 
 to purchase a familiar nod, or possibly an invita- 
 tion to a ' crush' of the winter, will, in his private 
 mood, vapor lustily against the town-worship of 
 wealth, and the bestiality of that appreciation 
 which measures everything by its capacity for dis- 
 play. Such is the sincerity and purpose of our cen- 
 
THE WORSHIP OF WEALTH. 207 
 
 sors of public taste ; bowing the Baal knee to every 
 manifestation of wealth, where the obeisance may 
 stand them in small stead, and loosening their pent- 
 up vanities only in the bar-rooms, and in the street, 
 against the wretched artificiality of our distinc- 
 tions. In private, they are cynics ; and in print, 
 the veriest lick-spittles of us all ! 
 
 G-od forbid, Fritz, that you in your luxurious 
 country quarters, should see in all this, a covert 
 sneer at wealth; in our country it must long be, 
 and properly is a great measurer of force ; and by 
 force, I mean character, talent, activity, and men- 
 tal leverage. It is the forerunner, too, of those com- 
 forts and that indulgence which give time and room 
 for cultivation ; it is the grand furnace-warmer of 
 those nursery-beds from which sprout up the trop- 
 ical crop of refined luxuries. But in Heaven's name, 
 let us honor it, for what it is, and not for what it is 
 not ; most of all, let us avoid that particular falla- 
 cy which sees in wealth the essence, and not the 
 provocative of refinement. 
 
 It would be invidious, as well as fill too much 
 space, to say how many in our town are essentially 
 and brutally vulgar, in the possession of ample for- 
 tune : how many are making brilliant show with 
 equipages and with coats-of-arms — listening with 
 fashionable earnestness to the hand-organ-like lee- 
 
208 THE LORGNETTE. 
 
 tures of Mr. Lord, and who are yet as ignorant of 
 Abelard as of modesty, and whose library books 
 are but painted backs. What would you say, too, 
 to foul crockery and cotton napkins, within a palace 
 of freestone, or to the vulgarity of that wealth, wilich 
 seeks only the outward and flagrant means of ad- 
 dressing the money-worshiping eye, and which is 
 satisfied with the stare and livery of ignorant coach- 
 men, as the most grateful incense to its deity, and 
 with the sickly mention of pamphleteers and news- 
 paper item, as the sweetest token of its honor? 
 
 It would be odious, too, to mention how much of 
 this very pabulum that feeds display, has been 
 gained by most deceptive practices — not, indeed, 
 coming within the court calendar of villanies, but 
 that worthier and more honorable list of chicane- 
 ries, which are too mean to have been anticipated 
 by law-givers, and which even our New Code men, 
 with all their quickness at littlenesses, did not be- 
 lieve the race to have been capable of. 
 
 To be sure, there is a hatred of wealth, due to the 
 smallest of our litterateurs, who boast of refinement 
 without possessing any trace of that fine soul-thread 
 of gentleness, running with every nerve, and which 
 constitutes the life-artery of thorough breeding. 
 This I will cordially join you in condemning, and 
 with G-od's help, will do what is in my power to 
 
MARRIAGE OF THE FASHIONABLE LADY. 209 
 
 dissipate that prurient affectation of superiority, 
 which the reading of current books, familiarity with 
 newspaper columns, and an unscholarly handling 
 of the pen induces — but which is without the sav- 
 ing virtue of that high and true soul-refinement, 
 which must lie deep-seated in the man — which 
 must have had its office in every step of his educa- 
 tion, and in every shadow of his action ; and which 
 will make his bearing and his words as unmistake- 
 able as the presence of genius. 
 
 But we are losing sight of our fashionable lady. 
 With marriage, her best life of show is only be- 
 gun. She can now run riot in a thousand friv- 
 olities without periling her chance. Her ambition, 
 which before may have been bounded by some 
 vague traditions of virginal delicacy, is now wide 
 in its range. Yet withal she will be punctilious in 
 her church duties ; she may even wear a matronly 
 air; and will be specially coy of manifesting any 
 vulgar attachment to her husband or household. 
 She is now mistress of her establishment, and it 
 will be the fault or failing of her husband's com- 
 merce, if it do not shine with all those attractions 
 which decoy the vagrant peacocks of the hour. 
 
 A little whispered license will add zest to her 
 company, and bring her sociale nearer to the 
 Parisian standard. Perhaps a European tour, by 
 
210 THE LORGNETTE. 
 
 post, a smuggled ticket to Torlonia's, ana a culti- 
 vated intimacy with such Paris society, as will wel- 
 come money, and will pay in the loose coin of social 
 teaching, and the piquant equivoques of conver- 
 sational intrigue, will open her eyes wider to the 
 mysteries and delights of higher fashion 
 
 Perhaps with some faint remnants of a better 
 feeling, tracing its beginnings to a comparatively 
 harmless childhood, she will sigh at the vanities 
 which surround her, and the deceptions which 
 mock the little sense of truth that remains ; # but 
 there is no escape ; the distinguished husband, the 
 leader of the ton, has got no ear for the foolish 
 confidences of a repining lady, or for the sharp- 
 uttered sentiments of disgust, which their common 
 life has ripened. She is bound by brazen bands to 
 a set — the first set — which has demands upon her, 
 unceasing and regular, for her quota of the stimuli 
 of fashionable action. 
 
 So she lives, staving off age long as she can, 
 with all the appliances of a quickened and nervously 
 unquiet ingenuity ; but time will press her, and 
 will, before long, strand her withered and colorless 
 hulk upon the beach of age ; her silken sails will flap 
 idly against the rotting spars, and will fill no long- 
 
 * The kind letter of a lady correspondent, apropos to this topic, is 
 thankfully acknowledged. John Timon presents his best compliments, 
 and will be happy to hear from her farther. 
 
THE FASHIONABLE DEATH. 211 
 
 cr under the breath of fashionable applause ; all 
 the kedges of her golden cables will not drag her 
 back to the stream of popular favor. 
 
 At length she dies ; she is buried by the gentle- 
 manly sexton, who has so ably superintended her 
 partiss ; she is honored, perhaps, with a patent 
 metallic sarcophagus, and goes — where ? 
 
 Where should she go (if it is not impertinent to 
 ask), to culminate that life which has had its care- 
 ful beginnings here ? Where shall she mature 
 those projects of town rank, those pretty polka de- 
 vices, those studies of street display, which have 
 been the aim of her mortal wishes ? I wonder if 
 the pretty light of the Grace Church windows will 
 reach high enough to light her, or the carriages at 
 the door be stanch enough to carry her, of them- 
 selves, all the way to heaven? The Devil, surely, 
 with all his malice, will not overlook the claims of 
 those who have been laboring through a long life 
 for a position in the ' first society ;' and he will, 
 without doubt, give invitations for the most re- 
 cherche of his evening parties, to very many of our 
 1 leaders of the ton.' 
 
 Seriously, Fritz, — what benevolence, what ra- 
 tional action, what generous self-denying endea- 
 vor, will help our fashionable lady toward that 
 species of future happiness which, however the 
 21 
 
212 THE LORGNETTE. 
 
 Doctors may disagree, is very sure not to be made up 
 precisely, of Forti's singing, or Saratoga Springs ? 
 Under which item of the ' Sermon on the Mount ' 
 shall we reckon her dawning chances? Upon 
 what text shall the Doctor preach her funeral 
 eulogy ? John Timon offers this from the Psalms ; — 
 (and if the Doctors were as honest as they are poli- 
 tic, they could not find a better) — ' They have 
 dreamed out their dream, and awakening, have 
 found nothing in their hands V 
 
 I leave it all, Fritz, the text, the woman, and 
 the 'improvement,' to the preacher ; — not the ele- 
 gant preacher of a fashionable assemblage, nor the 
 respectable preacher of a Presbyterian hierarchy, 
 nor the absolution of a political Bishop, nor the 
 moral novels of a seceding clergyman, but with the 
 best preacher of all — the individual conscience. 
 And if our fashionable lady has not smothered his 
 talk already, let her listen while she can. 
 
 This is uncommonly sober talk, my dear Fritz, 
 for an Opera-goer ; but, remember, that we are 
 breathing now in the breast of Lent ; and the 
 gray hairs, and the fleeting time warn me, that 
 such talk may not ' fall to the ground,' even in 
 the careless pages of a gossiping essayist. 
 
 Timon. 
 
APRIL 4, 
 
 NEW-YORK, 
 
 NO, 10, 
 
 " As in geometry, the oblique must be known, as well as the right ; 
 and in arithmetic, the odd as well as the even ; so in actions of life, who 
 seeth not the filthiness of evil, wanteth a great foil to perceive the beau- 
 ty of virtue." — Sir Philip Sidney. 
 
 " Mr. Timon: — I am astonished at you, my dear 
 sir ; why do you speak so harshly of the town la- 
 dies, and present them in so unfavorable lights ? 
 I have been all along a most excellent friend to 
 your paper, and have, time and again, defended 
 you against most merciless assaults ; but if you 
 do not speedily amend, and speak better of us, I 
 shall leave you to defend yourself. 
 " Yours indignantly, 
 
 "A Lady." 
 22 
 
214 THE LORGNETTE. 
 
 This little fragment of a letter touches me ten- 
 derly, and shall have a full and courteous notice ; 
 which, if it do not serve as vindication of my ac- 
 tion, will at least certify to my well-disposed cor- 
 respondent, the influence of her advices, and the 
 honesty of my disposition. 
 
 You, my dear Fritz, will I am sure be greatly 
 surprised to find me, who have been so long, and 
 untiringly the devoted friend, and admirer of the 
 gentler sex, suddenly become the object of their 
 frowns and animadversions. It is but poor remu- 
 neration, surely, for a life spent in devotional 
 exercises toward the reigning half of Christendom, 
 to find myself subjected to the imputation of 
 libelous assault, and to the most heinous of all 
 charges — that of lack of gallantry. When you 
 recall, Fritz, my Quixotic career, scattered over 
 as it has been, with innumerable hazards, and such 
 hair -breadth escapes, as would have done honor to 
 the hero of La Mancha, or Santillane, you will 
 smile to think that any should be hardy enough to 
 impugn the action of my maturer age, and to 
 credit to unworthy motives, those whimsical obser- 
 vations of mine, which are half made up of irony, 
 and half of covert praise. You will recognize the 
 apparent acerbity as only the occasional and de- 
 lirious excess of the fever of a life-long gallantry— 
 the accidental and interrupted lance-thrusts of an 
 
AN APOLOGY. 215 
 
 old knight who trembles in his stirrups, and whose 
 blow is rendered only the more uncertain by rea- 
 son of the warmth of his blood, and the ecstasy of 
 his admiration. 
 
 True regard does not gloss over errors in the 
 objects of its attachment, but rather by judicious 
 mention of such as appear, seeks to win them 
 away from their occasional sinnings, and make 
 them worthier of that respect which grows by 
 witness of reform, and which covets excellence. 
 
 I have spoken, it may be, somewhat harshly, 
 and in castigating humor (if such humor can be 
 predicated of a mild old gentleman's remark) of 
 many of the ways of the fashionable ladies of the 
 hour ; and if I have been a little extravagant, it 
 was only in the hope of frighting away from the 
 worst vanities of the town life, by exhibiting them 
 through the magnifying lenses of my glass. And 
 even supposing all to be real and unexaggerated, — 
 about which point I foresee that there will be much 
 difference of opinion, — yet I should in no whit 
 blame myself for the representation, but rather be 
 emboldened by the conviction, that I should still 
 possess the sympathies of those who suffer, the 
 compassion of those who are blinded, and the cor- 
 dial dislike of those who are guilty. Nor are the 
 times or opinions so corrupt, but that these should 
 
216 THE LORGNETTE. 
 
 prove very clever supports to any man who earnest- 
 ly seeks them. I know that I could sleep very 
 quietly upon them, and with a conscience l void 
 of offence.' 
 
 But have I a right, in remarking upon the un- 
 truth, and frivolities of the social life in the city, 
 to bear so hardly, and so pertinently upon the la- 
 dies of the town ? 
 
 Most unquestionably : and in saying this, I do 
 them honor ; — at least, such small honor as can be 
 reaped from the admission, that in energy, influence, 
 and activity, they are vastly before any of those 
 milliner gentry, calling themselves men, who affect 
 to set the rules, or to sway the fashions for our so- 
 cial guidance. Who, pray, transfers the spectacle 
 from the stage, to the boxes of our Opera ; who 
 sustains the drunken etiquette of the ball-room ; 
 who favors, by toleration, study, and practice, the 
 most questionable of the foreign polkas ; who 
 smiles upon the most needless of display, and 
 makes a parquette of pews ; who gives a boy-tone 
 to the salon-talk ; who fulminates the scandal, and 
 befriends the laced lacqueys ? "Who has translated 
 Mr. Browne — the new Enoch (not Una) — from the 
 funereal escutcheon of his undertaker's employ, to 
 the ' heaven of invention ' — invention of ball- 
 room tickets, and ball supplies; who has trans- 
 
RULE OF THE WOMEN. 217 
 
 murted thriving school-boys into rapt polkists ; who 
 is arranging our marriages for convenience, and our 
 houses for mere display ? Are not our town ladies 
 ordering these things to their own taste ; who else 
 is competent ? Will they not agree with me in 
 saying, that sensible men are not weak enough, 
 and that men without sense are not strong enough ? 
 
 We, in our country, Fritz, have long given a su- 
 premacy to the Eve section of the human family, 
 which has grown into a national characteristic. 
 We have become the troubadours, and knights 
 errant of the nineteenth century chivalry. It is an 
 American distinction. The rush and fever of business 
 which ' steeps to the ears ' nine out of ten of our 
 men, has indeed made the obeisance (the gallantry 
 if you please) a necessity ; nevertheless, it exists, 
 and is insisted on. Grynocracy, to use the nomen- 
 clature of a literary man, is the disorder of the 
 town; and the old anthropocracy (to humor the 
 critic's classical conceit) is known only to the 
 business alleys of the city. 
 
 Women are clearly responsible, then, for what- 
 ever abuses obtain in our social life. They fix 
 our hours of sleep, of eating, dancing, and wor- 
 ship. They make the rules of our receptions ; 
 they give the formulas for the interchange of hos- 
 pitalities ; they establish the ages of beaux and 
 22* 
 
218 THE LORGNETTE. 
 
 belles, upon a basis somewhat similar to Sir Robert 
 Peel's ' Sliding scale ;' they give a character to 
 our music and our polkas ; they rectify and sub- 
 limate our devotions. They give the cue, even, to 
 education, and point out the limits of mental at- 
 tainment. In most of these, and specially the 
 last, they are easy masters, not pushing us into 
 much erudition, nor wearying us with the imposi- 
 tion of much reading ; nevertheless, they are in all 
 that relates to the social intercourse of life, our 
 lawgivers and taskmasters. The old Italian prov- 
 erb, i Vuomini sono azioni ; le donne sono voci^ is 
 now reversed : women are deeds, and men, words. 
 
 If, then, we, their subordinates in these matters, 
 do sometimes suggest inquiry, or question action, 
 let them not take advantage of their superior posi- 
 tion to bear us down ignominiously, and silence us 
 by their frowns. Let them be generous as they 
 are strong ; and suffer a quiet gentleman to throw 
 out such observations as his enfeebled sense may 
 suggest, without condemning him altogether, and 
 putting him to the pillory of their critiques. 
 
 I do not at all mean to imply the necessary ill- 
 effects, or the unnaturalness of any such state of 
 lady-government. Social life, next to domestic 
 (about which it is unfashionable to talk in the 
 city), is the woman's proper province. The affec- 
 
LADY DESPOTISM. 219 
 
 tions and passions which belong to her, are its 
 arbiters. Without her ballot, the most refined are 
 outcasts, and with it, the most slavish are admis- 
 sible. Even our respected friend Mr. Browne owes 
 his adroitness only to a right judgment of her 
 whimseys, and by really humoring, while he seems 
 to advise. The gracious sexton is not unworthy 
 the title of his old namesake, Tom. Browne. 
 
 The ladies rate the standing of every in-coming 
 family, and discuss and arrange the chances of its 
 position. Mercantile connections, and all the club 
 favors of gentlemen, are nothing to the familiar 
 reception of an accredited lady. It is only neces- 
 sary for an aspirant after social distinction, to be 
 taken ' by the hand 5 of some notoriously well- 
 known lady, and presto, he finds himself transform- 
 ed, as quickly as the balls under a conjuror's cup, 
 from red to white, or from white to red. He may 
 woo, sigh, and grow faint of heart at the first, 
 without so much as the nod of a dowager's plume to 
 his earnest salutations ; but let him once have the 
 public recognition of an umpire of the taste, and his 
 rusticity will grow into an eccentric refinement, 
 and he will be the mark for a multidude of favors 
 from the ' middlings,' and of smiles from the well- 
 taught. 
 
 Even John Timon has to avow his gratitude 
 
220 THE LORGNETTE. 
 
 to those who have extended to him the helping 
 hand, and who, notwithstanding the sneers of the 
 Journals, have introduced his paper to the favor of 
 elegant society ; (and this, surely, not because I 
 have tickled their vanity !) It takes off certainly, 
 not a little from the face of the compliment, to 
 know that the most gauche, and splay-footed of 
 cockneys have been set up in the same way, and 
 that the character of those who get the accolade of 
 fellowship is not of so much importance, as their 
 bearing upon the boudoir tattle. What is talked 
 of, must be known. 
 
 And this brings me, Fritz, to a most ungracious 
 branch of my subject ; not only are our town 
 ladies the arbiters of all social form, (as indeed they 
 properly should be,) but they are also gifted by 
 nature with a certain happy love of display ; nor 
 has nature in this regard been improvidently left 
 to neglect, but has shot up, under judicious cul- 
 ture, into a yearning after distinctions, and a ripe- 
 ness of vanity, as much superior to that of men, as 
 to that of beasts. In this, too, they maintain their 
 established eminence ; with the worse sort, it 
 breeds the mercenary loves, the winks at vulgarity 
 and ignorance ; and with the better, it creates 
 tolerance for manifest extravagances, and an easy 
 conscience under the coming reign of surplice, and 
 
LADY DEMOCRACY. 221 
 
 confessional, and the prettiest ceremonials of im- 
 ported Romanism. This has set the heraldic 
 panels to our carriages ; this has tricked our coach- 
 men in liveries; and this is making our children 
 reverent of courtly display. 
 
 Town ladies make very poor democrats. They 
 are not tending toward any Greeley philosophy of 
 equality, but are cutting us up into sets, which, if 
 their theories mature, will ripen into aristocratic 
 castes. I do not mean to hint, Fritz, that I am a 
 believer in any Proudhonic system of social democ- 
 racy, or that superior refinement will not always 
 make itself distinct by elevation, as surely and as 
 unconsciously as Saturn burns brighter than the 
 smallest of the asteroids. But this token of superi- 
 ority is not reckoned in the schedule of our modes ; 
 we fetch over instead such poor pickings from the 
 wardrobe of foreign rank, as will serve the vanities 
 of wealth, and not offend too openly the hurly- 
 burly vanity of the street. Exclusion is a far better 
 security for eminence than cultivation. Let me 
 throw it out, then, to the ladies, who have the power 
 in their hands (though it may seem like a bit of 
 stolidity, and mock seriousness,) — if it is not better 
 after all, to cultivate the dignity of the Roman 
 matron, or the fidelity of the Spartan mother, 
 though they were not crowned with jewels, than to 
 
222 THE LORGNETTE. 
 
 study, and ape those brilliancies, which made the 
 honor of a Maintenon, and the virtue of a De 
 l'Enclos? 
 
 The Journalists may vapor as they will, and the 
 clergy talk milk-and-water regrets, spreading their 
 sanctimonious admonitions softly on the heads of 
 respectable churches ; yet if the women, in whoso 
 hands the matter lies, do not waken their action, 
 while they gild their creeds, admonitions and 
 vapors will prove but waste wind. If the ladies of 
 ton will doat on boobies in their teens, they may 
 rest assured that the town will continue to furnish 
 an unfailing supply ; if they will glory in gorgeous- 
 ness of equipage, the saddle men will thrive ; if 
 their conversation lowers itself to the capacity of 
 school-boys, they will always be sure of devout 
 listeners ; if belleship is measured by polking ; and 
 refinement by opera-going, and blarney about Be- 
 nedetti, there will never be lack of belles, and never 
 a short cross of refinement. Honors are easily 
 worn which cost nothing in the getting ; and that 
 cultivation will be easily sustained, whose only proof 
 and issue is a noisy claim of possession. Ridiculous 
 assumptions, and foolish foppery will never expire, 
 while they have the tender fondling of lady- 
 mothers. 
 
 The merchant might be content with his prince- 
 
THE CITY HOME. 223 
 
 ly mansion, comfortably garnished with all the ap- 
 pliances for bed, books, and board ; but the lady 
 must astonish her opposite neighbors, by the mag- 
 nificence of her curtains, and must ransack Marley's 
 or Baudouine, for some bit of furniture more outre 
 than any in the possession of her very dear friend 
 Madame Somebody else. The husband might pos- 
 sibly be contented with moderate festivity among his 
 friends ; but our Juno of the salon snubs her much 
 attached Jove, and distresses him with a houseful 
 of curiously-gathered lions. The father might be 
 satisfied with a wholesome education for his daugh- 
 ter, throwing out the newest of the polkas, and the 
 making of sonnets ; but the Mamma overrules, 
 and encourages cultivation by the most modern of 
 the dances, perseverance by the latest of the hours, 
 and humility by the lowest of the low-necked 
 dresses. The ' old gentleman' might keep his son 
 at study until he is firm upon his legs, and show 
 some signs of beard ; but our elegant lady must 
 push him early at Saracco's, and gratify her mother- 
 ly ambition with his proficiency in the ball-room, 
 and by the professional praises of Mr. Browne. 
 
 The husband, poor fellow, might have some taste 
 for what used to be called domestication, with his 
 hopeful son, and his polking daughter, at his side ; 
 but the concepts, operas, balls, and Broadway 
 
21\ THE LORGNETTE. 
 
 promenades have arranged it for him otherwise ; if 
 he admires, he must admire where they most study- 
 to be admired ; and if he rebels, lie will very likely 
 be compelled to bury his rebellion at the club, and 
 cheer himself with a cigar, and the yesterday's 
 papers. He will have no more hand in forming the 
 tastes or character of his daughter, than our hero 
 Martel, or the most assiduous of the polka 
 dancers. 
 
 And here, Fritz, I come upon another topic, 
 which it will be ungrateful to handle. Womanly 
 eminence in our day and town is turned away 
 from the hearth, and runs riot in the streets. 
 What lady can be found so silly as to aspire to the 
 distinction of being a good housekeeper, affectionate 
 mother, or tender wife ? What one, so short- 
 sighted as not to sigh for the reputation of showing 
 the latest modes, of appreciating the most worth- 
 less opera, or of driving the most stylish equi- 
 page ? 
 
 Praise is no longer looked for at home, but in the 
 world. Merit is reckoned by the club-room babble 
 and the newspaper ' item.' Contempt of less things 
 grows naturally upon the love of the greater and 
 noisier. Dash is worth more than virtue ; town- 
 talk is better than the commendation of a friend. 
 To achieve position in a set, where the position 
 
THE LEADERS OF TON. 225 
 
 shall have public recognition , is an aim dearer to 
 hundreds of our hopeful ladies, than any domestic 
 and worthy nobility. The old-fashioned notion 
 that a woman's throne might be built up highest 
 at home is exploded ; publicity is the testimony to 
 her honcr, and the end of her ambition. The 
 Lucretias are growing rare, while the Tarquins are 
 thickening. The Lares are transplanted from the 
 fireside, and are set up, like the painted images in 
 Papal Switzerland, at the shop windows, and 
 street corners. The only vestal fire to be heard of, 
 is in the blaze of the opera chandelier. 
 
 Our ' leaders of ton' do not care so much to please, 
 as to astonish, and had rather bewilder by the mul- 
 tiplication of etiquette, than attract by its sim- 
 plicity. John Timon takes the liberty of telling 
 them, that in this they steer as wide of good 
 breeding as of kind intent. Mackenzie says, some- 
 where — ' A great man may perhaps be well-bred 
 in a manner which little people do not understand ; 
 but trust me, he is a greater man who is well-bred 
 in a manner that everybody understands.' 
 
 What do we derive from all this, Fritz ? First, 
 
 that the ladies of our town have the control of our 
 
 social life ; second, that their native vanity is not 
 
 shocked at the consciousness of the power ; and 
 
 third, that that vanity is unfortunately wedded to a 
 23 
 
226 THE LORGNETTE. 
 
 publicity that braves modesty, begets scandal, and 
 beggars morals. 
 
 Nor shall I allow myself to be condemned for 
 this judgment, without bringing testimony for its 
 support ; and such testimony can surely be found 
 in this letter which has come to hand within the 
 week past, and in which I waive the equivocal 
 compliment its author has paid me, for the truth 
 and sincerity of the subject matter. 
 
 Mr. Timon : 
 
 Dear Sir, — I do not know but a serious letter 
 will be out of place amid the ironical talk, and 
 only half-earnest tone of your paper ; at any rate, 
 I have determined to tell you what I think and 
 feel — a thing I scarce ever do even to my husband. 
 For I have been married, you must know, nearly 
 three years ; and for the last seven years we have 
 been trying (my Mamma and I) to c get up' in 
 New York society. And now (Papa got rich four 
 years ago last May) we have done it. 
 
 At first we had a small house in Thompson street, 
 and I took lessons from Signor Piccolino twice a 
 week on the guitar : I learned French at school. 
 Mamma was very kind to the girls of ' good fami- 
 lies ' who went to our school, and used to ask them 
 to come and take tea with me. Mamma always 
 
A LADY'S LETTER. 227 
 
 hired a new carriage at the stable near us, and 
 told me not to take one with a number on it. 
 
 As Papa got richer we moved into Bleecker 
 
 street, only two doors from Mrs. , who was of 
 
 the ' first set.' We patronized her butcher, and 
 used to ask the baker's boy what cakes and bread 
 she took in. We studied her style of dress, and 
 commenced walking Broadway. Papa changed 
 my teacher, and got one for a higher price, though 
 he was not so good as the other. We got a hand- 
 some Grerman to teach me music, and I used to 
 read Willis' poems, and Tupper's Philosophy : I 
 got some of Willis' poems by heart, and they are 
 sweet; so is Tupper. 
 
 We had little soirees now and then : at first there 
 were hardly any gentlemen but papa's clerks, and 
 cousin Dick, whom he would invite, though mam- 
 ma didn't wish to. I took private lessons in polk- 
 ing, and used to get cousin Dick to come in morn- 
 ings and practice with me. Papa got occasionally 
 upon the committee for some public dinner, and 
 mamma kept the paper that contained the account 
 lying about handy. 
 
 We commenced soon making calls, and got on 
 very well, though some of them were never return- 
 ed ; of course we cut them afterward. I liked read- 
 ing pretty well, but couldn't get any time. Mam- 
 
228 THE LORGNETTE. 
 
 ma told me not to waste my study on what was 
 never talked of, and now since we take the Home 
 Journal she says there's no excuse for not knowing 
 just what to read. 
 
 We got some nice gentlemen to call on us after 
 we had been in Bleecker street awhile : mamma 
 flattered them, and papa gave them cigars when 
 they went away. They didn't do much as I could 
 learn, but were members of the club, and used to 
 dance — oh — exquisitely. We dressed finely, and 
 got to be friends with Miss Lawson : mamma talked 
 about a carriage, but papa thought it would be 
 better to get on 'by degrees.' 
 
 Pretty soon we moved up town and set up a 
 carriage in earnest. I got new teachers, and paid 
 them more than ever. We went to Saratoga, and 
 my dress at the fancy ball was praised in all the 
 papers. I couldn't walk down Broadway between 
 three and four without getting twenty bows. Papa 
 was very rich, and mamma began to be invited all 
 about. We kept a man-servant, and had him 
 wear white gloves at dinner parties, and on recep- 
 tion days. I purchased of Mr. Crowen some beau- 
 tiful books for the centre-table, and everybody said 
 we were getting to be fashionable. Mamma would 
 smile and say ; oh no,' and, perhaps, say some hard 
 things about fashionable people, as if they were 
 
THE LADY'S TRAVEL. 229 
 
 not worth knowing, but she never meant them; 
 and I, for my part, never said them. I forgot to 
 tell you that we took a box at the Opera, and 
 bought a half dozen lorgnettes. Our carriage was 
 a pretty one, and our coachman wore — oh — ever so 
 many capes. 
 
 I could get on very well in French, and had be- 
 gun to get a little Italian, so that I could read with 
 a dictionary a little of the Promessi Sposi. Still 
 there were some sets we couldn't get into. Mam- 
 ma thought it would be best to go to Europe ; so 
 we went. We traveled post all over the Continent. 
 We made up a party at Rome with some titled 
 people to go and see the Vatican statuary at night ; 
 and papa paid for all the torches. Little Clark 
 got us into Torlonia's great ball; and at Naples 
 we had splendid rooms at the Victoria, looking 
 out on the Villa Reale. 
 
 I learned Italian as fast as I could, and bought 
 lots of tortoise-shell, and lava ornaments, to give 
 away when I came back. 
 
 Well, we spent two years so, and then came 
 home. Papa gave grand dinner parties, and I be- 
 lieve our return was mentioned in the Express, 
 and papa subscribed for the paper. We went to all 
 the balls, and looked so ' knowing' at the Opera. 
 
 The gentlemen came to see me, and I had ever 
 23* 
 
230 THE LORGNETTE 
 
 so many flirtations : until one day mamma said 
 I had better get married. You must not expect 
 me to tell you if any of those we chose, ' played 
 off:' it is enough to say that at length one, a pretty 
 man, of good family, but without much money, 
 was married to me. 
 
 It was very gay at the first ; and ' the family ' 
 were very kind ; and mamma said I might consider 
 myself among the l ton. 5 I dare say I am, but it 
 don't seem such a great thing, after all. 
 
 And what is worse, everybody knows me, and all 
 about our history. Husband says he don't like 
 Tupper's Philosophy, so that I can't entertain him 
 with books. And he don't speak French very 
 easily, so we can't practice together ; and when I 
 ask him to dance, he says ' Pshaw ! you are a sim- 
 pleton!' yet he always dances with the married 
 ladies at the balls. Mamma visits us occasionally 
 to look over the card-basket, and tell me what a 
 fine establishment I have got ; and the clergyman 
 comes, and says I ought to be very happy ; and I 
 suppose I ought ; though somehow I am not. 
 
 It does seem to me that this sort of life is not, 
 after all, very satisfying. To be sure it's very silly, 
 but I cry sometimes. In Lent especially it was 
 very dull ; husband at the club, and no parties. 
 
 Can't you tell me, Mr. Timon, now that I have 
 
THE B0ST0N1AX. 231 
 
 been so honest with you, how I can amuse myself? 
 Pray do, and if you choose you may print my let- 
 ter, but don't let any one see the hand-writing. 
 Truly yours, Amanda Miggs nee Diggs. 
 
 P.S. — My papa is getting up in the world : he is 
 just building a long block, which he means to call 
 Fitz-Diggs Block. Sweet name, isn't it ? 
 
 I know not how to give advice on so serious a 
 matter as my correspondent has here broached, 
 without a more attentive consideration than I am 
 now able to bestow. She may rest assured, how- 
 ever, that the subject shall not pass from my mind 
 without mature reflection, and such attention from 
 the Lorgnette as its importance demands. 
 
 THE BOSTONIAN. 
 
 " Cogitations hominum sequntur plerunque inclinations suas ; ser* 
 mones autem, doctrinas et opiniovs, quas imbiberunt ; At Facta eorum 
 ferme antiquum obtinent. " — Lord Bacon. 
 
 It takes a vast deal to drive a man's habit or his 
 nature out of him ; the English philosopher says 
 as much in his quaint Latinity. From this it fol- 
 lows, my dear Fritz, that all you see in New York 
 are not New Yorkers. Neither tailors, nor hair- 
 
232 THE LORGNETTE. 
 
 dressers, nor the club-talk, can so transform a man 
 but that you shall see in him the lees of the ancient. 
 Indeed, between the Hotels, the Opera-house, and 
 the street, our town is not a bad point from which 
 to study the characteristics of the nation. 
 
 The people of the Town are not destitute of a 
 modicum of charity, and look with feelings of 
 proper Christian benevolence upon all strangers, of 
 whatever cut ; while at the same time they wear 
 an air of what seems most natural and unconscious 
 superiority. But I observe that this is so carefully 
 concealed, that the greater part of strangers, espe- 
 cially those from the neighbor cities, do not see it 
 at all ; and are apt to flatter themselves into the 
 belief that they are passing current in the street 
 throng, as indigenous and unadulterated specimens 
 Indeed, none but a Bostonian would ever resent 
 being taken for a New Yorker ; and so carefully do 
 they of the sister city guard their identity by dress, 
 action, and speech, that none but the most careless 
 observer would ever affront them with the charge. 
 
 The Bostonian is strongly impressed with the 
 idea that his city is the particular nucleus of all 
 that there is great on this side of the Atlantic. He 
 looks upon other American towns as small planet- 
 ary bodies revolving about the centre of Boston 
 Common, and deriving most of their light, heat, 
 
. sy?^ 
 
 THE BOSTONIAN 
 
THE BOSTONIAN. 233 
 
 and strength from Cambridge University, Faneuil 
 Hall, and Boston Harbor. He affects a wonderful 
 degree of kinship with the English ; and keeps 
 up the connection by sharp shirt collars, short- 
 waisted coats, and yellow gaiters. He is apt to 
 put himself upon English stilts to look down upon 
 the rest of the American world, which he regards 
 complacently through an English eye-glass. He 
 does not so much pity the rest of the American 
 world, as he patronizes and encourages. His liter- 
 ary tastes being formed in the focus of western 
 learning, are naturally correct and profound. He 
 squats himself upon the Boston formulas of judg- 
 ment, from which nothing can shake him, and puts 
 out his feelers of opinion, as you may have seen a 
 lazy, bottle-tailed bug try his whereabouts, without 
 once stirring, by means of his glutinous and many- 
 jointed antennae. 
 
 He likes to try you in discussion, in the course 
 of which it will be next to impossible to tell him 
 anything that he did not previously know ; and you 
 will prove a rare exception, if he does not 
 tell you many things that you never knew be- 
 fore — unless, indeed, you have been in Boston. 
 His stock of praises is uncommonly small, and 
 principally reserved for home consumption ; things 
 are done welly only in Boston ; though they are 
 
234 THE LORGNETTE 
 
 sometimes creditably done in other parts of the 
 world. 
 
 His superiority in arts, letters, science, and re- 
 ligion, of which he will endeavor strenuously to 
 convince one, is attributable partially to education, 
 but mainly to his being a Bostonian. Whatever 
 idea, or system of ideas, whether in politics, arts, 
 or literature, which had not its beginning, or has 
 not had its naturalization in Boston, is a fungous 
 growth upon the great body of American opinion, 
 which must of necessity wither and perish. 
 
 The Bostonian entertains the somewhat singular 
 notion that whatever he has never observed, is not 
 worth observing ; and that the very few matters 
 of fact and fancy scattered about the country, 
 which are unbeknown to Bostonians, are not worth 
 their knowing. This gives him under all ordinary 
 circumstances a self-possession, and dignity of ad- 
 dress which is quite remarkable. He does not 
 conceive it possible that classical scholarship should 
 thrive at all, out of sight of the belfry of the old 
 South Church ; and such chance citations from 
 classic authors, as may appear on pages printed in 
 other parts of the country, he considers filched in 
 some way out of Boston books. He regards all 
 those making any profession of learning, out of his 
 own limits, very much as an under pedagogue will 
 
THE BOSTONIAN. 235 
 
 eye a promising boy of the ' first form ' who occa- 
 sionally hears recitations. 
 
 He plumes himself specially on his precision and 
 exactness ; you will never see a Bostonian with the 
 lower button of his waistcoat uncaught, and he is 
 uniformly punctual to his dinner hour. Vivacity 
 he condemns from principle — and the best of all 
 principle, which is — Boston principle. Even in 
 religion, he does not recognize the hot zeal of earn- 
 est intention, nor does he run toward the lusts of 
 ceremonial. He is coy to acknowledge even the 
 personnel of a Divine Mediation ; his dignity does 
 not like to admit a superior between himself and 
 the Highest. The comparative chilliness of the 
 Unitarian faith suits the evenness of his temper ; 
 and when he casts loose from this unique doctrine, 
 which is to many a pure and holy faith, he runs 
 inevitably into the iciness of Pantheism. 
 
 In politics he is Bostonian. He speaks lightly of 
 the French, and of French Republicanism, and 
 indeed of most sorts of Republicanism which are 
 not reducible immediately or remotely to Boston 
 Republicanism. He has a very tender charity, too, 
 for the gross legal tyranny of his ancestral Eng- 
 lish ; and such of his sympathies as ramify be- 
 yond his Pontine marshes, or the Roxbury plains, 
 
2SG THE LORGNETTE. 
 
 clasp stoutly round the mosses and blotches of 
 the royal oak of Britain. 
 
 In manners he is true to his faith ; he walks 
 stiffly, dances stiffly, and bows stiffly. Like the 
 Englishman, he assimilates little with those among 
 whom he may chance to fall : he guards his in- 
 tegrity by exception. His idea of elegance centres 
 in precision ; and the ease that he possesses is 
 never more than familiarity. He is, like the Vir- 
 ginian, usually of an 'old family;' whoever heard 
 of any other sort of families in the Old Dominion, 
 or the ' Cradle of Liberty' ? 
 
 The Bostonian sneers at the riff-raff of New York 
 society, and will sometimes put a clever edge upon 
 his sneers. He is the favorite of such ladies as 
 love bookish talk, and who will not worry at an 
 awkward polka. He is quicker at a bargain than 
 a waltz, and he counts his town-talent a fair offset 
 to the money and the graces of our belles. A lui 
 le talent, — anos femmes la fortune ; tout cela peut 
 se marier. He reads the Boston Atlas, and Boston 
 books ; he sighs for Boston Common ; and lunches 
 on Boston crackers. 
 
 All this, it must be understood, my dear Fritz, is 
 predicated upon such stray specimens as may be 
 seen here and there wandering down our streets, 
 or adorning the corners, at our balls. That there 
 
THE BOSTONIAN 2J? 
 
 is very much worthiness, that is here unnoted, about 
 the race which belongs to Boston, the world knows. 
 And if I were to make a particularity that should 
 have its point, I would say that the admirable 
 police, and municipal regulations of the sister city, 
 its well-ordered pavements and well-swept streets, 
 are worthy of all commendation, and much copy. 
 And the Bostonian may well boast, that while our 
 City Fathers are lazily drinking their tea in sight 
 of our city desolation, that snug Eastern Seaport is 
 gaining upon us by forced marches in all the com- 
 moner and most comfortable types of an advanced 
 civilization. 
 
 As for the vagrant Bostonian, with whom I began, 
 and who brings his doctrinas, and his antiquum 
 with him, it is sincerely to be hoped that he will 
 in time fall away from the greatness of his unbelief; 
 and be willing to credit that eyes, heart, tongue, 
 and brain have been mercifully vouchsafed to 
 people in various parts of the world, by the same 
 kind Providence which has so overstocked Boston 
 Town. 
 
 Timon. 
 
 24 
 
APRIL 11. 
 
 NEW-YORK, 
 
 NO, 11. 
 
 " Dans le siecle ou nous soinmes 
 On ne donne rien pour rien." — Moliere. 
 
 Gtil Blas, before he was more than a day's jour- 
 ney away from Oviedo, fell in with a very com- 
 mon sort of personage, who wore a long rapier and 
 a ready tongue ; and who was so lavish of his 
 praises as to win the best half of the traveler's 
 omelette and a capital trout to his supper. I am 
 inclined to think our town public not very unlike 
 the thriving hero of Le Sage ; and that a stranger 
 cannot ordinarily hit upon a better method of win- 
 ning his suppers, or an omelette, than by rankly 
 dubbing our city an c Eighth wonder of the world.' 
 But the truth is, that between sarsaparillas, pills, 
 25 
 
240 THE LORGNETTE. 
 
 lectures, and new books, the town is so cram full of 
 puffery and praises, that I have not thought it 
 worth my while to follow in the same track of 
 senseless encomium. It has become even more 
 vulgar than it was on the lips of the toady of Pcna- 
 flor : and from having been a tribute paid by the 
 world on days of dividend, it has become a part of 
 the small coin of social interchange : as Swift says, 
 ' the trouble of collecting it from the world was 
 too great, and the moderns have, therefore, bought 
 out the fee-simple, ' 
 
 Thus, though I may have lost my suppers of 
 trout, and present favor, I trust that I may come 
 in by-and-by for a little moderate good-will, and 
 like Burchell, in the Vicar of Wakefield, who said 
 i fudge ' at all the talk in the Primrose family, I 
 shall hope at the end to be credited a disinterested 
 purpose, and win a more thorough regard than any 
 of the young Squire Thornhills, who are so lavish 
 of their compliments, but who use them only to 
 seduce innocence, or to feed an overweening vanity. 
 The reader will remember, too, that the enthusiasm 
 of the old visitor at the Vicar's frequently led him 
 into harshness of expression, of which the sting was 
 only removed when it was found, on longer ac- 
 quaintance, that his love of honesty, and detesta- 
 tion of all manner of chicane, was but the prompter 
 
THE TOWN CHARITIES. 241 
 
 to his severity. May I not hope likewise, notwith- 
 standing my neglect of praise, a little of that return 
 which in the end made glad the philanthropic 
 Burchell? 
 
 It is by no means from lack of subject that I 
 have foresworn praises ; indeed, they abound. 
 Leaving private life, and the gayety of our salons, 
 where enough of modesty, of womanly refinement, 
 and delicacy are still exhibited, to counterbalance 
 the persiflage of ignorant intruders, and the bold- 
 ness of such as make unmaidenly display their ob- 
 ject, — I might turn to the chapter of the public 
 charities, and show you a whole town earnest to 
 assist, in their distresses, those poor families who 
 but a little while ago were so cruelly shattered by 
 the wreck in Hague street. I might point to a 
 score of monuments of both public and private 
 munificence ; I might note the open cordiality with 
 which the stranger is received and welcomed : and 
 the statesman, or benefactor, feted and applauded. 
 But of this there is no need : and even were it 
 needful, I am utterly supplanted : the monopoly of 
 such work has been long ago assigned over by com- 
 mon consent to occasional orators, speakers at pub- 
 lic dinners, town journals, lady dancers, and Opera 
 managers. 
 
 It is, indeed, not a little odious, and sometimes 
 
242 THE LORGNETTE. 
 
 painful, to find myself almost alone, if not worse 
 than alone, among those who represent the harsher 
 aspects of the town-life, its unmeaning parade, and 
 its senseless, social habitudes : but I console myself 
 with the reflection that not a few, and those worthy 
 of most devoted regard, will see underlying all 
 the irony and animadversion, enough of an honest 
 purpose and a true humanity, to redeem my char- 
 acter. Were it not so, Fritz, I would long ago 
 have thrown down my pen in despair, and looked 
 as idly as the idlest upon the shifting currents of 
 our town-life. 
 
 COUNTRY STRANGERS 
 
 " Nor would I, you should melt away yourself 
 In flashing bravery, lest while you affect 
 To make a blaze of gentry to the world, 
 A little puff of scorn extinguish it. 
 I'd ha you sober, and contain yourself, 
 Not that the sail be bigger than the boat." 
 
 Every Man in his Humor. Act 1, Sc. 1. 
 
 I have already given you a glimpse of the Bos- 
 tonian, but he is not the only one among the 
 strangers in our town who is deserving of particu- 
 lar mention. The Philadelphian is apt to fancy 
 himself every whit as good as the Bostonian, and 
 much better than the New Yorker. He prides 
 himself overmuch upon the cut of his clothes, and 
 until within a few years it was currently under- 
 
THE COUNTRY STRANGERS. 243 
 
 stood that the tailor craft in the Quaker city, was 
 vastly superior to anything this side of the French 
 capital ; but I very much fear that they are losing 
 ground in this particular, and can now no more 
 compare their heroes of the needle with our Piercie 
 Shaftons, than their Fairmount with the Croton, or 
 Laurel Hill with Greenwood. Still, the Philadel- 
 phian has his claims to superiority ; and though he 
 does not boast now of a United States Bank, or 
 Nicholas Biddle, he makes up by talk about the 
 Grirard College and Liberty Hall : he is eminently 
 fond of the fancied European aspect of his streets : 
 and whoever has talked with a stray Philadelphian 
 without hearing somewhat of the charms of Chest- 
 nut street, must needs have been ' hard of hearing.' 
 At dinner he is not a little disposed to speak mod- 
 estly of the treasures of his market— its poultry, 
 fruit, and eggs ; nor does the Philadelphia lady 
 once admit that our haberdashers display anything 
 like so tasty a stock, as may be found at Levy's. 
 
 The Philadelphian enjoys, moreover, the con- 
 sideration — -though he forbears to urge it, and though 
 he lives in the city of brotherly love — of belonging to 
 a population capable of more mob enthusiasm, than 
 any out of sight of the hills which overtop Lyons 
 upon the Rhone. Following upon this quality, 
 
 though how intimately associated with it I do not 
 
 25* 
 
5s M THE LORGNETTE. 
 
 know, is his boast of the superior culture in Phila- 
 delphia society : and one might safely imagine from 
 his conversation — using it in way of testimony, 
 and not as sample — that the erudition and polish 
 of a Philadelphia salon was something very hard 
 to be found, beyond the sound of the trickle of 
 Fair mount. 
 
 He would make it appear that money has little 
 chance in his city, against the predominating influ- 
 ence of refinement and breeding; and he will point 
 out to you our grocer's daughter swimming through 
 the mazes of the waltz in the top circles of the town, 
 as an impropriety that would quite shock the sensi- 
 bilities of the tonnish ladies upon the Schuylkill. 
 I find, however, that like the phlegmatic Bostonian, 
 he is not insensible to the graces of such parvenus ; 
 and that, whether amorous of the money, or the 
 figure, he is quite content to carry her off to his 
 city, hush up her origin, and engraft upon her 
 humble stock the elegancies of his elevated life. 
 Of course, she thus loses every vulgar taint, and 
 like the knotted dwarf stocks, on which the Bur- 
 lington gardeners set their Flemish scions, is 
 quite lost under the luxuriant foliage of the new 
 growth. 
 
 The Philadelphians are adepts in whatever re- 
 lates to hair-dye, gloves, or perfumery ; and you 
 
THE PHILADELPHIAN. 245 
 
 will be able in four instances out of five to detect 
 the visitor from that city, either by the dressing of 
 his hair, the color of his gloves, or the scent of his 
 trail. You will find his locks most skillfully laid 
 apart, and rounded up over his ears as daintily as 
 on the wig-blocks in Chestnut street ; while one 
 of our New York clubmen shall show in his back- 
 hair, such a bristly and agonized parting, as 
 would shock the worst bred North country buck, in 
 the Assize-room of York. 
 
 The Philadelphian, too, cultivates a gentleness 
 and softness of manner, which proves quite taking 
 with our romantic school-girls ; and singular as it 
 may seem, he will preserve this softness and deli- 
 cacy up to an advanced age : even the lawyers 
 are fond of genteel pleas, and the doctors, though 
 given marvelously to blood-letting, practice with 
 the softest handling, on the softest pulses in the 
 world. 
 
 The Washington ian sometimes wanders to our 
 city, though never unmindful of his majestic 
 Potomac, and magnificent Capitol. He contrasts, 
 much to our loss, the unpretending Broadway with 
 the siveep* of his Pennsylvania Avenue. There is 
 
 * Those who have seen Washington under a high wind in dry weather 
 will see a reason in the italics ; those who have not, will please restore 
 the Roman character, and pass on. 
 
246 THE LORGNETTE. 
 
 no great peculiarity to distinguish him, unless it 
 be a certain careless independence, as if he were, 
 by virtue of his position, a supervisor of the nation. 
 His dress and manner are of a mixed sort, being 
 picked up from such vagabond tailors and hair- 
 dressers as have taken refuge in the District — set 
 off with careless imitation of Sir Henry Bulwer's 
 hat or whiskers, and an assumption of the pretty 
 off-hand airs of an Ambassador's Clerk. 
 
 The ladies would be even less distinguishable, 
 were it not for an extraordinary air of boldness, 
 which thrives excellently well in our Metropolis. 
 For dress, they adopt with no little tact, such fash- 
 ions of the New York or Philadelphia beauties as 
 suit their style ; and for self-possession, and readi- 
 ness of speech, I think they may be safely matched 
 against any lady that smiles. Indeed, I do not know 
 a better cure for maidenly diffidence — not that it 
 is a common failing in our town — than a two 
 months' residence at Washington. 
 
 From time to time, a Member who has decamp- 
 ed, may be seen in our streets, wearing in an impor- 
 tant way the honors of his position ; and looking 
 out upon our city as only one among his numerous 
 constituencies. He is, perhaps, a little surprised 
 that his appearance does not create a stir ; more 
 especially as his arrival has been announced in 
 
THE WASHINGTONIAN. 247 
 
 the Express, and if a slave-holder — possibly in the 
 Herald. It is matter very likely of some astonish- 
 ment that the dinner invitations do not flow in 
 upon him by dozens ; and that the street-passers 
 are so very ignorant as they appear to be, of 
 what manner of man is among them. Nor will 
 the Member cut a much more important figure in 
 the ball-room, than in the street. In the dance, 
 which he cannot in New York as in Washington 
 avoid, he will find his stiff ungainliness no match 
 for the little pliant fellows who are fresh from their 
 Saracco lessons ; and his political talk and careless 
 toilette will be speedily thrust in a corner, or si- 
 lenced with the sop of ecarte. Let him win fame, or 
 fight a duel, and he shall dance ' fit for a Duke ;' 
 and he shall kiss in public or private, by proxy or 
 otherwise, half the ladies of the town. 
 
 Some limbs of the army or navy, will from time 
 to time excite quite a furor among our street- 
 walkers, and will carry a flippant, assured manner 
 that puts them entirely out of the reach of ordinary 
 civilians. They are said, however, to be respect- 
 able, harmless fellows in their way, and quite 
 comfortable companions at a supper, or a quiet 
 rubber of whist. 
 
 Here and there about the hotels, you will see 
 gentlemen of very important aspect, who cannot 
 
243 THE LORGNETTE. 
 
 conceal their surprise, that everybody is not taking 
 note of their bigness ; whereas very few, not even 
 the head porter or newspaper boys, are aware of 
 their importance. They are the judges, or great 
 men of country towns, excessively admired and 
 honored in their own parish, renting the most con- 
 spicuous pew in their country church, and possibly 
 keeping the best gig and brown mare in the whole 
 township. Probably they have little properties, 
 which pass with their humble neighbors as ' estates ;' 
 but they do not figure largely in our town. It does 
 not occur to their embarrassed perceptions, that 
 amid a population of half a million, all bent on 
 their own affairs, the chances of the great man of a 
 small town, for making a stir by his entree, are, to 
 say the least, very problematical. He should not 
 take it too much to heart, if the passers-by do not 
 dock their hats to him, or if his name is omitted 
 from the personal movements of the Express. 
 
 I really entertain serious pity for such mis- 
 guided gentlemen ; — most of all at table, where 
 their loud tones, dignified carriage, and patronizing 
 looks thrown to their opposite neighbors, would 
 seem to merit a larger share of consideration than 
 they ever receive. Bat I am consoled with believing 
 that, if not admired, their own sense of dignity 
 does not at all flag ; and they are sustained by a 
 
THE WESTERNER, 249 
 
 self-approval that is never at fault, and never weary 
 of working, 
 
 Stout youngsters, too, from western cities, per- 
 haps making first purchases on their own account, 
 are quite disposed to carry off a good many of the 
 street honors of the town ; and have evidently pre- 
 vailed on themselves to believe, that their appear- 
 ance at the Opera may create quite a sensation : it 
 will be perhaps true of their coat, or carriage, but 
 for the rest they will be doomed in most instances 
 to severe disappointment. Some individual of 
 decided western habit and dress, who has imbibed 
 to the full that pseudo American independence, 
 which mocks at all forms, and even glories in pert- 
 ness and singularity, will stare about him com- 
 placently, as if he were as capable of the highest 
 art, as of making a stump speech in central Ohio. 
 And he smokes his cigar, and wears his hat with 
 very much the air of that Scotch traveler in Switz- 
 erland, of whom Goldsmith speaks : — he had wan- 
 dered into a church where all the people were 
 afflicted with goitres : they of course stared at his 
 slim neck prodigiously : ' I perceive, 5 said he, rising 
 to retire, ' that I am an odd fellow here, but I 
 assure you that I am considered a good-looking man 
 at home.' 
 
 T must not forget, Fritz, to give you a portrait or 
 
250 THE LORGNETTE 
 
 two of our stranger ladies. An American lady is 
 not without pride : and if it would not be counted 
 ungallant, I should say she had more of it, than 
 any woman in the world beside. Not a few, whom 
 we may call country fashionables, and who make 
 semi-annual pilgrimages to the shrine of Mr. Stew- 
 art, are exceedingly anxious to be mistaken for 
 New Yorkers ; and are curiously apprehensive lest 
 any action, or wry adjustment of dress should make 
 their provincial character perceptible. They are 
 mightily observant of dress and gait ; and if they 
 find their country Pythoness has imposed upon 
 them a mantilla, or hat, the like of which is not to 
 be seen, they will be sure to carry back with them 
 a little stock of upbraiding 
 
 Such lady is apt to run to the very verge of fashion, 
 in her anxiety to meet the demands of provincial 
 taste, which is somewhat spasmodic in its mani- 
 festations : and she must be well assured that the 
 lawyer's, or apothecary's wife of her town, will not 
 outshine her in finery. She is anxious to conceal 
 any little innocent gaucherie that may pertain to 
 her, even from the clerks of the trading establish- 
 ments ; and will assume an easy familiarity with 
 them, and counterfeit an acquaintance with goods, 
 and store-keeping generally, that is quite refreshing 
 to look upon. Nor is she ever ignorant of any- 
 
THE COUNTRY LADY. 251 
 
 thing, which in her view a city lady ought to 
 know : and she cultivates an abandon, of a caste 
 rarely to be met with out of the public parlors of 
 the hotels. 
 
 Her conversation is not demure or quiet, but 
 lively : and she not unfrequently hums (if she 
 knows it) a snatch of a fashionable Opera. If a 
 friend calls, to ask when she came up to town, and 
 how all the ' folks ' are in Jersey, she blinks him 
 with very few words ; she turns talk as speedily as 
 possible upon the Opera, and the town topics, and 
 chats in the glibest possible style of Mesdames 
 So-and-so, of the spring modes, and fashionable 
 books. She has no idea of being beaten off into 
 provincial topics in public places. At the Opera, 
 she wears the air of one who is not in the least taken 
 aback by whatever she may see, and as if she under- 
 stood the gist of the whole matter, as well as the 
 keenest of the critics. 
 
 Opposed to these in their action, are the timid, 
 modest ladies from the country, who have not 
 known enough of the city to be baited by its 
 assumptions ; they dress innocently for breakfast, 
 and you will meet them at nine in the morning in 
 brilliant evening attire. Yet withal they are very 
 fearful that people are looking at them, and very 
 certain that their dress is a very pretty one. They 
 26 
 
252 THE LORGNETTE. 
 
 are sometimes betrayed in their naivete into looking 
 through a shop- window, and blush to find themselves 
 surrounded by such ungenteel people. 
 
 They labor under almost constant alarm about 
 their purses ; and from the stories they have heard, 
 are disposed to reckon nearly every over-dressed 
 man either a pickpocket or cut-throat. In this they 
 are not far from right : still, in broad daylight, upon 
 Broadway, they may consider themselves compara- 
 tively safe. 
 
 They are afraid of theatres ; and if from New 
 England, the fear is accompanied with very zealous 
 and decided condemnation. The Museum does not 
 of course come under the same category, and may 
 be ventured on in virtue of an old moral tradi- 
 tion, by all those who are too good for the Opera or 
 Niblo's. If the mother of a family, our good lady 
 will be very fearful, on her first visits, of the con- 
 tamination of her boys ; and will look suspiciously 
 upon every sour, or moustached face, she sees 
 upon the street. She will mistake even the most 
 common acts of politeness, for the seductive arts 
 of unprincipled and designing men. 
 
 She is subject to unceasing, and most unneces- 
 sary alarms at sight of any street-gathering, and is 
 convinced there must be a pickpocket or murderer 
 in the case ; she is afraid of the cabmen, lest she be 
 
THE COUNTRY MOTHERS. 253 
 
 cheated or hurried off out of the reach of humanity, 
 and be lost to herself, her family, and the world. 
 Of the omnibus drivers, she has but little better 
 opinion, and an absolute certainty that a pick- 
 pocket is in every stage. She wears her vail down 
 in passing the Hospital, that she may not become 
 infected with any town cholera : and is in a dis- 
 tressing panic at sight of an engine, or at the cry 
 of fire. 
 
 Yet withal, Fritz, these very good women of the 
 country, who are the butts of city ridicule, will in 
 nine cases out of ten, rear sons who will take the 
 lead away, in business, in professional pursuits, or 
 in the arts, from the most luxurious of the town- 
 bred. They will prove the efficient and active 
 movers of our vast body politic, while the sons of 
 millionaires are contenting themselves with the 
 empty town distinctions of a dashing coat, or a taw- 
 dry epaulette. Town worthies, who with their bril- 
 liant social strides, entered upon while yet only 
 half through their grammars, are thinking to 
 outstrip, and throw into ludicrous insignificance, 
 the slowly accumulating manhood of provincial 
 youths, will find realized, to their mortification, 
 the old fable of the hare and the tortoise. Steady 
 effort, persevering industry, and right moral teach- 
 ing, is even now in obscure corners, laying the basis 
 
254 THE LORGNETTE. 
 
 of characters, which twenty years hence, will con* 
 trol the wealth, and the public interests of the 
 town. 
 
 Dress, equipages, perfumery, and the Opera will 
 always have native, city teachers ; but the Pulpit, 
 the Exchange, Journalism, and the Bar, are draw- 
 ing in recruits from the rough sons of hard country 
 study, and of old-fashioned, rigid, academical educa- 
 tion, whose energy, spirit, and influence, will one 
 day make the hot-house progeny of the town quiv- 
 er in their shoes. 
 
 Show me an influential journalist, a rising man 
 at our bar, a preacher at once profound and prac- 
 tical, a physician eminent in his profession, a mer- 
 chant who is fertile in enterprise, and successful by 
 honest industry, and I will show you one who 
 knew little or nothing of the fashionable life of the 
 town, until his mental and moral character was 
 already formed. On the other hand, show me a 
 lawyer rich in political intrigue, a doctor distin- 
 guished by nostrums, a conversationalist fertile in 
 equivoques, a poetaster fatiguing the language 
 with his poverty, a merchant who is rich by suc- 
 cessive bankruptcies, or defalcations, and twenty 
 to one, he has been dandled in the endearing arms 
 of Fashion, and while yet in his teens, has convert- 
 ed his feeble art of the grammar, to the crowning 
 arts of the boudoir. 
 
FAMILY AND ANCESTRY. 'loo 
 
 FAMILY AND ANCESTORS 
 
 " jamas te pongas a disputar de linages, a lo menos comparandolos 
 
 entre si, pues por fuerza en los que se comparan, uno ha de ser el mejor, 
 y del que abatieres seras aborrecido, j del que levantares en ninguna 
 manera premiado." — Don Quixote, Part n. Cap. xliii. 
 
 This is a tender subject, my dear Fritz ; and it is 
 capital advice that the old Don gives his Squire : 
 little may be gained in broaching it, and much may 
 be lost. But my notices of the town-life would be 
 sadly incomplete, if I were to omit the considera- 
 tion of so important an element in the graduation 
 of our social scale. 
 
 The pride which induces a man to cherish the 
 memory of an honored, and respected ancestor, is 
 not an ignoble pride, — nor is it an unusual one ; 
 and he must be a sot indeed who is insensible to 
 the regard, which by common acclaim should at- 
 tach to the name of his sire. But this ancestral 
 pride needs some caution in the using ; it may 
 serve as the groundwork of very dangerous boast- 
 ings, and attract a degree of attention, or provoke 
 a contrast, that the boaster can very poorly bear. 
 A simpleton who should forever be declaiming upon 
 the talent of an ancestor, would only make his 
 weakness the more palpable, and draw down the 
 reproach of having harmed a great name, by asso- 
 ciation with a pitiful souL As he cannot be great 
 26* 
 
256 THE LORGNETTE. 
 
 himself, it were much better that he did not trace 
 his descent from greatness. 
 
 Yet strange as it may seem, Fritz, these are the 
 very ones who are forever talking of their pedigree, 
 and raking up from their family tombs, a distinc- 
 tion which could never belong to their family char- 
 acter. Nothing indeed is more natural than for 
 the man, who has not within himself the means of 
 challenging popular esteem, to take it boldly from 
 the ashes of his fathers : necessity, in a measure, 
 justifies the action, and the theft of the bread of 
 ancestral distinction, is pardonable in those descend- 
 ants, who are starving under the hunger of con- 
 tempt. 
 
 You may think, Fritz, that such observations 
 have no aptness in my studies of this Republican 
 town ; but if so, you would be strangely mistaken. 
 Our Republicanism has not yet so far individual- 
 ized the man or the family, as to make either re- 
 liant solely on their own action, name, or charac- 
 ter, for distinction. 
 
 We have not only the old and meritorious pride 
 in family names, honorably associated with our Co- 
 lonial History, but the importation of other foreign 
 luxuries has brought in its train, an immense 
 amount of the worship of family splendor and imag- 
 inary genealogies ; which as they make the basis 
 
THE TOWN ANCESTRY. 257 
 
 of much of the feudal aristocracy, are serving as 
 the apologies and adornments of our own. They 
 are just the apologies indeed, which are needed to 
 make it good, and render it effective among those 
 whom it is intended to impress. 
 
 A man's own distinction and successes are losing 
 their force amid the classified and billeted brilliants 
 of our upper circles. The homely honor of having 
 wrought out a name for one's self, or of having ac- 
 cumulated, by successful and public spirited enter- 
 prise, a great estate, is beginning to lose ground 
 before that spirit of conventionality and foreign im- 
 itativeness, which finds its best types in liveries, 
 spurious heraldry, or in the habit of display and of 
 exclusion. 
 
 Our rising men, of such callings as have hereto- 
 fore been reckoned outcast, are beginning to under- 
 stand this matter, and are learning that bravado, 
 and well-cut coats-of-arms are better worth, than 
 any study of refinement, or pretence for cultivation. 
 Families of our town will presently be known from 
 their crests, and all our brokers make their serving- 
 men conspicuous by a vulture stamped upon their 
 buttons. The Digg's livery, and the Mugg's coach 
 will be the best descriptive types of the respective 
 families, and will be as familiarly known as the 
 coat-collar of Northumberland, or the hat-band of 
 
253 THE LORGNETTE. 
 
 the Marquis of Westminster. All this serves as 
 the mark of a distinction, which might otherwise 
 escape notice, and secures to the offspring, a com- 
 fortable ancestral basis, without any fees at the 
 herald's office. 
 
 But we are not yet so far gone in European no- 
 tions, nor so blinded by these miserable excuses 
 and cravings for title, but that their flimsiness is 
 sometimes seen through distinctly enough, to ex- 
 pose the wretched poverty of what is behind. Im- 
 agine an honest and respectable grocer, tailor, shop- 
 keeper, or whomever you please, not showing any 
 pride in that industry which has wrought out for 
 him an independence, nor making his tastes and 
 expenditures keep cheerful and honored company, 
 but like a scurvy coward that he is, turning his 
 back on the trade that has enriched him, and try- 
 ing to hide its remembrance by new- vamped crests, 
 and the blazonry of a coach panel ! "What sort of 
 manly republican independence is this ? Let him 
 trick himself as he will, the peacocks, whose plumes 
 he has stolen, will have their peck at him, and 
 the sable jackdaws, to whose tribe he belongs, will 
 utterly despise him ! 
 
 Observe, Fritz, that I am throwing out no sneers 
 upon any particular calling or trade. It would ill 
 become me, a pamphleteer, without name (and as 
 
FAMILY HERALDRY 259 
 
 my honored friend. Mrs. K , alledges, ' not in 
 
 society ,# ), to be so bold. "Why should we, indeed, 
 in any manner decry, or make light of those envied 
 possibilities which our blessed Republic guaranties, 
 and which will make the coal-boy of to-day, the 
 judge, or the millionaire of to-morrow ? There is no 
 trade, and no profession, which is not respectable 
 for an American, except the trade of pretence, and 
 the trade of dishonesty. 
 
 And it is this very pretence, my dear Fritz, that 
 I want most to rebuke ; it is the covering up of the 
 individual, and his personal acts or acquisitions, with 
 the patched and parti- colored coat of an adopted 
 European artificiality ; it is the shame for what we 
 are, and the pretension to what we are not. That 
 American must be weak indeed, who wishes to 
 prop up his republican manhood on the rotten stilts 
 of an extinct feudalism ! I will not envy him if 
 he stands, nor pity him if he falls. 
 
 My up-stairs neighbor, the gray-haired lodger, 
 with whom I have had frequent conversations on 
 this, as well as kindred topics, considers himself, 
 by virtue of a name bearing the Dutch prefix of 
 Van, one of the ' old families ;' and though he is as 
 
 * In this matter, I am content to throw myself with pride upon my 
 own incognito, and to stake the battered head of the Lorgnette at the 
 top of my sheet, against all the escutcheons, tinctures, and charges of 
 an hermaphrodite heraldry. 
 
260 THE LORGNETTE. 
 
 poor as a Christian need be, he yet looks with inef- 
 fable disdain upon what he calls the pretenders of 
 the day. His name, and a snuff-box, are all that 
 have come down to him from a glorious ancestry. 
 He cherishes both with equal pride and tenderness, 
 and never taps at his box without thanking Heaven 
 that he was born a Van. 
 
 He of course reckons the broad-skirted Dutch- 
 men as the elder members of our aristocracy, and 
 is disposed to look with strong sentiments of dis- 
 trust upon any which does not smack of the old 
 Dutch flavor. He affects great indifference at 
 sight of the equipages and houses of our up-town 
 great, and talks complacently of the time when our 
 neighborhood was the centre of wealth and respect- 
 ability. Indeed, he humors his fancy with the idea 
 that a large proportion of it still remains, though I 
 must confess that we have but a scurvy set of 
 neighbors. I am strongly inclined to think that 
 the old gentleman, with all his pride, would be 
 tempted to give up his broad skirts, and the Van 
 to his name, if he could only secure a good slice 
 each day from the comfortable dinners that our 
 parvenus are consuming ; for the love of the luxu- 
 ry that wealth brings, is, I find, a most prevalent 
 affection, as well of old families, as of new ones ; 
 and nothing will so reconcile most men to lack of 
 
FAMILY NAMES. 261 
 
 ancestral badges, and a sounding name, as a plen 
 tiful provision of all the comforts of life, and a free 
 license to indulge. 
 
 Among the pleasant little artifices which are 
 adopted by those emulous of ancestral honors, is 
 that of changing the name, by transposition of a 
 letter or two, into something having strong affin- 
 ities with the great names of history : this practice, 
 if followed up with philologic attention, will result 
 before many generations, in an entire transformation, 
 and in the open possession of an ancestral root and 
 tree, that will most amply repay the pains-taking. 
 A change of pronunciation, if insisted on, will not 
 unfrequently do wonders, in giving an air to a man's 
 title ; and if sufficiently romantic, or illustrious, it 
 may serve to christen a country-seat, or a town res- 
 idence — much to the undisguised admiration of the 
 suburban classes. 
 
 Wealth of itself, is not understood to create any 
 immediate ancestral claims ; time enough must 
 elapse for the life and death of an hypothecated 
 ancestry ; which time has been shortened down in 
 some instances to the very brief period of three or 
 four winters. A short period, it is true, as the 
 world goes generally ; but we ' manage those 
 things better in our town. 5 
 
 I do not mean to say, Fritz, that wealth supposes 
 
262 THE LORGNETTE 
 
 no ancestry at all, which to be sure, would leave 
 a frightful hiatus for modesty to tumble in ; but it 
 is such as is not suited to the boasts of the heir ; 
 and might possibly be as irksome to his pride as 
 that hinted at in the French couplet : 
 
 " Comment s'appelait ton pere 1 
 C'est le secret de ma mere." 
 
 What particular action, or claims upon distinc 
 tion, are of the best complexion to make up a good 
 compact, ancestral reputation, I can hardly tell. 
 Services rendered the state would of course weigh 
 considerably ; but if I might be permitted to judge 
 from existing examples, I should say that the ac- 
 complishment of nothing, either for the state or the 
 town, was nearly as good. Be as it may, however, 
 distinguished families are multiplying like witch- 
 craft. New families are dying out, and old ones 
 are sprouting all over the town. They will pres- 
 ently become as plentiful as they are in Virginia. 
 
 You have heard, Fritz, Southey's bad story of 
 the New Grate Calendar — how it was bought up 
 by American Colonists, looking up their genealo- 
 gies. If the Messrs. Harper would undertake a re- 
 print, and the Tribune and Courier give their fa- 
 vorable notices, we have no doubt but it would 
 prove a profitable venture. 
 
 I have often wondered, my dear Fritz, what a 
 
THE ANCESTORS IN TOWN. 263 
 
 curious figure the ancestors of our ladies and gen- 
 tlemen of ton would cut, if suffered to come up to 
 the light, and mingle for a little time in the festivi- 
 ties of the town. Not that they would be cordially 
 welcomed by all their distinguished issue, for we 
 fancy that many a poor knight of the needle, or 
 awl, would be shuffled off very unceremoniously 
 and very unfilially, into the basement rooms. 
 
 In one quarter we should see a broad-skirted old 
 Dutchman, in cocked hat, and with cane mounted 
 with buck-horn, wheezing and puffing down some 
 dim business alley in search of his great-grandson, 
 or perhaps coming upon him in his dancing prac- 
 tice, and uttering an indignant 'Dunder and 
 Blixem,' at the unscrupulous familiarity of the 
 Saracco women. In another direction we might 
 find some great expounder of colonial jurisprudence, 
 searching out his descendants among the newly rich, 
 emulous of rivaling the show of their neighbors, 
 and not at all, of sustaining the intellectual dignity 
 of the name. A humble, dapper little fellow, of 
 a century back, familiar in his day with shears or 
 yard-stick, and who had left a company of dapper 
 girls comfortably at the counter, would burst upon 
 his great-grandchildren amid all the brilliancy of 
 the Opera, and watch with wondering eyes at their 
 well-modulated applause of such music as he surely 
 27 
 
264 THE LORGNETTE. 
 
 never heard before death, — and it would be unchar- 
 itable to suppose he had heard such since. 
 
 Some rusty old coachman might resume his place 
 upon the box of a carriage, in which the pink of 
 our fashion, his posterity, are rustling in silks ; and 
 many a grandpapa would, if invited filially to the 
 home of his descendants, whet an appetite with 
 French ragouts, that in the old reign of the flesh 
 had sated itself on cheese and Dutch herring. 
 
 But quite the worst of it all would be, that the poor 
 ancestry would be wished heartily back to the hottest 
 of places, rather than have their insignificance, and 
 real presence, mar the lustre of our £ old families.' 
 There would be such bitter tears shed over their 
 reappearance, as never watered their funeral or 
 tombs ; and the unoffending little cobblers would 
 be hurried off to their leather and lapstone, as per- 
 emptorily as when old Peter Stuyvesant caught 
 them at their political meddling. 
 
 Yet this revival, Fritz, of the true state and pomp 
 of our ancestry would be a most republican dis- 
 play: — great because of its diversity, and of the 
 proof it would offer of that social elasticity, which 
 belongs to our scheme, and which will ensure to 
 industry and integrity, whatever may be its station, 
 wealth and honor. Alas, for human nature, that 
 it should blush for its necessities, and that such ef- 
 
THE IMPROVEMENT. 265 
 
 fort should be made to hide an origin, which is 
 perhaps the only basis of its honor ! 
 
 And in this connection, my dear Fritz, I can- 
 not forbear turning my glass toward that painful 
 tragedy whose blood and mystery have not yet 
 passed from the minds of men. I allude to a re- 
 cent murder, which may be traced back, step by 
 step, to the impulses of a social pride ; a desire to 
 blend, and be even with that assumed and admit- 
 ted aristocracy, which, though it might have been 
 based on refinement, needed, in the judgment of 
 the unfortunate culprit, the trappings of wealth for 
 its sustenance. 
 
 If social education and popular habit had not 
 grafted upon him the inevitable necessity of doing 
 something more than regular performance of duty, 
 and basing his position upon something more showy 
 than gentlemanly address, the motive would have 
 been wanting to those first oversteppings of the 
 means of living, to that obliquity which induced 
 unfairness of commercial dealing, and to the final 
 issue of the dreadful tragedy. Dr. Webster (if 
 guilty) is as much the victim of our social heresies, 
 as he is of a brutal passion. If men had been re- 
 spected more entirely for what they are, and not for 
 what their habitations or their dinners are, Dr. 
 Webster might still have been the respectable lee- 
 
266 THE LORGNETTE. 
 
 turer, the successful subduer of his own passions, 
 and the esteemed father. But the obeisance paid 
 to wealth and to genteel living, was strong enough 
 and general enough to bear him down in its tide ; 
 and in the fear of being submerged, he must needs 
 thrust another under — to the grave. 
 
 It is idle to say that he would have been as much 
 respected, if his living had been modest and com- 
 mensurate with his means ; probably he might have 
 been ; but the popularity and commonness of an 
 opposing opinion, making its manifestations most 
 strong and patent, seduqed him from such belief— 
 to his fall. 
 
 Not one bankruptcy in five but owes its origin 
 to the same social causes ; and the ' getting into 
 society' with curtains and coaches, is a fallacy 
 that is ' getting ' a great many very fast out of the 
 bounds of honesty and independence. 
 
 Nor will I forbear, Fritz, to enter my testimony 
 with pride, to the dignity of that Court which has 
 not been shaken by prominence of social position, 
 and which has weighed talent and scientific attain- 
 ment as nothing, when opposed to those great in- 
 terests of humanity and common justice which our 
 Republican rule professes to protect. 
 
 TlMON. 
 
APRIL 24, 
 
 NEW-YORK, 
 
 NO, 12. 
 
 Quid scribam, vobis, Lectores, aut quomodo scribam, aut quid omninb 
 non scribam; Dii me Deaoque (homines feminceque) pejus perdant quam 
 perire quotidie sentio. — Tacit, (ad Timonis fidem emendatus.) 
 
 The sick Tiberius was never at more loss to know 
 in what humor he should address the Roman Senate, 
 than I to discover what topic will best suit my 
 town-readers. Not a few have suggested that I 
 give further sketches of the Opera, with dainty- 
 episodes upon the extravagances of dress, and in- 
 uendoes which would touch here and there along 
 the range of boxes. I have been advised that such 
 and such persons, by virtue of some moral obli- 
 quity, were fair game, and that the scandal of the 
 exhibition, if ornamented with the quiet simplicity 
 28 
 
268 THE LORGNETTE. 
 
 of my narrative, would add hugely to the name and 
 repute of my work. One is represented as having 
 forgotten the duties of a wife, and even the moral 
 dignity of a mother. Another, it is said, has by 
 common assent, perverted all her womanly delicacy; 
 and by a series of eccentricities, which as John 
 Tyler would say, are l conterminous ' with im- 
 morality, has rendered herself the fair, and deserv- 
 ing target of all a penman's arrows. But if kind 
 advisers would allow me, Vice is not always to be 
 determined by its most palpable exhibition : and 
 John Timon, in the course of his life, has seen 
 enough to show that Virtue may sometimes lie 
 hidden under the idiosyncrasies of native wanton, 
 and that all the sanctiomonious airs of a vestry- 
 man, or a deacon, may cover the lusts that spring 
 from the devil. 
 
 Another most goodly patron has suggested to 
 my publisher, that the church quarrels, which, un- 
 fortunately, are not rare, would offer capital topic 
 for what they were pleased to call, the flowing 
 periods of Timon. And very many who have little 
 to boast of, except a hankering after scandal, have 
 urged upon me the adoption of something more of 
 personality and directness of issue ; and have 
 covered up their cravings under the softly charge, 
 that my papers were ' too gentlemanly.' 
 
SCANDAL AND PROPRIETY. 26J 
 
 Is it not sadning, my dear Fritz, to believe that 
 the i own-taste is so set on edge with the vinegar of 
 such as push their writings to the furthest edge of 
 delicacy, that no modest and subdued discourse 
 upon the social habits of the day, can be received 
 with any relish whatever? "Where, in the name 
 of Heaven, are we running, when modesty must 
 hide its face, and when the gross scandal of a 
 divorce trial, or the brutal developments of our city 
 police, make up the entertainment of those who 
 read, and of those who guide our taste ? Answer 
 me, Fritz, — is popularity worth enough that a man 
 should fling behind him social proprieties, and frat- 
 ernize with the lew T d panders to our growing appe- 
 tite for scandal and immodesty ? 
 
 Must I, to make my letters ' taking,' abandon 
 the better impulses which belong to me as a plain 
 country gentleman, — duck to the habit of the town, 
 and offend against those proprieties, by which alone 
 I know how to set valuation on society ? 
 
 I know, Fritz, that I lose much by forbearance ; 
 when the personalities of scurrilous paragraphists 
 are read with unction, how can a simple talker 
 about popular extravagances be listened to with 
 any degree of attention ? They who have surfeited 
 their appetites on leeks and onions, will surely turn 
 
270 THE LORGNETTE. 
 
 up their noses at the mustard and oil of even a 
 well-dressed salad. 
 
 Indeed, were I to attempt to give to my papers 
 what my good critics would call the spice of per- 
 sonal invective, it would require far more art than 
 I am possessed of, to steer adroitly between the host 
 of conflicting social jealousies, and to be sure of 
 winning kind consideration of one party, by hearty 
 abuse of another. Madame Dolittle might be in- 
 tensely gratified if I were to give the public a 
 tricksy portraiture of her rival, but most kind 
 friend, the Dowager Nettleton ; and the interesting 
 Miss Squibbs would very likely laugh incontinently 
 at any sketch of what she reckons the improprieties, 
 or the genteel pretensions of her pretty neighbors. 
 Those whose moderate intelligence serves as a sort 
 of bar to any literary reunions, would thank me 
 kindly for painting some rubicund young lady de- 
 claiming before a select circle, her own sonnets, or 
 a page of Mr. Tupper ; and Miss Homely would be 
 delighted at my exhibition of some scandalous ex- 
 pose of her pretty friend, in a private tableau. 
 People who make up their virtue out of a plain 
 carriage, and their religion out of two sermons a 
 week, would bid me, perhaps, Grod-speed, in repro- 
 ducing the heraldry of their coach-driving friends ; 
 
PERSONALITY ABJURED. 271 
 
 and in puncturing the windy morality which is 
 blown up by pretty-mouthed preachers, and guard- 
 ed by imposing ceremonial. 
 
 The small critics who give proof of head and 
 tongue by overmuch snarling, and who draw pub- 
 lic attention by their yelps at the heels of the great, 
 would very likely give me an encouraging snuffle, 
 if I were to join them in their canine pursuits ; and 
 all the women of pliable virtue would honor me 
 with abundance of smiles, if I were to attempt de- 
 traction of the pure and high-minded. 
 
 But while thinking to gain ground, I might be 
 inadvertently a great loser ; and scratch deep, 
 where I only thought to curry favor. Prudence, 
 as well as propriety, forbids then, my dear Fritz, 
 that I should enter upon any invidious, personal 
 strictures ; those who love such topic are referred 
 to the sources which are kindred with their tastes ; 
 they will find none of it here ; my mask shall not 
 be abused for any stealthy strokes ; and whoever 
 worries his vanity with the thought of personal 
 injury, shall, upon due authentication of his griefs, 
 find a man to answer him. 
 
 But in virtue of those kind friends who are so 
 
 tenderly solicitous that a little more of the caustic 
 
 should be applied, and who are plainly of opinion 
 
 that personal sketches would derogate in no degree 
 
 28* 
 
272 THE LORGNETTE. 
 
 from the character for propriety, which my paper 
 sustains, I have determined to note down their 
 names ; and whenever, in the aggregate, they shall 
 present such a pretty range of characteristics as to 
 tempt my pen, they shall be honored with particular 
 attention : and thus, modestly, and without inten- 
 tion, they will become the heroes and heroines of 
 their own suggestion. A half dozen such are 
 already on my list, but thus far I am compelled to 
 say, that their vanities are so small, and their 
 vices of so common-place a character, that they 
 will not avail to point a period, even with the most 
 dexterous of handling. But let them not live 
 without hope ; common-places are sometimes re- 
 markable by aggregation, and even niaiserie has its 
 heroes. 
 
 AUTHORS AND AUTHOKLING-S. 
 
 c He who would shun criticism, must not be a scribbler ; and he who 
 would court it, must have great abilities, or great folly.' — Monro. 
 
 ' Good authors damned have their revenge in this, 
 — To see what wretches gain the praise they miss.' — Young. 
 
 I have said, Fritz, that modesty would belong 
 to my remarks on literary men, or matters ; but 
 what reviewer, from Mr. Brownson to Dr. Grris- 
 vvold, was ever modest ? It is a quality that does 
 
AUTHORS AND AUTHORLINGS. 27S 
 
 not belong to the craft ; and the moment that my pen 
 touches paper, to give you some of the character- 
 istics of our literary men, all my efforts to sustain 
 a proper degree of humility vanish most strangely 
 But if all sense of modesty is lost, I shall be at 
 least kept in countenance by the herd of town 
 critics, not one of whom but thinks himself as 
 capable of analyzing the most abstruse theory 
 in metaphysics, as of dividing into stops the full 
 chorus of the Opera. 
 
 Should I so far forget myself, as to speak of the 
 works of town- writers with an air of levity, and a 
 tone of judgment which would seem to bespeak a 
 higher power, and a finer eye in the critic, than in 
 the author, let the audacity be credited where it 
 properly belongs — to a slight infection with the 
 critical rabies, and not to the impertinence of a 
 humble country gentleman. It is possible that a 
 little lurking desire to gratify my vanity impels 
 me ; for there is scarcely a better way that a vain 
 man can take, to raise himself to a fair literary 
 level, than by so lowering the platform on which 
 stand the literary tribe, as to make his humble 
 position less apparent. Nor is this pulling down 
 of the platform, effected as I find, so much by open 
 abuse, as by a wonderfully nice critical analysis, 
 a few kind words, a happy familiarity of expres- 
 
274 THE LORGNETTE. 
 
 sion, and such other means as may go to show 
 the critic fully capable of judging, and even rich 
 enough to fling out a few tid-bits of praise. 
 
 Indeed, had I ambition for authorship, further 
 than editing these occasional papers, I do not know 
 how I could so well make a respectable name as by 
 respectable abuse and praise of the living town- 
 authors ; this would gain one credit with the pub- 
 lishing craft, and would ensure abundance of appli- 
 cations to edit the works of dead writers, and tc 
 write prefaces to the works of the new-born. More- 
 over, I should be very sure of purchase at the hands 
 of the authors themselves, (and this would make 
 no inconsiderable sale,) who are as crazily anxious 
 to know what is said of them, as a woman of doubt- 
 ful position. I could count safely, too, on the praises 
 of all the authors I had seemed to commend, and 
 on the hearty abuse of the rest. Better aids than 
 these to a ' town run' could hardly be desired. 
 
 Our book-reading world has, I find, its periodic 
 fevers of literary fancy, a sort of author cholera- 
 morbus, which leaves the public mind in a very 
 debilitated condition ; nor does it operate much 
 more favorably upon the writer ; since it reduces 
 him in most instances to a state of sad depletion, 
 if not of decided collapse. 
 
 As illustrative of this, you will remember, I 
 
CHOLERA MORBUS BOOKS. 275 
 
 think, Fritz, a furor which some years ago attended 
 the publication of a book called f The Grlory and 
 the Shame of England,' but which so completely 
 exhausted itself by excess of effusion, that a biog- 
 raphy of Sam. Houston, and the rich elaboration of 
 a most extraordinary ' Ivory Cross,' could not 
 wholly revive it. The i Gallery of distinguished 
 Americans,' with fairly done lithographs, in lieu of 
 engravings, will make a better hit, it is to be hoped, 
 than the discharge upon the Texan President ; — 
 as much more effective, in short, as a revolver than 
 a single barrel. Our distinguished men will surely 
 not be so ungrateful as to withhold some reasonable 
 ' reward of merit.' 
 
 Again, not long since, about the period of the 
 publication of 'Napoleon and his Marshals,' the 
 public was sadly affected with a kind of battle and 
 thunder delirium, which did not abate until after 
 very much blood-letting, and a quieting dose of the 
 Sacred and profane (Adirondack) Mountains. Those 
 who were most sadly under the influence of the 
 delirium, have endeavored to give the best possible 
 evidence of recovery, by heaping inordinate, and 
 most undeserved abuse upon the unfortunate au- 
 thor, who so little time ago, bewitched them with 
 the force and vigor of his language. The name of 
 this author has been occasionally associated by 
 
276 THE LORGNETTE. 
 
 some over-shrewd ones with the Lorgnette. It is 
 surely not a little droll that suspicion of any mar- 
 tial propensities should attach to the rustic plainness 
 of Timon ; let the wiseacres pick me out, if they 
 can, a musket, a general, or a Sinai, in the whole 
 range of my papers. 
 
 The Tupper fever has become almost chronic, 
 but it is not now in so active a state of eruption 
 as a year or two since ; its outbreak was attributed 
 to an inoculation by Mr. "Willis, through the me- 
 dium of a little vaccine matter supplied by the 
 Home Journal. It is now understood to be confined 
 chiefly to school-girls, and literary young women. 
 It was a remarkable symptom of this disorder that 
 those afflicted with it were accustomed, in their 
 moments of delirium, to confound Martin Farquhar 
 Tupper with Solomon, an ancient king of the Jews ; 
 the proverbial philosophy was bound up by church 
 bookbinders, and even now may be seen on the 
 tables of some afflicted sufferers, lying between the 
 Prayer Book, and the Psalms of David. 
 
 There was at one time serious danger of a Festus 
 outbreak ; but either from the length of Mr. Bailey's 
 poem, or some other cause which has not come to 
 light, the danger has gone by ; and the naive advice 
 of Satan, and his piquant colloquies with Mr. Fes- 
 tus Bailey, are confined to scattered private rehear- 
 
JANE EYRE AND TYPEE. 2/7 
 
 sals. The truth is, Satanic colloquies are so fre- 
 quent now-a-days that no one can make a joke of 
 their novelty ; and though comparatively few bar- 
 risters cg.n talk to the devil as well as the barrister 
 Bailey, yet they make up amply by familiarity, 
 what they lack in elegance. 
 
 The Jane Eyre malady amounted to an epidemic, 
 and has sustained its ground, notwithstanding all 
 the efforts of the doctors, to this time. The authoress 
 is rapidly accumulating a stock of enthusiasm on 
 this side of the water, which, if it do not previously 
 explode, will by and by secure her a suite of rooms 
 at the Irving, a confectioner's image of the maniac 
 wife, and a classic ode from the Brigadier Morris, 
 about the Cyclop Fairfield, and the adorable Bronte ! 
 
 The Typee disorder was a novel one, of uncer- 
 tain character, until clearly defined and made cog- 
 nizable by a London issue of the book of Mr. Melville. 
 It attacked with peculiar virulence adventurous 
 school-boys, and romantic young ladies who have 
 an eye for nature. At one time, shortly after the 
 publication of Mardi, the disorder assumed a threat- 
 ening malignancy, and patients were given over in 
 despair to the chrono -thermal and homoeopathic 
 treatment. Latterly, however, the types have 
 changed, and Peregrine Pickle and Robinson Cru- 
 soe, are safe cures for Redburn and White Jacket. 
 
2/8 THE LORGNETTE, 
 
 A highly contagious literary disease broke out 
 not long since upon the appearance of a book called 
 the ' Lady Alice.' It was supposed at first, from 
 the highly conscientious and Evangelical views 
 entertained by its publishers, to be of a religious 
 order, and not calculated to heat much blood out 
 of the pale of the true Church. It was found, how- 
 ever, to produce almost a frenzy, which rapidly 
 overleaped all ecclesiastical barriers, and crept into 
 every denomination of readers and thinkers. The 
 worthy publishers undoubtedly felt some twinges 
 of conscience at their evangelical error, and made 
 such atonement as was in their power, by the issue 
 of a cheap edition. 
 
 A check which was for a time imposed upon it 
 by the superveyors of the Church, was found only 
 to 'scatter' the disorder, and produce a general 
 eruption upon the literary surface of society. The 
 exquisite moral teachings of the book were enforced 
 by most happy example ; and its religious character 
 was at once picturesque and artistic. It offered 
 pretty inside views of the highly advanced state of 
 European society, and of the artless blending of 
 nature, morals, and religious aesthetics. It offered 
 tempting footing for a new step in our social pro- 
 gress ; and while it will multiply worthily the 
 number of crosses, oratories, and confessional boxes, 
 
AN AFRICAN FEVER, 279 
 
 it will undoubtedly refine, in a corresponding degree^ 
 the foolish rigidity of an old-fashioned, Bible mo- 
 rality. 
 
 Los Gringos, careless, slipshod, uneasy, yet with 
 a swift, invigorating canter, was rather in the 
 nature of a St. Vitus' dance, and could scarcely be 
 considered anything more than a cutaneous affec- 
 tion. Under the warm treatment, and pleasantly 
 sweetened, mucilaginous drinks of the Home Jour- 
 nal and De Trobriand's Revue, it will probably have 
 no very serious effects. 
 
 A kind of African fever, accompanied with great 
 debility, broke out on the appearance of Kaloolah ; 
 its types were not unlike the Typee affection, and 
 will probably yield to the same treatment. The 
 author has been credited, I understand, in some 
 quarters, (much to my honor) with the editing of 
 the Lorgnette ; but I would advise him, as he 
 values the integrity of those peculiar manifestations 
 which have followed upon his practice, and more 
 than all, as he cherishes his brilliant reputation for 
 chivalrous adventure with the colored woman of 
 Africa, to repel indignantly the charge. 
 
 St. Leger was spasmodic, but not so serious in 
 its manifestations, as might have been expected by 
 the reiterated warnings held out by the ' Knicker- 
 bocker' quarantine. As a book, St. Leger is 
 29 
 
280 THE LORGNETTE, 
 
 remarkable for short sentences, short chapters, 
 G-erman names, and Greek extracts. Though it 
 has not created a run of fever, it has peculiarities 
 of type, and an individualism of character, which 
 will be well worth a report in the next annual 
 account of our Dunglison of literature — Dr. Grris- 
 wold. 
 
 There are beside, a multitude of authors, whose 
 works, so far from breeding any sudden epidemic, 
 are most sedative in their operations ; such writers 
 are nice to an exception, and are respectable almost 
 to a virtue. Their influence may be likened (to 
 carry out our medical typography) to a mild 
 influenza, characterized by frequent sneezings, to 
 which old ladies are peculiarly subject, and easily 
 curable by a little hot catmint, or a blue stocking 
 applied to the neck. 
 
 Among these authors, Mr. T n may be said 
 
 to hold a place of proud eminence. Others would 
 fairly escape notice, and the symptoms which fol- 
 low upon their attack, would scarce be cognizable, 
 without the acute discernment of that highly re- 
 spectable literary practitioner, Dr. Grriswold. He 
 can be cordially commended to the humbler mem- 
 bers of the literary profession, as a safe observer, 
 and one whose faculty of auscultation is most 
 minute. Would you believe it, my dear Fritz, that 
 
THE WILLIS AFFECTION. 281 
 
 such laurels have been pinned to my ears, as the 
 association of my papers with this Coryphaeus of 
 letters ! I blush to find myself in the enviable 
 light ; and to have become by the mere accident of 
 suspicion, the cynosure of admiring eyes ! 
 
 The Willis affection is decidedly organic ; and 
 the varieties in its manifestation, have been as 
 inconsiderable, as the changes in the types of the 
 infecting matter. Thus we have had Pencillings, 
 Inklings, Dashes, Glimpses, Ruralities, and People I 
 have Met, all pleasantly running together ; and 
 any given quantity of which needs only the spice 
 of a prefatory chapter, and a variation upon his 
 most pliant name, to have the periodic run of a 
 fashionable fever. It is surely no little commenda- 
 tion of an author, when by mere change of plate, 
 or dressing, the public will devour his old dishes 
 with as much gout, as the freshest meats of the 
 new writers. How his matter will be served up 
 next, and whether under imprimatur of N. P. W., 
 or N. P. Willis, or N. Parker Willis, it would be 
 quite unsafe to predict. Indeed, Mr. W.'s supple 
 art of words renders it impossible to hazard any guess 
 whatever ; and I should not be greatly surprised if 
 he were to change the name altogether, without at 
 all destroying its integral character. 
 
 Mr. Willis has certainly amused and instructed, 
 
282 THE LOEGNETTE. 
 
 in his way, a greater number of men, women, and 
 children, within the last ten years, than almost 
 any man on this side of the Atlantic ; and his name 
 is as familiar (I speak of the family name, and not 
 the titular one) in cigar-shops and journalism, as it 
 is in libraries, and the boudoir. How many of his 
 readers he has improved in moral habit, — to how 
 many he has given the pabulum for stirring and 
 healthful thought, bracing up their nerves for hard 
 work, and quickening them into honest endeavor, 
 it would be very immodest in me to answer. How 
 much he might have done, none can tell better 
 than himself. Utility is surely not the prevailing 
 characteristic of his writings ; and he will hardly 
 hope to be enrolled among the reformers of the 
 age, whatever may become of his friends, Horace 
 Greeley, Cornelius Matthews, or Dr. G-riswold. 
 
 He is among the keenest of observers ; and yet 
 he might voyage through California, seeing nothing 
 more than lack of ladies, and shabby toilettes ; or 
 he might make the north-west passage, and note 
 only the icebergs and the northern lights. Yet not 
 a better man could be found to bring away those 
 minute observations of old countries which would 
 go to show their social complexion, and the condi- 
 tion and habit of their civilization. After all, 
 whatever particular qualities may be wanting; 
 
A WAVY STYLE. 283 
 
 critical analysis cannot impair the individuality of 
 his talent ; and genius will be sure to leave a light 
 in its wake, whichever way it may steer. 
 
 You will smile, Fritz, at the compliment, yet 
 some wise ones have attributed our correspondence 
 to this prince of paragraphists. Now, with due 
 courtesy and modesty be it said, I cannot believe 
 that the piquant leaders of the Home Journal, and 
 the spice islands of his reading, would leave him 
 margin enough, either of time or industry, to throw 
 together the score of pages which light up each 
 week your solitude. Nor can I find any trace of 
 those prettily perplexed interchangements of phrase 
 which are the charm of Home Journalists, — nor 
 any of those light running similes which slide 
 through his periods, like a sunbeam through a leafy 
 thicket. 
 
 I am not conscious (and the public will acquit 
 me) of any of those waving sinuosities of expres- 
 sion which belong to his language ; and on which 
 you are borne along — now up, now down, — like a 
 boat floating over the swells of ocean. Here are 
 none of those easy convolutions of words, which 
 make the column of his type w4nd amid his sub- 
 ject-matter, like a Kaloolah serpent gliding through 
 tropic foliage. 
 
 Mr. McCracken is a gentleman, who, though 
 29* 
 
284 THE LORGNETTE. 
 
 not widely known to type, is by no means without 
 his town admirers. A little disposition that 
 belongs to him, to play Timon — not in the wood, 
 but in the palace, — has called up his name in con- 
 nection with my papers ; and I am led to infer 
 from all that can be learned, that the allegation 
 should be accepted as a compliment. It costs very 
 little to give compliments in the dark, as every plain 
 woman knows ; and while making due acknowledg- 
 ments for the honor done me, I would at the same 
 time caution those who are quite positive that the 
 
 authorship lies in that quarter, (Judge B 
 
 among the rest) against multiplying immoderately 
 their wagers. 
 
 Mr. Carl Benson (Bristed) has come in for a share 
 of the Lorgnette honor ; for which it is understood 
 that his high classical attainments would amply 
 qualify him and, indeed, entirely ensure the paper 
 against any unfortunate errors of citation. You 
 know, Fritz, that 1 make no scholarly pretensions, 
 and that the trick of the pen is not old enough with 
 me, to render my lapsus pennce either unusual, or 
 
 singular. Pray, Mr. B , is it Seneca, who 
 
 says, — 
 
 Nil sapientiaa odiosius acumine niinio *? 
 
 With all gratitude to those who have attributed 
 
A BRACE OF AUTHORS. 285 
 
 my observations to the erudite, and irate antagonist 
 of a distinguished professor, it is yet a source of 
 regret, that even stray citations from classic au- 
 thors, should have turned the current of suspicion 
 toward a scholar, and so induced the belief with 
 any, that these letters smack more of the closet 
 than of the world. The public may return Mr. 
 Benson to his special patronage of Catullus, and 
 4 fast trotters,' and acquit him thoroughly of any 
 inaccuracies which have crept into the letters of 
 Timon. 
 
 Mr. R. Gr. "White is a musical critic of the town, 
 a gentleman, as I am informed, of fair taste, and 
 considerable observation. Though not enrolled in 
 the Grriswold galaxy of authors, he will yet come 
 under head of ' authorling,' and has been honored 
 with a clay statuette. Though not over familiar 
 with his works, yet I am content to take the verdict 
 of the town-public in reckoning him a writer of 
 shrewdness, tact, and elegance — the more espe- 
 cially, Fritz, since he is your reputed correspond- 
 ent. 
 
 It would appear that he is an adept with an 
 opera-glass, and should know much of the goings 
 on in our brilliant town- world ; at least so much of 
 it as appears within the doors of the Opera-house. 
 But he is, after all, I fancy, much too fond of his 
 
286 THE LORGNETTE. 
 
 fiddle, and the composers, to have entered upon any 
 such employment, as has been gratuitously assign- 
 ed him. 
 
 Mr. Ik. Marvell (Mitchell) has also come in for 
 a share of the suspicion ; and although, perhaps, I 
 ought to feel flattered by the association of my 
 work with the name of either author or authorlin^, 
 yet it does really seem that my unpretending, and 
 straightforward sentences show very little to evi- 
 dence the same paternity with the contortions and 
 abruptnesses of the ' Battle Summer.' To say the 
 least of it, my errors against grammar have not been 
 willful ; and my arrangement of style has not looked 
 toward the quackery of dramatic effect. 
 
 Yet withal the compliment is acknowledged, 
 since the same gentleman has written a most 
 creditable book of travels, which of an idle hour, 
 will repay a second reading. Mr. Marvell is cer- 
 tainly a promising young man, and with thus much 
 of compliment, to sustain him for the loss, I relieve 
 him entirely of the new and unnecessarily imposed 
 burden of authorship. 
 
 Mr. Harry Franco (Briggs), a name not, perhaps, 
 new to you, Fritz, has also been associated with 
 our modest correspondence. He is said to possess 
 a ready wit, and variety of attainment which would 
 qualify him to do much better things than have 
 
DISTINGUISHED AUTHORS. 287 
 
 appeared in the Lorgnette. A little reflection of 
 his honor was at one time, indeed, cast upon me 
 by the Mirror newspaper : but latterly the penetra- 
 ting editor of that journal finds my letters losing 
 their ' Tom Peppery' character, and growing sadly 
 stupid. Let the kind gentlemen bear with me ; 
 all philosophers cannot be Franklins : all restaura • 
 teurs cannot be Downings : and all authors cannot 
 be Briggses. 
 
 Mr. Cornelius Matthews is another extraordinary 
 member of the literary society of the town, upon 
 whom has casually rested (I have it on his own 
 authority) a share of those capricious suspicions, 
 which Mr. Kernot's little weekly has created ; — and 
 this, notwithstanding his recent ' money-penny ' 
 labors. But on the other hand, it is objected, that 
 no announcement of such implied authorship, or 
 flattering paragraph, has appeared among the edi- 
 torials of the Literary World. If John Timon had 
 been Matthews, there would have been surely some 
 trace of the heroic little Abel, if not allusion to the 
 gallant Puffer Hopkins. A stouter Philippic, too, 
 than I can by any possibility fish out of the ink- 
 stand, would have startled my readers into an 
 international copyright frenzy, and possibly — an 
 Original Literature. 
 
 Mr. Paulding is understood to be still in working 
 
288 THE LORGNETTE. 
 
 order ; as his recent romance, and pungent political 
 letter abundantly prove. Although he is not given 
 to long speeches, he can yet guide a thumb and 
 forefinger to level his anti-Post letters at the ' woolly- 
 headed fanatics ' of whatever complexion : and, 
 perhaps, in virtue of this last avowal on his 
 part, hints have been bruited, that the hand 
 which furbished up the papers of the Salmagundi 
 may not have been ignorant of the management of 
 these Studies of the town. The hints, however, as 
 I understand, have confused other and younger 
 members of the author's family in the charge ; — 
 on what ground, or with what semblance of truth, 
 it would hardly become me, who am ignorant of 
 the parties, to judge. I trust though, that if the 
 gentlemen alluded to are addicted to pen-work, 
 they will do no discredit to the elder of the name ; 
 and if they should break ground with no worse laid 
 furrow than the pages of the Lorgnette, I hope 
 they may reap praise enough to pay them for their 
 pains. 
 
 Several young gentlemen just having completed 
 their studies, or recently returned from abroad, are 
 upon my publisher's list of reported authors. I 
 would gladly do them any reasonable favor. But 
 upon my conscience, it will cost too dearly to say 
 peccavi ovpeccabo, to any of the platulencies of boy- 
 
LOVERS OF PEA-NUTS. 289 
 
 hood. Errors of manner and thought are become 
 ingrained ; these are not the wanton fancies of a 
 fresh-read youth, however promising his wit ; and 
 though these young gentlemen do not deny the im- 
 putation for themselves, I must, in self-defence, 
 abjure the charge, and settle into the repose of 
 that maturity, which years only can give. 
 
 There are still others, the list now running to 
 thirty, who in their peculiar circles, are the un- 
 doubted Timons. Of some of these, whose names 
 are at command, I can find no trace either in the 
 literary or moral world ; and if so be they have 
 ever used a pen, I suspect they must belong to 
 that numerous, and deserving class, who are 
 immortalized by contribution of thrilling tales to 
 weekly newspapers, and whose readers are devout 
 admirers of Prof. Ingraham, and extravagantly fond 
 of peanuts. 
 
 I have been not a little amused and chagrined, 
 my dear Fritz, on hearing these letters attributed 
 to an eminent beau of the town — a man well posted 
 indeed, in all social chat, and lively enough as the 
 times go ; but for the matter of this new charge, I 
 must beg to enter a modest caveat in his behalf. 
 John Timon is no professional beau, and whatever 
 the short-comings of his mental or moral endow- 
 ments, they have had none of that social rasping of 
 
290 THE LORGNETTE. 
 
 the town, which outs away the native qualities, 
 and leaves a be-padded, and be-curled woman of a 
 man. The study of mirror and cosmetics has 
 never engrossed him to the neglect of dictionaries : 
 and whatever else may be said in a hard way, let 
 him not be condemned, as one who hangs his social 
 ventures upon the heel of his pump, and who tunes 
 his talk to the play of a moustache. 
 
 Nor is itsupposable that a man, devoting four or 
 five hours of the best of the day to the mirror, or 
 to the practice of a polka, can have leisure or in- 
 dustry for this weekly labor. I have no faith in 
 those literateurs who are forever boasting of the 
 ease of writing ; — as if a dozen pages for tho 
 perusal, and the thought of a thousand, could be 
 thrown off in the interval between cigars. I have 
 too much respect for the public, and for you, Fritz, 
 to palm on your ear any such crude batter of words. 
 Time and attention are due even to the humility of 
 this toil ; and though it does not smell of the lamp, or 
 show such touches of the file as it ought to do, be 
 assured that it is honored with the task-work of 
 determined handling. I have very little respect for 
 those reputations for quick parts, which are main- 
 tained by a boasted carelessness and rapidity of 
 style : and if an unknown observer might hazard 
 the remark, our authors and author lings, the half 
 
AUTHORS AND AUTHORLINGS. 291 
 
 of them at least, would do well to hammer at their 
 metal far more vigorously, and with better directed 
 strokes, if they hope to put such temper in it as 
 will hold an edge, and cut. 
 
 Even now, Fritz, but half has been said, which 
 might be said upon the authors of the town : a host 
 remains, even omitting the entire company of our 
 deserving and attractive authoresses. An apology, 
 perhaps, is due for having alluded more particularly 
 to such as have become associated by careless sus- 
 picion with our correspondence ; should the corres- 
 pondence continue, Fritz, not a pen-man, or a 
 claqueur, but shall be honored. 
 
 In alluding to individuals by name, in the present 
 paper, I have confined myself strictly to such as 
 have rendered the publicity warrantable by their 
 writings ; and in alluding to their mental habit 
 and disposition, I have scrupulously forborne to 
 meddle with the interior social life, where it 
 appears to me no gentleman can safely venture 
 with his pen. 
 
 Much might be said, however, of the social posi- 
 tion of authors ; and the influence of literary culti- 
 vation upon the graduation of the fashionable scale 
 of the town ; the topic must lie over to some sea- 
 son when the game is a little more plump ; and then, 
 30 
 
THE LORGNETTE. 
 
 'please Providence,' I will throw a yellow cartridge 
 into the whole flock of poets and poetasters. 
 
 My publisher informs me, as the sheets are pass- 
 ing through the press, that the twelve numbers now 
 issued will make a fair-sized volume ; you may 
 possibly, therefore, my dear Fritz, miss the ensuing 
 week 'your accustomed visitant : and whether it 
 will make its appearance the coming month, will 
 depend very much on my own whim, and the 
 humor of the town. But do not be misled, Fritz ; — 
 it has been thrown out by some that the Lorgnette 
 was nothing more than an eccentric charity ; and 
 one very grave and important publisher assured me 
 that it was wholly paid for by its author, and then 
 placed, printed and bound, in the hands of the 
 publisher. The dear public will allow me to 
 correct this error, and to assure them that though 
 they may laugh at my labor, they are paying for 
 the laugh. 
 
 Nor is this said in vanity, but in justification ; for 
 nothing seems to me a more absurd charity than 
 for a man to publish his thoughts, when the public 
 do not care enough for his thought, to pay for the 
 printing. Such a man (and on this point my opin- 
 ion will be obnoxious to many town-authors) had 
 
THE CONCLUSION. 293 
 
 much better every way drop his surplus pence into 
 the parish poor box : in that case, he may console 
 himself with knowing that no one is pestered with 
 his thought, and that some poor souls may possibly 
 be stuffing their bellies with his money. 
 
 John Timon neither owes any man, nor is he 
 any man's creditor. He leaves off, if he leaves off, 
 as fairly as he started ; and he will be at liberty to 
 begin, whenever his whim directs. 
 
 Not a tithe of the material is yet exhausted ; the 
 whole race of belles are still sighing for their por- 
 traits ; the salon is without its picture ; even the 
 politicians and the churches have been sadly neg- 
 lected. A chapter might easily be based upon the 
 vigorous researches, the family garrulity, and the 
 monthly chocolate of our New York Historical So- 
 ciety. The journals, from the heavy counting-room 
 leviathan, to the motley, home-spun, patch-quilt 
 of the Tribune, are topics full of fatness ; and even 
 the editor of the Democratic might find, that 
 though modesty and dignity may forbid me to fol- 
 low him to his social haunts, that I can unravel 
 some of his slave-knotted yarns, and put a finger to 
 his moral pulse, that will explain much of his po- 
 litical weakness. 
 
 And now a word to those who cannot determine 
 1 what the deuce I would be at/ and who are both- 
 
294 THE LORGNETTE. 
 
 ered by the sharp moral hits, that are scattered 
 over my social paintings. They neither see the 
 point, or the meaning of such things ; they are 
 deserving of sympathy. You will remember our 
 quondam Yankee friend, fresh from country cook- 
 ery, who could make nothing, in the Parisian 
 restaurant, of a. filet au sauce piquante — who would 
 have liked the beef indeed tolerably well, if they 
 had not spilled the cruet upon it ! 
 
 The Grecians, on a time, used to go to their 
 Bacchan festivities with spears muffled in garlands 
 — showing the grace of flowers, but always ready 
 to prick a foe. Fritz, — the town-life is my Bacchan 
 festival ; the town-topics are my Bacchan sport ; 
 and this pen is my Bacchan thyrsus ! 
 
 TlMON. 
 
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 656