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 Latest Date stamped below. 
 
 University of Illinois Library 
 
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 L161— H41
 
 THE DIARY 
 
 OF 
 
 A DESENNUYEE 
 
 L' experience du monde brise le cceur, ou le bronze.' — C'HAMPFORr 
 
 IN TWO VOLUMES. 
 
 VOL. I. 
 
 LONDON : 
 PUBLISHED BY HENRY COLBURN. 
 
 13, GREAT MARLBOROUGH STREET. 
 
 MDCCCXXXVl.
 
 LONDON : 
 lADBURY AND EVANS, PUINTERS, WHITEFRIAKS.
 
 v.l 
 
 DIARY 
 
 OF 
 
 A DESENNUYEE. 
 
 Coventry, April 6th, 183-. — To-morrow, 
 then, I shall be in London! — Am I well- 
 advised in commencing my little Diary with 
 the worn-out pen and mouldy ink of an inn 
 standish, amid the jingling of bells, and jar- 
 ring of waiters ? No matter ! — People are 
 apt to inveigh against the stir and tumult of 
 an inn, and protest they can neither collect 
 their faculties for thinking, nor tranquillize 
 them for sleeping, amid the bustle of such 
 places. For my part, I care little for the 
 tumult that affects only my senses. Let the 
 " party in number five " ring or wrangle as 
 they please; — "I have no part in them or 
 theirs." Whether they eat their toast dry or 
 
 VOL. I. B
 
 2 DIARY OF A D^SENNUYilE. 
 
 buttered, let me take mine ease in mine inn, 
 congratulating myself that, thus far, my jour- 
 ney has been safe and pleasant. 
 
 Dear England 1 How beautiful it looks after 
 my seven years' banishment! how beautiful, 
 and how prosperous ! What neatness, what 
 completeness, after the ragged aspect of things 
 at Ballyshumna ! Here I am not ashamed of 
 living in comfort, or travelling for my enjoy- 
 ment. The lofty pyramid of society, whose 
 regular gradation is so perceptible, from the 
 wide basis to the tapering apex, seems as if in 
 England it held together the firmer for its po- 
 lished corner-stones ; and it is, at all events, a 
 relief to one's selfishness to look upon snug 
 cottages, and a healthy, happy peasantry, in- 
 stead of that degradation of human nature 
 which met my eye at every turn in the neigh- 
 bourhood of Delaval Castle. The fortune of 
 Rothschild, and the wisdom of Solomon, would 
 not have enabled me to alleviate a fourth part 
 of the distress I was fated to witness ; and one 
 of the few acts of kindness I have to acknow- 
 ledge towards Colonel Delaval, is his bequest
 
 DIARY OF A DESENNUYEE. 3 
 
 of the family estates to his excellent brother, 
 leaving me and my jointure free liberty to 
 search the world for as much happiness as may 
 lie at the purchase of pounds, shillings, and 
 pence. 
 
 Yet, how strange a destiny is mine ! A widow 
 at five-and-twenty, with six thousand a-year, 
 and an honourable position in society, — good 
 health, good conscience, and (between myself 
 and my Diary) a tolerably good appearance; 
 yet all this frustrated and embittered by my 
 sad experience of the hollowness of the world ! 
 Married at seventeen to the man of my choice, 
 all seemed to smile upon me when I followed 
 Colonel Delaval to Ireland ; nor could I for- 
 give my sister Armine, for whispering, on the 
 eve of our union, that an acquaintance of six 
 weeks scarcely justified me in placing my hap- 
 piness within his keeping. What prescience, 
 alas ! rendered her so wise ? How came she 
 to guess that Delaval, in withdrawing from the 
 army on his marriage, and devoting himself to 
 the pleasures of Irish squirehood, would be- 
 come — but let the past be forgotten.
 
 4 DIARY OF A D^SENNUYilE. 
 
 Thanks to my experience, I re-enter the 
 world with a heart steeled to insensibility, and 
 a resolution to be indebted to my head alone 
 for future pleasures. Instead of quarrelling 
 with society (the common error of misan- 
 thropes, who, like myself, desire only a life 
 of tranquillity), I shall, in my worst of hu- 
 mours, doflp the world aside, and bid it pass ; 
 in my best, smile in its face, and thank it for 
 its smiles ; — then retire like an oyster into 
 my shell, as easily forgetting as forgotten! 
 
 It is true, Armine and I entertain for 
 each other a more than common sisterly affec- 
 tion. The early loss of our parents, the se- 
 cluded life we led in Staffordshire, under the 
 care of our good aunt Margaret, now gathered 
 to the vault of all the Montresors, rendered us 
 in youth mutually dependent on each other's 
 friendship. But the experiences of our married 
 life seem to have created estrangements ; and 
 we are no long^er fitted to understand each 
 other as formerly. I once saw in a pavilion, 
 near the Lake of Windermere, four contiguous 
 windows of variously stained glass, imparting
 
 DIARY OF A DfiSENNUYEE. 5 
 
 to the same landscape the aspect of the four 
 seasons. Just so it is with us. Armine looks 
 at life through the summer window, — I, 
 through the winter ! Our prospects are alike, 
 — "alike — but, oh! how different!" 
 
 It is, therefore, with my little Diary that I 
 must philosophize ; — it is my little Diary I 
 must take into my confidence. Having lived 
 so long alone, or worse than alone, I have 
 acquired a habit of gossiping and arguing 
 with myself ; and surely our opinions are 
 never so fairly submitted to our judgment, as 
 when arrayed in black and white before us. — 
 Here, therefore, begins my first chapter of a 
 new existence. A sad one, or a merry ? Oh I 
 for a sybil to unfold ! On one thing I am de- 
 termined : I bid defiance to the mere ennuis 
 of life. Never again will I submit to be hored! 
 
 My cousin. Lady Cecilia Delaval, writes me 
 word, that the house she has engaged for me, 
 in St. James's Place, is "a perfect bijou;" a 
 cant phrase of hers. She wrote me the same 
 thing some years ago, of Azor, her pet lap- 
 dog ; and when she brought the little brute to
 
 6 DIARY OF A DjfesENNUY^E. 
 
 Delaval Castle, the hijou turned out to be an 
 asthmatic pug ! Better, however, trust to her 
 experience, than venture alone into the wide 
 world of London, which I know so little, yet 
 dislike so much. How detestable were those 
 biennial visits to town with my aunt Margaret 
 Montresor, who, every year or two, used to 
 migrate from Staffordshire to a ready-furnished 
 house, where the windows would not open, nor 
 the doors close, to persecute her solicitors with 
 a new plea for her old Chancery suit, and Ar- 
 mine and myself with visits to the dentist, stay- 
 maker, shoemaker, the wax -work, and the 
 Eidouranion, — Hatchard's and Rivington's, — 
 to torment our souls and bodies into the way 
 they should go ! Ten years, however, have 
 since elapsed ; my days of dentists and back- 
 boards are over; and, though I may revisit 
 Hatchard's shop, it will not be to procure a 
 series of Pinnock's Catechisms, cased in strong 
 calf, for the use and abuse of the school- room. 
 
 St, James's Place, Ajjril 9th. — Not a fault 
 to be found with my new residence ! A house
 
 DIARY or A DESENNUYEE. / 
 
 neither too large nor too small, overlooking the 
 park ; fitted up only last spring, by one of the 
 fashionable virtu-mongers, for a newly-married 
 couple, who spent five years' income during 
 their first season in town, and are now doing 
 penance for their folly in some barrack of a 
 palace on the Arno. Poor little bride! it 
 must have cost her many a pang to quit the 
 shrine where she had been worshipped. There 
 are a thousand traces of womanliness in the 
 house, such as were never impressed by the 
 hand of an upholsterer ; particularly in my 
 own room and boudoir, the walls of which are 
 hung with light chintz and muslin draperies, 
 with windows opening through a conservatory 
 to the park. 
 
 Lady Cecilia was waiting for me on my 
 arrival, as lively and as agreeable as ever. 
 She is enchanted that Armine and her hus- 
 band will not be in town for some months; 
 and declares that the Herberts are just the 
 sort of humdrum people to spoil me, — to 
 *' set me in a wrong pattern." 
 
 After all, her notions are rather arbitrary.
 
 8 DIARY OF A DESENNUYEE, 
 
 I used to fancy Lady Cecilia the most inde- 
 pendent and easy person in the world ; but 
 her ease turns out to be a laborious affair, — 
 a perpetual warfare with the ceremonial of 
 life. There is such a thing, I suspect, as 
 being the slave of one's liberty, 
 
 I believe, however, I cannot put myself 
 under safer tutelage than her's. No one is so 
 much the fashion. She commands the interest 
 and influence of her sister, the Marchioness of 
 Clackmannan (a lady of the bedchamber, and 
 patroness of Al mack's, and all that sort of 
 thing), without the bore and trouble of place- 
 holding ; while her stupid husband. Sir Jenison 
 Delaval, s^empresse de dire amen a toutes ses 
 messes, fancying her, or at least proclaiming 
 her, the best of wives, because she is wise 
 enough to let him pass his life at his club, 
 well-bred enough to be civil to him in public, 
 and judicious enough never to see him in pri- 
 vate. Lady C. is, in short, a woman of what 
 is called the world. She has prodigious tact ; 
 always some little scheme or other on foot, and 
 which invariably succeeds. But, after all, the
 
 DIARY OF A DESENNUYEE. 9 
 
 objects she accomplishes are comparatively 
 trifling ; and, to spend one's life in such man- 
 oeuvres, seems like devoting a forty- horse- 
 power engine to cutting chaff. 
 
 Nothing, for instance, can exceed her de- 
 light at having outwitted Lady Wexford, a 
 tortoise of a dowager (whom 1 used to know 
 in Dublin), in the choice of a certain opera- 
 box, which we are to share together. It strikes 
 me that any other would have suited us as 
 well. But Lady Cecilia tells me General Ver- 
 non has had a ticket of that identical box for 
 the last thirty years, and will not be at the 
 trouble of chano'ino; it ; so that she is sure of 
 getting rid of her spare ticket. It is plain that 
 she does not choose to have a place at the dis- 
 posal of Sir Jenison. The box holds only four ; 
 and she advises me to retain both mine. I 
 amused her not a little by inquiring whether 
 General Vernon was a pleasant man, as she 
 seemed so glad to secure him ; and she amused 
 me no less by replying, that he was a bore/>«?- 
 excellence^ but too well taught to dream of 
 setting foot in the box to which he belongs. 
 b2
 
 10 DIARY OF A DESENNUYEE. 
 
 lOth. — Just returned from a long drive 
 with Lady Cecilia. What multitudes of peo- 
 ple ! Yet they say there will be no one in 
 town till after Easter ; and nothing going on 
 till the end of May. The " nothing," so called, 
 consists, however, in nightly parties, twice as 
 numerous and brilliant as any I have been in 
 the habit of enjoying ; and last night I accom- 
 panied Lady Cecilia to a card-party, compre- 
 hending, she assured me, the elite of the elite. 
 One of the Sicilian mummy-vaults, described 
 by travellers, must certainly present just such 
 a conclave of lean, yellow, shrivelled, inex- 
 pressive faces. In the course of the evening, 
 a few male individuals, half a century younger 
 than the enshrined divinities of the temple, 
 made their appearance ; but of these the small- 
 talk was so very small, and the big looks so 
 very big, that I took refuge in my own observ- 
 ations. 
 
 " You will like them better when their 
 jargon ceases to be an unknown tongue," said 
 Lady Cecilia, after presenting me to our hostess, 
 a good kind of roundabout woman, turbaned
 
 DIARY OF A DESENNUYEE. 11 
 
 after the most approved fashion of countess- 
 dowagerhood. ^' This is a house of which it 
 is indispensable to have the entrte, — open first 
 and last in the season, when nothing better is to 
 be had. Besides, the habitues of the set have 
 a way of discussing those who do not belong to 
 them, which makes it prudent to join their 
 forces." 
 
 " What unsafe people for friends !" 
 
 *' You surely mean, ' what unsafe people 
 for enemies?' Yonder crooked little woman, 
 for instance, with the bright eyes and tiny feet, 
 is, to strangers, as malicious as a monkey ; and 
 quite as faithful and amusing, to any one who 
 will be at the trouble of making a pet of her." 
 
 " Be more gracious, my dear Lady Cecilia," 
 said I. " Compare her, at least, to a sprig of 
 sweet-briar — fragrant and charming to those 
 who handle it with dexterity." 
 
 " She, too, is the centre of a petit comitt, 
 to which you will find it worth while to belong, 
 unless you choose to venture on being toma- 
 hawked, by declaring war against the tribe. 
 In this house your passport to favour is an
 
 12 DIARY OF A DESENNUYEE. 
 
 easy one. Lose a few guineas now and then at 
 whist, and you will be free of the set. In that 
 something more is wanting ; you must manage 
 to make them laugh, either at or with you ; 
 be very absurd, or very entertaining. It is a 
 set, in short, where excitement is the order of 
 the day, — full of lions, and other monsters, 
 after their kind. But the succes of a mere 
 lion is the shortest of all possible successes. 
 His popularity wears out before he has time to 
 establish himself." 
 
 '* And in what style do you intend me 
 faire evenement among these people?" said I, 
 anxious to discover the designs upon me. 
 
 " I have scarcely decided! Pretty, well- 
 dressed, lively, rich, disengaged, with nothing 
 to provoke that fretful porcupine, the world, to 
 set its quills at you ; I think I shall produce 
 you as an agreeability." 
 
 " Pray, don't ! I have not a set smile at 
 my disposal ; and cannot give myself the 
 trouble of looking and talking delightfully with 
 all my might for the gratification of strangers." 
 
 " My dear, you must give yourself a few
 
 DIARY OF A DESENXUYEE. 13 
 
 months' trouble, if you intend to be popular. 
 Once established as an agreeability, your re- 
 putation will carry you on, season after season. 
 But during this, your first spring in town, you 
 must stand, cap in hand, in the market-place, 
 to secure the most sweet voices of the people 
 worth knowing." 
 
 " But if I choose to be an independent 
 member, and disdain the courtship of votes?" 
 
 *' Absurd ! No one living in society can 
 be independent. The world is like a watch- 
 dog, which fawns upon you, or tears you to 
 pieces. If you choose to remain in whole skin, 
 take my advice — throw^ the beast a sop or two 
 out of your abundance, and make it wag its 
 tail in your honour for the remainder of your 
 days." 
 
 What a system ! What a stifling of ho- 
 nourable sentiment ! V/hat a sacrifice of 
 principle ! Heaven preserve me from becom- 
 ing a convert to Lady Cecilia's code of minor 
 morals ! I can understand lighting a candle to 
 the devil; for "the prince of darkness is a 
 gentleman." But, to burn farthing rushlights
 
 14 DIARY OF A DESENNUYEE. 
 
 to all the little dirty imps of Pandemonium — 
 to use a favourite proverb of the vulgar, le jeu 
 ne vaut pas la chandelle. 
 
 \2th. — I complained to-day to Lady Ce- 
 cilia, that her dressmaker had sent me home a 
 frightful gown. 
 
 " She was quite right," replied my friend. 
 ** Madame Biais saw that you would be a bad 
 customer, and did not put herself out of the 
 way to please you." 
 
 " A bad customer?" 
 
 '^ You took the liberty of asking for her 
 bill." 
 
 " Which you call being a bad customer?" 
 
 " In our class and hers a ready-money cus- 
 tomer implies a person who changes or dis- 
 misses his tradesmen as the fancy takes him. 
 No fashionable tradesman cares to be employed 
 by those who have a right to examine his goods, 
 and find fault with his prices. These people 
 prefer clients many pages deep in their books, 
 who dare not grumble at being overcharged. 
 Madame Biais, for instance, knows not what
 
 DIARY OF A DESENNUYEE. 15 
 
 to make of a lady who gives her the trouble of 
 writing out an account in the midst of the 
 hurry and bustle of the season. By the way, 
 my dear, do you like Mr. Penrhyn ?" 
 
 " The man who sat so long with us last 
 night at the opera?" 
 
 '^ So long, indeed, that I began to appre- 
 hend mischief from the double barrels of Mrs. 
 Percy's lorgnette, steadily levelled at you 
 during his visit. Mrs. Percy (let me antici- 
 pate the inquiry you are about to make) is a 
 sort of lay impropriator of poor Penrhyn ; a 
 very pretty woman, with no further harm in 
 her than an appetite for being talked about 
 with the most fashionable man of the season, 
 be he who he may. Just now, she will not 
 allow Penrhyn to call his soul his own; — 
 writes him sentimental billets, keeps him list- 
 ening to her guitar, or flageolet, or Jew's- 
 harp, or accordion, or some such trash, merely 
 that his cabriolet may be seen waiting at her 
 door; or stops him at Piccadilly Gate, to be 
 smiled at, and whispered to, through her car- 
 riage window, under the observation of fifteen
 
 16 DIARY OF A D]fesENNUY]EE. 
 
 hundred people passing by, and the Achilles 
 standing still. Mrs. Percy would be miser- 
 able, unless she knew herself to be the object 
 of scandal." 
 
 " And Mr. Penrhyn?" 
 
 " The lady's pretence of a penchant at first 
 amused him, and he bore being whispered to, 
 smiled at, and billet-douxed, with remarkable 
 fortitude. But, the novelty of her enthusiasm 
 over, he grew sick of his Barmecide's feast ; 
 and now, I never beheld so bored a man! Yet 
 he seems afraid of declaring off; for there is 
 no sort of esclandre she is not capable of 
 provoking, in order to appear the heroine of 
 a romance." 
 
 " Why does he not manage to get out of 
 fashion ? " 
 
 '' The fates have been against him ! Lord 
 Wanderford, arriving, as swarthy as a Moor, 
 from his travels in Abyssinia, threatened, a 
 few weeks ago, to dethrone him. But, un- 
 luckily, Penrhyn's grandfather, old Lord Pen- 
 rhyn, is likely to die; when he will become 
 one of the wealthiest individuals in Europe.
 
 DIARY OF A DESENNUYEE. 17 
 
 His tclat thus enhanced, poor Mrs. Percy will 
 make herself more ridiculous than ever. By 
 the way, my dear, I recommend you to marry 
 Penrhyn, and put them both out of their pain." 
 
 " Pray, find them some other cure," said I. 
 " The thing I like least is a dowager dandy — 
 a superannuated London man — an out- pen- 
 sioner of White's — without an idea or an am- 
 bition beyond St. James's Street. Your Mr. 
 Penrhyn connait Men son Londres, but he 
 knows nothing else ; I never saw such a cut- 
 and- dried specimen of his caste." 
 
 " There is more in him, however," said 
 Lady Cecilia, rising to take leave, *' than you 
 seem to have had wit to discover. The man 
 has a gift of solemn irony, which victimizes 
 even the most wary. But for the diversion 
 he has found in making game of the Percy 
 by his persiflage, he never would have had 
 patience with her vagaries." 
 
 '^ I certainly had not the wit to discover 
 all this," said I, interrupting Lady Cis; *^ or 
 it would have determined me to close my doors 
 against Mr. Penrhyn."
 
 18 DIARY OF A D^SENNUYIEE. 
 
 I8th. — My visiting list already extends to 
 many pages ; including the various connexions, 
 near and remote, of the families of Montresor 
 and Delaval. Lady Cecilia, too, has presented 
 me to her own set of acquaintance ; many of 
 them, I fear, '^ pleasant, but wrong." I do not, 
 at least, feel safe in their society ; nor can I 
 help listening to ascertain whether the ice on 
 which we are sliding together be not giving 
 way under our feet. Would that Armine and 
 my brother-in-law were arrived ! 
 
 A pleasant dinner yesterday at Sir Richard 
 and Lady Dunbar's: a well-appointed esta- 
 blishment — handsome plate, excellent cook. 
 But one feels invited there to render them 
 justice. Lady Dunbar piques herself on her 
 proficiency in the etiquettes of life, and loves 
 10 impress you with due admiration of her 
 savoir vivre ; but not a creature was ever wel- 
 comed to the house from the genuine impulse 
 of hospitality. Their dinners have established 
 them in society — obtained him the entree of the 
 best clubs — and, in some shower of coronets 
 produced by the stormy state of the political
 
 DIARY OF A DESENNUYEE. 19 
 
 atmosphere, will, perhaps, buy him into the 
 peerage. " Prejudice apart," whispered Mr. 
 Penrhyn to me yesterday, at dinner, " this 
 'potage a la Jinanciere deserves the Upper 
 House." 
 
 The first time I accompanied Lady Cecilia 
 Delaval to old Lady Kent's card-party, I was 
 much amused by the uneasy manner in which 
 she was addressed by a certain Lady Mardyn- 
 ville, — evidently in an agony lest Lady Cis 
 should present the *' new woman" to her. 
 
 " Have mercy on Sir Robert and Lady 
 Mardynville, and do not look hard at them 
 till they have ascertained that you are worthy 
 of their acquaintance," whispered my friend, 
 with assumed gravity. 
 
 " And what are tliey, of mine?" I asked, as 
 the baronet and his wife scudded fussily out 
 of the way of an introduction. 
 
 " Heaven forbid that such pains-taking 
 people should be lightly spoken of," she re- 
 plied. " Two more persevering distinction- 
 hunters never climbed the ladder of society. 
 From the day of their sympathetic union, they
 
 20 DIARY OF A DESEKNUYEE. 
 
 have neither eaten, drunk, nor slept, with any 
 other object before their eyes than their own 
 aggrandizement in those of the world. Not a 
 levee, not a drawing-room, that they do not 
 attend ; not a royal porter's book in which the 
 names of Sir Robert and Lady Mardynville are 
 not inscribed with ^ damnable iteration ;' not a 
 ministerial lacquey, to whom their liveries are 
 not familiar as Punch's puppet-show. They 
 have deserted their family place, to hire a 
 residence within view of the flag-staff of Wind- 
 sor Castle ; and were heard to congratulate 
 each other one winter, when their children 
 caught the measles at Brighton at the same 
 moment with Prince George. Sir Robert used 
 to answer every body's inquiries with assurances 
 that little Bobby was better, and Prince George 
 quite out of danger." 
 
 Such was Cecilia's definition of the amiable 
 couple who so manifestly despised me ; and 
 last night, at the Dunbar's, they fully justified 
 her diatribe. When they entered the room, 
 the Duke of Merioneth happened to sit next 
 me on the sofa, conversing in that familiar
 
 DIARY OF A DjfesENNUYEE. 21 
 
 whisper by which he thinks proper to mark 
 to the world that he knows only those whom 
 he knows intimately. The whisperee of a 
 cluke became, of course, a fine thing in the 
 eyes of such people as the Mardynvilles. In 
 the course of ten minutes, up came Lady 
 Dunbar, all smiles, — Lady Mardynville, all 
 courtesies, — determined to make my acquaint- 
 ance. 
 
 " Long desirous of the honour — moving in 
 the same circle — meeting, night after night, 
 without the privilege of speaking ; so excess- 
 ively awkward," &c. (fee. 
 
 The duke rose, and stalked away to make 
 room for my new friends ; while Mr. Penrhyn 
 shocked Sir Robert to death, by pretending to 
 mistake his household button for that of the 
 R.Y.C.! 
 
 This morning arrived cards, and (without 
 waiting to have them returned) an invitation 
 for a dinner-party, three weeks hence. — Shant 
 go! What, but politics, can have been typi- 
 fied in the golden pippin of Ate ? and what 
 ages of discord has not the fatal fruit engen-
 
 22 DIARY OF A d:esennuyee. 
 
 dered ? Yet, surely, the factions of Guelf and 
 Ghibelline, or White and Red Rose, never 
 carried their barbarian animosities to so un- 
 christian a pitch, as the polite hatred of 
 modern Whig and Tory ? Since the triumph 
 of the Catholic Question, political spleen has 
 become a species of endemic at the west end ; 
 a cholera morbus never to be extirpated. 
 It is considered a mark of caste among the 
 fine ladies to '^ doat on the Duke of Wel- 
 lington," or to " adore the present ministry ;" 
 the intellectual coteries affecting the latter 
 creed, — the exclusives, the former. The ven- 
 tilator, it seems, set their brains a -madding 
 for a season or so ; and, just as they all went 
 hero-mad during the peninsular war, they 
 became statesman-mad when the star of Can- 
 ning, Brougham, or Stanley, raged as the dog- 
 star of the hour. 
 
 And then they so dearly love a little bit 
 of finesse, to sneak their pitiful way to a vote, 
 either at Brookes's or in the house. Madame 
 
 L n was the first to bring this sort of 
 
 tripotage into fashion. So well-bred, so well-
 
 DIARY OF A DESENNUYEE. 23 
 
 dressed, nothing she did appeared amiss; like 
 Cleopatra, 
 
 " Vilest things 
 Became themselves in her, and holy bishops 
 Blessed her when" 
 
 she advocated the cause of holy alliance. 
 From her more than one flighty dame derives 
 a precedent for a system of intrigue, such as 
 the Duchesse de Longueville might rise from 
 her grave to applaud. 
 
 After all, the most able of female politicians 
 makes herself as disagreeable as ridiculous. 
 Women carry their sensibilities with them even 
 into the ventilator, and exercise their feelings 
 when they fancy they are exercising their 
 judgment. They see through the eyes of their 
 heart, and hear with its ears ; and sometimes, 
 unluckily, talk out of its abundance. Yester- 
 day, at dinner at the Delavals', a gradually 
 rising murmur reached us from the end of the 
 table furthest from the place where I was 
 quietly eating my soup, which, at length, 
 deepened into a decided storm. Mrs. Percy^ 
 and the old Duchess of Plymouth, were
 
 24 DIARY OF A DIESENNUY^E. 
 
 speaking, what they call their minds, the 
 plainest English ever uttered by lips polite ; 
 each reviling the particular friends or par- 
 ticular party of the other. Lady Cecilia, who 
 hates to have the pleasantness of her parties 
 broken in upon, kept trying to pour oil upon 
 the waves ; but her oil was mere huile de 
 roses, of too light a quality to subdue billows 
 so uproarious ; and Penrhyn, a dear lover of 
 mischief, kept spurring the belligerents on to 
 battle by little minikin~pin pricks of imper- 
 tinence. 
 
 Now, of what use was all their squabbling, 
 either to their party (their party ! ) or them- 
 selves ? Not a word uttered by either, for 
 arguments they did not attempt to utter, would 
 have weighed against an eider-duck's feather! 
 On one side it was always " It is well known 
 that, if the duke thought proper, he might" — 
 so and so ; on the other, " Nothing but the 
 paltry intrigues, and the under-hand cabals of 
 the Tories have prevented" — so and so. What 
 a draw-back upon rational conversation and 
 social feeling! Better talk to all eternity of
 
 DIARY OF A DESENNUYEE. 25 
 
 the weather, as we used to do in Ireland ; or of 
 chiffons, as I am told they do in Paris. Lady 
 Cecilia declares that three or four of the best 
 houses in town have become insupportable 
 during the last few years, on account of the 
 state of parties ; among others, that of her 
 charming sister, the marchioness ; where, 
 
 " Under which Club, Bezonian ? Speak, or die !" 
 
 is the first inquiry made of every new pretender 
 to her acquaintance. 
 
 George Hanton, who sat next me yesterday, 
 during this battle of frogs and mice, could not 
 conceal his indignation that the process of so 
 good a dinner (when he happened to be in 
 good appetite) should be disturbed by such 
 impertinent bickering ! 
 
 " What bores those women are !" he whis- 
 pered to me, with a face of the deepest concern 
 — " I protest I hardly know what I have got 
 on my plate!" and, with Hanton, such igno- 
 rance is any-thing but bliss. I remember him, 
 ten years ago, coming to pass the holidays at 
 Lord Randall's, in Staffordshire, when Armine 
 
 VOL. I. c
 
 26 DIARY OF A DIISENNUY^E. 
 
 and I were young and disengaged ; and then, 
 as now, having eyes only for an entree. His 
 time and fortune are spent in ministering to his 
 palate ; and a first-rate education seems to have 
 instructed him in nothing but the gorman- 
 dizings of mankind. He recognizes the Spar- 
 tans only by their black broth, and the 
 Romans by the gluttonies of Apicius or Lu- 
 cullus. Talk to him of the state of the arts 
 during the middle ages, and he will answer 
 that, in those times, forest venison was a most 
 delicious thing ; and, in the way of chronology, 
 instead of dating from '* before the invention 
 of gunpowder," or "the discovery of printing," 
 George is apt to time his epochs by " before tea 
 was brought into Europe," or " before potatoes 
 were in general use." His acquaintance, nay 
 his friends, are chosen selon the merits of their 
 cook, or their power of appreciating the cooks 
 of others. He was heard to exclaim of one of 
 the greatest ministers of modern times, " I 
 
 have a bad opinion of Lord . I once saw 
 
 what pretended to be a supreme de volatile at his 
 table, which was literally made of veal. "
 
 DIARY OF A DESENNUYilE. 27 
 
 '' And what then — do you suppose he 
 ordered such a substitute ? " 
 
 *^ No ! — but what an opinion must his cook 
 have had of his understanding, to venture on 
 such a subterfuge; and, after all, who knows 
 one better than one's cook?" — Hanton has 
 dropped the acquaintance of the Mardynvilles, 
 because their turbot is high instead of their 
 venison, and refused to be presented to pretty 
 little Lady Ryland, on account of the badness 
 of her dinners. ** It is time lost," said he, " to 
 know such people." He invariably places 
 himself next me at dinner ; and I have dis- 
 covered that my ignorance of gastronomic 
 science constitutes my attraction. I have not 
 taste enough to secure the truffles, or the 
 heaux morceaux of the made - dishes brought 
 round; and Mr. Hanton, as my next neigh- 
 bour, profits by the oversight. I fear he will 
 judge me unworthy of an invitation to one of 
 his dinners, which I hear highly extolled by 
 those, hien entendu, who hold 
 
 That to live well means nothing but to eat.
 
 28 DIARY OF A DESENNUYl^E. 
 
 May 1. — What a beautiful city is London 
 at this season of the year, when the spring 
 breezes, dispersing both fog and smoke, afford 
 glimpses of blue sky ! What order in the 
 streets; — what courtesy, what splendour in 
 the shops! — Regent Street, for instance, with 
 its macadamized road covered with carriages, 
 and wide pavements thronged with passengers, 
 is a very type of the times ; — all show and spe- 
 culation, - — all activity and superficiality. Then 
 the west end squares, and the streets lead- 
 ing into Park Lane, — how dignifiedly dull; — 
 '' nothing to be seen there," as some would-be 
 Brummel observed, ^' but the aristocracy, sa- 
 voir, a population of lords and footmen." Each 
 isolated mansion of that favoured region con- 
 tains, within its little world, all that ingenuity 
 and industry tender in exchange for wealth ; 
 the best productions of art, the newest combin- 
 ations of science, the most graceful inventions 
 of fancy ; to render life more easy and exquisite 
 for those who know not a discomfiture beyond 
 the rumpling of the rose leaf! 
 
 Then, the two new quarters that arose
 
 DIARY OF A DESENNUYEE. 29 
 
 under the reign of that king of the surfaces, 
 George IV ! — the Regent's Park, — the Athens 
 of the Bloomsburians ; and Belgrave and Eaton 
 Squares, — the Place Vendome, and Place de 
 Louis XV., of our new lords and old hankers. 
 — There live the opulent and the ascendant, — 
 the Dunbars and the Mardynvilles. There 
 dines Hanton, — there flirts Mrs. Percy; — 
 while my friend Lady Cecilia, more aristocratic 
 in her predilections, clings to the sobrieties of 
 Grosvenor Square ; whose ancient hall-chairs 
 are polished, not by French varnish, but by 
 much friction of generations of lacqueys, from 
 the time when the link of Lady Mary Wortley's 
 chairman was thrust into the extinguisher, still 
 suspended over the entrance ! 
 
 Then we have Carlton Gardens, — the Hes- 
 perides of Cabinet Ministers, — which shifts its 
 occupants with every change of administration. 
 Were the ghosts of Fox and Sheridan to arise 
 from the Abbey in the mists of some November 
 morning, how would they marvel to behold the 
 classic ground of Carlton House devoted to the 
 hubbub of conservative clubs, or the gorgeous
 
 30 DIARY OF A DESENNUYilE. 
 
 vulgarity of such satraps as Sir Bungalore 
 Hooghly and Co. ! 
 
 Till within these fifteen years, however, the 
 domestic architecture of London hobbled far 
 behind the march of luxury. A handsome 
 town residence was then a show-house ; — bath- 
 rooms, a gallery, and a little marble, and plate- 
 glass, constituted a palace ; and, lo ! there are 
 now squares — full of mansions fit for princes 
 to be ruined in ! Not an agent's book but con- 
 tains a dozen attainable by the week or season, 
 where you may live as Thelusson, or the 
 Duchess of Gordon, sovereignized some forty 
 years ago. 
 
 The immediate consequence of this diffusion 
 of brick and mortar seems to be the evacuation 
 of the city. Instead of the wealthy merchants, 
 and great bankers, once resident in the vast, 
 square, roomy mansions of its dark and narrow 
 lanes, I learn that not a merchant of eminence 
 sleeps within sound of Bow Bell ; and hence the 
 difficulty of appropriately filling up those civic 
 offices, formerly so eminent in their illustration. 
 The commodious dwellings of the great capital-
 
 DIARY OF A DESENNUYEE. 31 
 
 ists have been converted into warehouses, or are 
 inhabited by clerks ; and the thinly populated 
 city is twice as wholesome, and half as dignified. 
 The Regent's Park, meanwhile, extends its stuc- 
 coed terraces ; — and London seems to stretch 
 its gigantic arms, and gape for air, — like some 
 mighty monster, awaking from a trance. 
 
 It might afibrd me a useful lesson, that so 
 many of my new visitors were, by the way, 
 friends of my imprudent predecessors here, and 
 fed on their undoing. 
 
 " Ahal" drawled little Mrs. Percy, on her 
 first visit, — " I see you have got the Thistle- 
 down's love of a house, — the prettiest little 
 toyshop in London. 
 
 " Foolish people ! — They would do things to 
 which they had no pretension; — swam out of 
 their depth, and sank for ever." 
 
 " Or rather, like the Flying Fish in the 
 fable," observed Penrhyn (who " happens" to 
 drop in wherever her carriage is seen stopping), 
 ** they got out of their element, and were 
 pecked to death by the birds, into whose nest 
 they had intruded. People thought them silly
 
 32 DIARY OF A D^SENNUY^E. 
 
 and presuming, even when their silliness and 
 presumption were upheld by a charming house, 
 excellent establishment, and select dinner-par- 
 ties ; but when we found, that even these were 
 assumption, no words can describe our indigna- 
 tion at their impertinence ! 
 
 " Mrs. Thistledown had passed for a pretty 
 woman, we now thought her a fright, and called 
 her ' that Mrs. Thistledown.' He had been 
 regarded as a frank well-natured man ; we now 
 decided him to be a tiger! What became of 
 either we neither knew nor inquired. It was 
 sufficiently horrible that we had been dining 
 and supping with people not fairly entitled to 
 give us dinners or suppers." 
 
 " Indeed, I did inquire," said Mrs. Percy, 
 incapable of discerning between her friend's 
 serious and ironical vein, " and I was told 
 they were in prison. Of course, there was an 
 end of the thing." 
 
 " And there might as well have been an 
 end of the people," said Penrhyn, laughing. 
 *^ They are morally dead — defunct, to all in- 
 tents and purposes. Let them sleep in peace."
 
 DIARY OF A DESENNUYEE. 33 
 
 " Particularly as we find dear Mrs. Delaval 
 so satisfactorily established in their place," was 
 Mrs. Percy's well-turned rejoinder. 
 
 But Mrs. Percy's heartlessness is by no 
 means unique. Most of my new friends (and 
 many among them should know better) have 
 entered with a similar ejaculation. 
 
 " Ah ! by the way, this is poor Thistle- 
 down's house. Didn't he die, or something 
 of that sort? Ruined? — Ah! very true I — I 
 recollect now. He played — both hazard and 
 the fool — and was done up before one had 
 made up one's mind whether he was a man 
 to be known. Howard was rash enough to 
 put him up at White's ; which was amazingly 
 wrong of Howard, who has himself only one 
 leg to stand upon." 
 
 " Now, do just look at those Dresden vases, 
 and those Marqueterie consoles ; and think of 
 the absurdity of a fellow like Thistledown ven- 
 turing on such fancies! A man with barely 
 income enough for mahogany and Wedo-wood- 
 ware, to presume to have a taste!" 
 
 " Well ! — he has met with his deserts ; 
 c2
 
 34 DIARY OF A DESENNUYEE. 
 
 and his dinners we all met with ! " added a 
 Jekyling. 
 
 *' Just imagine that I sent cards here to 
 the Thistledowns this season, quite forgetting 
 they were done up!" drawled Lady Grace 
 Gosling. " Had it not been for my good for- 
 tune in knowing Mrs. Delaval, and recog- 
 nizing this little humming-bird's nest of theirs, 
 I should never have thought of them again." 
 
 Such is the worldliness of the world ! Thus 
 easily are broken those brittle ties of spun- 
 glass, which one forms in the chance-medley 
 of a season. People are true to their relations, 
 and faithful to their friends ; but how few make 
 it a matter of principle to be true to their 
 acquaintances ! Formed by an exchange of 
 courtesies and cards, on some accidental tempt- 
 ation (such as Lady A.'s desire to flirt with 
 Lord B. at Lady C.'s ball, and Lady C.'s desire 
 to have her ball adorned by the presence of 
 Lady A.'s diamond necklace), London acquaint- 
 anceships barely survive their ephemeral day, 
 unless revived by some further motive of ex- 
 pediency.
 
 DIARY OF A DESENNUYEE. 35 
 
 There seems to be a distinct profession 
 sprung up of late years, which, for want of 
 a better designation, I shall call acquaintance- 
 brokerage. Certain dowagers of note under- 
 take to patronise balls for acquaintanceless 
 people ; and go about, promising and vowing, 
 in their name, that the music and supper shall 
 be excellent. Many of these acquaintance- 
 brokers perform their functions in all honesty ; 
 and simply give an agreeable fete to their own 
 visiting list, at the house of a Colonel Crab or 
 a Mrs. Brown, with a proviso that visiting 
 cards shall be left for the Crab or the Brown 
 on the following day. Others exercise their 
 functions with Judas -like treachery. ^' My 
 dear Lady Laura, you must come on Thursday 
 night to some new people in Hereford Street, 
 whom I have promised to patronise;" or, '' My 
 dear duke, I have undertaken this ball in 
 Hereford Street for the — What's their names? 
 I am bored to death with the whole affair, and 
 will positively never trouble myself with such a 
 corvee again. But you will gi'eatly oblige irie 
 by looking in for a minute or two." Some-
 
 36 DIARY OF A D^SENNUY^E. 
 
 times they are still less deferential towards 
 their proteges ; and the more exclusive dandies 
 are persuaded to go and sup at No. 104, 
 Harley Street, without a word of the name or 
 nature of its proprietor. ** I always bow to 
 the diamond necklace nearest the door on 
 entering, when I am invited in this way,'* said 
 Sir Harry Andover to me, in describing the 
 brokerage system, — '^ and take it for granted 
 that I have made myself free of the house." 
 
 " A year or two ago," said Penrhyn, who 
 sometimes plays the moralist, among his other 
 parts of exquisite dissembling, " there came up 
 from Wales some rich mine-people, who had a 
 mind to push forward into society. A ball 
 seemed their readiest mounting-stone, and a ball 
 they determined to give, under the sponsorship 
 of some Lady Ap Shenkin or other, the wife 
 of a Welsh baronet neighbour. The company 
 assembled by the lady of the leek, was of the 
 kind called " highly respectable ; " — brother 
 baronets and sister baronetesses, — Portland 
 Place directors and directresses, — admirals, 
 generals, lord and lady chief justices, et hoc
 
 DIARY OF A DESENNUYEE. 37 
 
 genus omne ; most of them party-givers, as well 
 as party-goers ; and the new people were in- 
 vited to some two hundred humdrum enter- 
 tainments in exchange for their one. So far, 
 so fair ! But, among the admirals' wives, 
 alas ! was a Lady Lavinia Tarpaulin, who had 
 sprit-sailed her way through a fashionable win- 
 ter at Brighton ; and, in the course of the 
 evening, contrived to make it known to the 
 acquaintance seekers, that she would have 
 made their baronets, lords ; and their ladies, 
 ladies in waiting. Next year, accordingly, 
 Lady Lavinia undertook their ball, and Lady 
 Ap Shenkin was compelled to own to the hun- 
 dred applicants for her interest to obtain a ticket, 
 that she herself was omitted from the new list. 
 
 '^ How contemptible ! 
 
 " Contemptible enough ! but to reach half 
 way up the ladder of parvenuism, serves only 
 to dazzle and dizzy the unwary. The wings 
 of our pretenders had now sprouted ; the fol- 
 lowing year. Lady Lavinia heard of them as 
 having been undertaken by a dowager duchess, 
 and saw no more of them."
 
 38 DIARY OF A D^SENNUYEE. 
 
 " And the dowager duchess ? " 
 
 *' Doubled them up, and laid them on 
 the shelf. Their means had been just equal 
 to the calibre of a Lady Ap Shenkin. To merit 
 the patronage of a Lady Lavinia, they engaged 
 twice as good a house and establishment ; and 
 
 Lo ! two turtles smok'd upon the board ! 
 
 But, for the level of her grace, a French cook 
 and St. James's Square seemed indispensable ; 
 and that last campaign in London, sent them to 
 Glamorganshire ; lionized to utter extinction." 
 By the way, my friend, Lady Cis, is some- 
 thins: of a mistress of the ceremonies. With 
 respect to myself, as Sir Jenison is the head of 
 Colonel Delaval's family, she could do no less 
 than present me to her clique. But she is too 
 apt to traffic in little notes of nothingness, using 
 all the insinuations that satin paper and phrases 
 de caresse can supply, to get Mrs. This invited to 
 the duke's ball, and Lady That noticed by the 
 duchess. On Wednesday mornings she is 
 always in a nervous flutter of spirits, about a 
 voucher for Miss Ellen, or a subscription for
 
 DIARY OF A DESENNUYEE. 39 
 
 Lady Sophia. Mr. Penrhyn, indeed, declares 
 — but I am not sure that Ids declarations 
 would grace the pages of my journal. 
 
 Heigho ! what an infinite deal of nothing 
 have I already written down! In malice? — I 
 hope not ! It was my desire to comment upon 
 things, rather than upon persons ; or, if per- 
 sons, those whose conversation was improving, 
 and whose example edifying. Living, as I have 
 done, in what the Americans would call *' the 
 bush," I longed to form for myself a circle of en- 
 lightened men and women, — the makers, not 
 the ingredients of society ; people who, while 
 they walk with the century, are able to give 
 a guess at the century to come. But one of 
 Lady Cecilia's first and most earnest interdic- 
 tions was against entangling myself in a bureau 
 d'esprit. Nothing, she protests, so dangerous! 
 
 Lady , it seeins, has brought the thing 
 
 into disrepute, by fawning on every creature 
 that wears a quill; by which means, indi- 
 viduals have been introduced into society, 
 whom it is as unsafe to know as to decline 
 knowins;.
 
 40 DIARY OF A DESENNUYEE. 
 
 " Pore over their books as much as you 
 please, but do not so much as dip into the 
 authors ! " said she, when I proposed an in- 
 troduction to one of the most popular writers 
 of the day. " These people expend their 
 spirit on their works ; the part that walks 
 through society, is a mere lump of clay, — 
 like the refuse of the wine-press after the wine 
 has been expressed. In conversing with a 
 clever author, you sometimes see a new idea 
 brighten his eye, or create a smile round his 
 lip ; but for worlds he would not give it utter- 
 ance. It belongs to his next work, — and is 
 instantly booked in the ledger of his daily 
 thoughts — value three and sixpence. The 
 man's mind is his mine, — he can't afford to 
 work it gratis, or give away the produce." 
 
 Armine and her husband are come at last ! 
 — The happiest moment I have experienced in 
 London, was that in which, for the first time 
 these four years, I folded her in my arms! — 
 Highly as I regard my brother-in-law, I should 
 have been just as well pleased had Herbert 
 allowed my first interview with my sister to be
 
 DIARY OF A DESENNUYEE. 41 
 
 a ttte-a-ttte ; but we shall meet every day for 
 the next three months, and find plenty of op- 
 portunities to talk over things and people 
 whom I could not frankly discuss in his pre- 
 sence ; indeed, I was quite sufficiently taken 
 up with examining his wife, and noting the 
 progress of time in her dear, familiar face. 
 And how dear, — how very dear, — is a familiar 
 face, beheld after long estrangement ! They 
 may talk of returning to the scenes of our 
 youth, — the old mansion, the well-known or- 
 chard, the favourite hawthorn hedge, — but 
 restore to me the sunny smile, the open counte- 
 nance, the loving eyes of her who made those 
 scenes delightful; — there is a positive happi- 
 ness, worth worlds of poetry. 
 
 But, after all, is this possible ? — The spring 
 comes with its blossoms to the old orchard, and 
 the genial month of May brightens up the 
 fragrant hawthorn-hedge, as when first a sheet 
 of snow-white blossoms was flung over its early 
 verdure ; while human life boasts but its single 
 spring ! After one brief summer, the face and 
 feelings go out of bloom together j and who can
 
 42 DIARY OF A DESENNUY^E. 
 
 bear to see the hollowing eye, the sallowing 
 cheek, the contracting brow, we remember so 
 bright with the impulses of youth ? 
 
 But /, too, am growing poetical, and this 
 my journal is solemnly pledged to matter of 
 fact. Idylliumism apart — I was grieved to 
 perceive that the cares of life had somewhat 
 tarnished the beautiful face of my sister. 
 Surely vanity does not mislead me into believ- 
 ing that, although a year younger than myself, 
 she might pass for ten years my senior ? Yet 
 / have spent a life of disappointment and re- 
 pining, while she is unconscious of a single 
 sorrow. Have I less depth of feeling — less 
 force of character, than my sister ? — Perhaps 
 so ! — Perhaps she has grieved for me. Perhaps 
 her regrets for the weary and unprofitable years 
 I have been passing, have created a care for 
 her? — But I forget! — Armine has four child- 
 ren ; and experience has not initiated me into 
 the pains and pleasures produced by the respon- 
 sibility of motherhood. 
 
 The unfavourable change I noticed in Ar- 
 mine's looks, struck me still more forcibly in
 
 DIARY OF A DESENNUYEE. 43 
 
 the manners of her husband. Herbert, al- 
 though an excellent, is certainly not an ingra- 
 tiating person. He is fond of naked truths, 
 and I am modest enough to like even the truth 
 a little drapee. Armine admired my house. 
 Herbert was silent till she questioned him. 
 "Is it not charming ? Is it not a perfect 
 bijou V^ 
 
 " By hijou^ I conclude you mean trinket?" 
 he replied ; '* which perfectly explains my ob- 
 jection to it. Trinkets are not for daily use ; 
 and this house seems made for any thing but to 
 live in. I dare say I am wrong, — but I detest 
 gimcracks." 
 
 " It was fitted up for your poor friend 
 Thistledown," added Armine, apparently with 
 a view to his conciliation. 
 
 " Was it? — I should have fancied it fitted 
 up for an actress," replied Herbert, rising, and 
 trying to look through the conservatory into 
 the Park. " Ass as Thistledown was, I should 
 have hardly thought him capable of spoiling a 
 fine prospect like this, by planting it out with 
 geraniums.''
 
 44 DIARY OF A DESENNUYEE. 
 
 This is the first ungracious word I have 
 heard respecting my pretty house ; and, per- 
 haps, the only sincere one ! At all events, the 
 thing might have heen said more courteously. 
 Some people are perpetually declaring — ^' I 
 told him plainly ;" as if any one had a right to 
 tell another a thing "plainly!" — Better tell 
 it " prettily," and the lesson is learned with 
 patience. 
 
 Significant looks passed between Armine 
 and her husband, at the mention of several 
 persons I named, as my intimate associates. 
 Had he not been there, she would have pro- 
 bably explained herself; but Herbert shewed 
 such a disposition to be uncivil, by observing, 
 " All these are Lady Cecilia's people. She^ 
 I conclude, has been your bear-leader ;" that 
 my sister seemed afraid of provoking further 
 comment. To-morrow, I shall manage to see 
 her alone ; and inquire her objections to the 
 Percys, Penrhyn, Lady Grace Gosling, and 
 others. 
 
 I was at Almack's to-night for the first 
 time ; — most brilliant ! — most beautiful ! I
 
 DIARY OF A DESENNUYlfeE. 45 
 
 dined first with Cecilia, and sat next Han- 
 ton ; who, between the courses, noticed 
 that the fraicheur of my toilet was equal to that 
 of the mullet, — a great compliment from him. 
 
 ^' You are going to a ball, eh ? — Great Hea- 
 ven ! how can people derouter themselves by 
 going to balls? — Hot rooms — noisy music — 
 dust — citric acid ices — and spurious cham- 
 pagne ! — Your appetite nauseated next day, 
 and your temples beating out of time like a 
 blacksmith's anvil! — And Almack's too, — a 
 public ball ! — I look upon Almack's as the 
 worst thing going." 
 
 My gaietc de cceur was not to be damped by 
 his aflfectation ; and when the clock struck 
 eleven, I entered, on Cecilia's arm, that long 
 and echoing ball-room, where so many hearts, 
 promises, and fans, have been broken, — from 
 the time of hoop petticoats and red-heeled 
 pumps, to those of aerophane crape and patent 
 varnish. The ball-room, without much ele- 
 gance of architecture or decoration, is gay and 
 well-lighted. It has been noticed, and I think 
 truly, that there is not in London a room
 
 46 DIARY OF A D^SENNUYilE. 
 
 where beauty looks more beautiful. Nothing 
 there to distract attention from the human face 
 divine; — no pictures — no statues — no gilding 
 — no porcelain — no flowers. You have pretty 
 music to listen to, pretty faces to look at, and 
 the best society, in the easiest and most agree- 
 able way. Paris, Vienna, Naples, have nothing 
 to compare with Almack's : no weekly poiyit de 
 reunion, where people are sure of meeting 
 those who suit them, and whom they suit. But 
 then, in what other capital does fashion hold a 
 reign so absolute as in London ? Where was 
 the throne of exclusivism ever so firmly esta- 
 blished as at Almack's? 
 
 The very fine complain that the thing is en 
 decadence, and no longer the Delhai Lama-ish 
 temple that it was 
 
 " In my cold youth, when George the Fourth was king." 
 
 But no matter ! It is still the conservatory, 
 par excellence, for our budding roses and rare 
 exotics ; the rendezvous for seeing with the 
 least possible trouble the greatest possible num- 
 ber of one's acquaintances.
 
 DIARY OF A DESENNUY^E. 47 
 
 What a host of hands were extended to me 
 to-night by old friends ! what curtsies innumer- 
 able was I forced to perform in honour of new 
 introductions ! Lady Cecilia is of opinion that, 
 as my house is not large enough to give a ball 
 (a thing which amounts to a publication of 
 one's visiting list), I may as well know every 
 body, and go only to those whom I think de- 
 sirable. An apology is easily sent to people one 
 wishes to send to Coventry ! 
 
 Among other merits, Almack's has the es- 
 pecial privilege of affording the only classic 
 (ball) ground for ministerial and political cele- 
 brities. Lord North frowned there in his time ; 
 Lord Castlereagh( Holy-alliance Castlereagh), in 
 his ; and the great men of to-day follow in the 
 steps of those of yesterday. To-night we had 
 
 , looking sallow and saturnine, but 
 
 sentimental withal ; and I am sure that his 
 oratory is apt to touch as many hearts as 
 heads. 
 
 Thursday morning. — Having had my horses 
 out till nearly four, I shall not be able to get to 
 the Herberts' to-day. But as Armine can com-
 
 48 DIARY OF A DlfeSENNUYEE. 
 
 mand her husband's arm, I hope she will walk 
 to me. 
 
 Six o'clock, and my room only just clear of 
 morning visitors ! I am tired out with chit- 
 chat, — buried under a shower of rose-leaves ! 
 First came Lady Evelyn Beresford, all softness 
 and grace, who never speaks above a whisper, 
 and dies of every breath of air, even in a westerly 
 wind. She has always a very little cough — so 
 small, that it seems like the voice of the invisible 
 girl, to come out of another room ; and just 
 now, poor Lady Evelyn 
 
 " Dies of a rose in Homoeopathic pain ;" 
 
 dines at three o'clock, on half a snipe, and 
 keeps her children in Lancashire, being too 
 nervous to bear their noise within two hundred 
 miles of her great rambling house in Privy 
 Gardens. She comes to town for the season, 
 only to put herself under the tortures of the 
 newest fashionable quack ; and is all amaze- 
 ment that any one can bear the fatigue of 
 dressing and the exhaustion of hot rooms. It 
 is needless to remind her that her own demie-
 
 DIARY OF A DESENNUYEE. 49 
 
 toilette costs her twice the trouble of our ball 
 dresses, or that the thermometer in her boudoir 
 stands at 85°. She has no faith in the indis- 
 positions of other women. Most of us experi- 
 ence a jealous pang on hearing the beauty of 
 some rival lauded, apparently at our own ex- 
 pense ; but Lady Evelyn is as tenacious of the 
 word "invalid," as Mrs. Percy of the terms 
 ''wit "or "belle." 
 
 '* They talk of the Duchess of being 
 
 delicate," said she, in an indignant tone, this 
 morning; " a woman who has nursed all her 
 children must have the constitution of an Irish 
 charwoman ! " 
 
 She will not even allow one of her friends to 
 be ill, — hints that it is an idle pretension, — 
 and has actually misgivings of imposition, after 
 they are dead and gone. 
 
 Sir Jenison Delaval came in before she left 
 me ; who, being a constitutional croaker, a 
 dear lover of bad tidings — (Lady Cis declares 
 that, had he been sent for news out of the ark, 
 he would have brought back a sprig of yew 
 
 VOL. I. D
 
 50 DIARY OF A DESENNUYEE. 
 
 instead of an olive-branch !) informed us that 
 Lord Clendinning had lost his wife. 
 
 '^ Lady Clendinning dead ?" cried Lady 
 Evelyn. *^ Impossible ! you must have been 
 misinformed ! " 
 
 " I fear not. She died last night." 
 
 " Last night? — oh dear, no. Mr. Beres- 
 ford was with his father yesterday morning, 
 just after Dr. Holland had left the house; and 
 Holland gave it as his opinion that she was in 
 no sort of danger. Holland is aware of her 
 foible of fancying herself ten times worse than 
 she really is." 
 
 '' In this case, poor woman, her fancy was 
 confirmed. She said she should not live through 
 the day, and expired in the course of the even- 
 ing." 
 
 " My dear Sir Jenison, believe me, it was 
 some other person. Lady Clendinning is one 
 of the last women in the world to die in that 
 sort of way, of a common cold." 
 
 *' But it was not a common cold — it was 
 an inflammation of the lungs." 
 
 *' Well ! common or uncommon, I know
 
 DIARY OF A DESENNUYEE. 51 
 
 she was at Devonshire House on Thursday 
 week ; and you may rely upon it she is no 
 more dead than I am." 
 
 *' It was precisely at Devonshire House 
 that she had some difficulty in getting up her 
 carriage, — stood in a draught of air without 
 her cloak, — and never quitted her bed after- 
 wards. Blisters, bleeding, leeches — nothing 
 could save her." 
 
 " How very absurd ! Lady Clendinning 
 has a horror of blisters — never put one on in 
 her life ; and as to bleeding, the very sight of a 
 lancet would cure her. I shall go and call on 
 her to-morrow." 
 
 '' Better not, my dear madam. You will 
 find Clendinning House shut up. My informa- 
 tion must be correct, for I had it from Screw, 
 the upholsterer, who is generally civil enough 
 to let me know when he has some great funeral 
 in hand." 
 
 '* I dare say he was sent for to make an 
 easy sofa or chair for her," persisted Lady 
 Evelyn, " and fancied, as the knocker was tied 
 up, that she must be dead." 
 
 tlBRAWY 
 
 UNIVERSITY OF ILLINOi?
 
 52 DIARY OF A DESENNUY^E. 
 
 " No such thing, I assure you," snarled 
 Sir Jenison. *' He was sent for to " 
 
 " I don't believe a word of it !" interrupted 
 Lady Evelyn, having gradually raised her small 
 sucking-dove voice to tornado pitch ; " and 
 I will go to Clendinning House this very 
 minute." 
 
 Before Sir Jenison had settled his wig and 
 his temper, after her exit, " came there a cer- 
 tain lord,'* who asked permission last night to 
 pay his respects to me in St. James's Place ; 
 and as he is young, handsome, and withal re- 
 puted agreeable, I made him one of those un- 
 meaning affirmative shrugs, expressive of neither 
 too much nor too little satisfaction at the pro- 
 posal. Now that I have seen him again, and 
 studied him at leisure, I heartily rejoice at not 
 having been warmer in my acceptation of his 
 civilities. Lord Lancaster seems to be an adept 
 in that fashionable school of superciliousness 
 which renders young Englishmen so ridiculous. 
 Till the age of thirty, your listless lord takes 
 refuge in finery from his own insignificance, 
 — knows nobody, — goes nowhere, — can find
 
 DIARY OF A DESENNUYEE. 53 
 
 nothing to eat, — nothing to read, — is very little 
 aware of what you are saying to him, and still less 
 of what he utters in reply. After thirty, unless 
 improved by having amalgamated with reason- 
 able society, he retreats anew into whatever 
 may be the pet club of the day — White's, the 
 Travellers', Crockford's, or a successor, still to 
 arise. From that moment he knows nobody 
 but the fellows at the club ; goes nowhere but 
 to the club ; admits of no eating but the 
 dinners or suppers of the club — no reading 
 but its journals and periodicals. He meets 
 a man in society, and if a member of the 
 same, offers to put him down there; if not a 
 member, but worthy so to be, he offers to put 
 him up there. That goodly community he holds 
 to constitute the human species ; for him there 
 is no world elsewhere ! 
 
 Lord Lancaster is at present in the incipient 
 stage of listlessnessism. At present, he knows 
 nothing, and nobody, on the face of the created 
 globe. He came into my drawing-room, evi- 
 dently prepared for a ttte-a-tete, and to make it 
 agreeable to both parties ; but the moment he
 
 54 DIARY OF A DESENNUYEI!. 
 
 saw Sir Jenison Del aval, a man with whom he 
 has no visiting-acquaintance; he froze into a 
 statue of snow, to make it evident, that an in- 
 troduction to the stranger was out of the ques- 
 tion. Instead of his florid eloquence of last 
 night, he emitted only monosyllables in reply 
 to the diffuse commentary on the weather, with 
 which I was obliged to fill up the awkward 
 pause that ensued ; and, instead of his graceful 
 ease on the satin sofa at Almack's among those 
 certified of his caste, he turned his eyes neither 
 to the right nor left, lest, peradventure, they 
 should fall upon an object of dubious recog- 
 nizability. So complete a man in buckram 
 never was it my lot to see. 
 
 Before his lordship's joints could be unstiif- 
 ened, or his dignity relaxed, by the departure 
 of poor unconscious Sir Jenison, in rattled 
 Count Szchazoklwonski, a wild Hungarian, 
 and a great friend of Lady Cecilia, who has a 
 propensity for tattling bad English. 
 
 " Ha! my freind, Sare Delafals!" cried he, 
 *' enchanted to met you. Receife your polite 
 cart of dinner — will axcep, most happee. Who
 
 DIARY OF A DESENNUYEE. 55 
 
 that stranshe mans?" whispered he, leaning 
 towards me. 
 
 '^ Lord Lancaster/' reph'ed I, in the same 
 low tone. 
 
 " Lancasters ? do I not knew heem ? an Irizh 
 peer, eh, yees?" 
 
 " A Scotch one, I believe," said I, amused 
 by his barbaresque self-possession, under the 
 scrutinizing glances of the exclusive. 
 
 " Scosh? aha! Scosh, I tink. Good day, 
 milor, good day, your shervanth. You are of 
 Scoshland, I find. I have great regard for 
 Scoshland. I go to Scoshland, last sheason, 
 shoot the moors ; leef on groushe and veeshky, 
 veeshky and groushe ; I have great regard for 
 Scoshland. Pray, milor, can you told me 
 vare I gets di genoing Scosh peel?" 
 
 ^' Peel?" reiterated his lordship. 
 
 *' Count Szchazoklwonski probably means 
 Scotch marmalade, made of orange-peel," said 
 I, in perfect simplicity. 
 
 " I means no such tings," cried the count ; 
 " widsh your kind forgive me, I means 
 peel, — Scosh peel, — veesh I took ven indish-
 
 66 DIARY OF A DESENNUYEE. 
 
 pose, in de moor ; and veesh cure me like 
 vonder ! " 
 
 " Scotch pills,'' cried I, unable to repress a 
 laugh. 
 
 But it was no laughing matter. The colour 
 rose to Lord Lancaster's temples, and he pulled 
 up his collar with a jerk, as he would have 
 pulled up a hard-mouthed horse. 
 
 " Your friend seems to take me for an apo- 
 thecary," said he, addressing me; but disdain- 
 ing to notice the count. 
 
 " Million pardonsh, milor," replied Szcha- 
 zoklwonski, amazed at having given offence : 
 *' miladi spoke you as peer of Scoshland ; 
 thought you very natural know de Scosh peel. 
 Not de leash affronts in de worral." 
 
 It is impossible to describe the air of Lord 
 Lancaster, conscious of having been made ridi- 
 culous, and apprehensive of rendering himself 
 more so before " Sare Delafals ;" for the count's 
 apostrophe had taught him to know the un- 
 couth man in the corner, not only for the mate 
 of the fashionable Lady Cecilia, but actually 
 for a member of his club ; whom not to know
 
 DIARY OF A DESENNUYEE. 57 
 
 argued himself, if not unknown, at least un- 
 knowing. 
 
 To-night I am going to the Duke of 
 Merioneth's, dining first with the Percys; so that 
 I shall actually pass the second day of Armine's 
 sojourn in town without seeing her. How 
 mortifying ! 
 
 Friday night. — I seem destined to meet 
 with contrarittes. This morning, I determined 
 to sally forth across the Parks, to visit my 
 sister, attended by my servant. But, just as I 
 had reached the gate of the Green Park, a 
 gentleman, who had been cantering gently 
 along Constitution Hill, drew up, gave his 
 horse to his groom, and I found myself es- 
 corted by Mr. Penrhyn. 
 
 ** Am I indiscreet in inquiring whither 
 Mrs. Delaval is bound at so unseasonable an 
 hour?" said he. *' Is it some benevolent ac- 
 tion that takes you abroad so early? I fear 
 not ! for Charity, we are told, begins at home ! 
 Perhaps Madame Payne has received her de- 
 spatches from Herbault, and you are one of the 
 d2
 
 58 DIARY OF A DESENNUYEE. 
 
 favoured few admitted to the privy council of 
 les modes? Or you are sitting for your picture? 
 — Yes ! you are sitting for your picture, and 
 choose to arrive at Chalon's door with the 
 bloom of exercise upon your cheek ! — I take it 
 for granted, Chalon is the man, as the only 
 artist whose style is worthy of your own — 
 
 " Hair loosely flowing — robes as free." 
 
 " My intent is neither wicked nor chari- 
 table," said I ; *' nor is my face about to 
 borrow charms from either a painter or a 
 milliner. I am simply going to visit my 
 sister, Mrs. Herbert, who is just arrived from 
 the country." 
 
 " Ah ! you have a sister 1 Not the wife, I 
 trust, of a certain morose Heniy Herbert, with 
 whom 1 used to quarrel at Eton and Christ- 
 church?" 
 
 " A certain Henry Herbert, certainly, and 
 both of Eton and Oxford ; but by no means a 
 morose one." 
 
 " My hearty congratulations, then, to his 
 fair lady, on the reformation she has effected !
 
 DIARY OF A Df:SENNUYEE. 59 
 
 To do poor Herbert justice, he had some pre- 
 text for ill-humour. It has been his fate, 
 through life, to come in second best. His 
 father is an old baronet, with a princely es- 
 tate ; but my friend was born eleven months 
 after a stout, thriving, active, elder brother. 
 Till ten years old, he was himself a handsome 
 lad ; caught the small-pox, and became honey- 
 combed for life ! His younger brother has 
 changed his name for a fortune, left him by a 
 rich godmother ; his elder succeeded to the 
 title and family property. Henry Herbert, I 
 conclude, is still Henry Herbert ; a man with- 
 out a profession, because he is so near being a 
 man of fortune ; but who, with his independ- 
 ence of 1785/. per annum, is the most depend- 
 ent of human beings ! What you have just 
 told me, completes the catalogue of his mis- 
 fortunes ; — he is married to Mrs. Delaval's 
 sister, instead of to herself!" 
 
 ^' He is, indeed, much to be pitied," said I, 
 affecting to laugh off Mr. Penrhyn's compli- 
 ment, as we reached the door of Armine's 
 house, in New Norfolk Street; "but, as an-
 
 60 DIARY OF A DESENNUYEE. 
 
 Other minute will bring me into the presence of 
 your victim, you must permit me to wish you 
 good morning." 
 
 "Victim, indeed!" ejaculated Penrhyn, 
 raising his hat as the servant opened the door. 
 " Herbert is even a more unhappy dog than I 
 thought him ; to live in New Norfolk Street, 
 and on the wrong side of the way ! " 
 
 Certainly my brother-in-law's face did look 
 most lugubrious when I entered the breakfast- 
 room. The table was covered with cold tea, 
 stiffened muffins, warm butter, tepid coffee, 
 empty egg-shells ! The husband was grum- 
 bling over the denunciations of an opposition 
 paper ; the wife trying to silence the chattering 
 children, who prevented his croakings from 
 becoming audible! 
 
 " Why, my dear Armine, did not Herbert 
 bring you to see me yesterday?" I inquired, as 
 soon as I had taken my place. 
 
 " He thought it would be far easier for 
 your carriage and horses to bring you to 
 see ws," replied Herbert, taking up his own 
 defence.
 
 DIARY OF A DESENNUYEE. 61 
 
 " My horses and servants had been out all 
 night." 
 
 " Yourself, of course, remaining at home?" 
 
 " No. If you remember, I told you I was 
 going to Almack's ; and last night, I was at 
 Merioneth House." 
 
 " But people do not remain all night at 
 Almack's ; and you (and your horses) were not 
 at Merioneth House, I imagine, before tQn 
 o'clock?" 
 
 " Not till eleven. But I was not sure of 
 finding you, if I came in the evening." 
 
 " There were two good arguments that your 
 sister, at least, would be at home. Like most 
 recently arrived country cousins, she has no- 
 thing to wear ; and, like most poor men's 
 wives, no horses to drive." 
 
 " Let us go to the drawing-room, and talk 
 over your parties of last night," cried Armine, 
 the peace-maker ; " it is enough that you are 
 here at last." 
 
 And to the drawing-room I followed her, 
 leading one little stumbling girl, who did not 
 choose to be carried, while she carried a heavy
 
 62 DIARY OF A DESENNUYEE. 
 
 boy, who did not choose to walk. But even 
 the drawing-room was calculated to throw a 
 damp on our spirits. Armine's arrival in town 
 is so recent, that her house has not yet acquired 
 an inhabited look. The lustres are in canvass 
 bags ; the frames of the glasses and pictures 
 under dirty gauze. The covers remain on the 
 furniture ; with the exception of the table- 
 covers, which are doubled up and laid aside. 
 No books about — no flowers — no knick-knacks 
 — no anything! Nothing seems at home in 
 the room but the poker, stuck familiarly into 
 the sulky smoky fire. 
 
 *' Ah! this looks delightful," cried Herbert, 
 shrugging his shoulders, after having opened 
 another window to let out the smoke. '^ No- 
 thing so charming as a fifth-rate London house, 
 to people who entertain the foolish ambition of 
 deserting a comfortable residence, to come to 
 town for the season." 
 
 "But you used to like London?" said L 
 " Yes — when I had nothing else to like, 
 and a club was my substitute for a home. But, 
 with four children, and scarcely two thousand
 
 DIARY OF A DESENNUYEE. 63 
 
 a-year, I am content to remain in Bedfordshire. 
 Indeed, this will be decidedly the last year of 
 our coming. Next season, I shall let this con- 
 founded smoky hole, and get three or four 
 hundred pounds for it from some valetudi- 
 narian member, wanting to be near the Parks. 
 By the way, what have you done with Pen- 
 rhyn? — I saw him walk up to the door with 
 you?" 
 
 " Then you also saw him turn away as I 
 entered ? " 
 
 " With no small satisfaction! I was afraid 
 he might not be aware how little I am disposed 
 to welcome such a visitor. I have known Pen- 
 rhyn all my life, and disliked him as long ; a 
 man incapable of doing a generous thing, or 
 saying a kind one. Penrhyn is by nature a 
 dirty fellow. You know him to be rich, only 
 because he is purse-proud ; nay, he almost 
 laments the prosperity which leaves him no 
 excuse for being a jjiqite-assiette. Although a 
 man of family and high connexions, Penrhyn 
 is as abject a tuft-hunter as if born a feather- 
 merchant in the Borough."
 
 64 DIARY OF A DESENNUYEE. 
 
 " He must have grievously incensed you," 
 said I, laughing at his vehemence, " to induce 
 you to take the trouble of uttering so violent a 
 Philippic." 
 
 *' Not he! — no one more insignificant in 
 my eyes. At Eton, he was an empty, sneering 
 boy ; at Oxford, a hanger-on upon poor lords, 
 who borrowed his bank-notes, — or dunce lords, 
 who borrowed his reading, — or millionary com- 
 moners, who borrowed the illustration of his 
 aristocratic name : for Penrhyn is so accus- 
 tomed to despise every thing, that he has no 
 great opinion of himself; and, however good 
 his position, cannot be satisfied without trying 
 to hang himself a peg above it. Armine, my 
 love, pray ring the bell for the nurse : Maria 
 will certainly catch cold, running up and down 
 the balcony. — No! pray, don't shut the win- 
 dow ; we shall be stifled with smoke, or the 
 child will cut herself, trying to fall through 
 the glass." 
 
 A ring, a roar, a scolding, — and my little 
 niece and nephew were despatched to the nur- 
 sery. But the ill-humour of papa was a fix-
 
 DIARY OF A DESENNUYEE. 65 
 
 ture. How few, how very few men understand 
 the advantage of making themselves agreeable 
 by their own fireside! I detest a husband 
 eternally squabbling in a tete-a-tete, but be- 
 coming bright and sunshiny the moment a 
 visitor is announced ! My visit to my sister 
 was rendered thoroughly unpleasant by Her- 
 bert's want of self-control. Yet, had he been 
 in any house but his own, he would have suf- 
 fered the chimney to smoke, the children to 
 squall, and the breakfast-table to look dis- 
 orderly, without allowing his temper to be 
 ruiSed. I would not hear of his walking back 
 with me to St. James's Place ; and even al- 
 lowed him to surmise that Mr. Penrhyn was 
 waiting in the Park to offer me his arm. It 
 was quite a relief to me, and, I fancy, to his 
 wife, when, finding his services refused, he 
 took himself off to his club. 
 
 After all, clubs are not altogether so bad a 
 thing for family-men. They act as conductors 
 to the storms usually hovering in the air. The 
 man forced to remain at home, and vent his 
 crossness on his wife and children, is a much
 
 6G 
 
 DIARY OF A DESENNUYEE. 
 
 worse animal to bear with than the man who 
 grumbles his way to Pall-Mali, and, not daring 
 to swear at the club servants, or knock about 
 the club furniture, becomes socialized into de- 
 cency. Nothing like the subordination exer- 
 cised in a community of equals, for reducing a 
 fiery temper. It is not the influence of the 
 colonel or the major which curbs the violence 
 of the irascible young ensign, so much as that 
 of his brother ensign, who joined six months 
 before him, and is already subdued to the dis- 
 cipline of the regiment. I dare say Herbert is 
 tolerably amicable in his own neighbourhood, 
 among 'squires of his own fortune and degree. 
 
 Luckily, there are times and places where 
 all the world puts on its company face. At 
 Merioneth House, last night, what a host of 
 smilers ! Not a jealous scowl, not an envious 
 sneer, not an angry frown, to be seen! In 
 spite of all the rivalship, all the vindictive feel- 
 ing, pent up in the four hundred human breasts 
 drawing breath under its gorgeous roof, all was 
 courtesy, all kindness. Not a care presumed 
 to shew its face in that fairy palace. A temple
 
 DIARY OF A DESENNUYEE. 67 
 
 of joy, — its votaries must be joyous. After an 
 hour or two passed in such a spot, one might 
 almost become a convert to the notion of the 
 poor, that, in this world at least. Dives, in his 
 purple and fine linen, is exempt from tri- 
 bulation. 
 
 It is, perhaps, owing to the domestic plagues 
 which subdued my temper, that I resided so 
 many years at Delaval Castle, surrounded by 
 mud hovels, without imagining that, because I 
 was lady of all I surveyed, I was paramount in 
 all other times and places. Nothing, I per- 
 ceive, is so unpretending as a thoroughly Lon- 
 donized person. There, gentlemen are accus- 
 tomed to give way to lords ; lords to royalties ; 
 and society is as nicely matched, each under 
 each, as the voices of the hounds of Theseus. 
 But divers of my fellow denizens of Ireland, 
 and others escaped from long exile in the colo- 
 nies, find it difficult to divest themselves of the 
 influence of their local importance. The other 
 night, at Almack's, I noticed Sir William 
 O'Blarney, who has a family-place some miles 
 from Ballyshumna, and was accounted a fine
 
 68 DIARY OF A DESENNUYEE. 
 
 thing in Dublin, pushing and shoving in a 
 crowd of peers and peeresses, as he would have 
 done in a mob in Sackville Street ! He could 
 not conceive why they did not make room for 
 him, and his partner ; and fancied himself as 
 grand and influential in the presence of the 
 Duke of Wellington, Lord Grey, two or three 
 German sovereign princes, and two or three 
 hundred of the leading nobility, as when re- 
 ceiving the obeisances of a dozen hatless and 
 shoeless retainers, in whose eyes Sir William 
 O'Blarney, own cousin, twice removed, to my 
 Lord O'Blarney, of the fine ould ancient house 
 of O'Blarney, of Blarney Castle, in the county 
 of Fermana2;h, is secondary in importance only 
 to the Prince of Wales ! To do poor Sir Wil- 
 liam justice, his partner, Lady Theodosia Fari- 
 nafad, seemed quite as well inclined to assert 
 her mistaken dignity as himself. I saw her 
 plant herself before one of the fairest and gen- 
 tlest of the Howards, who was forced to retreat, 
 and find a place in another quadrille ; and the 
 disdainful air with which Sir William and her- 
 self surveyed, from force of habit, all and sundry
 
 DIARY OF A DESENNUYEE. 69 
 
 in the room, was really amusing. At last, as 
 they were elbowing their way together towards 
 Lady Theodosia's chaperon, 1 saw the ridiculous 
 couple stand aside, as if conscious of a superior 
 presence, and doubted not that a member of the 
 royal family had come in. I raised my glass; 
 but, lo ! in lieu of a royal highness, saw no- 
 thing but a fat old dowager, — a quondam lady- 
 lieutenant. Sir William, remembering how 
 low he used to bow to her at the Castle, having 
 resumed his former obsequiousness. Great as 
 he was, he felt an ex-vice-queen to be greater. 
 The minnows shrank in presence of what had 
 been a Triton in their little eyes. 
 
 Lister was right in his assertion that travel 
 is indispensable to liberalize the mind. After 
 making the tour of Europe, Sir William 
 O' Blarney will probably return to his country, 
 a polished, open-minded, open-hearted man. 
 But it will require many a rub to teach him 
 the useful art of self-knowledge. One lesson 
 was bestowed on him the other night. Lady 
 Cecilia's sister, the somewhat exclusive mar- 
 chioness of Clackmannan, sent for her carriage,
 
 70 DIARY OF A DESENNUYEE. 
 
 and took away her beautiful daughter, Lady 
 Alicia Spottiswode, the moment Sir William 
 asked her to dance. " It is Alicia's first 
 season," whispered Lady Cecilia, observing my 
 suppressed smile; '^ et il ne faut pas senca- 
 naillerV 
 
 Do not let me seem to scandalize my Irish 
 friends. I see nothing in London — no ! not 
 even at Merioneth House — superior to Lord 
 and Lady Rossana, or their sons and daughters. 
 But the Rossanas are people of the world ; and 
 have supported the reputation of their country 
 for beauty and wit, at Paris, Rome, Naples, 
 Vienna, and Berlin. It struck me last night, 
 that Mr. Penrhyn was paying attention to the 
 youngest and prettiest of the daughters. But 
 I am satisfied that Lady Sophia has too much 
 dignity of mind to accept a man universally 
 stigimatized as the cavaliere servente of a mar- 
 ried woman. 
 
 Poor Sir Jenison Delaval has just attained 
 a crisis in his destiny, which makes the matri- 
 monial yoke he has been wearing, till it has 
 grown into his flesh, sit extremely uneasy.
 
 DIARY OF A DESENNUY^E. 71 
 
 Clarence Delaval, his only son, who has turned 
 out as wild as the slip of such a stock was 
 likely to prove, has just been rusticated at 
 college ; and his father and Lady Cecilia are 
 at variance touching his future destination. 
 Lady Cis wants to send him to travel, and, 
 on his return from the Continent, place him 
 in the Blues : Sir Joseph talks of keeping him 
 under his own eye (such an eye as it is!), and 
 putting him into the Foreign Office or the 
 Treasury, to tame him down. The idea of the 
 handsome, clever Clarence, chained to a desk 
 in a Government office, would make Lady 
 Cecilia furious, if it did not make her laugh. 
 But, while papa and mamma are settling their 
 differences of opinion, my little cousin, Cla- 
 rence, remains en j>e/zi^e?zce in Grosvenor 
 Square; smuggled by his mother, night after 
 night, to the Opera, Almack's, and every ball 
 worth mentioning, in order to keep him out of 
 mischief; or, rather, to keep him to mischief of 
 what she considers the right kind. 
 
 " A boy of twenty must play the fool," is 
 her argument ; ^* and it is better he should
 
 72 DIARY OF A DESENNUYEE. 
 
 play the fool in good company. Precisely at 
 Clarence's age, the tone of a man's character 
 is decided. If shy, he flies to indifferent society 
 to be courted and made a fuss with ; if a sports- 
 man, he associates with those who look upon 
 ignorance as eminence, and vulgarity as virtue. 
 With us, he will perceive that gallantry and 
 ecarte are not incompatible with public dis- 
 tinctions ; he will see our great politicians 
 crowned with laurels mingled with roses, and 
 find that a man may command the attention of 
 the House one night, and of Crockford's the 
 next. If my son must be a roue, let him, at 
 least, be a rout de honne compagnie.'^ 
 
 Sir Jenison, on the other hand, does not 
 subscribe to the necessity of his being a roue 
 at all ; and talks of the propriety of finishing 
 the young man's education, in case he should 
 be called on by his county to bring him for- 
 ward at the next election. But Lady Cecilia, 
 who says little, does all ; and, as Clarence finds 
 it delightful to waltz every night, and ride 
 every morning, with his pretty cousin Alicia, 
 it is probable he will manage to remain in
 
 DIARY OF A DESENNUY^E. 73 
 
 town for the rest of the season, — then complete 
 his education on the moors, or at Lucca, or 
 the Taunus baths. 
 
 Ever since my arrival in town, I have seen 
 a huge '' TO LET, FURNISHED, this 
 SPACIOUS Mansion," pasted into the windows 
 of the house adjoining mine ; and fully appre- 
 ciated the advantage of having no greater dis- 
 turbance to my South-west, than the occasional 
 modest knocks of persons coming to view the 
 premises. Last week, alas! I was roused from 
 my dream of bliss by an awkward rat-tat-tat, 
 and a sort of scuffle in the street, proceeding 
 from a family coach with four posters, and six 
 inside ; and a barouche and pair, full of ladies' 
 maids. A marvellous explosion of scolding, 
 squabbling, swearing, and unpacking, ensued ; 
 and, within four-and-twenty hours of the great 
 event, a piano was rattling in the back dining- 
 room, — a harp twanging in the front drawing- 
 room ; the under footman played the fiddle in 
 the pantry, and three children and a teething 
 infant were skirmishing and roaring in the 
 nurseries ; to say nothing of a never-ceasing 
 
 vol. I. E
 
 74 DIARY OF A DESENNUYIEE. 
 
 call for " Jane'* or " John" upon the staircase ; 
 — two slaves of the ring, whom I take to be 
 the housemaid and footman. 
 
 " Mr. and Mrs. Gresham Honsham, of 
 Wrangham Hall/' are come to town, it seems, 
 for the season, to bring out three elder daugh- 
 ters, and bring up three younger ones; and 
 the stir and bustle of the whole family is little 
 inferior to the confusion of Babel. Such double 
 knocks, such single, such eternal ringing of 
 bells and slamming of doors ; such arrivals of 
 band-boxes, — square, circular, oval, great, 
 small, middling ; such a throng of hack cabrio- 
 lets in attendance — coiffeurs, dancing-masters, 
 Italian-masters ; — such apothecarial chariots 
 for the teething baby — such compendious fa- 
 mily-coaches with visitors for papa and mamma. 
 Like all great country families, they are great 
 givers of great dinners ; and the savoury fumes 
 of gravy soup rise to my windows long before 
 I rise to my breakfast. Decidedly the party- 
 wall of a London house ought, by act of parlia- 
 ment, to be two bricks thicker. Three times 
 a-week, one daughter has Signor Bravura and
 
 DIARY OF A DESENNUYEE. 75 
 
 his solfeggio, with every day a three hours' 
 practice ; I can even overhear John and Jane 
 reprimanding Master Robert for sliding on the 
 balusters; and yesterday, Miss Maria had a 
 visit from the dentist, attended with screams 
 that caused my blood to stagnate. 
 
 It is, in fact, surprising how much re- 
 fitting and re-modelling is indispensable for 
 poor people, who have been figuring with credit 
 at their country-seat, to pass current in the 
 crowd of London. Milliners, mantua-makers, 
 stay -makers, shoe -makers, hosiers, glovers, 
 jewellers, hair- dressers, are set in motion 
 merely that three moderately well-looking girls 
 may pass an evening in society without incur- 
 ring the charge of being quizzes. The parents 
 worry themselves to death to discover the right 
 way to do the right thing ; spend half-a-year's 
 income in three months ; kill their old butler, 
 lame their favourite horses, break their new 
 carriage, lose their time and temper ; are cited 
 by the newspapers as having been present at 
 some Caledonian or Hibernian ball ; in May, 
 as having arrived at their house in St. James's
 
 76 DIARY OF A DisENNUYi:E. 
 
 Place, from their seat in Lincolnshire ; and in 
 August, as having departed from the same to 
 the same ; while, after all, one daughter mar- 
 ries the curate of the parish, and another, the 
 second son of a neighbouring 'squire. 
 
 Amongst the numerous offences committed 
 against me by Herbert the other morning, was 
 a formal invitation to dinner. With perfect 
 sincerity, I gave to him and Armine a general 
 invitation to my house ; begging them only to 
 send down to St. James's Place in the morn- 
 ing, whenever they had no better engage- 
 ment, in order to make sure that I dined at 
 home. 
 
 <* General invitations go for less than nothing, 
 in my opinion," was his ungracious reply. 
 *' In proof of which, / invite you to dine 
 here on Saturday the fourteenth of May, to 
 meet a pleasant party, and eat a detestable 
 
 dinner." 
 
 '* Invite my sister to dinner at a week's 
 date ?" interrupted Armine. " On the contrary, 
 pray ask her to dine with us, enfamille, to-
 
 DIARY OF A DESENNUYEE. 77 
 
 " Our specimen of a breakfast, enfamille^ 
 this morning, proved, no doubt, very attrac- 
 tive?" said Herbert. "No, no! no family 
 dinners for a fine lady like Mrs. Delaval, who 
 cannot live without her Almack's and Merio- 
 neth House, and who keeps a cordon hleu of a 
 chef, if I am to trust to the low bow I saw 
 bestowed on her carriage yesterday, from 
 Crockford's window, by George Hanton. A 
 family dinner ! — boiled soles and shrimp sauce, 
 a fat leg of mutton, and sallow potatoes, peeled 
 with a knife ! Faugh !" 
 
 And, in spite of all I could urge, he held 
 me engaged to dinner for the fourteenth. 
 Now, though I should dearly like to dine 
 with the Herberts alone, and chat with Armine 
 after dinner, I have not the slightest inclination 
 to derange them by preparations for a party. 
 I perfectly remember in my aunt Margaret's 
 establishment, the general disarrangement pro- 
 duced by the occasional ceremony of giving 
 a dinner; besides which, I have been forced 
 by his peremptory proposal, to put off a weekly 
 standing engagement to the Delavals ; where,
 
 78 DIARY OF A DESENNUYEE. 
 
 on Saturdays, a party of parliamentary men 
 always assembles. But my penance was to 
 be ; and, to-day, at seven o'clock, I drove to 
 New Norfolk Street. The moment I entered, 
 I felt persuaded things would go wrong. The 
 footman looked stiff and stupid in a new 
 livery, as fine as yellow plush could make 
 him ; and the butler, as sulky as a country 
 butler always looks under the temporary 
 subjection of a maitre d'hotel hired for the 
 day. Armine was not dressed when I arrived, 
 and Herbert stood on the hearth-rug, swearing 
 at her dilatoriness, and the overpowering per- 
 fume of some jonquils and heliotropes, with 
 which she had ornamented the jardiniere. 
 His pettishness was soon silenced by the an- 
 nouncement of a Sir Dunstan Forbes, a tall, 
 square-shouldered, fussy man, too huge of 
 stature, and too loud of tone for so small a 
 mansion ; and, immediately afterwards, a thun- 
 dering knock, and Armine hurried in, drawing 
 on her gloves, just in time to receive Sir John 
 and Lady Farrington ; the lady, dazzling in a 
 full-trimmed lilac satin gown, diamonds, and
 
 DIARY OF A DESENNUYEE. 79 
 
 a wreath of roses ! The sun shone brightly 
 upon our finery and ill-humour; and every 
 time the door was opened, came a powerful whiff 
 of the unwholesome vapour of charcoal. Two 
 other men dropped slowly in ; but the remain- 
 ing two, who were to make out our party of 
 ten, not yet making their appearance, the 
 children were asked for by Lady Farrington, 
 a Bedfordshire neighbour of my sister, appa- 
 rently well -versed in her family concerns. 
 Herbert interposed his interdiction, saying, 
 that children before dinner were a bore. Ar- 
 mine looked nervous — Lady Farrington plead- 
 ed with affected earnestness; and, after ten 
 minutes' disputing, the nursery bell was rung, 
 — the children, evidently waiting the summons, 
 in all their company finery arrived, and set up 
 a quartett of roaring, or rather a glee — for 
 Montresor, the eldest boy, ran boldly in and 
 climbed on Lady Farrington's lilac satin knees; 
 while poor dear Armine, after vainly endea- 
 vouring to pacify them, and eke the head 
 nurse, who bridled with suppressed indig- 
 nation, on hearing her master assert, that they
 
 80 DIARY OF A DESENNUYEE* 
 
 were the worst managed brats in England, 
 sentenced them to return to the place from 
 whence they came. 
 
 Herbert, looking at his watch, proclaimed 
 that it was half-past seven, and talked of 
 ordering dinner. Armine pleaded that Lord 
 Lancaster was always late ; and that, from 
 Spring Gardens to New Norfolk Street was a 
 vast distance for Lord Hampton. The Album 
 was accordingly re-opened, and re-admired by 
 those nearest the table ; the " Keepsake," and 
 the " Book of Beauty," were commented upon, 
 according to individual tastes ; and Sir Dunstan 
 inquired of Sir John, whether he had been late 
 at the house the preceding night, in order to 
 prove to the two silent gentlemen in black, 
 that they were in presence of honourable 
 members. 
 
 Again there came a pause ; and Sir Duns- 
 tan attacked Lady Farrington on the exhibition 
 at Somerset House; he giving as his own the 
 sturdy criticisms of the Athenaeum, and she re- 
 plying in the flimsy of the Court Magazine. 
 Herbert was growing flushed, when a carriage
 
 DIARY OF A DESENNUYEE. 81 
 
 rattled to the door, and in came Lord Hampton, 
 all bustle, fuss, and apology, aflfecting to pant 
 for breath; shaking hands to the right and 
 left, with the empressement of a man who 
 arrives too late ; bowing impertinently low to 
 the two strangers, as if to announce himself 
 most affably resigned to make the acquaintance 
 of the whole injured company. 
 
 '^ I have a thousand apologies to offer to 
 Mrs. Herbert," spluttered his lordship, in an 
 audible voice to her husband. "But the fact 
 is, I uniformly dine at eight ; and being fully 
 persuaded that you had invited me at eight, I 
 desired Francois to have my things ready for 
 me at the usual hour. I was saunterinsj lei- 
 surely near the Mount Gate, at twenty minutes 
 after seven, when, happening to meet Lancaster, 
 he said, ' I thought you were to dine at Her- 
 bert's ? ' adding something about an early din- 
 ger, which absolutely startled me. He observed 
 that you were very considerate to dine at such 
 an hour, in order to enable us to see something 
 of the Norma. Believe me, I was horror-struck ! 
 — took but three minutes and a quarter to reach 
 e2
 
 82 DIARY OF A DESENNUY^E. 
 
 Spring Gardens, — searched for your card — 
 found it — gave myself five minutes to dress — 
 waited only vrhile my horses vrere putting to, 
 and have now nothing left but to throw myself 
 on Mrs. Herbert's good-nature." 
 
 This apology, which apology was none, was 
 received with indulgence ; and the party, yawn- 
 ing and hungry, satisfied that Lord Lancaster 
 intended to cut the affair altogether, fell upon 
 him like cannibals, and were tearing him to 
 pieces, when in he sauntered, — cool, undaunted, 
 unapologizing, — bowing slightly to his hosts, 
 saluting Lord Hampton with a glance, and 
 totally unconscious of the presence of any other 
 person. A dead silence ensued ; during which 
 he glided across the room to make the inquiry 
 d' usage of my sister. '' Have you been out this 
 morning ? — Lovely day ! — exquisite weather !" 
 while we all waited impatiently the announce- 
 ment of dinner. But, as it may usually be ob- 
 served in such cases, the dinner that has been 
 kept waiting, in the end causes others to wait ; 
 and more than a quarter of an hour elapsed 
 before we found ourselves wedging our way
 
 DIARY OF A DESENNUYEE. 83 
 
 down to the dining-room, while little Horace 
 Herbert was roaring his up to the nursery. I 
 heard his father making goodnatured remarks 
 to Lady Farrington, who was leaning on his 
 arm ; while I followed, on that of Lord Hamp- 
 ton, into a dining-room overheated with Carcel 
 lamps, lighted and smoking for the last two 
 hours. In the act of sending away his scarcely 
 tasted soup. Lord Lancaster, affecting to per- 
 ceive me, made me a formal bend of recognition, 
 while I swallowed in uneasy silence my cold 
 turbot and warm cucumber. 
 
 At three out of every six of even the best 
 dinners given in London, the company is ill- 
 assorted, and the party dull. But, when damped 
 by a really indiflferent dinner, nothing can be 
 more unsocial than such a meeting. Sir John 
 and Lady Farrington talked Bedfordshire with 
 Armine and Herbert, which, to all the rest of 
 the party was Hebrew and Greek ; Lancaster 
 and Hampton talked club to each other across 
 the table, — a dialect equally mysterious to the 
 uninitiated ; the two silent gentlemen grew ab- 
 solutely dumb during the process of mastication ;
 
 84 DIARY OF A DESENNUYEE. 
 
 and Sir Dunstan, by whom I was seated, bored 
 me by a series of fretful animadversions on the 
 evils of the age, — abusing the post office, — 
 reform-bill, — macadamization, — public places, 
 — private society, — men and things, — women 
 and books; and at every new topic of disser- 
 tation, ending by protesting that if the thing 
 went on, he would certainly write a letter to 
 the Times. 
 
 '* Any news from Holly bridge V inquired 
 Sir John, addressing my brother-in-law. 
 
 " Nothing important. I had a letter from 
 Thoms yesterday. They want rain. By the 
 way, Thoms mentioned that Denis (Lord 
 Forcefig's head-keeper) had been over to our 
 friend Smith, about a warrant for the people in 
 Broomby Bottom. It seems they have now 
 some grounds to go upon. Still I hope Smith 
 will be cautious. Smith is apt to let his sports- 
 manlike feelings run away with him. That 
 affair about the Oakley keepers did him a 
 great deal of injury in the county. I trust 
 Smith will be cautious." 
 
 *' Did Thoms say, whether anything was
 
 DIARY OF A de:sennuyee. 85 
 
 settled about slating the almshouses at Dudley ? 
 My man Robson was up last week on business 
 at Smithfield ; and he told me, that at the last 
 meeting nothing was decided; adding (between 
 ourselves) that every thing in that quarter was 
 likely to remain at sixes and sevens till we were 
 back again. Smith is a sad potterer, unless 
 on matters connected with the sporting in- 
 terest." 
 
 "Were you late last night?" inquired Lord 
 Lancaster of Lord Hampton, in a cross fire. 
 
 " About three ! I stayed out another 
 rubber." 
 
 " It was going hard against you when I 
 left. The admiral was getting fussy. I heard 
 him call for a glass of Madeira." 
 
 " He lost sixteen points of five ; and the 
 night before, a couple of hundred against 
 Hilton." 
 
 " He had better pull up. The admiral's 
 play is worse than anything, except his luck." 
 
 " Have you heard that he has promised to 
 put up Taffrail ? " 
 
 " He had better let it alone. Taffrail was
 
 86 DIARY OF A DESENNUYf:E. 
 
 with our squadron at Cherbourg last summer. 
 We know him. It won't do." 
 
 " He was black-balled three times last 
 winter at Paris." 
 
 " That argues nothing. The Carlist clique 
 black-ball all the English upon principle. They 
 have thrown over some of the best fellows in 
 town ; and shew no mercy to younger brothers 
 like Taffrail. A low bow from Rothschild 
 would have been his only guarantee." 
 
 " You were at the Opera, madam, on 
 Saturday?" said Sir Dunstan, addressing me, 
 meanwhile, with stately condescension; — to 
 which inquiry I bowed an affirmative. " In 
 that case, I trust you participated in the in- 
 dignation I could scarcely repress at finding 
 the last act of the Gazza Ladra substituted 
 for the first act of the Semiramide. Who is 
 to rely upon the veracity of the bills, if such 
 abuses are tolerated ? An individual pays his 
 money for a ticket, upon the faith of the 
 announcement, expecting to see the first act 
 of the Semiramide : they give him the last act 
 of the Gazza Ladra ! He has, perhaps, seen
 
 DIARY OF A DEISENNUYEE. 87 
 
 it before — perhaps repeatedly, and to satiety. 
 Yet to this abuse the public are required tamely 
 to submit ! I fairly warn Monsieur Laporte, 
 that, should he again presume to trifle in a 
 similar manner with the forbearance of his 
 subscribers, I will write a letter to the Times" 
 And this is rational conversation ! — Heigho ! 
 heigho! heigho! — Miss Austin observes, in one 
 of the best of her admirable novels, that " when 
 lovely woman stoops to be disagreeable," the 
 only art her guilt to cover is, like the lovely 
 woman who stoops to folly, " to die!'' Yet, 
 what multitudes stoop to be disagreeable ! — 
 How many of those who are sulking with the 
 world, from finding themselves less important, 
 less beautiful, less lauded than they could wish, 
 take refuge in the morasses of disagreeable- 
 ness! — some looking prudish — some conse- 
 quential — some Pharisaical — some blue, — in 
 the mistaken view of magnifying their nothing- 
 ness. So that their presence do but impose 
 upon the timid, the ignorant, and the weak, 
 they are content. They forget that the world 
 repays itself during their absence; — that they
 
 88 DIARY OF A DESENNUYEB. 
 
 must sometimes depart this city, and, at last, 
 this life ; and that, if the ass avenged itself by 
 spurning the dead lion, still more ignominiously 
 are its hoofs applied upon a defunct asinine 
 brother, equipped in a lion's skin ! 
 
 Last night, at Mrs. Percy's, '' Sare Dela- 
 fals" brought in tidings, that Lady Kirkby 
 was no more ! Lady Kirkby, it seems, was 
 once a beauty and a wit, — an heiress in her 
 youth, a countess in her middle age. Yet she 
 lived without a friend, and died without a 
 mourner ; for she, alas ! had stooped to be dis- 
 agreeable. As a beauty, she was envious ; as 
 a wit, spiteful ; as an heiress, selfish ; as a 
 countess, insolent. To secure her supremacy 
 in the fashionable world, she had dropped her 
 own relations ; and at length, infirm and wrink- 
 led before her time, by incessant wear and tear 
 of temper, the world made mouths at her dis- 
 tresses. Her daughters disappointed her, by 
 remaining single ; her sons thwarted her inclin- 
 ation, by marrying according to theirs. Vexed 
 by her own family, she looked abroad for con- 
 solation ; hired a professional toady, and ga-
 
 DIARY OF A DESENNUYEE. 89 
 
 thered a whole batch of 'prottytes under her 
 wings. But even Toady and the Protected at 
 last rebelled. Lady Kirkby's friendship was 
 dreaded almost as much as her animosity ; she 
 harrassed her allies scarcely less than her ene- 
 mies. She was fine, she was nervous, she was 
 susceptible, — she was, in short, eminently dis- 
 agreeable ; and now that she is dead and gone, 
 the two thousand tongues, so long kept still, per 
 force of Terror, are wagging against her, as if 
 to make up for loss of time. Warning ! warn- 
 ing! warning! 
 
 To-morrow there is a Drawing-room, at 
 which I am to be presented by the Marchioness 
 of Clackmannan. I waited till Armine's ar- 
 rival in town, hoping that Herbert would per- 
 mit her to accompany me ; but he protests, that 
 poor men's wives have no business at Court ; 
 and Armine, with her usual gentle habit of 
 accepting his opinions, assures me she is afraid 
 of the heat. 
 
 A female Court must certainly be highly 
 advantageous to the interests of commerce.
 
 90 DIARY OF A DESENNUYEE. 
 
 What an infinity of trivialities must be accom- 
 plished, in order to send one in good style to 
 the drawing-room. My neighbours, the Ron- 
 shams, seem in a panic of agitation. The old 
 horses have been crammed with beans ; the old 
 coach (and coachman, too, I fancy,) re-var- 
 nished ; the old hammercloth re-fringed, — see- 
 ing that there was no time for more extensive 
 preparations, and while waiting, this morning, 
 full-dressed in my white satin and plumes, the 
 summons of Lady Clackmannan, I had the 
 amusement of seeing the Mamma Ronsham in 
 pompadour and gold, looped up here, and 
 flounced down there, bundled into the carriage, 
 by her spouse, in his yeomanry uniform, look- 
 ing vastly like Major Sturgeon ; while the 
 young ladies followed, in pink and silver, their 
 elbows red by nature, — their ears and noses, 
 by the efibrt of bringing-to the hooks and eyes 
 of ill-fitting gowns. Better have powdered 
 them after the fashion of their two bedizened 
 footmen, whose heads exhibited a bushel of 
 flour, — whose canes exceeded, in length, the
 
 DIARY OF A DESENNUYEE. 91 
 
 djereed of a Persian warrior, — and whose 
 bouquets must have deprived Covent Garden 
 of its last polyanthus. 
 
 After all, magnificence is a tawdry thing, 
 when viewed under the searching blaze of sun- 
 shine. Jewels lack lustre, — gold appears 
 mere tinsel, — the circumstantialities of dress 
 are too much seen to admit of any general 
 effect ; and even beauty's self becomes less 
 beautiful. The exposure of the person imparts 
 a meretricious air, — the complexion becomes 
 moistened by the stifling atmosphere of the 
 crowded rooms. As to ladies of a certain age, 
 let them, above all things, avoid the drawing- 
 room : — such a revelation of wrinkles, moles, 
 beards, rouge, pearl-powder, pencilled eye- 
 brows, false hair, and false teeth, as were 
 brought to light, I could scarcely have ima- 
 gined. Many faces, which I had thought 
 lovely at Almack's, grew hideous when ex- 
 posed to the tell-tale brightness of the meridian 
 sun ; the consciousness of which degeneration 
 rendered them anxious, fretful, and doubly 
 frightful. Two or three dowagers, with
 
 92 DIARY OF A DESENNUYEE. 
 
 mouths full of gold wire, chinstays of blond to 
 conceal their withered deficiencies, and tulle 
 illusion tippets, were really horrific; painted 
 sepulchres, — ghastly satires upon the hollow- 
 ness of human splendour. 
 
 In general, the men suffered less by expo- 
 sure than the women. In these times, so many 
 uniforms are worn, and a well-padded, well- 
 buckramed uniform goes so far towards the 
 manufacture of a manly-looking man, that I 
 had no fault to find, except with a few quizzes, 
 much resembling that model for courtiers, — 
 Lord Grizzle, in Tom Thumb. Mr. Penrhyn 
 had a certain faux air of Sir Charles Grandi- 
 son, which rather took my fancy; and young 
 Clarence Delaval in the hussar dress of the 
 Duke of Merioneth's yeomanry cavalry, was 
 really perfect. Lady Alicia and Clarence 
 would make a charming couple ! 
 
 A more charming couple still were Sir 
 Rohert and Lady Mardynville, — so fussy about 
 arriving in time, and having their names legi- 
 bly written, and getting forward before their 
 Majesties were too tired to distinguish them,
 
 DIARY OF A DESENXUYEE. 93 
 
 and being prominently noticed by every mem- 
 ber of the Royal Family. I stood near them, 
 after we had passed the Presence Chamber; 
 and they would not let me off a single bow. 
 " His Majesty observed to me, with the great- 
 est condescension, *■ Sir Robert, I am glad to 
 see you;' and the Queen inquired, most affa- 
 bly, of Lady Mardynville, after our young 
 people. The Duke of Cumberland, as you 
 may have noticed, nodded to me as I passed 
 him, — the Duke of Sussex bowed. The 
 Duchess of Kent and Princess Victoria smiled ; 
 as much as to say, ' Ah ! Sir Robert and Lady 
 Mardynville,' and Princess Augusta inquired 
 of her ladyship how long we had been in town. 
 Princess Sophia, of Gloucester, treats us quite 
 as friends ; Lady Mardynville has a private 
 audience of her royal highness once or twice in 
 the course of the season. In short, it is not 
 every one who can boast of being received as 
 we have been. There is some satisfaction in 
 paying our respects to the royal family, when 
 we know, that our absence would be noticed, 
 and that our attendance is appreciated."
 
 94 DIARY OF A DESENNUYEE. 
 
 For my part I was too much confused during 
 my presentation to take much heed of what 
 had occurred ; not on account of the examina- 
 tion of the royal family, who exhibit the gra- 
 ciousness and indulgence of high-breeding ; but 
 because the malicious face of Lady Lancaster 
 was prying from behind the Queen ; while her 
 son, who was in waiting, stared me out of 
 countenance. His supercilious nonchalance 
 was quite as insupportable as while enduring 
 the martyrdom of the bad dinner in New Nor- 
 folk Street. 
 
 Having no claim to aspire to the hospital- 
 ities of the King and Queen, / have only to re- 
 gard the drawing-room as one of the best par- 
 ties in town ; and though, of necessity, far from 
 a select assemblage, comprehending more than 
 any other the nobility and opulence of the 
 kingdom. Many attend, out of respect for the 
 throne ; many more, out of respect to their 
 own position in society ; and the remainder, 
 perhaps, to exhibit their diamond necklaces and 
 state liveries. 
 
 I have often heard it asserted that an Eng-
 
 DIARY OF A DESENNUYEE. 95 
 
 lish girl, with the early bloom of girlishness 
 on her cheek, is the prettiest creature in the 
 world ; and have thence concluded that a draw- 
 ing-room, where so many of these rosebuds are 
 brought forward to exhibit their first expansion, 
 must present a most interesting spectacle. This 
 morning I particularly noticed the demoiselles 
 to be presented ; and the ghastliness of the 
 lacjies of a certain age was scarcely less repul- 
 sive than the niaiserie of several of these budding 
 beauties. Nothing but a young calf is so awk- 
 ward as a girl fresh from the school-room, with 
 the exhortations of the governess against for- 
 wardness and conceit still echoing in her ears ; 
 knowing no one, — understanding nothing, — 
 afraid to sit, to stand, to speak, to look, — 
 always in a nervous ague of self-misgiving. 
 The blushing, terrified, clumsy girls, I noticed 
 yesterday, ^ill soon refine into elegant women ; 
 but what will then become of the delicacy 
 of their complexion and the simplicity of their 
 demeanour ? 
 
 I am not one of those who cannot dispense 
 with the case-hardened air of fashion, which
 
 96 DIARY OF A DESENNUYEE. 
 
 strips the cheek of its blushes, and the eyelid 
 of its downcast veiling. The durete of expres- 
 sion produced by long exposure to the stare of 
 society, the worldliness stamped upon the brow, 
 are, to me, fearful indications ; and one of the 
 charms which distinguishes my cousin. Lady 
 Cecilia, from those of her caste, is a peculiar, 
 whimsical, playful, un-ndive naivete, incompa- 
 tible with the defying air of what is called 
 Fashion. 
 
 And what, after all, is called Fashion 1 Ten 
 thousand various things, by ten thousand va- 
 rious people ! Rank is positive, wealth posi- 
 tive ; but Fashion is an airy nothing, which 
 obtains a name and local habitation, according 
 to the fancy of the tribunal sitting in judgment. 
 Provincial people, speaking of their county 
 races, observe, ''We had all the fashioti of the 
 neighbourhood : the duchess and her daugh- 
 ters. Lord So and So and his sons ; " evidently 
 mistaking mere nobility for fashion. London 
 people, of the second class, talk in the same 
 strain, of " having met Mrs. Bullion and Mrs. 
 Omnium," or other notabilities of the Bank-
 
 DIARY OF A DESENNUY^E. 97 
 
 Stock aristocracy with quantities oi their fashion- 
 able friends at Hastings or Brighton." While 
 the world, — the peremptory world of the two 
 thousand, applies the designation of fashion 
 exclusively to that precarious and uncertain dis- 
 tinction which, for a moment, concentrates the 
 favour of its caste upon certain things, or 
 certain persons ; individuals deficient in birth, 
 fortune, morals, and understanding, have some- 
 times been eminently the fashion; and, as such, 
 preferred before the great or good ; have been 
 invited everywhere, courted, caressed, till they 
 attained an air of self-possession, — of satisfac- 
 tion in themselves and the world, — convention- 
 ally termed an air of fashion. 
 
 Nothing, however, is so unaccountable as the 
 generation and progress of this gaseous vapour ! 
 Like the malaria or the cholera, it rageth where 
 it listeth ; and whether infectious, or contagious, 
 or spontaneous, or what not, no man can tell. 
 It is as little to be commanded or controlled as 
 the winds of heaven ; and is more talked about, 
 and as little understood, as political economy, 
 or the metempsychosis. 
 
 VOL. I. F
 
 98 DIARY OF A DESENNUYEE. 
 
 A curious example was afforded me the 
 other night, by Lady Cecilia, of the capricious 
 nature of this butterfly goddess, whose frivolous 
 worship seems to form the darling idolatry of 
 London. Opposite to us, at the opera, but on 
 a higher tier, is a small and inconvenient box, 
 in which I have been accustomed to notice the 
 comings and goings of all the " fashionable " 
 men about town; that is, the men of rank and 
 fortune, distinguished, furthermore, by the en- 
 nobling: touch of the tinsel wand. One crimson 
 curtain of the box is always just sufficiently ad- 
 vanced to conceal the person seated behind its 
 folds ; and, had it not been for the occasional 
 extension of an arm with an exquisitely fitting 
 white glove, beating time with a glittering fan, 
 I might have been permitted to surmise, that a 
 bishop, or a lord chancellor, enjoyed slily, in 
 that recondite retreat, the terrestrial harmonies 
 of Mozart or Rossini. But, its inmate thus 
 proved to be a woman, I had only to conclude 
 that she was one of those more sinning than 
 sinned against, concerning whom questions must 
 not be asked by lips polite.
 
 DIARY OP A DESENNUYEE. 99 
 
 Last Saturday, however, 'I was startled by 
 Lady Cecilia's observation of, "■ Ah! Mrs. Crow- 
 hurst is in the duke's box, I see, which explains 
 why her little boudoir of fashion, yonder, is de- 
 serted to-night." 
 
 " Mrs. Crowhurst?" said I ; and, following 
 the direction of her glass to the ducal box to 
 which she alluded, I found it fixed upon a tall, 
 fair, handsome, and strikingly " fashionable- 
 looking " woman. 
 
 " How abominable of the duke, whose sisters 
 and cousins are often seen in that box, to allow 
 such a person to enter it !" I exclaimed, in a 
 fit of virtuous indignation. 
 
 " Such a person V 
 
 " Such a person as that Mrs. Crowhurst." 
 
 " My dear love, she is not that Mrs. Crow- 
 hurst ; she is the Mrs. Crowhurst. What have 
 you to urge against her ?" 
 
 ^' Nothing ! for, till this moment, I never 
 heard her name ; but I have always con- 
 cluded " 
 
 *' Fie, fie! where have you lived, my dear, 
 not to have heard of Mrs. Crowhurst?"
 
 100 DIARY OF A D^SENNUYEE, 
 
 " Seven years at Delaval Castle, and seven- 
 teen in a cottage in Staffordshire, since you 
 oblige me to plead my cause," said I, laugh- 
 ing. *' But, instead of deriding, pray, en- 
 lighten my ignorance." 
 
 " And you really never heard of Mrs. Crow- 
 hurst? Vous ties d'une ignorance crasse, as the 
 French say of those who know twice as much 
 as themselves ! Mrs. Crowhurst is, as you see, 
 a handsome woman ; she is, as the peerage 
 will tell you, well born ; and, as I can tell you, 
 clever and agreeable. Yet, when she first de- 
 scended upon this most capricious of cities, no 
 one cared for her — she did not get on — she 
 was not the fashion. Some thought her too 
 tall, some too fair, some too lively, some too 
 frivolous — all too something. Almack's turned 
 up its nose at her ; and, under such contume- 
 lious treatment, most women, ejected from the 
 highest sphere, would have taken to starring it 
 in a lower. But the Crowhurst (let us do her 
 justice!) had a taste for good society; and, 
 after secretly analyzing the nature of the super- 
 cilious men and women by whom she was
 
 DIARY OF A DESENNUYEE. 101 
 
 judged unworthy notice, determined on a coup 
 d'ttat. She made herself talked about, grew 
 affected, lost her character, and — became the 
 fashion! I, and other fools, immediately set 
 about inquiring, * Who is this Mrs. Crowhurst, 
 concerning whom there is such a scandal 
 with Lord Alfred? Not the Mrs. Crowhurst 
 I met down at Clackmannan Court? — Well! 
 I had not the least idea there was any thing 
 attractive in that woman!' — and so began to 
 discover merits in her errors. By degrees she 
 became the rage; nay, she is still the height 
 of the fashion. But if all the world believed 
 her, as / do, to be, in reality, well-conducted, 
 it would be puzzled to assign any motive for 
 her sudden popularity." 
 
 *' You are giving me a terrible lesson," 
 said I, laughing. " What a frightful road to 
 fashionable favour ! " 
 
 *' By no means ! Your position and hers 
 are essentially different. Were a breath of 
 scandal to blow upon you^ you were lost. You^ 
 free, independent, able to marry where you 
 please, have no possible apology for indis-
 
 102 DIARY OF A DESENNUYEE. 
 
 cretion. Even flirting is forbidden to a widow. 
 That which passes for flirtation in a girl of 
 seventeen, becomes coquetry in a helle veuve; 
 and, should she raise expectations which she 
 afterwards refuses to gratify with her hand, 
 she is termed, in plainest English, a jilt; — for 
 she must have coquetted with malice prepense. 
 You, my dear cousin, my dear friend^ must 
 take some wiser mode of becoming the fashion ; 
 luckily, you have only Vemharras du choix." 
 
 I was pleased by Cecilia's little lesson, for 
 I saw she was in earnest. With all her legtrett, 
 it would deeply grieve her, were my conduct to 
 provoke a disparaging comment. Towards her 
 niece, Lady Alicia, she maintains the same 
 severity ; and, in presence of our lovely young 
 friend, is twice as guarded in every sentiment 
 and expression as in conversing with others. 
 Had she been blest with daughters of her own, 
 I am persuaded they would have been admirably 
 educated (i. e. for women of fashion !) It is a 
 mistaken prejudice which decides a man against 
 marriage with the daughter of one whose early 
 years are supposed to have been years of error.
 
 DIARY OF A DESENNUYEE. j 03 
 
 Such a woman is rigorous, above all others, in 
 watchfulness over her child ; whereas women 
 like Lady Clackmannan, whose conduct through 
 life has been irreproachable, and who have 
 basked in the sunny side of society, are apt 
 to fancy virtue a thing of descent, or matter 
 of course, leaving it to be inculcated by the 
 governess, with geography and the use of the 
 globes. 
 
 — Interrupted by a tiresome morning visit ! 
 How could even a woman so misjudging as 
 Lady Farrington imagine that, because, at 
 Armine's desire, I sent her my card, I enter- 
 tained any desire to listen to her most prosaic 
 prose for three long quarters of an hour ! For 
 the first ten minutes of her visit, I was deceived 
 into thinking her charming; for she talked 
 only of my sister, and of my sister only with 
 praise. " As dear Mrs. Herbert's nearest neigh- 
 bour in the country, she had such opportunities 
 of admiring her sweetness of temper, her depth 
 of judgment, her softness of disposition ! Mrs. 
 Herbert was her standard of perfection. She 
 knew not such a wife, such a mother, such a
 
 104 DIARY OF A DESENNUYEE. 
 
 mistress, such a friend. No one could properly 
 estimate Mrs. Herbert but those who resided 
 in her own neighbourhood, and saw her, young 
 and pretty as she was, devote her time to 
 clothe the hungry and feed the naked — (she 
 begged my pardon, she meant clothe the naked 
 and feed the hungry) — could do justice to 
 her virtues. Nothing so unselfish, nothing so 
 amiable as Mrs. Herbert ! " 
 
 Must I not have had a heart of adamant 
 to resist this well-merited eulogy of my dear 
 sister? I began to discover that, if not an 
 elegant, Lady Farrington was a warm-hearted, 
 sensible woman. What mattered her over-fine 
 gown and tawdry bonnet, since she knew how 
 to render justice to Armine ! But a falling off 
 soon followed. 
 
 *< She had so long wished to make my 
 acquaintance! Mrs. Herbert had talked me 
 over with her so often; she seemed to know 
 me as well, and to be as au fait of my affairs, 
 as if we had been friends from childhood. 
 She knew, in fact, more of me than I could 
 suppose." And, in uttering the hint, she as-
 
 DIARY OF A DESEN^UYEE. 105 
 
 sumed a significant smile, which, were I less 
 acc^uainted with my sister's delicacy, would 
 have led me to suppose that Armine had really 
 been betraying my confidences to a stranger ! 
 
 But Lady Farrington soon disclosed herself. 
 Perceiving how favourable an impression she 
 had made by her rhapsodies concerning ^' dear 
 Mrs. Herbert," she proceeded to panegyrize the 
 husband with equal fervour. " She did not 
 know what they should do in Bedfordshire 
 without dear Mr. Herbert : Mr. Herbert was 
 such a good neighbour, such an agreeable 
 companion, such an active magistrate, such a 
 sensible man; — such an excellent husband, 
 such a kind father, such a valuable friend, 
 such an indulgent landlord, such a liberal 
 patron. Mr. Herbert had done wonders in 
 improving the breed of cattle in his parish, and 
 the roads in his district. But, above all, which 
 was a great comfort to herself and Sir John, 
 Mr. Herbert was of the right side in politics." 
 
 I longed to inquire the whereabout of the 
 right side of a circle ; but was apprehensive of 
 doing or saying any thing to prolong her visit. 
 f2
 
 J06 DIARY OF A DESENNUYEE. 
 
 I had really no patience to hear my cross, ar- 
 bitrary brother-in-law so overlauded. Luckily, 
 she came prepared to eulogize all and sundry 
 unto myself appertaining ; and, having now 
 praised my sister, her husband, and children, 
 my house, my furniture, and even Azim, who 
 was dozing on the rug, she considered my very 
 neio-hbours entitled to their share of com- 
 mendation. 
 
 " She had the pleasure of knowing the 
 Gresham Ronshams ; — charming family, — so 
 agreeable, so accomplished, so much people of 
 the world ! Daughters pretty, — sons hand- 
 some, — parents highly intellectual. She had 
 heard a great deal of me from the Gresham 
 Ronshams." 
 
 I assured her, as civilly as I could, that I 
 had not the honour of their acquaintance. 
 
 '^ No ! she was aware of that. But they 
 heard me singing, through the wall, and 
 heard my little dog bark, and often fancied 
 they could even distinguish my voice. Then 
 they saw me go out in the carriage (they were 
 quite in love with my carriage !) and come home
 
 DIARY OF A DESENNUYEE. 107 
 
 on horseback (the girls thought my mare the 
 handsomest in London). In short, they were 
 extremely interested in all my pursuits ! " 
 
 I had no time to retort upon my neigh- 
 bours ; for, just then, Mr. Penrhyn made his 
 appearance ; and I have no doubt Lady Far- 
 rington has by this time called upon the Her- 
 berts, to ascertain the name of the tall, dark 
 gentleman, so very intimate with dear Mrs. 
 Delaval, that even her lapdog jumps on his 
 knees without invitation ! 
 
 To-day, I have determined to dine and pass 
 the evening at home, alone ; for to-morrow I 
 must be dressed by eleven o'clock, to be ready 
 for Epsom ; then return to dinner at Lady 
 Clackmannan's ; and at night, two balls ! — 
 What a laborious day of pleasure ! 
 
 Ten o'clock. — Heigho ! only four hours 
 alone, and obliged to take to my journal for 
 societyj Intending to read away the evening, 
 I fancied Ebers had amply provided me with 
 the de quoi ; but how few new books will bear 
 being read in the midst of the excitements of
 
 108 DIARY OF A DESENNUYEE. 
 
 the season ! If grave, that which passed last 
 night in the House, and was discussed this 
 morning in the Times, is ten times more im- 
 portant ;— if light, all that I heard on Wednes- 
 day at Almack's, all that I saw this morning in 
 the Park, ten times more amusing. 
 
 Since I came to town, several women have 
 been shewn me in society as the femmes auteurs 
 of the day ; and, with Edgeworth and Burney, 
 De Stael, De Souza, and Cottin in my memory, 
 I rashly sent for a whole library of their works. 
 What an ocean of milk and water ! False sen- 
 timent, tawdry style, and a total absence of 
 either sense or sensibility ! 
 
 Even of the professional writers, how few 
 possess the art of arresting attention, amid the 
 tumults of the busy world, as Scott and Byron 
 used to do, when I sat from midnight till day- 
 dawn, engrossed by their last new works. I 
 don't care about =***-*. Before I open his 
 book, I know that it will be bright, pure, po- 
 lished, correct ; but it is Carrara marble, em- 
 ployed in the manufacture of an elegant chim- 
 ney-piece, not in the composition of a breathing
 
 DIARY OF A DESENXUYEE. 109 
 
 piece of sculpture. I don't care for ^ * ^ — his 
 heroes are wooden, his stories lumbering ; or 
 for # * # # #^ whose soul seems always star- 
 seeking in the celestial spheres. Of living 
 poets, Wordsworth, the inspired, writes no 
 longer ; Moore writes prose, and Campbell 
 travels ; and of travels, I have vowed a vow to 
 read no more, till they come to be written by 
 cherubim, having only heads and wings. A 
 traveller with an appetite, is as great a nui- 
 sance as Dando ; and Fanny Kemble's hot 
 suppers are almost as bad as Mrs. Trollope's 
 'cuteness. India, by the way, is the only land 
 really fortunate in its tourists, — Heber, Jacque- 
 mont, Mundy, Miss Roberts ; while, as to 
 poor America, since the conquest of Peru, no 
 country was ever so barbarously harassed by 
 foreigners. Were it not for a few biographies, 
 and the little green-paper-covered common- 
 sensical volumes of miscellanies, put forth in 
 edification of the dunces of the rising genera- 
 tion, we, of the generation risen, should rarely 
 find a new book to occupy our attention of an 
 idle evening.
 
 ] 10 DIARY OF A DESENNUYEE. 
 
 Now I am in process of commination, I 
 must take leave to denounce a few things more. 
 The little pictures, and little prints, and little 
 poems, and little ballads of the day, are my 
 utter abhorrence. A sickliness is beginning to 
 degrade our taste in the arts, which cries aloud 
 for reformation. All is namby-pamby, all Til- 
 burina in white satin, all H * * "^^ ]g # # #^ a|j 
 Parris, all fiddle-faddle ! Every artist, poet, 
 painter, or musician, seizes some spun-sugar 
 idea, wraps it up in snipped paper, with a 
 pretty little motto, as a pretty cadeau for pretty 
 little ladies. When shall we again erect our 
 worship to the noble, the stern, the simple, the 
 vast 1 When will savage Rosa dash, or learned 
 Poussin draw ? When will Haydn or Handel 
 revive — a Vandyke impart meaning to the 
 human face divine — a Goldsmith or an Inch- 
 bald cheat one of genuine tears — or a Hogarth 
 preach upon canvass a moral worth a thousand 
 homilies ? So weary am I of the embroidered- 
 cambric-handkerchief school, that the sight of 
 a table covered with tabby fied Annuals, is to 
 me more nauseating than an apothecary's shop.
 
 DIARY OF A DESENNUYEE. Ill 
 
 The Fine Arts, viewed through the wrong end 
 of the telescope, can be made as injinhnent petits 
 as any thing else ; and an eternal diamond 
 edition of the human understanding wearies 
 the mind, as much as the eyes. Ah ! here is a 
 volume of ^' Poems, by the Howitts," and I am 
 secure of a pleasant and profitable hour. 
 
 May 26th. — Four days since I wrote a line ; 
 what infidelity to my Diary ! — and now the pen 
 is in my hands, I feel too idle and good-for- 
 nothing to bid it speed. To exhilarate the 
 spirits, amusement, like champagne, should be 
 taken in moderate quantities : excess renders 
 one stupid. Epsom, — balls, — two delightful 
 dinners, and a petit souper at Merioneth House 
 last night, after the opera; yet, to-day, to 
 borrow the comparison of Beatrice, I am as 
 dull as a great thaw. The truth is, that the 
 society of Lady Clackmannan and her daughter 
 is extremely wearying ; the former, because she 
 excites one too much, — the latter, too little. 
 Lady Clackmannan is full of fire and intelli- 
 gence; subdued, indeed, by the high breeding
 
 ] 12 DIARY OF A DESENNUYEE. 
 
 of exclusivism ; but your attention is not kept 
 the less painfully on the stretch, because her 
 eloquence is couched in a voice as low in tone 
 as one of Breguet's dumb repeaters ; nor does 
 her glittering eye hold you less potently en- 
 thralled, because it is one that fixes only her 
 intimates, and never wanders over the crowd. 
 To pass a day with her is looking on a piece of 
 intricate clock-work ; you feel sure that, while 
 the automaton performs its functions with 
 measure and deliberation, wheel within wheel, 
 and flyer upon flyer, are labouring prestissimo 
 within. As to Lady Alicia, her childish sim- 
 plicity is a perpetual gathering of primroses — 
 an insipid scentless flower, not worth stooping 
 for! 
 
 I wonder who was the rather sallow-look- 
 ing, silent, but certainly distinguished man, 
 whom George Hanton brought with him to 
 help us through our sandwiches at Epsom, and 
 whom Lady Clackmannan appeared so anxious 
 to engross ? While she engaged him in an 
 eager conversation on her side the carriage, 
 Hanton whispered to me, with a glance at our
 
 DIARY OF A DESENNUYEE. 113 
 
 small silver sandwich-box and bottle of sherry, 
 " If one were not afraid to be seen in their 
 society, there are people to be found at Epsom, 
 who, instead of coming to see their bets decided, 
 with a sandwich or two in the carriage, to 
 avoid being too hungry for dinner, make a 
 regular party of pleasure of the Derby, and 
 bring down huge baskets from Gunter's ; — 
 patts de volaille and iced champagne, — quite a 
 diner de campagne. To see them gormandizing 
 in some of the carriages, you would suppose a 
 famine at hand. I am convinced certain per- 
 sons come to Epsom only to eat!" — And, 
 having swallowed the remaining anchovy sand- 
 wich in the box, away went Mr. Hanton ; and 
 I actually saw him afterwards talking to the 
 Ronsham Greshams, and devouring a plateful 
 of tongue and chicken on the step of the 
 family coach. 
 
 Epsom certainly presents a brilliant spec- 
 tacle. Such an effusion of animal spirits in 
 man and beast — such movement — such ex- 
 citement ! Every one eager to be the last seen 
 in town, and the soonest on the course ; run-
 
 114 DIARY OF A DESENNUYEE. 
 
 ning the seventeen miles as if it were a heat. 
 Then so many pretty dresses — so many pretty 
 women, combined with fresh air, sunshine, 
 and the sudden outburst into the country from 
 the thraldom of town, render the day of the 
 Derby an universal fete. The money to be 
 made, — the money to be lost, — not only on 
 the event of the race, but by the use and abuse 
 of horses and carriages, finery and feeding, 
 sets all the world in motion. The widely 
 spreading course, variegated with colours of 
 every hue, — the sight of joyous faces, — the 
 sound of 
 
 Ladies' laughter coming through the air ; 
 
 the freshness of the crushed grass, — the springi- 
 ness of the whole scene, — fill one with cheerful 
 thoughts. Above all, the rare assemblage of 
 fine horses, which start with the fine gentle- 
 men (placing the fine gentlemen, in sporting 
 term,- second), to meet the running horses at 
 Tottenham Corner ! Altogether, what an 
 air of prosperity, — what excess of luxury, — 
 and what a contrast to the state of things
 
 DIARY OF A DESENNUYEE. 115 
 
 I have, of late years, been compelled to witness ! 
 Yet, if the truth were told, there is six times 
 as much spirit of enjoyment in the ragged 
 regiment of spectators, gracing similar scenes, in 
 Ireland ; and if they sometimes close in strife 
 and disorder, it is that the contrast afforded 
 by such rare occasions of diversion to the 
 humiliations of daily life, proves too exciting 
 for the reason of the unreasoning. 
 
 I wonder whether foreigners are as much 
 impressed as I was by the coup d'ceil of the 
 Epsom course. No other occasion presents the 
 English populace (aristocratic and plebeian) 
 to their view, under so vivacious an aspect ; 
 thrice vivacious to me, who, for so many 
 years, have inhabited a half-populated district, 
 and written myself down, an ennuyte. 
 
 It was odd enough, by the way, that 
 Lady Clackmannan should not introduce to 
 me her sallow friend ; for she has been kind 
 enough to present me to her whole acquaint- 
 ance. But this one man, whom, by her 
 manner of addressing him, she evidently va- 
 lues, she keeps to herself. I saw^ him again.
 
 116 DIARY OF A DESENNUY^E. 
 
 for a moment, at Lady Bruce's ball, looking, 
 as before, dry and discontented, though courted 
 by all the finest of the fine ladies ; and he 
 was opposite to me at supper at Merioneth 
 House, where it was impossible to inquire his 
 name, as he must have overheard the question . 
 Lady Maria De Rawdon sat next him, flirting 
 in her usual detestable style ; and I fancied he 
 looked as disgusted with her as unconscious of 
 me. Why should one feel offended when a 
 stranger passes several hours in close propin- 
 quity, without honouring one with a smile, a 
 word, or even a look ? Those were good old- 
 fashioned times when people had an excuse for 
 at least a civil gesture to their neighbours at 
 table, in helping the dish before them, or in- 
 viting them to take wine. 
 
 Sir Jenison Delaval, who has just called, 
 cannot assist my conjectures concerning Lady 
 Clackmannan's sallow friend. He certainly is 
 one of the stupidest and most unobservant men 
 in Europe ! He asked me as many questions 
 about the Derby as if he had not read a dozen 
 different accounts of the race in the news-
 
 DIARY OF A DESENNUYEE. 117 
 
 papers ; whereas, I saw no more of the run- 
 ning, than if I had passed the day in the vaults 
 of St. Faith's. We arrived late, got a bad 
 place ; and I am not sportswoman enough to 
 climb to a barouche-box, and grill myself an 
 hour in the sun, for the enjoyment of so brief a 
 pleasure. Mrs. Crowhurst, by the way, was 
 seated, outshining Phoebus, on the highest box 
 of a carriage, on the least prominent place of 
 which I should have been sorry to be seen. 
 
 But this supper, — I cannot dismiss from 
 my mind the supper at Merioneth House. The 
 duke was in high spirits, and eminently agree- 
 able ; my little crooked friend, Lady WiUiam 
 Bately, gayer and more brilliant than I ever 
 saw her, fully meriting her title of Xa Lucciola; 
 and every one in his best mood and temper, 
 except the strange man. It is one of the happy 
 privileges of persons so great as the Duke of 
 M , that they never see people out of hu- 
 mour, or flowers out of bloom. The gardener 
 takes care that the plants exhibited in their 
 conservatory shall be in fullest blossom ; and 
 the guests who come to admire them, spread
 
 118 DIARY OF A DESENNUYEE. 
 
 their butterfly-wings, and display their bright- 
 est colours, that they may be invited, again and 
 again, to adorn the favoured spot. It almost 
 puts me out of patience, to hear people, like his 
 grace, observe, when some woman is spoken of 
 as capricious, or man as uncertain, *^ Well, 
 really, / think you are unjust ; I have known 
 her many years, and have never experienced, 
 from her, any thing the least like caprice" — 
 or, " Uncertain? I have uniformly found him 
 one of the most agreeable, obliging persons of 
 my acquaintance ! " Of his acquaintance, very 
 probably; but in society less imposing, the 
 claws of pussy's satin paws peep out. 
 
 By the way, I did observe a little betrayal 
 of temper, even at Merioneth House, the other 
 night. We have got a beautiful Piedmontese 
 countess, a Madame di Campo Fiorito, lately 
 arrived from the Continent ; exquisitely lovely, 
 exquisitely fascinating, et qui fait fureur. All 
 we know of her, at present, is, that she is high 
 born and beautiful. Whether mischievous or 
 not, no one can say ; and it is amusing to ob- 
 serve the misgivings excited, in certain circles,
 
 DIARY OF A DESENNUYEE. 119 
 
 by her dthut. The established beauties are, for 
 the moment, thrown into the shade, more espe- 
 cially those on the shady side of noon ; for the 
 Campo Fiorito, in her twenty-first year, is deli- 
 cate of complexion as ablush-rose, and can pre- 
 sume to be singularly simple in her style of 
 dress: no trimmings, no ornaments, no flowers, 
 no jewels — nothing but a plain robe of rich 
 materials — nothing but her fine dark hair. 
 Rouge and frippery are sadly put to the blush 
 by such a contrast. Half a dozen women, 
 whom, last week, I thought charming, seem 
 to have acquired a meretricious air since the 
 countess's arrival. Many look ugly, many 
 old, — all tawdry. Is such a rival to be par- 
 doned? 
 
 The panic is considerably augmented by 
 general uncertainty as to her conduct and in- 
 tentions. Is she a flirt, a coquette, or worse I 
 Impossible to guess. Some tremble for their 
 lovers, some for their husbands, some for their 
 sons. Lady This declares, that nothing is so 
 great an interruption to society as the presence 
 of a professed beauty. Lady That, who, for
 
 120 DIARY OF A DESENNUYEE. 
 
 years past, has been a professed beauty herself, 
 has taken refuge, within the last week, in the 
 pleasures of domestic life, parading in Ken- 
 sington Gardens, with a group of her interest- 
 ing children. Lady Clackmannan, who cannot 
 forgive her for having eclipsed Lady Alicia, 
 says, she has a melodramatic air. Lady Ceciha, 
 who attempts the hel esprit ^ when defeated as a 
 belle, says, she is a magnificent automaton, 
 well wound up ; while others protest, she is 
 admirably got up as a " Keepsake" heroine. 
 
 This supper at Merioneth House was, I 
 suspect, given in her honour. The duke, who 
 likes every thing beautiful or clever, is prepos- 
 sessed in her favour, and wishes to place her on 
 a good footing with her rivals. But not a 
 charmer of them all was to be conciliated. In- 
 stead of exerting themselves to overpower the 
 enemy, they sulked, and threw the game into 
 her hands. Some, eager to seem unconscious 
 of her presence, contrived only to look super- 
 cilious ; others talked at her, and, consequently, 
 flippantly and affectedly; while several had a 
 bad headach (the migraine of an angry French-
 
 DIARY OF A DESENNUYIEE. 121 
 
 woman) and could not, or would not, open their 
 lips. I fancy even the good-natured duke 
 might have admitted, on this occasion, that he 
 had seen certain of his fair friends out of 
 humour. I observed Lady Clackmannan in- 
 quire, of her nameless neighbour, as we rose 
 from table, what he thought of the countess ; 
 to which he replied, with an air of indiflPerence, 
 that he had known her, some years ago, at 
 Genoa. 
 
 " Apparently you do not admire her so 
 much as the rest of the world?" persisted 
 Lady C. 
 
 ^^ On the contrary," he replied, " I have 
 long considered her the most beautiful woman 
 of my acquaintance ; but I am not easily in- 
 fatuated by a woman merely beautiful.'* 
 
 It is curious enough, that, with all our pro- 
 verbial coldness, no people are subject to such 
 fever-fits of enthusiasm as the English, — fever- 
 fits much resembling the boiling-springs among 
 the snows of Hecla. When we do run mad, it 
 is very mad indeed. But our engouemens are, 
 for the most part, imitative. If we do not 
 
 VOL. I. G
 
 122 DIARY OF A Di:SENNUY]feE. 
 
 invent fashions, we readily adopt them ; and 
 seldom throw up our caps in honour of an 
 artist, till his fame is buoyed over the channel, 
 upon the applauses of the whole Continent. 
 Taglioni, Sontag, Paganini, Heberle, were wor- 
 shipped in London, not as the most accom- 
 plished performers of their time, but as the 
 idols of Paris, Berlin, and Naples ; and we 
 should have cared little, perhaps, for the 
 charms of the Contessa di Campo-Fiorito, had 
 it not been for a puff-preliminary, which ap- 
 peared, accidentally, in the Morning Post, the 
 day she first appeared at Almack's, giving an 
 account of a fatal duel fought in honour of her 
 beaux yeux, last season, at Florence. 
 
 This morning I have had the happiness of a 
 visit from a very dear friend. Lady Southam, 
 who is come to town to take her turn as lady- 
 in-waiting ; still the same kind, amiable, 
 straightforward person as when, as Lord Ran- 
 dall's daughter, she used to lecture Armine 
 and myself, in Staffordshire, in the tone of an 
 elder sister, ten years ago. Never was any 
 woman so little calculated for a life of court-
 
 DIARY OF A DiSENNUY^E. 123 
 
 iership. Absent, indolent, careless of appear- 
 ances, the pomps and vanities of life are, to lier^ 
 absolutely incumbering; and when I ventured 
 to ask her, in all the frankness of our boudoir 
 tete-a-ttte, whether she regretted her appoint- 
 ment, she candidly answered in the affirm- 
 ative. 
 
 " Nothing can be more amiable," said she, 
 *' than those I have the honour to serve ; no- 
 thing lighter than the duties I am required to 
 perform. As far as regards Windsor or St. 
 James's, I have not a complaint to make. But 
 my position in the world is altered for the 
 worse. People attribute to me an influence 
 I do not possess; and which, if I possessed, 
 Lord Southam would never wish to see me 
 exercise. They ask of me the most unreasonable 
 things. People, with whom I have the slightest 
 possible acquaintance, write to me to procure 
 them invitations, places, preferment, and fa- 
 vours of every sort and description. My life 
 is a perpetual * No ! ' — or, rather, a perpetual 
 study of the art of implying a negative without 
 offence. While others of my brother and sister-
 
 124 DIARY OF A D^SENNUYilE. 
 
 hood are trying to magnify their importance in 
 the eyes of the world, my chief business is to 
 be thought twice as little as they choose to 
 suppose me." 
 
 ^* I can conceive," said I, " that your pride 
 will not allow you to be a frequent petitioner ; 
 still, you must have many opportunities of 
 obliging, without compromising your own 
 dignity." 
 
 " Less than you would suppose ; and quite 
 as little inclination to profit by them. My 
 comfort in society is destroyed by an unavowed 
 dread, that prevails, of my espionage. In men- 
 tioning some trivial fact, people take the liberty 
 of entreating me not to repeat it ; which, being 
 interpreted, means, ' Pray, don't tell the queen ;' 
 whom I should just as soon think of accost- 
 ing with a recital of such trash as mentioning 
 it in my prayers. Even my friends exchange 
 sigqificant looks in my presence, as much as 
 to say, * Take care — you forget whom you 
 have here — you are getting yourselves into a 
 scrape ; ' and last winter, Lady Emily Sunder- 
 land actually taxed me with having acquainted
 
 DIARY OF A DESENNUYEE. 125 
 
 her majesty that Mr. Sunderland had a stall 
 at the Opera; — a fact which, as the queen 
 disapproves of dissipation in the clergy, was sup- 
 posed to have kept them away from the Pavi- 
 lion balls." 
 
 So much for the delicate distresses of a 
 lady-in-waiting! I must now occupy myself 
 with mine. Having a new dress to order 
 for Lady Sittingbourne's breakfast, to which 
 Herbert has consented that dear Armine shall 
 accompany me, I shall choose for her a bonnet 
 and pelisse exactly like my own. 
 
 What a diverting morning have I derived 
 from my campaign among the milliners ! This 
 breakfast, it seems, has set all the beau-monde 
 vanity-mad. It is the first of the season; and 
 one would think our illustrious beauties had 
 never before enjoyed an occasion of displaying 
 their roses, lilies, and blonde or Brussels veils, 
 on a green lawn. All the juveniles, I observe, 
 are enchanted with the prospect of a breakfast ; 
 while those a little on the wane, who dread the 
 exposition of the coming crowsfoot and first
 
 126 DIARY OF A D^SENNUYEE. 
 
 gray hair, are trying to creep out of the 
 engagement. 
 
 " For my part, I detest sunshine dissipa- 
 tion," drawled Lady Evelyn Beresford, whom 
 I met at Devy's, languishing over a chapeatt 
 paille de riz, most appropriately trimmed with 
 belles de nuit; while the rubicund Mrs. Gresham 
 Ronsham, in a pale pink hat and feathers, stood 
 smiling at herself, like Malvolio, in Devy's 
 looking-glass, the attendant handmaidens pro- 
 testing that she was ^^ i^avissante — faite a 
 peindre .'" Away she went in the family coach, 
 hat and bandbox on her knee, lest any more 
 favourite customer should induce Madame D. 
 to play the traitress, and make over, to a less 
 deserving aspirant, her chapeau de Longchamps! 
 
 I sometimes fancy that a spirit of malicious 
 perversity instigates the councils of the modiste 
 tribe. They seem to take delight in suggesting 
 primrose or blush colour to the coarse and 
 ruddy, cerise and coquelicot to the red-haired, 
 and green or blue to the sallow and insipid. 
 Of a certainty they have some cause for
 
 DIARY OF A DESENNUYiE. 127 
 
 guignon against their customers ! How often 
 do we see handsome, well-mannered girls, who 
 would themselves so well become the wares 
 they are fated to manufacture, stand, hour 
 after hour, in a close show-room, exposed to 
 the most harassing impertinence, the most per- 
 plexing caprices ! The fine lady, who fancies 
 the destinies of mankind dependent upon the 
 folds of her silver turban, commands and 
 countermands, wrangles, disputes, revokes, 
 and changes her mind, thirty times in half as 
 many minutes ; till the poor, tired victim of 
 her arrogance at length inscribes in the tablets 
 of her brain a feather fallino; to the rio-ht for 
 a feather falling to the left ; and on the mor- 
 row. Lady Theodolinda returns, the detested 
 turban in her hand, and the offender is sum- 
 moned before a court millinerial, to be broke 
 or reprimanded. Her ladyship threatens to 
 withdraw her custom and patronage, unless 
 justice is done upon the stupid young person 
 who thought proper to take her orders ; and 
 floods of tears are drawn down the fair cheeks 
 of the poor apprentice, who has an aged mother
 
 128 DIARY OF A DESENNUYilE. 
 
 dependent for bread upon her salary, because 
 Lord Charles happened to pass Lady Theodo- 
 linda in the crush-room without notice, owing 
 (as she supposes) to the frightful fall of that 
 detestable feather. 
 
 " The great ladies have much to answer for, 
 madam, for their conduct towards us," said a 
 good sort of motherly mantua-maker, with 
 whom I once conversed on the subject. *' They 
 come to us persisting that they have not a 
 gown to wear, that they shall be oliged to stay 
 away from some dinner or ball, unless we send 
 home a dress by a particular day and hour ; 
 and the poor overtasked young women in my 
 employ are, consequently, obliged to sit up 
 another night, in addition to the ten or twelve 
 they have been passing without rest — pale, 
 wan, exhausted, and in danger of falling into 
 consumption, for want of air, exercise, and 
 sleep. But, when the dress is taken home, the 
 first thing that strikes the eye of the heartsick 
 apprentice, in the lady's dressing-room, is a 
 choice of half a dozen gowns, silk, satin, lace, 
 blue, pink, and white, laid out for selection;
 
 DIARY OF A DESENNUYEE. 129 
 
 many of them never worn. It is enough, 
 madam, to make liars of our young people, 
 when they find themselves so falsely dealt 
 with. Again, " she resumed, finding me 
 give ear to her accusations, " what a lesson for 
 a simple-hearted young girl, such as the 
 greater numher of those apprenticed to me by 
 respectable parents, — farmers or tradesmen, — 
 to be introduced into the dressing-room of a 
 fine lady, and pass half an hour waiting there, 
 with the confidential maid ! Such discredit- 
 able secrets as she is likely to hear, such 
 discreditable secrets to see ! — cosmetics, washes, 
 paints ; beautifications for the hair, teeth, eye- 
 brows, complexion ; false ringlets, false braids, 
 false pads for every part of the figure! And, 
 from this abode of deceit and extravagance, 
 strewed with billet - doux and unpaid bills, 
 I expect her to come home pure and uncor- 
 rupted, to be industrious, frugal, and, above 
 all, willing to forget her possession of those 
 attractions which she has seen thus disgrace- 
 fully counterfeited by one, who happens to be 
 bom in a more prosperous condition of life 
 g2
 
 130 DIAR"S: OF A D^SENNUY^E. 
 
 than her own. Believe me, madam, a sad 
 example is shewn by our great ladies ! " 
 
 I fear I did not bear this lecture in mind, 
 when I proceeded on my bonnet- hunt this 
 morning, but it was forcibly recalled to me at 
 Howell and James's, where Lady Christina 
 R , whom I never saw by day-light, ex- 
 cept half-hidden in her vis a vis, with her face 
 surrounded by blonde, was trying on a hat. 
 As she turned to recover her bonnet from 
 the table behind her, her face was fully revealed 
 by broad day from the sky-light ; and the 
 coating of rouge and pearl-powder was dis- 
 gusting. The white lead looked blue ; and the 
 eyes, glazed with dissipation, seemed the only 
 vital portion of the face. What a lesson ! what 
 a degradation of the sex ! 
 
 Nothing can be simpler than the dresses I 
 have chosen for my sister and myself. Her- 
 bert will have no excuse for renewing his 
 frequent charge against me of looking like La 
 Reine de Golconde. 
 
 Clarence Delaval honoured me, last night, 
 by a confidence of his passion for his cousin
 
 DIARY OF A DESENNUYEE. 131 
 
 Alicia, with which I could have well dispensed ; 
 for I can be of no service to the young people, 
 and shall greatly offend the old ones by even 
 wishing them well. Clarence's prospects, poor 
 fellow, are far from brilliant. Sir Jenison 
 Delaval, who, being a valetudinarian, will 
 water-gruelize himself to the age of eighty, 
 having only four thousand a year, can make 
 no great settlement on his son ; and though 
 Clarence is next heir to Delaval Castle and the 
 Irish property, I have no desire that my good 
 brother-in-law should make way for him. 
 Lady Alicia has been brought up as delicately 
 and luxuriously as becomes the only daughter 
 of the house of Clackmannan, and is just fit 
 to live in the heart of a rose, and be nourished 
 on its perfume. It will not do ! I shall per- 
 suade Lady Cecilia to send Clarence off to the 
 Continent as soon as possible. 
 
 This hurry-skurry of dissipation makes one 
 very good-for-nothing! Not a day nor an hour 
 can I make my own, to devote to any useful 
 purpose. All the world is talking of a won- 
 derful speech on the poor laws, made by a
 
 132 DIARY OF A D^SENNUY^E. 
 
 wonderful Lord Hartston ; yet / have not 
 been able to read a line of it. I must have 
 met this Lord Hartston, for I have frequently 
 heard his name pronounced in society ; but 
 I cannot bring him to my recollection, unless 
 it be a heavy doughy-looking man I found 
 sitting one morning vrith Cecilia, clattering 
 unintelligible political economy like a word- 
 mill. I must read his speech, however, which 
 not to be able to discuss, argues oneself a 
 dunce. 
 
 It is surpi'ising in how short a time the 
 prevailing topic spreads from one end of Lon- 
 don to the other; no influenza half so epidemic. 
 The clubs, I fancy, are the great dispensers of 
 gossip contagions ; but every day brings forth 
 its tale of wonder — political, literary, thea- 
 trical, scandalous, or fashionable ; which, be- 
 tween the hours of six and eight, is discussed 
 with fish and soup, and more or less of 
 prose, in every house of credit and renown, 
 from Hyde Park Corner to Russell Square. 
 As to Lord Hartston's speech, he and his 
 oratory have afforded a text for the last two
 
 DIARY OF A DESENNUY^E. 133 
 
 days, for as much discussion as would fill the 
 Bodleian library. If the man be in earnest, I 
 honour him; but so many of these soi-disant 
 philanthropists select a subject ad capfanduin, 
 that I must read, mark, and learn, before I give 
 full faith to his honesty of purpose. 
 
 To-night we are to have the new opera ; and 
 I have promised Lady Cecilia to be there, for 
 the first coup d'archet. She is so much more 
 susceptible than myself to the charms of music, 
 that I have no right to disturb her ecstacies, by 
 the opening and shutting of a door. My fair 
 cousin's nerves are wonderfully excitable. 
 Reared in the lap of luxury, as the spoiled pet 
 of a fine lady, in a perfumed and overheated 
 atmosphere, she acquired a morbid sensibility 
 of heart and head, which her after-life was not 
 fated to counteract. Excepting during the 
 months passed with me at Delaval Castle, Lady 
 Cecilia has never indulged in any but the most 
 enervating habits ; till, at last, even her love of 
 the arts has become almost an hysterical pas- 
 sion. She has wrought herself up, for instance, 
 to such a pitch of enthusiasm, concerning this
 
 134 DIARY OF A DESENNUYfiE. 
 
 new opera, that I have no doubt she will be 
 obliged to tranquillize herself with sether ; and 
 I shall find her, to-night, salts-bottle in hand, 
 her soul ready to be wafted upon a jig to 
 heaven ! 
 
 For m}' part, having been a diligent audi- 
 tress at the last three rehearsals, my ardour is 
 somewhat damped. What a mania for attend- 
 ing rehearsals prevails just now in London ! 
 People seem to find strange delight in stum- 
 bling their way through dark, dusty passages 
 into a darker, dustier box, which, by daylight, 
 smells (like a pew at evening service in a damp 
 country church) of serge curtains and straw 
 matting, in order to hear a blundering orches- 
 tra tapped to order by a cross leader, or 
 stormed into tune by a fiery prima donna ; to 
 admire la Grisi in her bonnet and pelisse, or 
 Rubini piping his faketto, with his beaver not 
 up, but on. Pour moi, je naime pas quon me 
 desillusionne ! I could never weep again at 
 Malibran's Desdemona, had I seen her rehearse 
 it in a chintz gown, with the primo violino out 
 of tune, or out of sorts.
 
 DIARY OF A DESENNUY^E. 135 
 
 Are not the French mistaken in their 
 notion, that the English are peu impressionables ? 
 Have we not, on the contrary, of late years, 
 borrowed their ready excitability? I arrived, 
 last night, before the first stroke of the over- 
 ture ; yet every box was full : pit, gallery, 
 pigeon-holes teeming with eager faces ; nay, 
 the very wanderers of the lobbies brought to a 
 stand - still, by a general compression : every 
 inch of standing-room occupied. Such a 
 " hush," too, as preceded the preparatory 
 flourish of the leader's bow; a " sh," as with 
 the hissing of all the serpents of Tartarus ! Not 
 a fan to be seen moving in the house ; scarcely 
 an eyebrow allowed to blink. I felt quite awe- 
 struck by the responsibility of the composer to 
 such an audience ; and was absolutely relieved 
 by the thundering applauses that followed a 
 spirited and characteristic overture. Before 
 the close of the first act, of which no fewer 
 than four morceaux were encored, I began to 
 be almost as nervous as Lady Cecilia ; not from 
 the effect of the music, but from the effect of 
 the music on the audience. When I saw the
 
 136 DIARY OF A DilSENNUyiiE. 
 
 cheeks of others flushed with rapture, their eyes 
 sparkling with delight, their hands bearing invo- 
 luntary testimony to the emotion of their ecsta- 
 tified feelings, I seemed to tremble at my own 
 insensibility. These people evidently heard 
 something in the tones of Grisi, which /wanted 
 sense to hear ; and the more moving incidents 
 of the second act, which, being familiar to me, 
 I managed to contemplate with tearless eyes, 
 drew floods from those around me ; ay, even 
 " iron tears down Pluto's cheek," by moisten- 
 ing the rouge of the dowager Duchess of Ply- 
 mouth. Lady Cecilia was ashamed of my 
 hardness of heart. She, poor soul, wept, and 
 shuddered, and applauded ; and right glad was 
 I of the excuse of going home to dress for a ball, 
 to escape the rhodomontade of criticism, which 
 I knew would be poured forth by the visitors to 
 our box, on the falling of the curtain. 
 
 Leaving the fanatici per la musica to weep 
 away their harmonious agony, I hastened to my 
 toilet, and arrived at Lady Buntingford's, fresh 
 and composed, just as the first contredanse com- 
 menced ; when, to my amazement, I found
 
 DIARY OP A DESENNTJYEE. 137 
 
 numbers of those I had left at the opera, over- 
 powered with emotion, smiling, flirting, chat- 
 ting, en~avant-deuxlng, without a trace of tears, 
 or aromatic vinegar ; their trimmings and white 
 gloves a little soiled, perhaps, by contact with 
 the King's Theatre, but every other impression 
 wholly evaporated. The ball was a pleasant 
 one to me, for met Armine and her husband ; 
 and, though sadly sneered at by Herbert, for the 
 coquetry of having altered my dress after the 
 opera, I found him, on the whole, more agree- 
 able than usual. Before two o'clock, however, 
 they disappeared ; but I, being engaged to Lord 
 Lancaster for a waltz, had courage to remain, 
 and defy my brother-in-law's caustic comments 
 on the want of dignity of those who wear a 
 ball threadbare. In one of the pauses of the 
 waltz, I discovered, among the bystanders, 
 Lady Clackmannan's saturnine friend, looking 
 scornfully upon our proceedings. Had I been 
 dancing with any one but Lancaster, I should 
 have inquired the name of the mysterious 
 Mephistophiles. But I did not choose to 
 appear interested by the mere appearance of
 
 138 DIARY OF A DESENNUVilE. 
 
 any young man ; nor would I provoke Lord 
 Lancaster's irony by my ignorance, if, as I 
 imagine, my sallow despiser is one known to 
 all the world but myself. There was some- 
 thing in the contemptuousness of his air as he 
 stood considering my partner and myself, which 
 my feminine spirit seemed roused to defy ; and 
 when, on the conclusion of the waltz, Lord 
 Lancaster tried to engage me for the cotillon, 
 for the first time in my life I complied. The 
 cotillon is a dance which, in my conscience, 1 
 detest. Danced with spirit, it is a romping, 
 unladylike exhibition; danced with tameness, 
 it is only vulgar and stupid, — the ordeal of a 
 chaperon's patience, and a lover's magnanimity. 
 I have, therefore, studiously avoided it ; and 
 ill-natured as it may seem, I form a disadvan- 
 tageous opinion of the manners of girls, and 
 the wisdom of their mammas, who are habitual 
 stayers-out of a ball, and dancers of the cotillon. 
 A widow, in such a position as mine, is, I am 
 sure, one of the last persons to be involved in 
 any such diversion ; yet I was actually sneered 
 into standing up at Lady Buntingford's ball.
 
 DIARY OF A DjfcSENNUYEE. 139 
 
 I was glad when several exclamations of " Ha, 
 Mrs. Delaval ! this is the first time I ever saw 
 you dance the cotillon ! mieux vaiit tard que 
 jamais!'* bore witness to my innocence; but 
 they rendered me only the more conscious of 
 the folly I was committing, and, consequently, 
 as awkward as I was uneasy. 
 
 Still my tormentor kept his ground. During 
 the first three figures, there he stood, — his tall 
 dignified person overlooking the circle, — about 
 as stern, cold, and solemn, as Stonehenge ; nor 
 was it till some of the romping figures com- 
 menced, and he saw me commence my round 
 of impertinence wdth a crimson satin cushion in 
 my hand, that his disgust reached the climax, 
 and he stalked away. I could have cried to 
 think what an idiot I was making of myself; 
 but apprehension of the world's dread laugh, 
 combined with that of my supercilious partner, 
 kept me in order. 
 
 After all these vicissitudes, the pleasures of 
 my day and night concluded with a tremendous 
 nightmare ; born, I believe, of unripe pine- 
 apple and indifierent champagne ; or, perhaps,
 
 140 DIARY OF A D£SENNYU£E. 
 
 who knows? an indifferent conscience. I dreamed 
 a dream which, alas ! needed no interpretation . 
 I fancied I was crossing, on a crazy raft, a small 
 lake that lies on the Ballyshumna estate; till 
 by degrees the sheet of water narrowed and 
 narrowed into a foetid marshy ditch, on the 
 banks of which stood a succession of horrid 
 hovels, such as I have too often seen in the 
 original ; from which proceeded bowlings and 
 shriekings, as for a wake over the dead. So 
 narrow was the ditch, that, every moment, the 
 raft seemed to jar and wedge itself into the 
 bank, when hundreds of noxious reptiles were 
 startled from their hiding-places, and crawled 
 for refuge into the water. At last, out of all 
 patience with my self-impelled steerage, I tried 
 to climb the slimy, slippery bank, and managed 
 to make my way to one of the most dilapidated 
 cabins; from the mouldering walls of which, 
 repulsive sounds and smells were perceptible. 
 Nevertheless, the evil genius of my dream com- 
 pelled me to enter; and there, stretched under 
 horsecloths, round the naked chamber, lay 
 men, women, and children, purple with the
 
 DIARY OF A DESENNYUEE. 141 
 
 typhus ; and in the midst, extended on the un- 
 hinged door of the hovel, the corpse of a young 
 woman, already — but no ! my pen cannot 
 record such a combination of horrors ! 
 
 At length I seemed to take courage, and 
 tried to silence the bowlings and lamentations 
 around me ; when suddenly the figure of Lady 
 Clackmannan's strange man, attired in long 
 black garments, stood by my side, accosting 
 me in the harshest tones and terms. 
 
 "Why do you reprehend these people?" 
 he seemed to say. " It is for you they are suffer- 
 ing ! It is to furnish plenty to your table that 
 they are famishing ! The leavings of your lap- 
 dog would be dainties to sustain the strength 
 of this dying family ! Do the cries of their 
 anguish offend your delicate ears ? They are 
 tormented to afford you the means of languish- 
 ing in an opera -box! Do the exhalations of 
 this den of wretchedness oppress you ? Where 
 would you find guineas to buy bouquets for your 
 footmen, were not these outcasts taxed to supply 
 your jointure? Woman! woman! — A heavy 
 account shall be demanded of you for this thing !
 
 142 DIARY OF A DilSENNYUEE. 
 
 You shall answer before the Most High God 
 for the sufferings of these nursing mothers, — 
 of these young children ; and repay in sack- 
 cloth and ashes your profligate levity !" 
 
 Having roused myself at last with a painful 
 gasp from this overpowering dream, I could 
 not help exclaiming with Lear, 
 
 " Oh ! I have ta'en too little care of this !" 
 
 I have written, this morning, to William 
 Delaval, inclosing an order on my banker for 
 the benefit of the poor on his estate ; for though 
 I know him to be a liberal landlord, yet I, 
 who draw so handsome a provision from the 
 property, ought to take my share in ministering 
 to the necessities of its population. 
 
 We have all written and repeated till we are 
 tired, that " dreams are the interludes of a busy 
 fancy ; " but are they not haply something- 
 more ? Do they not infer a benignant and pro- 
 tecting presence, influencing with terrors, or 
 soothing with compassion ? Be it indigestion, 
 be it spiritual guardianship, I am the better for 
 my nightmare of last night. It has given me
 
 DIARY OF A DESENNYUEE. 143 
 
 food for meditation, not e'en to madness, but 
 e'en to repentance. 
 
 Seven o'clock. — Just returned from my ride 
 in the park, out of spirits, or out of temper. 
 It is becoming too hot to ride before dinner ; but 
 one's hours and habits in London are too de- 
 pendent on the whims of others, to admit of 
 anything so rational as an early dinner, and 
 a ride afterwards. To-morrow, however, I 
 promise myself an early dinner. For the first 
 time I am engaged to encounter the polite suf- 
 focation of the ventilator. There is to be an 
 interesting debate ; and some good speaking 
 is expected. 
 
 Will those tiresome Mardynvilles ever let 
 me alone ? They have sent me a card for 
 another dinner ; and the Duke of Merioneth 
 told me to-day, in the park, that they stopped 
 their carriage to invite him (for they go out 
 airing together like the king and queen of 
 Brentford), on the plea of, " to meet Mrs. De- 
 laval." Taken by surprise, he accepted ; but 
 I have alreadv sent mv excuse. What a mania
 
 144 DIARY OF A Di:SENNYUEE. 
 
 with some people is the pride of improving their 
 acquaintance ; or, properly speaking, adding 
 names to their visiting list. The v\^hole busi- 
 ness of their life seems to consist, as in a game 
 at commerce, in making up a hand of blazes ! 
 Season after season, they toil to convert esquires 
 into baronets, baronets into lords, lords into 
 viscounts, earls into marquesses, or dukes ! For 
 peers, like crotchets, have their comparative 
 value ; and, as one semibreve is worth thirty- 
 two demi-semiquavers, one duke covers at least 
 a dozen baronets. I am constantly hearing it 
 remarked, " How wonderfully the Mardyn villas 
 have got on ! " — a phrase which, being inter- 
 preted, strictly means, ^' What a wonderful 
 number of their old acquaintance they have 
 been enabled to cut ! " 
 
 Three o' Clock, Saturday Mornirig. — How 
 singular an adventure ; how stupid and unob- 
 servant I must have been ! But here on paper, 
 at least, let me collect my scattered thoughts, 
 and commencer par le commencement. 
 
 I was chaperoned in my political debut by 
 no less a person than the far-famed Miss Ran-
 
 DIARY OF A DisENNUYEE. 145 
 
 dall, the bluest of blues, and most busy of 
 busy-bodies, who scarcely misses a night in the 
 ventilator throughout the session. She has her 
 favourite nook, which no one but some miser- 
 able novice would think of usurping ; and the 
 volumes of impure air she must have imbibed 
 since politics came into fashion, sufficiently ac- 
 count for the pallor of her face, and the ardour 
 of its predominating feature. No "blue'' had 
 ever so red a nose, or so yellow a complexion. 
 With Miss Randall, accordingly, I ascended into 
 the mysterious lantern, whence we were to bend 
 our ears to the eloquence of the House : and I 
 had the vexation to find that we were late. 
 Every corner was already filled with ladies as 
 inquisitive as myself, with the exception of 
 Miss Randall's accustomed seat, and one (in 
 the adjoining compartment of which was a 
 shabby-looking person in a black bonnet and 
 cloak) on which lay a handkerchief, as if to 
 mark that it was taken. As I paused opposite, 
 however, the person in the cloak civilly re- 
 moved the handkerchief, and stiffly informed 
 me 1 was at liberty to occupy the place. I 
 
 VOL. I. H
 
 146 DIARY OF A Di:SENNUY]EE. 
 
 would willingly have refused, not being inclined 
 to settle in such close quarters with a neigh- 
 bour so little distinguished; but, having no 
 choice but to accept or lose my last chance, 
 I niched myself in, and gave my attention to 
 the business of the scene below. A very small 
 portion of the House was discernible from my 
 peephole ; but I was fortunate that it happened 
 to include one of the ablest of the Tory speak- 
 ers, who rose shortly after we entered the ven- 
 tilator. 
 
 It was my first opportunity (with the ex- 
 ception of an unimportant occasion at the Dub- 
 lin University) of witnessing public oratory of 
 any description ; and I own my impression was 
 that of disappointment. Accustomed to con- 
 nect such magnificent results with the eloquence 
 of the House of Commons, and to peruse such 
 laboured but fluent specimens of parliamentary 
 speaking, I was quite startled by the poverty, 
 the, rawness, the insignificance, of the reality. 
 Of the three first members it was my luck to 
 hear, the manner was so detestable that the 
 matter hardly reached my comprehension ; and
 
 DIARY OF A DESENNUY]feE. 147 
 
 even in one pointed out by Fame and the 
 cheers of the House as a most valuable mem- 
 ber, I was shocked by the schoolboy awkward- 
 ness, the false emphasis, and vulgar action, 
 disfiguring what I might have perused in the 
 Standard as an impressive and convincing 
 piece of argument. Nevertheless, hearing 
 murmurs of rapture arise from many corners 
 of the ventilator, I found that I had only to 
 blame my want of discernment ; and that the 
 humming, ha-ing, and see-sawing, which so 
 much offended me, were an habitual portion of 
 the mere delivery of one whose opinions obtain 
 influential weight in the country. Ashamed of 
 my weak prej udices, I fell into a reverie, which 
 not even the boisterous applauses, following the 
 concluding period of the honourable gentle- 
 man's oration, served to divert. I vv^as far 
 away in the days and haunts of my youth ; 
 when my dear, good aunt Margaret, grown 
 blind and curious, used to make Armine or 
 myself read aloud the debates, as we sat, of a 
 summer's morning, in our old hornbeam ar- 
 bour, overlooking the silver Trent, or, of a
 
 148 DIARY OF A DiSENNUYJ^E. 
 
 winter's evening, by the fireside, interrupting 
 some prosy speech to ask her questions of Pitt 
 and Fox, Wyndham and Horner; till I was 
 brought to fancy, that 
 
 " The applause of listening senates to command," 
 
 was an accomplishment worthy of a demigod. 
 I used to envy Grattan's daughters ; and wish 
 — not that Heaven had made me such another 
 man, — no! nor even the wife of such another 
 man (girls are always consequential in their 
 bib-and-tucker ambitions) — but his mother, — a 
 Cornelia, a Volumnia, a Mrs. Sheridan, senior, 
 or a venerable Countess of Chatham ! 
 
 These defeated projects of maternal ag- 
 grandisement were passing through my brain, 
 and producing a smile upon my face, when I 
 was recalled to myself by the intense stillness 
 of all below and around me, and the clear 
 enunciation of the new speaker, whose elo- 
 quence commanded such breathless attention. 
 Leaning eagerly over my ledge, I tried in vain 
 to discover from which side of the House the 
 voice proceeded. The speaker was completely
 
 DIARY OF A DESENNUY£E. 149 
 
 concealed from me by the gallery ; and, over- 
 coming my natural reserve, I hazarded an 
 inquiry of my neighbour concerning the name 
 of the gentleman on his legs. An unceremo- 
 nious "Hush!" silenced my inquiry; and I 
 could scarcely forgive myself for having pro- 
 voked such a rebuke from such a person. My 
 ire was soon appeased, and my attention other- 
 wise engrossed ; for very few minutes served to 
 convince me that 7ioWf indeed, I was listening 
 to an orator, — an orator after my own heart, 
 an enlightened patriot, such as, twenty years 
 ago, I was ambitious to boast as my son. What 
 fervour, what conviction, bringing power in 
 every sentence ; the voice of a man's heart 
 overmastering the hearts of men ; for it ad- 
 vocated the claims of the lowly, yet obtained 
 favour in the ears of the great ! An hour, — 
 two hours, did he speak on, invariably great, 
 invariably convincing ; abounding in matter of 
 fact, yet high-toned, and replete with moral 
 dignity, where the more artificial aids of oratory 
 were admissible. I began at last to dread the 
 fulness of his exposition, and wished not to be
 
 150 DIARY OF A Di:SENNUY^E. 
 
 too fully convinced, lest the purpose of the 
 speaker should be accomplished; and when 
 the cheers of the House proclaimed the con- 
 clusion of the oration, I drew a long breath, 
 disappointed that all had been said. My mind 
 was completely subjugated by a power of which 
 I never dreamed before. 
 
 ''What think you of tJiatV whispered 
 Miss Randall, coming round to me, as all 
 were hushing down their ejaculations, in order 
 to do justice to the honourable but unfortunate 
 member, the business of whose '* prattle" ic was 
 to be '^ tedious" in reply. 
 
 " Splendid ! " said I, wishing to concentrate 
 my encomiums into the least possible offence to 
 the new speaker. 
 
 " Was not that worth coming to hear? was 
 not that the finest speech you ever heard in 
 your life ? Eloquent, manly, fluent, harmo- 
 nious, philanthropic, philosophical ;" and she 
 proceeded to string epithet upon epithet, in a 
 style to have provoked the laughter of a mute 
 at a funeral. Now, even Napoleon the Great 
 used to admit, that nothing chilled him so
 
 DIARY OF A Di:SENNUYEE. 151 
 
 much as the false enthusiasm of others ; /, the 
 little, may confess, that her rhapsodies froze 
 the praises ready to burst forth from my lips. 
 
 '* Yes," said I, coolly, '' a very good 
 speech." 
 
 ""^ Good? — You mean divine, luminous, 
 astounding ! " 
 
 '^ I mean a very able speech and speaker. 
 Who was it?" 
 
 " Who ? " — You cannot be in earnest ! — 
 There is but one such orator in the House, but 
 one such orator in England, but one such in 
 Europe, but one such in the world ! — Cicero, 
 Demosthenes, Mirabeau." 
 
 "And his name?" I interrupted, dreading 
 the explosion of her verbosity. 
 
 " His name? His name is Lord Hartston ! 
 But, my dear Mrs. Delaval, you must be jest- 
 ing ! You were as well aware of this all the 
 time, as " 
 
 " May I venture to remind you, that many 
 here are listening to the debate ?" drily ob- 
 served the elderly lady in the cloak, apparently 
 impatient of my garrulous friend's interrup-
 
 152 DIARY OF A DESENNUY^E. 
 
 tion ; and away flounced Miss Randall to her 
 seat, muttering — '' insolent, ridiculous, con- 
 temptible, under-bred," &;c. kc. 
 
 Nevertheless, the speaker on his legs was 
 fully deserving attention. As a piece of casu- 
 istry, I have rarely heard any thing more 
 curious than his reply ; or more striking than 
 his art of breaking through a few weak points 
 of his adversary's fence, without seeming to 
 attack them. Nevertheless, all his art, which 
 was considerable, did not succeed in the main 
 object, of involving in ridicule the philanthropic 
 projects of the patriot. 
 
 At the close of the reply, the debate was 
 adjourned : and I waited only the announce- 
 ment of my carriage, which Clarence Delaval, 
 who was in the gallery, had promised to send 
 up. Half-a-dozen dandies had already made 
 their way to the ventilator, and were whisper- 
 ing in its divers nooks, when the old lady, 
 who had been seated opposite me, suddenly 
 addressed a young man, whom I recognized as 
 Lady Clackmannan's long-chinned friend, with, 
 " Very well, Eustace — I am satisfied."
 
 DIARY OF A DESENNUYEE. 153 
 
 {< 
 
 Eustace" seemed satisfied, too; for he 
 extended his hand, and cordially accepted a 
 shake of hers ; and away they hobbled down- 
 stairs together. I could not help fancying 
 there was a degree of affectation in his avoid- 
 ance of even a glance at me ; but I was glad 
 at last to have become acquainted with the 
 monster's name ; and " Mr. Eustace" was 
 thenceforward to be inscribed in the tablets of 
 my memory among my favourite aversions. 
 
 But, as we were returning home, the Ran- 
 dall suddenly exclaimed, *' What did you think 
 of Lord Hartston ? " 
 
 ^* I told you before, that he was a very able 
 speaker." 
 
 " I know. But himself — what did you 
 think of him?" 
 
 " From the place I occupied, I could not 
 even catch a glimpse of him." 
 
 ** Pho, pho ! The place you occupied was 
 exactly the one where he was to be seen. 
 That old monster in the cloak was his mother, 
 the only woman in the world, I fancy, to 
 whom he shews the slightest attention. Had
 
 154 DIARY OF A D^SENNUY^E. 
 
 I known it, I would have been more civil to 
 her. When he came into the ventilator, and 
 all the women about me were bustling up to 
 get a sight of him, I had a great mind to 
 go and make her an apology, as an excuse 
 for getting a full view of Lord Hartston." 
 
 Inwardly congratulating myself that she 
 had amended her intentions, I now fell into 
 an uneasy state of cogitation on all that had 
 passed. I could scarcely recollect what I had 
 said of Lord Hartston's speech in his mother's 
 hearing. 
 
 Saturday. — To-day, I dined with the Her- 
 berts, quietly, we three alone ; for I took 
 courage seriously to protest against Herbert's 
 unkindness, in involving me in his state dinner 
 parties. As soon as the servants were out of 
 the room, I related to them my tale of mystery, 
 beginning with my first impression of dislike 
 toward Lord Hartston, and ending with my 
 glow of enthusiasm in favour of his speech. 
 
 *' I knew the history before," said Herbert, 
 coldly, '^ with the exception of your cold and
 
 DIARY OF A DESENNUYEE. 155 
 
 hot fit ; and I suppose no one is entitled to 
 interpret the eternal ague of a lady's tempera- 
 ment, but the incubus appointed to preside 
 over it." 
 
 " You can have known nothing at all 
 about the matter," said I, angrily; "for I 
 have never mentioned the subject, even to my 
 sister." 
 
 '* Perhaps not. It was Lord Hartston who 
 mentioned it to me ; one of the dearest friends 
 I have on earth. He was rather inclined to 
 admire you, Harriet. He had heard wonders of 
 you from tis. But Hartston is, as he has a 
 right to be, difficult. Nothing can exceed his 
 horror of the flirting, frivolous women of the 
 day. It is not for such men as Hartston to run 
 a race with your Lord Lancasters, or your 
 Mr. Penrhyns ; and the moment he saw you 
 given over to dandies and milliners, he re- 
 nounced all thoughts of you. Lucky enough, 
 as you find him so ugly aud disagreeable." 
 
 " Yes, very lucky," said I, more and more 
 annoyed by all I was hearing : *^ but Lord 
 Hartston is the first man I have happened to
 
 156 DIARY OF A DESENNUYEE. 
 
 meet who has tried to sneer me into an affec- 
 tion for him." 
 
 *' I don't suppose he troubled his head 
 much about the matter," said Herbert, in his 
 usual disagreeable tone. And Armine, per- 
 ceiving me to be annoyed, turned the con- 
 versation into a different channel. 
 
 Lord Hartston then, the great orator, — or, 
 more truly, the distinguished patriot, — is the 
 man whose proceedings have so much annoyed 
 me ! And now, doubtless, the old lady, whose 
 countenance struck me as so forbidding, will 
 take care to acquaint him with the impertinent 
 interruption she bore with during the debate, 
 and the levity that offended her. After all, 
 what signifies to me the opinion of either 
 mother or son ? I perfectly remember having 
 heard from Armine that Hartston Abbey was 
 within visiting distance of them in Bedford- 
 shire, and that Lord Hartston had been the 
 college friend of Herbert. I dare say he is 
 just such a dry, disagreeable person as my 
 brother-in-law ! 
 
 — What a delicious day ! How auspicious for
 
 DIARY OF A DESENNUYEE. 157 
 
 our breakfast ! Mild, balmy, a little clouded — 
 not too much sun, not too much air, not too 
 much any thing. The precise heaxi moment for 
 a dejeuner is past : the moment of lilacs, la- 
 burnums, and Gueldres roses. But the acacias 
 are in flower, and the roses peeping out ; and 
 roses and acacias are enough for any moderate 
 woman. The American plants, too, are at 
 their brightest ; and Lady Sittingbourne's gar- 
 den is a sheet of rhododendrons and kalmias. 
 I like the thoughts of a breakfast, and of being 
 accompanied by my brother and sister. This 
 is the first time the Herberts have been out 
 with me since I came to town. 
 
 After nearly twelve hours' pleasure, tho- 
 roughly knocked up ! Why will people so 
 grievously overdo their diversions? It would 
 have been really pleasant to get away from 
 the glare and dust of London for a few hours, 
 to sit under green trees and enjoy the fragrance 
 of the gardens, and the freshness of the river, 
 with, perhaps, a hundred persons scattered 
 through the grounds ; and at seven, a cold 
 dinner, with plenty of iced champagne, — and
 
 158 DIARY OF A D^SENNUY^E. 
 
 back to town again. But all these tents, 
 marquees, wreaths of artificial flowers, and 
 variegated lamps, prepared for midnight, but 
 scenting the air most abominably at mid-day, — 
 all these wooden platforms for musicians and 
 dancing, tumbling, and equestrian exercises, — 
 are any thing but accessory to rural pleasures. 
 Five hundred persons, crammed into the space 
 of five acres, encumbered with bowers, trellises, 
 kiosks, and temples, — all eager after novelty, 
 and running here, and hurrying there, to listen 
 to Russian bands, or stare at Indian jugglers, — 
 would ruin even the Garden of Eden ; and 
 then, to crowd away from the roses and green 
 lawn into a stifling tent, to eat turtle and 
 venison, and drink Madeira and lime-punch, 
 is the climax of every thing disagreeable. The 
 men, however, seemed to find much satisfaction 
 in their pates and galantines ; and even Herbert 
 got into such good-humour after some excellent 
 hock, that, in the course of the evening, he 
 insisted upon dancing with me. The gardens 
 looked lovely, illuminated with glow-worm 
 lamps; but I should have liked it better had
 
 DIARY OF A.DESENNUYEE. 159 
 
 the lawn smelt less of Roman punch and ham- 
 sandwiches. 
 
 I never saw a larger assemblage of pretty 
 women . But they struck me generally as being 
 over-dressed. Open — garden — daylight does 
 not bear a great variety of gaudy colours. 
 Every tint and material looks tawdry and 
 coarse, compared with the flowers and the 
 skies ; and nothing seems to harmonize with 
 the landscape but simple white. I quite agree 
 with the poet (Cowper, I believe) who loved 
 nothing so well as to see a woman in a white 
 dress sitting under a green tree. But, at Lady 
 Sittingbourne's villa, even the trees were 
 decked out " ornate and gay ; " so that their 
 dryads and hamadryads could not be too fine 
 to do them honour. When I give a breakfast, 
 every thing shall be fresh, sweet, and natural. 
 We will feed under a solid roof; but roam 
 about among the flowers and birds, under the 
 canopy of heaven. 
 
 I was rather disgusted yesterday by the 
 conduct of Mr. Penrhyn. Shrewd as he is, he 
 must perceive that Herbert uniformly avoids
 
 160 DIARY OF A D:feSENNUYi:E. 
 
 him ; yet, though he saw we were together, 
 nothing would prevent his sauntering about 
 after us, and ruffling my brother-in-law's rare 
 good-humour. He has been staying a week in 
 Surrey for the Epsom races, and seems deter- 
 mined to make up for the time lost of my 
 society. A man who has been passing a week 
 in a country-house is sure to be a bore. After 
 August, in the usual routine of things, a popu- 
 lar man goes from house to house, and rubs off 
 the habits of each before he reaches the next. 
 Not so at this season of the year, when change 
 from London is a strange vicissitude, calculated 
 to make an impression. Mr. Penrhyn, accord- 
 ingly, was full of Stonelands — every thing was 
 compared with Stonelands, — Stonelands, of 
 course, obtaining the preference. Lady Sit- 
 tingbourne's flower-garden, for instance, which, 
 though a villa-Paradise for peris, is not to be 
 named with the shrubberies and wildernesses 
 of a place thirty miles from town. '* The con- 
 servatories at Stonelands were so magnificent ; 
 thirty diflerent species of the air-plant, and a 
 vanilla plant covering a trellise a hundred feet
 
 DIARY OF A DiSENNUYEE. 161 
 
 long ; Lady Sittingbourne's greenhouses looked 
 so Covent-Gardenish and vulgar!" Then, at 
 dinner, a fine haunch excited his disgust ; " the 
 venison-haricot at Stonelands had put him out 
 of conceit with roasts so early in the season ; — 
 at least a fortnight too early for buck venison. 
 A haunch was never eatable till there were 
 French beans to eat with it." 
 
 ^' But there are French beans in abundance," 
 exclaimed Herbert, pointing them out. 
 
 *' Ay, ay — forced ones — forced, flavourless 
 things, stewed up like points d'asperges. No- 
 thing so detestable as dressed vegetables with 
 a roti. At Stonelands, the potatoes w^ere served 
 en chemise" 
 
 Then, at Stonelands, he had met the 
 Rossanas ; and we had the recapitulation of 
 Lady Laura's Illyrian airs, and Lady Sophia's 
 sketches ; perhaps there never was a spot 
 abounding like Stonelands in subjects for the 
 pencil ; and the Stonelands music-room was 
 built after a design from Dr. Burney ; nothing 
 like it in England to give effect to Handers 
 music."
 
 162 DIARY OF A DESENNUYEE. 
 
 Observing Herbert to be on the fret, I gave 
 my arm to Mr. Penrhyn, and walked avray; 
 and, by vray of a topic of conversation as 
 remote as possible from Stonelands, selected 
 Lord Hartston's two recent speeches. 
 
 ** Oh ! you are turning politician?" cried 
 he, with a sneer. '^ I have been quite worn 
 down with politics at Stonelands ! Lord Hart- 
 ston's speech on the poor laws? True! I re- 
 collect. Lord Rossana observed that Hartston 
 was always building up cast-iron dens to cage 
 canary-birds ; or, no ! that was not exactly it, — 
 was always making gilt-wire aviaries to encage 
 eagles ; or, upon my soul, I forget how it was ; 
 but I remember that we all laughed amazingly 
 at the remark. We were discussing, by the 
 way, for breakfast, some rognons a la hrochette, 
 that would have put George Han ton into a 
 fever." 
 
 " The speech made a great impression in 
 London," said I, disgusted with his frivolity. 
 
 "Of course it did, because Hartston him- 
 self has made a great impression in London. 
 There was such a fuss, if you remember, about
 
 DIARY OF A DESENNUYiiE. 163 
 
 his being lost with his yacht last year in the 
 iEgean ; and when he turned up, and it turned 
 out (according to the inquiries set on foot by 
 the false reports) that Hartston had a clear 
 forty thousand a-year, every body seemed de- 
 termined to encumber his estate with a joint- 
 ure. All the world wanted to marry him. But 
 Hartston is devilish sly. You should have 
 seen how cleverly he made off when the Crow- 
 hurst made up to him. Hartston knows what 
 he is about. The marchioness would be glad 
 enough to hook him for Lady Alicia ; but, like 
 other prodigious fishes, he will break her line 
 and disappoint her." 
 
 Nothing I dislike more than to hear a man 
 of family and fortune, like Mr. Penrhyn, talk 
 of ^' hooking," and " husband-hunting," and 
 so forth. In describing others as matrimonial 
 prizes, he is far more suspicious of projects en- 
 tertained against himself. He fancies himself 
 in continual danger of being carried off by some 
 manoeuvring mamma. His game with myself 
 I can readily discern. He is deferring his pro- 
 posals till he can make sure of being accepted ;
 
 164 DTARY OF A DlfeSENNUYEE. 
 
 and though, to any man honestly in love, and 
 honestly intentioned towards me, I should not 
 scruple to afford a hint to prevent him from 
 compromising his dignity hy a useless pursuit, 
 I shall certainly leave Mr. Penrhyn to his own 
 enlightenment. 
 
 Before we left Lady Sittingbourne's, Her- 
 bert invited me to dine with them to-morrow, 
 to meet his sallow friend ; but, after all I had 
 heard and seen, I judged it more dignified to 
 stay away. Besides, I hate an early obligato 
 dinner on Sundays. I like to go late to the 
 Zoological Gardens, and remain there among 
 the last ; that is, among all the pleasant people. 
 
 — I have been reading over the last fifty 
 pages of my diary, and am shocked by its ego- 
 tism. I certainly intended to write of myself — of 
 my feelings and perceptions : yet, though I have 
 written more of others, and less of my own 
 experience than I purposed, I seem to have 
 written more selfishly than I thought was in 
 my nature. I have extenuated nothing of the 
 frailties of my acquaintance, nor set down 
 aught in malice of my own. I had intended to
 
 DIARY OF A DESENNUYi:E. 165 
 
 keep my journal for reperusal in old age, in the 
 hope of diverting myself with the follies of my 
 youth ; but I suspect that if this little volume 
 and myself should both survive, I should be 
 shocked, rather than amused, by the picture it 
 presents. 
 
 If anger be a brief madness, that which we 
 call the season is, alas! a long one. However 
 sober our views in the commencement, — how- 
 ever deliberately we till the cup, and sip the 
 nectarious contents, yet, at the moment we 
 ought to lay it aside, a wild intoxication comes 
 over us, and we quaff again and again, till all 
 is reeling sensuality ! We mean to be frugal, 
 — we become prodigal ; we mean to be sage, — 
 we become giddy ; we mean to be wisest, vir- 
 tuousest, discreetest, best, — and all ends in a 
 frothy vortex of dissipation. At first, we are 
 inconvenienced by the heated atmosphere of the 
 ball-room ; towards the close of the season it 
 becomes habitual. At first, we are shocked 
 by the rumour of a scandal ; towards the 
 close of the season, we repeat them ourselves. 
 At first, our better taste revolts against any
 
 166 DIARY OF A DiSENNUYi:E. 
 
 new and preposterous fashion ; towards the 
 close of the season, we have exhausted these 
 old extravagances, and are imagining new. 
 At first, we shrink from the familiarity of the 
 man who leans into our carriage, or enters our 
 opera-box without ceremony ; towards the close 
 of the season, everybody is familiar with every- 
 body; conversation is worn down from small- 
 talk into smaller, as the gravel of the " ring" 
 has been ground into stifling dust. By degrees, 
 people adopt a jargon technical as a telegraphic 
 dispatch ; and to listen to the dialogue of two 
 persons of fashion, who have been frequenting 
 the same parties and people for the last three 
 months, would sadly perplex any rational ex- 
 pounder of the king's English. Every phrase 
 is couched in cant terms, conventional allusions, 
 local jests ; and the fine, who look upon the 
 cockney dialect of their housemaids as the most 
 vulgar in the language, might themselves be 
 convicted of the utterance of idioms derived 
 from sources far less pure than ^'the well of 
 English undefiled." 
 
 The clubs are, in some measure, the origin
 
 DIARY OF A Di:SENNUY]EE. 167 
 
 of the circulation of fashionable slang. Politics 
 and the turf may, and doubtless do, supply the 
 staple of their talk. But, after beef and mutton, 
 comes the course of trifles and anchovy-toast ; 
 and idle people, who meet to gossip with each 
 other, on indifferent subjects, thirty days in the 
 month, insensibly adopt a conventional way of 
 talking, a cant slang of triviality, and a habit 
 of exaggeration and embellishment. Trace 
 some tale of current scandal to its source, and 
 we shall find the tints of the picture heightened 
 as it passes from club to club ; beginning with 
 pale pink at mild, indolent, sober-suited Boo- 
 dle's; and glaring from vermilion to crimson 
 as it blushes through the Travellers' and Crock- 
 ford's. The anecdote and phrase in which it is 
 couched are circulated at home by the husband 
 or brother ; and, at last, the *^ hyperbolical 
 fiend," called Fashion, is taught to vent its 
 pribbles and prabbles in a tone as jingling and 
 paltry as that of the silver bell hung round the 
 neck of my lady's lap-dog. But again I am 
 inveighing against the errors of others ; for I
 
 168 DIARY OF A DESENNUY^E. 
 
 have neither husband nor brother to initiate me 
 into the accidence of fashionable slang ; yet 
 the influence of the season has operated as 
 unfavourably on myself as on all the rest. 
 
 I wonder whether it would be possible to 
 apply one's lip to this said poisoned chalice, 
 after Lady Grace's fashion — " soberly ? " Dr. 
 Johnson, and other mouthers of big words, 
 have told us, that ^' abstinence is easier than 
 temperance:" but is sobriety, — in a certain 
 class, and educated as nine-tenths of us are 
 now educated, — is sobriety a possible virtue? 
 
 Here are my next-door neighbours, for in- 
 stance, — no sillier, I imagine, than their neigh- 
 bours, and belonging to an order of society 
 which the Thurtells of our society are apt to 
 designate respectable ; instead of " a gig," 
 they keep " a family coach." Jesting apart, 
 they are people who toast church and state, 
 pay their taxes cheerfully, and dole out their 
 Christmas chaldrons and blankets to the poor : 
 righteous people in their generation, — thinking 
 no evil, because thinking is a thing out of their
 
 DIARY OF A DESEXNUYEE. 169 
 
 roviiice; a thing for which they pay the king's 
 ministers, the rector of the parish, and their 
 family solicitor. 
 
 Yet, for the last ten years, nothing has 
 ^Irs. Gresham Ronsham, ofWrangham Hall, 
 been pouring into the ears of her daughters, 
 but a leperous distilment, flavoured with the 
 joys of a London season. For this, the pro- 
 gress of their education has been hastened ; all 
 their knowledge was to be acquired, all their 
 accomplishments imbbed in, with a view to 
 " coming out." — '^ For heaven's sake! Mary, 
 don't poke so, or I shall never venture to take 
 you up to town to be presented ;" — or, " My 
 dear Jane, you have not been in the stocks this 
 morning. Consider how mortified you will be, 
 your first season in town, when you find your- 
 self so much awkwarder than other girls." — 
 " Harriet 1 who on earth cut off that lock of 
 hair just in sight?" " /did, Mamma, to give 
 to my brother James, before he sailed for 
 India." " How inconsiderate ! Have you for- 
 gotten that, the season after next, you are 
 going to town to be presented ; and that it 
 
 VOL. I. I
 
 170 DIARY OF A D^lSENNUYtE. 
 
 takes two years for a ringlet to grow properly ? 
 I am exceedingly displeased with you. Well, 
 don't cry ; that won't remedy the matter ; and, 
 perhaps, before you come out, ringlets may be 
 out of fashion." The season and its balls are, 
 in short, the Mahommedan heaven and its 
 houris, promised to incite the virtues of these 
 innocent beings ; till, at length, they are 
 snatched from the governess, torn from their 
 village schools and feminine routine of rural 
 benevolence, and thrust into the meretricious 
 world of London ; their fair shoulders bared, 
 their fair locks tortured, their fair minds scrib- 
 bled over by the nonsense of every flirting 
 fool ; — and, amid the glare of brilliant 
 ball-rooms, the voluptuous harmonies of deli- 
 cious orchestras, the fragrance of exotics, the 
 rattle, the dash, the splendour, the flattery, the 
 whirl of London, the nectar foams brightly at 
 their lips, which is to be tasted ''soberly." 
 
 And now, having had a peck at the mote in 
 my brother's eye, and moralized my fill, at the 
 expense of the Ronsham Greshams, — away to 
 the Zoological ; where, as it is Sunday, man
 
 DIARY OF A DESENNUYEE. 171 
 
 and beast, with a reasonable proportion of the 
 females of both, are waiting the good-fellow- 
 ship of the public ; that is, not the very public 
 public. The public who privilege themselves 
 by a payment of so much per annum, to evade 
 the payment of so much per diem, are alone 
 permitted to enter this Eden of Northern 
 Marylebone on the Sabbath-day. Into sweet, 
 fresh, grassy Kensington Gardens, on the con- 
 trary, all the unliveried human species are free 
 to enter ; and the heau monde has, accordingly, 
 taken refuge from tigers of the biped, among 
 tigers of the quadruped species. While admir- 
 ing the antics of the chimpanzee, we are sup- 
 posed to be secure from contact with apes of an 
 obscure race, or baboons of other than distin- 
 guished pedigree. 
 
 So ! — a vastly agreeable morning I had pro- 
 vided for myself! Lord Clackmannan, who, 
 on all days but Sundays, is busy with the cares 
 of office, undertook to escort me, and Lady 
 Alicia was to be our companion ; when, lo ! 
 scarcely had we penetrated so far through the 
 gay throng as the bear-pit, when Clarence
 
 172 DIARY OF A DESENNUYEE. 
 
 managed to attach himself to the side of his 
 fair cousin ; and thenceforward I might have 
 been at the bottom of the pit, for any thing the 
 anxious, vigilant father cared to the contrary. 
 We were too many to walk together ; and as 
 there was no chance that the marquess would 
 relinquish AHcia's arm under such circum- 
 stances, I accepted the offered civilities of 
 George Hanton, and left Lord Clackmannan 
 to her guardianship. 
 
 Now, as to the arm of Mr. Hanton, I pro- 
 test I took it with as much indifference as I 
 should have taken that of " Sare Delafals," or 
 any other equally uninteresting individual. I 
 scarcely knew who was beside me, as I amused 
 myself with the passing groups of the highly 
 unselect select, and reflected within myself, 
 that an air endimancht is fifty times more 
 vulgar in a gentlewoman than in the grocer's 
 wife on whom gentlewomen waste their wit ; 
 when, lo ! no sooner had we passed the tunnel, 
 than, following the motley multitude towards 
 the elephant's enclosure, we lost sight of Lord 
 Clackmannan. I noticed the fact to my com-
 
 DIARY OF A DESENNUYEE, 173 
 
 panion, but as a matter of indifference ; for her 
 father was chaperon enough for Lady Ahcia; 
 and as to any feeling of consciousness at find- 
 ing myself alone with George Hanton, I should 
 as soon have shrunk from a ttte-ci-ttte with my 
 grandfather. 
 
 " How horrible to watch that monster's vo- 
 racity ! " said he, after we had stopped for a 
 minute to contemplate the showers of cakes 
 and gingerbread swallowed by the elephant : 
 '^how thankful one ought to be to Providence, 
 for bestowing upon ourselves discrimination of 
 palate !" And, having uttered this pious apo- 
 strophe, he drew me onwards to an enclosure 
 containing some animals apparently out of 
 zoological fashion, — tapirs, or I scarcely know 
 what, — against the palings of which he reso- 
 lutely fixed me ; so resolutely, that I scarcely 
 knew what to make of a certain pressure of the 
 arm which accompanied the movement. 
 
 '^ It gratifies me very much," he began, 
 " that the number of weeks during which my 
 present intentions have been made manifest, 
 must secure me, in your eyes, from all appear-
 
 174 DIARY OF A DESENNUYEE. 
 
 ance of a disrespectful precipitancy ; but now, 
 my dear Mrs. Delaval, that we seem at last so 
 perfectly to understand each other, I see no 
 reason why we should longer defer those mu- 
 tual acknowledgments, which ought to precede 
 all other preliminaries between us." 
 
 I was literally dumb with astonishment. 
 He was as likely to meet with an answer from 
 me, as from the tapirs that were routing their 
 long noses at us through the palings. 
 
 *' In those secondary points, however," 
 added he, " I flatter myself I need anticipate 
 little contrariety. My income amounts to five- 
 and- twenty hundred a-year — yours, I fancy, to 
 something more — (more than double, of which 
 he was well aware !) — and I have a comfort- 
 able, well-situated house, which we need only 
 re-furnish, to render it all you can wish. Our 
 habits of life, in other respects, assimilate. We 
 are both fond of society — both of the same 
 tastes and modes of thinking ; for, though I 
 have not yet the honour to be admitted fami- 
 liarly to your house, I have had much pleasure 
 in learning from my friend, Clarence, that your
 
 DIARY OF A DESENNUYEE. 175 
 
 table and chef are among the best in London. 
 (Our ' modes of thinking ! ') Under these 
 circumstances, I feel our mutual felicity to be 
 secure. Our fortune, though not large, is 
 sufficient for two persons possessed of a capital 
 house in town for the season, who spend the 
 remainder of the year with their friends, and 
 are not ambitious of a family. An occasional 
 winter at Paris, or autumn at Spa, or Carlsbad, 
 might vary the scene ; and as we should com- 
 mand the best society, and" 
 
 '' Stay!" cried I, as one of the long-nosed 
 beasts made a direct attack upon my instep, 
 which seemed to restore me to my recollection ; 
 ** I am very wrong to allow you to proceed in 
 this way when " 
 
 '^ No, no! you are every thing that is good 
 and kind. Believe me, I fully appreciate your 
 motives in permitting me to give free inter- 
 pretation to my sentiments; (his sentiments!) 
 and you must suffer me to congratulate my- 
 self that " 
 
 " I am not aware that you have any cause
 
 176 DIARY OF A DESENNUYEE. 
 
 for self-gratulation," said I, growing angry; 
 for " 
 
 " Your amiable modesty may look upon 
 the thing in that point of view," persisted my 
 admirer; " but believe me, that, although I 
 have had hundreds of opportunities of allying 
 myself most advantageously during the last 
 few seasons, — though, in fact, the dowager 
 Duchess of Hampshire nearly forced her 
 daughter. Lady Ellen, upon me last autumn 
 in the Highlands, — while the persecution 1 
 bore for years from Lady Katherine and her 
 daughter has become a matter of history, — 
 still, I assure you, I do not entertain the 
 smallest ambition of forming a higher con- 
 nexion than with yourself." 
 
 " It therefore vexes me the more," said I, 
 determined to be heard, " that my own feel- 
 ings on the subject" 
 
 But vain was my attempt to be explicit. 
 We had now reached the bird-houses; and, 
 from the circle of delighted auditors listening 
 to the gentillesses of the pink cockatoo, who
 
 DIARY OF A DESENNUYEE. 177 
 
 was sidling on his stand in the sunshine, a 
 whole party of the Beresfords caught sight of 
 me, and in a minute I was surrounded ; my 
 arm still inclosed in that of George Hanton, 
 and exposed to the high-pressure of his tender 
 gratitude. The usual ejaculations followed — 
 " Isn't this a doat of a bird?" '' Quite a 
 darling!" " Such a dear, nice creature!" 
 " Pretty Poll ! " " Cocoa ready ?" " Did you 
 stay out the ballet last night?" " Couldn't 
 get my carriage up. Stupid old coachman — 
 been in the family these thirty years — must 
 get rid of him ! " " Pretty Poll ! " " Wasn't 
 Fanny Elsler divine in that pas de trois?" 
 " God save great George, our king!" " La! 
 ma I what an old parrot it must be — it says, 
 God save King George!'' *' My dear, parrots 
 is like hoaks — they lives a hage vich is a great 
 hage. Don't you remember when you studied 
 hornithology along with Miss Sycamore?" 
 " Yes, ma!" " Heavens! Mrs. Delaval— did 
 you hear that woman ? And they pretend that 
 the society here on Sundays is select !" " Take 
 care — my dear Lady Alicia, take care — parrots 
 i2
 
 178 DIARY OF A DESENNUYEE. 
 
 are as insidious as monkeys. That creature is 
 making for your shoulder." " Do you remem- 
 ber what old Lady Burlington said when her 
 macaw bit a piece out of her friend's arm — 
 ^ I hope to Heaven it won't make the poor dear 
 creature sick!'" " Naughty Poll!" &c. &c. 
 
 In short, I had gradually rejoined Alicia 
 and her father; and there was no immediate 
 opportunity for resuming my odious explana- 
 tions. Mr. Hanton wore the impertinent smile 
 of a favoured lover ; and, could any thing have 
 increased the ugliness of a face so vulgar, so 
 common, so unintellectual, he would have been 
 more than usually disgusting. 
 
 We were soon joined by Lord Lancaster 
 and Lord Hilton, and loitered about the gar- 
 dens with the Beresfords, making the same 
 sapient remarks uttered there Sunday after 
 Sunday ; such as — " What a vastly conjugal 
 couple !" " Who ? Mr. and Mrs. William C. V 
 " No! that pair of blue and buff macaws! 
 What a fate ; to be caged in eternal fidelity, 
 as an example for ladies and gentlemen ! " 
 " How those chamois remind one of Cha-
 
 DIARY OF A DESENNUY£E. 179 
 
 mouny ! Dear Switzerland ! — Lord Hilton, 
 were you ever in Switzerland ? How enchant- 
 ing it would be to be passing this hot day in 
 a chalety in one of those delicious valleys ! 
 Switzerland is quite my passion. I mean to 
 go to Lady Rossana's fete costumee as an Ap- 
 peyizelloise." " Is Lady Rossana going to give 
 a bal costume?" ^^ Haven't you your card?" 
 " No. A fancy-ball! — How Irish! how vul- 
 gar ! Always wanting to do something out of 
 the common way." *' Shall I get you invited ?" 
 '* Thank you. Yes — I suppose one must be 
 there." ** La! ma! — what's that bird as big 
 as a turkey, what sits so sulky on its perch?" 
 " An eagle." '^ Bill, I say, yonder great 
 beast's an eagle." '* What's a heagle? I never 
 seed a heagle." " You naughty boy! Don't 
 you remember the Spread Eagle, opposite uncle 
 John's, in Gracechurch Street?" " Just listen 
 to those ignorant barbarians!" *' And then, 
 people talk of the diffusion of knowledge, and 
 the advantage of penny libraries ! Do let us 
 go. Lady Evelyn, and see the kangaroos swal- 
 low their young." " Do they really swallow
 
 180 DIARY OF A DESENNUYEE. 
 
 them?" "To be sure — I have seen them a 
 thousand times." 
 
 We were leaving the gardens at a quarter 
 before eight, to dress for dinner. Lord Clack- 
 mannan's carriage coming round first, he and 
 Lady Ahcia left me to the care of Lords Lan- 
 caster and Hilton, Mr. Hanton retaining the 
 most obstinate possession of my arm ; all three 
 talking and laughing loud, by vray, I suppose, 
 of making themselves conspicuous: when, lo! 
 in walked Herbert, arm-in-arm with Lord 
 Hartston. Instead of stopping, my brother-in- 
 law touched his hat to me with the most pro- 
 voking air of superciliousness : his companion 
 looked pointedly away. 
 
 " My friend, Hartston, is growing the 
 greatest of great men," said Hanton, imper- 
 tinently. " He has never lost the air with 
 which he used to declaim, on Harrow speech- 
 days, ' My name is Caius Marcius ! ' " 
 
 *' I cannot laugh at Hartston," replied 
 Lord Hilton, with more good sense than I 
 expected from him. " Hartston is an honour 
 to the times, and the hope of the country.
 
 DIARY OF A DESENNUYEE. 
 
 181 
 
 I am always willing to take off my hat to 
 Hartston as low as he pleases." 
 
 " Probably he pleases little or nothing 
 about the matter," muttered Hanton, putting 
 me into my carriage, w^ith a look and smile 
 of most provoking significance. And, as I 
 turned off into the ring, there stood the ugly 
 creature, affecting to watch me out of sight, 
 while Lord Lancaster and Lord Hilton planted 
 themselves behind him, bursting with laughter 
 at his affected attitude of sentimentality. As 
 I was pretty sure of meeting the wretch, if 
 I pursued my intention of going, as usual, to 
 Arlington Street, I resolved to stay at home, 
 and, after dinner, dispatch to his '' well-situa- 
 ted mansion, " a letter expressive of regret, 
 that I should have given him sufficient encou- 
 ragement to mislead him into proposals w^hich, 
 for reasons unnecessary to explain, I begged 
 to decline. 
 
 At one o'clock in the morning, probably 
 after his return from the marchioness's, just 
 as I was preparing to retire to bed, arrives the 
 following cool, impudent, disingenuous answer.
 
 182 DIARY OF A DJESENNUYEE. 
 
 " My dEAR Mrs. Delaval, 
 
 " I am at a loss to conjecture what 
 part of our conversation this morning you can 
 have so completely misinterpreted as to sup- 
 pose me bold enough to aspire to the honour 
 of your hand ; more particularly as I fancied 
 it was known to all the world, that I am 
 any thing but a marrying man. Hoping 
 this little mesentendu will produce no change 
 in the friendly feelings between us, I have 
 the honour to be your devoted servant, 
 
 G. Hanton." 
 
 Monday. — Too cross, all day, to write a 
 syllable. 
 
 Tuesday, — Went this morning to sit with 
 Armine, and found her busy with her usual 
 stitchery, in a close stifling drawing-room, 
 with a canvass-covered spelling-book, a slate, 
 and two greasy-looking weekly account-books, 
 lying near her work-box. How mortifying to 
 see my elegant-minded sister humbled into a 
 drudge ! — for, after all, this milder species of
 
 DIARY OF A DESENNUYEE. 183 
 
 drudgery is more vexatious to a proud spirit 
 than actual labour; and, for the sake of a 
 husband who so little seems to appreciate the 
 sacrifice ! 
 
 My sister's face, as she bent over her 
 cambric muslin, seemed rather portentous. 
 Supposing her grave looks to originate in 
 some domestic disarrangement, I ventured to 
 make inquiries. 
 
 " Any thing the matter ? " said I. 
 
 " No, nothing the matter; only the idea of 
 your marrying that Mr. Penrhyn vexes me." 
 
 '* My marrying Mr. Penrhyn? " 
 
 " Herbert, you know, so particularly dis- 
 likes him, that I fear the marriage will cause 
 an estrangement among us. No doubt you are 
 better acquainted with his merits, and judge 
 him more truly than w^e do; but" — 
 
 " Pray let me interrupt you by inquiring 
 what makes you suppose I have any idea of 
 forming such an alliance ? " 
 
 " Oh, Herbert and Lord Hartston say that 
 you cannot be otherwise than engaged to him ; 
 that you oughty in fact, to be engaged to him I "
 
 184 DIARY OF A DESENNUYEE. 
 
 *' They do me too much honour by taking 
 so deep an interest in my affairs. But I beg 
 leave to differ from them. I am not engaged 
 to Mr. Penrhyn." 
 
 " Then why, my dear sister," cried Armine, 
 dropping her work into her lap, — "why on 
 earth were you seen with him alone in your 
 carriage last week, at five o'clock in the morn- 
 mg? 
 
 " Oh ! are you there%'' said I, laughing at 
 her look of consternation ; " why, because it 
 was five o'clock in the morning, a bright sun- 
 shiny morning, light and public as noon-day. 
 I remained much later than usual at Almack's, 
 and Mr. Penrhyn, who put me into the car- 
 riage, asked me, in all humility, to take him 
 home, as he could not find his cabriolet. 
 Perhaps it would have been wiser to propose 
 sending back the carriage when it had left me 
 in St. James's place ; but, in pity to his thin 
 shoes and tired face, I at once consented to 
 set him down in Albemarle Street. As we 
 passed the steps of Crockford's, Lord Lancaster 
 and half a dozen of the tlite of the rouh were
 
 DIARY OF A DESENNUYEE. 185 
 
 standing on the steps, — smoking, laughino-, 
 and quizzing all who went by ; from the 
 squeaking chimney-sweepers to the gay people 
 from Almack's. Penrhyn nodded to these men, 
 as we took our turn in the ordeal; and, it 
 appears, we were not quittes pour la peur. 
 The wretches have chosen to make mischief." 
 
 ** It is very much to be lamented," observed 
 Armine, gravely, *' that so trifling an indis- 
 cretion should be the means of uniting you 
 to a man of whom the best judges entertain 
 so ill an opinion." 
 
 '* You almost provoke me into taking up 
 his defence!" cried I. " Do you suppose that 1 
 am to be frightened into accepting Mr. Pen- 
 rhyn because such people as Mr. Herbert and 
 Lord Hartston decide that my reputation re- 
 quires mending? " 
 
 Armine reddened in her turn. " My hus- 
 band has a true affection for you, Harriet; 
 and Herbert assures me this silly adventure has 
 made you the talk of the clubs." 
 
 '^ A proof of what trivialities their conver- 
 sation must consist. I wonder so wise a man
 
 186 DIARY OF A DisENNUYEE. 
 
 as Mr. Herbert can make up his mind to pass 
 a large portion of his life among such empty 
 gossips." 
 
 " Nevertheless, the clubs give the tone to 
 London conversation. The politician, the 
 country gentleman, the literary man, the con- 
 noisseur, the dandy, each has his peculiar club, 
 at which the chief subject in which he is 
 interested forms the leading topic of conver- 
 sation. And, just as people believe a minis- 
 terial rumour circulated at Brookes's, they will 
 believe a scandalous story emanating from 
 Crockford's. " 
 
 *' But I see no scandal in the matter. Mr. 
 Penrhyn sat three minutes and a half in my 
 chariot, with the windows down, in open day- 
 light. Where is the crime of such a cir- 
 cumstance ?" 
 
 "It is contrary to etiquette. A young 
 woman and young man, seen together in such 
 a position, are naturally supposed to be under 
 engagements to each other. It will not do, 
 my dear Harriet, to brave the opinion of the 
 world. Remember that disregard of etiquette
 
 DIARY OF A DESENNUYEE. 187 
 
 lost Maria Antoinette her throne, her Ufe ; it 
 may lose you " 
 
 " My reputation! — Yes! you really mean 
 to infer that, after five and twenty years of pru- 
 dent conduct, my good name is injured by 
 taking a man home from Almack's ! What 
 intolerable nonsense ! " 
 
 *' Forgive me, if I have offended you ; but 
 I thought it right you should be avrare that all 
 the vrorld is talking of your marriage with Mr. 
 Penrhyn." 
 
 " For all the world, read Mr. Herbert and 
 his old-maidish friend, Lord Hartston. My 
 compliments to both, and tell them I shall 
 invite into my carriage whom I please, and at 
 whatever hour may suit me. And now, let us 
 talk of something else." 
 
 Our next subject was not much more agree- 
 able than the preceding one. Herbert has re- 
 solved to leave London on the first of July; 
 and I have, therefore, only another fortnight to 
 enjoy of Armine's society. She is still eager 
 that I should fulfil my promise of passing a 
 month or two of the autumn with them in Bed-
 
 188 DIARY OF A DESENNUYEE. 
 
 fordshire, and still confident of my acquiescence ; 
 but I cannot bear the thoughts of becoming an 
 inmate under the same roof with Herbert, more 
 especially a roof where his authority prevails. 
 I am sure we should disagree. 
 
 Just as the carriage was turning down Brook 
 Street, after I left my sister, it was suddenly 
 stopped, and Herbert himself appeared at the 
 window. 
 
 " I wish you joy!" said he, with one of his 
 bitterest sneers. 
 
 '^ Thank you!" I replied, resolved not to 
 gratify him by inquiring the cause of his felici- 
 tations. 
 
 "Ah! you had heard it already? I was 
 in hopes, I should be the first person to convey 
 the joyful tidings." 
 
 " What joyful tidings?" cried I, startled 
 out of my resolution. 
 
 " The death of Lord Penrhyn. I have 
 just come from the club. The old man died 
 at eight this morning ; leaving a clear rent-roll 
 of seventy thousand a-year, four magnificent 
 country houses, and one in town. You are 
 in luck ! I wish you good morning."
 
 DIARY OF A DESEXNUYEE. 189 
 
 _l/y unexpressed wishes for him were far 
 less amiable ; but, resolved not to appear dis- 
 concerted, I kissed my hand as the carriage 
 drove on. I was going to Smith's, for the pur- 
 pose of getting a bi-acelet mended ; and, while 
 giving my orders, in came Lady Mardynville ; 
 vrho, instead of pursuing her business, what- 
 ever it might be — if, indeed, she had any but to 
 be disagreeable — began curtseying and simper- 
 ino" with such an enormous accession of defer- 
 ence, that I am convinced she has heard the 
 false report of my marriage, and the true one 
 of Lord Penrhyn's death. Terrified lest she 
 should accost me with congratulations before 
 all the shopmen, which would spread the story 
 from one end of London to the other, I talked so 
 fast and so confusedly to Smith about the snap 
 of my stupid bracelet, that he must have thought 
 me bewitched, while she, doubtless, believed me 
 to be o:ivino; orders for a riviere of brilliants. At 
 last I hurried away, as if making off with some 
 of the trinkets I had been turning over. 
 
 In what a carious position have I involved 
 myself! Here am I condemned by the voice
 
 190 DIARY OF A DESENNUYEE. 
 
 of the world to marry, by way of penance, a 
 man, the very idea of whose importance has 
 set Lady Mardynville's knees bobbing ! Seventy 
 thousand a-year ! And I, who am thought so 
 rich, and who find myself so rich, with six ! 
 What might one not do with so classical an 
 income ! What might one not do for it, except 
 marry an unprincipled, heartless man like Mr. 
 Penrhyn? I beg his pardon, Lord Penrhyn. 
 To be sure, every one is not so prejudiced 
 against him as Herbert. I know many houses 
 where he is a great favourite. At the time 
 Mrs. Percy exposed herself on his account, no 
 one seemed to think it extraordinary ; and 
 certainly his prospects of fortune could have 
 nothing to do with hei' engouement. Now, of 
 course, every one will think him charming ; so 
 that the applauses of the world will, for the 
 future, go for nothing. To-morrow, Ascot with 
 Lady Cecilia. 
 
 Friday. — I prefer Ascot a thousand times 
 to Epsom. The road is less rural, but more 
 amusing. The rabble-rout, inseparable from a
 
 DIARY OF A DESENNUYEE. 191 
 
 race-course, is, at Ascot, a rustic, at Epsom, a 
 swell mob ; the company is more select ; and, 
 above all, the presence of royalty dignifies the 
 affair. The prickers in scarlet liveries, who 
 keep the ground, give an air of courtliness to 
 the place ; and one feels to be in the near 
 neighbourhood of 
 
 Thy forest, Windsor, and thy green retreats. 
 
 Lady Cis was not in spirits. She should 
 not attempt such exertions ; for public places of 
 all kinds are her abhorrence ; and she is the 
 least locomotive person in the world. No one 
 can be a more charming causeuse ; but, to con- 
 verse like her sex, she must be sitting in her 
 own chair, with her feet on her own footstool, 
 her own lapdog on the sofa near her, and her 
 own sachet of marechale powder lying on the 
 table by her side. Her mind is so acclimate to 
 her boudoir, that elsewhere she becomes absent 
 and fretful. Yesterday, she found the day too 
 hot, the roads too dusty ; she could not arrange 
 our parasols to her liking ; and, when we ar- 
 rived on the course, was distracted by the noise
 
 192 DIARY OF A DESENNUYEE. 
 
 of tabors and fifes, and the bawling of the pea- 
 and-thimble men ; and would have it that our 
 horses were going to he frightened. Her ordi- 
 nary movements are so circumscribed, that she 
 is not prepared for the common occurrences of 
 life ; and yesterday she was herself so bored, that, 
 had it not been for Clarence, she would have 
 ended with boring me. Happy they who know 
 no other calamity in life than that of being 
 lored! Yet, in this world of tortures and pri- 
 vations, how many of us presume to complain 
 of that as of the greatest of evils. 
 
 " All the world" was at Ascot; and Lord 
 Clackmannan, as master of the buckhounds, 
 or the horse, or I know not what, managed to 
 procure us a privileged place on the course, 
 opposite to the royal stand, where we saw *^ all 
 the world" to advantage. Lady C. and Lady 
 Alicia were with the king and queen ; and 
 Clarence had the happiness of doating upon 
 his idol through an opera-glass the whole of 
 the day. Lord Hartston passed us twice ; and 
 I observed the Duke of Merioneth, who was 
 talking to us at the time, take off his hat with
 
 DIARY OF A DESENNUYEE. 193 
 
 the deference he T\ould have shewn to a prince 
 of the blood. What influence resides in a cele- 
 brated name ! How far beyond all ordinary 
 distinctions of rank ! 
 
 I perceive that the report of my engage- 
 ment to Lord Penrhyn has gained ground. 
 The duke inquired of me when I intended to 
 leave town for the season ; then checked him- 
 self, observing, " But I beg pardon — I con- 
 clude nothing is yet settled?" Vexed by his 
 inference, I confided my dilemma to Cecilia, 
 who treated it as a delicate distress not worth 
 mentioning. " Leave people to find out their 
 mistake," said she, with her usual languid air 
 of indifference ; " or, if you like it better, con- 
 vert the mistake into reality. You know I have 
 long recommended you to marry Penrhyn." 
 
 " But, as he has never even hinted an in- 
 tention of proposing" 
 
 " Of course not. Lord Penrhyn is too much 
 a man of the world, and knows too well his 
 own value, to fling his hand at the head of any 
 woman on a short acquaintance. People of 
 his kind are seldom in a hurry to be married. 
 
 VOL. I. K
 
 194 DIARY OF A DESEXXUYEE. 
 
 It is only boys like Clarence, or old lords 
 dropping into an estate and wanting an heir, 
 who play the fool-hardy in such matters." 
 
 — We came back from Ascot, tired, dusty, 
 thirsty, sunburnt, cross; and doubly cross at 
 findino: ourselves engrao^ed to a late dinner at 
 old Lady Burlington's. But the dinner revived 
 us. The room was cool ; the party, intelligent 
 
 and chatty. I heard the dowager say to L , 
 
 who sat next her at table, " I have been moving 
 heaven and earth this season to get that Lord 
 Hartston; but he will not be had. I have 
 written to him, and told him I was godmother 
 to his grandfather ; I have been at him through 
 every living creature of his acquaintance, from 
 his sister to his bootmaker ; but the man is 
 inflexible. I fancy he is afraid of being decoyed 
 into one of my lion-feeds ; but I hope I appre- 
 ciate him better. Fox, you know, was my 
 great friend ; so was Sheridan, so was Burke, 
 so was Fitzpatrick ; and I shall go miserable to 
 my grave, unless Lord Hartston dines with me 
 before the season is over." 
 
 '^ rs'o ; pray don't die while you have so
 
 DIARY OF A DESENNUYEE. 195 
 
 good a cook," said her neighbour, helping 
 himself to an tpigramme de volatile pique mix 
 crevettes. " You only want Hartston as a 
 novelty — in managerial phrase — to draw a 
 good house for you. I cannot pretend to assist 
 you, because he is my friend, and with my 
 friends I never take liberties. But you shall 
 have him in small change. I will procure you 
 several stars of lesser magnitude, all newly 
 discovered ; a Pole who " 
 
 " Not for the universe ! In spite of our dear 
 Lord Dudley, those Poles are quite rococo." 
 
 " A Pole whose hands were worked off in 
 the mines of Siberia. He goes about in hanging 
 sleeves, and has trained a poodle to fetch and 
 carry for him. I believe he was a Bedouin last 
 season — mats cest egaL Then you shall have a 
 dandy American, talking fashion, Shakespeare, 
 and the musical glasses, in a style to make the 
 fortune of a Margate M.C. ; and, par supple- 
 ment, a fine lady novelist, who sends you her 
 new work with a little perfumed billet, begging 
 you will * nothing extenuate, nor set down 
 aught in malice.'"
 
 196 DIARY OF A DESENNUYEE. 
 
 *' Thank you, thank you," cried the old 
 lady, beginning to see through her friend's 
 jjersijlage, " I will not trust to you; I shall 
 try and engage the influence of Mrs. Delaval's 
 bright eyes. Mrs. Del aval, my dear, are you 
 acquainted with Lord Hartston ? Yes, now I 
 think of it, you must be. You both came into 
 fashion about the same time ; and I know he 
 is faufile with that good-looking, disagreeable, 
 brother-in-law of yours, who lives in Park 
 Lane." 
 
 " New Norfolk Street," insinuated one of 
 her neighbours. 
 
 " Never mind where. I really wish, my 
 dear, you would get me presented to him." 
 
 " To my disagreeable brother-in-law?" 
 
 " No, no; the other. Tell him I have the 
 greatest respect for him, and so forth; and 
 that I was the friend of Fox, Burke, Windham, 
 and so forth ; and that I hope to have the honour 
 of seeing him at dinner, either the 26th, 27th, 
 28th, 29th of June, or the 7th or 8th of July." 
 
 " I am sorry to say, I have not the pleasure 
 of knowing Lord Hartston."
 
 DIARY OF A DESENNUYEE. 197 
 
 '^ Haven't you? How stupid! — he would 
 have made a charming match for you. By 
 the way, my dear child, they say you are to 
 
 marry Lord what's the name of the man 
 
 who has that fine property in Yorkshire ? " 
 
 ** There are so many men who have fine 
 property in Yorkshire." 
 
 ^* But I mean that man with mines, or 
 iron-works, or quarries, or something or other ; 
 the man who wears a great bush of hair, as if 
 his ears had been cropped." 
 
 " Your ladyship means, perhaps, Lord Pen- 
 rhyn?" said some one, taking pity on my con- 
 fusion. 
 
 ^' Do L? I dare say I do. Salmi," turning 
 to her maitre dliotel, ^^ remind me to ask Lord 
 Penrhyn to dinner as soon as his grandfather 
 has been dead a fortnight." And, fortunately 
 for me, in the discursiveness of her ideas, she 
 had already forgotten the matter which brought 
 him on the tapis. " I will have the Percies to 
 meet him. And now, jnes hons amis, that the 
 ices are on the table, I give you all leave to 
 talk about Ascot. Had I not interdicted the
 
 198 DIARY OF A D^SENNUYEE. 
 
 subject during dinner, I should have heard of 
 nothing else; and I detest races. I have not 
 been to a race these sixty years." 
 
 Friday. — How odiously provoking! When 
 the Morning Post was brought me at break- 
 fast, so little did I imagine it could contain any 
 thing of personal interest to myself, that I ran 
 through a whole column about Ascot, before I 
 was attracted by a paragraph headed " The 
 LATE Lord Penrhyn," beginning with an ac- 
 count of his ^^ crimson Genoa velvet coffin, with 
 silver-gilt handles and plate ;" and ending with, 
 " We learn that the present Lord, who is in his 
 forty-first year, is about to lead to the hymeneal 
 altar the lovely and accomplished Mrs. De- 
 laval, widow of Colonel Delaval, of Belaval 
 Castle, and daughter to the late distinguished 
 General Sir Richard Montresor, K.B." 
 
 I am now, indeed, perplexed. If I send a 
 denial to the newspaper. Lord Penrhyn may 
 say; " Mrs. Delaval might have waited till she 
 was asked;" while, if I allow the assertion to 
 remain unnoticed, the fact will be admitted as
 
 DIARY OF A DESENNUYEE. 199 
 
 certain. I know not whom to consult. Herbert 
 is so ungracious on the subject ; and Lady Ce- 
 cilia considers every thing so unimportant that 
 does not relate either to herself or Clarence. 
 I foresee that I shall be exposed to all sorts of 
 annoyances by this foolish history. It would 
 not surprise me to receiv^e a letter in the course 
 of the day from Lady Mardynville, asking me 
 to stand godmother to her next child ! 
 
 How the season brightens ! I expected that, 
 by this time, my gaieties would a little relax ; 
 instead of which, this morning has brought 
 cards for four balls, two breakfasts, and a 
 ftte costmnee. Dissipation seems to grow with 
 what it feeds on ; and, now the intoxication of 
 pleasure has become fairly epidemic, all calcu- 
 lation, all moderation, is thrown aside. No 
 one has a moment for reflection. The vigils 
 of the ball over-night leave one scarcely time 
 to dress in the morning for the business of the 
 day, viz. visits and the Park. Then another 
 toilet, and a dinner party ; then another, and 
 more balls. The sound of an orchestra is 
 perpetually in one's ears j and full dress so
 
 200 DIARY OF A DESENNUYEE. 
 
 habitual, that I shall scarcely know myself 
 again in ^' white linen.'' I should like a 
 week's quiet, and then a recommencement. 
 The six months quiet which really will follow 
 all this stir and sparkling, does not seem alto- 
 gether so desirable. I am now so accustomed 
 to live in a crowd, that I dread " the clock and 
 crickets," which sound so loud in the stillness 
 of a dull home. 
 
 Saturday, — Verily, I have my revenge for 
 the insolent, sneering bow with which George 
 Hanton passed me the other day in the Park ; 
 and which was intended less for me than for 
 Lord Lancaster and Sir Jervis Hall, with whom 
 he was riding ; ample revenge ! Yesterday, as 
 I was on a variety visit to Mrs. Hemstitch (the 
 mantua-maker who formerly read me such a 
 lecture on fine-ladyism), I met, on the stairs, a 
 fine lad of about fifteen, his eyes swollen out of 
 his head with crying. As the good woman 
 happened to be alone, I asked her, indiscreetly 
 enough, whether the youth was her son, and 
 what was the cause of his tribulation.
 
 DIARY OF A DESENNUYEE. 201 
 
 " My sons, madam, are at decent schools, 
 and, I trust, in decent clothing," said she, 
 proudly. " If you had examined that poor 
 lad, you would have perceived him to be 
 almost in rags. He is in affliction for his 
 father, who is dying in one of my attics." 
 
 " Do you let lodgings?" said I, as incon- 
 siderately as before. 
 
 " No, madam ; I simply afford a miserable 
 refuge to an indigent family. — Have you any 
 orders for me this morning?" 
 
 " Pray forgive me, if I have offended you," 
 I persisted : " but you have now excited my 
 interest. xA.re these poor people in a situation 
 to which I can afford any — any alleviation?" 
 
 " If you mean in the way of charity, I be- 
 lieve, madam, that the most trifling sum would 
 be highly acceptable. I am working for a large 
 family of my own, and, consequently, unable to 
 do much for them. I provide them with food 
 and medicine, but the poor old gentleman will 
 soon require a funeral. It ought to be a decent 
 one, for he is a clergyman of the Church of 
 England." 
 
 k2
 
 202 DIARY OF A DESENNUYEE. 
 
 As she perceived by my countenance that I 
 was now deeply interested, I persuaded her to 
 relate the whole melancholy history. The dy- 
 ing man, it seems, served for many years the 
 curacy of her native place, and eked out a 
 small salary by taking pupils. The state of 
 the times, sickness in his family, and, at length, 
 a paralytic attack, threw him into distress. He 
 was obliged to leave his cure ; and, from 
 trouble to trouble, became an inmate of the 
 Fleet prison. 
 
 " At the commencement of poor Mr. Fors- 
 ter's distresses, madam," said Mrs. Hemstitch, 
 addressing me, " I took his daughter to learn 
 my business ; a very excellent, intelligent girl, 
 much beloved in my establishment. The debt 
 for which her father was taken up, was a small 
 one ; and she was in hopes that one or other of 
 his former pupils would release him. I even 
 wrote a letter for her to one of them (a rich 
 gentleman, of the name of Hanton), stating the 
 circumstances. He refused, however: saying, 
 that he did not consider it his business to repair 
 the improvidence of others : at last, the sum
 
 DIARY OF A DESENI^UYEE. 203 
 
 was made up among my young people. With 
 my husband's leave, I took in the poor gentle- 
 man and his son, who were totally destitute ; 
 and for eight months past they have been my 
 inmates. The lad is a fine, well-taught, scho- 
 larly lad, and might make his way in the 
 world, if any one would lend him a helping 
 hand. Many and many a lady among my cus- 
 tomers might, with a single word, place him in 
 a situation to earn a livelihood. But one or 
 two to whom I presumed to apply, and who 
 can be courteous enough when they are 
 anxious to have a dress finished by a parti- 
 cular hour, or the sending in of their bill 
 postponed, answered me so harshly, that I was 
 discouraged. I was stupid enough, however, 
 to write again to Mr. George Hanton in favour 
 of the lad, who is his godson ; and he offered 
 to employ him in his stables ! Employ the son 
 of his gray-headed tutor in his stables! — when, 
 as Caroline Forster said, her father and mother 
 had sat up with him night after night, when he 
 was a sickly youth ; and, for all he knows in 
 the world, he is indebted to the labours of the
 
 204 DIARY OF A DESENNUYEE. 
 
 poor curate. Such, madam, is the great world! 
 — Have you any orders for me this morning?" 
 
 My orders, of course, regarded the Forster 
 family. Thank Heaven, I have now an honest 
 excuse to myself for the contempt with which I 
 have always regarded George Hanton. 
 
 — So ! — half-a-dozen letters of congratulation 
 on my approaching marriage to Lord Penrhyn ! 
 It is easy to write and contradict the report ; 
 but I am beginning to feel seriously annoyed 
 by the predicament in which I am placed. I 
 learn from the newspapers, that the late lord is 
 to be conveyed to-morrow to the family vault ; 
 after which, I conclude, my lord will make his 
 re-appearance in public, and, of course, save 
 me the trouble of further vindication. Con- 
 sidering the intimate terms on which we stand, 
 perhaps it would be better if I at once frankly 
 alluded to the report. He might, however, 
 imagine it a ruse to bring on a proposal — men 
 are such coxcombs. There lives not the one to 
 whom I would again sacrifice myself in mar- 
 riage ; or /, at least, have not at present the 
 honour of his acquaintance.
 
 DIARY OF A DESENNUYEE. 205 
 
 If the affairs of Cupid do not flourish in my 
 establishment, I suspect they are proceeding 
 with much alacrity chez mes voisines. Signor 
 Bravura's cabriolet is no longer the only one 
 stationed at the door of Mr. GreshamRonsham. 
 From twelve o'clock till three, a vehicle of that 
 flash-dandy description which makes one sus- 
 pect it to be hired for the season, is in constant 
 attendance. As soon as the family-coach rum- 
 bles off, on its daily round of visitationing and 
 park-grinding, off gallops the cabriolet, as never 
 well-bred cabriolet was heard to gallop ; and at 
 seven o'clock, so soon as the well-inhabited 
 quarters of the town begin to send forth fumes 
 of soup and patties, back gallops it again ; and 
 a hero, with well-dyed whiskers and musta- 
 chios, and well -varnished shoes, leaps out, 
 leaps in, and the ding-dong of the dinner-bell 
 commences. When I return home at nip-ht 
 from a party, if lights are still burning in the 
 drawing-room of the Gresham Ronshams, the 
 galloping horse is sure to be pawing impa- 
 tiently at the Gresham Ronshams' door ; strong- 
 symptoms of a courtship in the family ! and.
 
 206 DIARY OF A DESENNUYEE. 
 
 from a little feverish, anxious patch of red on 
 the cheek of the second daughter, I suspect 
 Miss Augusta to be the favoured Dulcinea. I 
 must inquire of Lady Farrington ; and, as I 
 never find a syllable to say to her when we 
 meet, the subject will be a trouvaille. 
 
 — How good, — how very good of him! I 
 mentioned the story of the Forster family to 
 Herbert, with the view of procuring his advice 
 and assistance in disposing of the poor boy, 
 when released from attendance on his father ; 
 and my brother-in-law promised to think the 
 matter over, and in a week let me know the 
 result of his cogitations. 
 
 To-day, I went to Mrs. Hemstitch, osten- 
 sibly to order a gown, but in reality to learn 
 the state of the old man, without the ostenta- 
 tion of playing the benefactress. I did not in- 
 tend to proceed immediately to the subject, — 
 the good woman is so blunt and strange ! But 
 the moment she could get rid of the dowager 
 Buchess of Hampshire, who was trying to per- 
 suade her to make a dress with seven breadths 
 out of eight yards of Sewell and Cross's clieap
 
 DIARY OF A DESENNUYEE. 207 
 
 narrow satin, she hurried to me with a face so 
 radiant with joy, and such a profusion of thanks, 
 that I hardly knew wdiat to make of her. 
 
 " Such a provision I such a windfall ! so 
 much above the poor boy's expectations — though 
 certainly not above his deserts. I am sure, 
 madam, I am as grateful as if it were a son of 
 my own. As to poor Caroline Forster, she has 
 been crying for joy all night, and the old gen- 
 tleman seems quite revived. He w^ants to get 
 up and be dressed, but the apothecary has 
 forbid it." 
 
 By degrees, I obtained an explanation. 
 Yesterday morning, George Forster was sent 
 for to Lord Hartston's office in Whitehall, and 
 examined for two hours by the secretary, as to 
 his proficiency in writing, accounts, and sum- 
 ming up abstracts. He was desired to return 
 at six o'clock, when he had an interview with 
 Lord Hartston himself, and the welcome intel- 
 ligence that he was appointed to a clerkship of 
 seventy pounds a-year, in an office holding out 
 prospects of advancement. " Your salary will 
 commence from this day," said his lordship ;
 
 208 DIARY OF A DESENNUYEE. 
 
 " your duties, when I find it expedient to give 
 you notice. At present, they will be performed 
 by a young man attached to my own establish- 
 ment." 
 
 How I long to thank him for the consi- 
 derateness with which he has performed this 
 benevolent action ! But I keep stern guard 
 over myself; and will not be betrayed by my 
 feelings into what he may fancy an attempt to 
 deprecate the ill opinion he has formed of me. 
 Meanwhile, lihre a moi to feel as grateful as I 
 please. 
 
 — Among the few persons in society whom 
 I really dislike, are Lord Lancaster's mother 
 and sisters. They are all three handsome and 
 clever ; but steeped to the lips in persuasion of 
 their own superiority. They have instituted 
 themselves sole priestesses of the temple of 
 fashion ; and such pretensions render them at 
 once uneasy and disagreeable. They cannot 
 at all times secure the worship of a foreign 
 prince or a Duke of Merioneth ; and to the 
 lesser great they are so uncertain, so super- 
 cilious, that nothing can exceed their unpopu-
 
 DIARY OF A DESENNUYEE. 209 
 
 larity. The inaffability of the two girls is 
 ah'eady beginning to assume a pinched, soured, 
 discontented turn of countenance, which has 
 made them old before their time. I meet 
 these people frequently at the duke's, at Lady 
 Clackmannan's, and other elect places ; but 
 have been careful to avoid seeming to seek 
 their acquaintance ; for they have a way of 
 fixing upon one a stony unrecognizing look, 
 intended to mark ihe most pre-eminent con- 
 tempt. 
 
 To-day, to my great amazement, as I was 
 writing notes in my drawing-room, ^' Mrs. 
 "Percy and Lady Maria Lancaster" were an- 
 nounced ; and, without any further attempt at 
 introduction, I received from the latter a very 
 gracious curtsey. I could by no means under- 
 stand the visit : for Mrs. Percy has scarcely 
 made her appearance here for the last month ; 
 or, to speak more correctly, from the time Lord 
 Penrhyn began to pay me attention. 
 
 " Is not this a pretty house?" said Mrs. 
 Percy, addressing her companion, as soon as 
 they were seated.
 
 210 DIARY OF A DESENNUYEE* 
 
 Lady Maria raised her eye-glass, glanced 
 round the room, and muttered a scarcely intel- 
 ligible— ^' Very !" 
 
 *^ Quite like one of Giroux's baby-houses ! " 
 
 Another glance, and another faint " Very !" 
 
 " One longs to put it all under a glass- 
 shade." 
 
 Another glance — no answer. 
 
 " And such exquisite flowers! One fancies 
 oneself at le marcM aux fleurs T 
 
 A smile — no answer. 
 
 " I am rather out of conceit with my flowers 
 to-day," said I, determined to take some part in 
 the conversation. '' Col vile seems to think 
 that any plant, if forced and out of season, 
 must be acceptable. Certainly we are glad 
 to have violets in February, mignonette in 
 March, and moss-roses in April. But when 
 they send me dwarf dahlias in June, it pro- 
 vokes me exceedingly. One does not wish to 
 be reminded of the autumn a day earlier than 
 is necessary ; and a dahlia is, at all times, a 
 frightful scentless thing for a drawing-room." 
 " You have so much poetical sensibility !"
 
 DIARY OF A DESENNtJYEE. 21 1 
 
 sneered Mrs. Percy. " For my part, I can 
 content myself with a flower-pot and green 
 leaves, a bush of old-man, or a dafFy-down- 
 dilly. I don't pretend to know one flower from 
 another. They all serve to fill up a conserva- 
 tory or a garden ; and, when well-imitated by 
 Batton, look equally charming in one of Her- 
 bault's paille-de-riz hats. Dont you think so, 
 Lady Maria ?" 
 
 Lady Maria smiled approvingly, but uttered 
 no audible answer. 
 
 '* Whom have you next door to you, Mrs. 
 Delaval? I declare I hear somebody screech- 
 ing *' Dove sonoj" half a tone too high ! What 
 a neighbour to suffer under ! Do listen. Lady 
 Maria — how dreadful ! " 
 
 - Very." 
 
 " If I were in your unfortunate case, Mrs. 
 Delaval, 1 would put down straw, and protest 
 that somebody in the house had a brain-fever, 
 to silence the people." 
 
 " In London one is obliged to bear and for- 
 bear with one's neighbour." 
 
 ^' Do you know that Lady Evelyn Beres-
 
 212 DIARY OF A DESENNUYEE. 
 
 ford ties up her knocker the moment hers come 
 to town ; and if she hears they are going to 
 have a concert, sends in Sir Henry Halford's 
 compliments, and he will not answer for the 
 consequences. I heg your pardon, Lady Maria, 
 for now I remember Lady Evelyn is your cou- 
 sin." 
 
 " Is she?" 
 
 " Of course she is. Old Lord Rockwell's 
 daughter, you know." 
 
 '* We do not visit her." 
 
 At this moment, to my great annoyance, 
 the servants announced Lady Mardynville. 
 The woman has no right to call on me, for 
 I have never intruded upon her ; and when she 
 curtseyed into the room, I felt convinced she 
 would try to fasten her acquaintance on Lady 
 Maria Lancaster, or commit me in some other 
 way, equally provoking. While she gabbled 
 through her opening compliments, Mrs. Percy 
 and her friend sat exchanging looks of disgust ; 
 more particularly when she suddenly launched 
 into certain family histories — of her son, Ernest 
 Augustus, having won the rowing match at
 
 DIARY OF A DESENNUYEE. 213 
 
 Eton ; and her little boy, William Henry, hav- 
 ing the chicken-pox, which made her very 
 uneasy, on account of her daughters, Adelaide 
 Ida and Sophia Matilda. 
 
 " But, my dear Mrs. Delaval," cried she, 
 suddenly interrupting herself, and looking 
 round, as if to ascertain that none but friends 
 were present, '^ I must not forget that I came 
 here expressly to offer you my congratulations." 
 
 " On what account ?" said I, resolved not to 
 appear too readily conscious. 
 
 " Oh, my dear madam ! it is impossible you 
 can affect ignorance, when all London is talk- 
 ing of it." 
 
 " If you allude," said I, gaining- courage, 
 " to an idle paragraph, which appeared in one 
 of the morning papers, allow me to assure you 
 that it is as groundless as such reports ge- 
 nerally prove to be." 
 
 " You quite surprise me !" cried Lady Mar- 
 dynville, trying to look arch; " for, I assure 
 you, when I complimented Lady Cecilia De- 
 laval last night, at the Ancient Concert, she 
 did not affect to deny it."
 
 214 DIARY OF A D^SENNUYEE. 
 
 '' She probably did not think it worth 
 while," said I, vexed to notice the significant 
 smiles passing between the Percy and Lady 
 Maria ; " being aware that no one has given 
 it a moment's credit." 
 
 '^ And then, your brother-in-law, Mr. Her- 
 bert — I stopped him yesterday, as he was 
 going into Arthur's ; and he answered my fe- 
 licitations, by saying, jokingly, that, whenever 
 the ceremony took place, I should officiate as 
 one of the bridesmaids." 
 
 Again, Lady Maria executed a languid smile. 
 
 " Are you going to the Duke of Merio- 
 neth's to-morrow ? " said I to Mrs. Percy, 
 hoping to change the conversation ; but Lady 
 Mardynville had already begun another speech. 
 
 '' But, my dear Mrs. Delaval, what will 
 you say, when I tell you that Lord Penrhyn's 
 old aunt, Mrs. Margaret Penrhyn, goes about 
 telling every one that the family are quite 
 enchanted with the match ; for that her nephew 
 had an unfortunate liaison with some married 
 woman, to which his own marriage would, of 
 course, put an end."
 
 DIARY OF A DESEyXUYEE. 215 
 
 *^ I should say, that Mrs. Margaret Pen- 
 rhyn knew even less of her nephew's affairs 
 than the rest of the world," I replied. Then, 
 scarcely daring to look Mrs. Percy in the face, 
 I renewed my question about the Duke of M. 
 
 " I believe there is nothing at Merioneth 
 House to-morrow night ?" said she, coolly ad- 
 dressing Lady Maria. 
 
 " Nothing," replied her ladyship, calmly. 
 
 " Nothing at Merioneth Housed' I per- 
 sisted ; " but the duke gives a small dtjeiiner 
 at his villa." 
 
 " You are mistaken," said Lady Maria, 
 with a smile of contemptuous superiority. 
 
 "It is some dejeuner at Lady Sitting- 
 bourne's ; and people have made confusion," 
 said Mrs. Percy. 
 
 " No ; the dejeuner is at Hazlebank," said 
 I, calmly. 
 
 '^ The duke was half an hour in our box, 
 at the French play, last night. I assure you 
 he has no breakfast to-morrow at Hazlebank, 
 or elsewhere," retorted Lady Maria. 
 
 Turning to my writing-table, I now quietly
 
 216 DIARY OF A DESENNUYEE. 
 
 placed in her ladyship's hands a billet, con- 
 taining the following lines : — 
 
 '^ Pray, my dear Mrs. Delaval, do not dis- 
 appoint me of the pleasure of your company 
 on Thursday next. I shall breakfast at Hazle- 
 bank at four, — en petit comtie, my own family, 
 the Clackmannans, Rossanas, Campo-Fioritos, 
 all our own set. Faithfully yours, 
 
 '' Merioneth." 
 
 Lady Maria looked aghast, Mrs. Percy in- 
 dignant. 
 
 "What an absurd arrangement!" cried 
 she. " A breakfast at four o'clock to spoil your 
 dinner ; and an afternoon spent in talking 
 Pastor Fido among the roses and lilies." 
 
 *' I am so fond of plants, that I could not 
 pass my time more agreeably." 
 
 " How very delightful !" ejaculated Lady 
 Mardynville, who had remained dumb during 
 our dispute. " What an enjoyable little party ! 
 Nothing I have more at heart than to make 
 his grace's acquaintance. Sir Robert has an
 
 DIARY OF A DESENNUYEE. 217 
 
 estate in Ireland adjoining his, which, of 
 course, must make us perfectly known to him 
 by name ; but it happens that I have never 
 had an opportunity of being presented to the 
 Duke of Merioneth, in a manner that would 
 accord with our mutual position in the world." 
 Lady Maria put up her glass, and stared, as 
 she had formerly done at my room, at the 
 strange woman, — so strange as to be unac- 
 quainted with his grace of Merioneth ; the 
 strange woman probably entertaining a similar 
 degree of contempt for the party, in whose box 
 his grace could sit for half an hour without 
 honouring them by an invitation to his break- 
 fast. It was a great relief to me when the trio 
 rose to go away. Lord Lancaster quitted 
 Mrs. Crowhurst's side to-day in the Park (who, 
 to do her justice, does look like an angel on 
 horseback), to take a turn with me; when 
 I mentioned to him that, a propos of the skies 
 falling, his sister, Lady Maria, had done me 
 the honour of a visit. 
 
 VOL. 1. L
 
 218 DIARY OF A DIESENNUYEE. 
 
 *^ Called upon you with Mrs. Percy?" he 
 reiterated. " I wonder what impertinence was 
 on the tapis between them ? Beware of them ! 
 Maria and Mrs. Percy would play Mrs. Can- 
 dour and Lady Sneerwell better than any 
 actresses that ever graced the stage." 
 
 Amiable enough on Ms part to speak thus 
 of his sister. The Lancasters seem quite a nest 
 of cobra di manillas — a sting like the prick 
 of a pin, but venomously fatal. 
 
 After dinner, before dressing for Almack's, 
 I went and sat an hour with Cecilia, who is 
 what she calls *' nervous ;" that is, out of hu- 
 mour. She fancies the Clackmannans suspect 
 her of encouraging her son's attachment to his 
 cousin Alicia ; " Although my sister ought to be 
 well aware," she observes, " that the thing is 
 wholly in opposition to my principles. I dis- 
 approve of cousins intermarrying." 
 
 " From a religious scruple ? " 
 
 " Religious nonsense ! No! Because such 
 matches are fatal to the extension of family
 
 DIARY OF A DE8ENNUYEE. 219 
 
 connexion. Then Clarence is poor, and must 
 marry an heiress ; and Alicia has pretensions 
 of the highest order, and ought not to marry 
 any thing under a peerage. An alliance be- 
 tween them would be ruin to both ; and it is 
 all my sister Clackmannan's fault, who chose 
 to let them go on billing and cooing like two 
 canary-birds in a cage, year after year, at 
 Clackmannan Court ; till the two silly crea- 
 tures fancied they must be intended for a pair. 
 I am always reproving my son, — ^^always 
 watching him, always tormenting him and my- 
 self. I see how it will be ! — I shall be worn 
 out before the season is over ; and there will be 
 an eternal brouillerie between the Clack- 
 mannans and myself. My dear Harriet, see 
 what you can do for me with the young 
 people." 
 
 " Why not send Clarence abroad, as you 
 intended ? " 
 
 *' Send him ! Clarence will be of age next 
 month. Can I pack him up like a portmanteau
 
 220 DIARY OF A D^SENNUYEE. 
 
 and dispatch him to Paris against his will? 
 He positively declares he will not leave Eng- 
 land till he has come to some arrangement 
 with Alicia. There will be a clandestine en- 
 gagement, a family esclandre^ and I shall die 
 of one of my nervous attacks." 
 
 And nothing but a dose of aether preserved 
 her from a fit of hysterics on the spot. By 
 degrees, however, we began to talk of other 
 things; — the breakfast at Hazlebank, — the 
 Lancasters, — Mrs. Crowhurst, — and, at length, 
 I tried to persuade her to dress and accompany 
 me to Almack's. 
 
 " Dress ! — how can you be so inconsequente ? 
 I am horribly ill. I have been sitting in my 
 peignoir all day. I have not even had the 
 blinds up. I have not seen a creature except 
 Halford. Dress! I could just as soon ascend 
 Mont Blanc." 
 
 " But you will have an opportunity of 
 seeing how things go on between Clarence and 
 his cousin."
 
 DIARY OF A DiSENNUYfeE. 221 
 
 '' My dear child, I do know how things go 
 between Clarence and his cousin.'* 
 
 *' But if the duke is there, he will probably 
 ask you to Hazlebank, and you are so fond of 
 a partie de campagne,** 
 
 " Yes, but not at a few hours' notice. The 
 great pleasure of those things is a demie-toilette 
 Men fraiche, and very striking. There is no 
 surer criterion of taste than a pretty demie- 
 toilette. And I really have nothing new for 
 to-morrow. No ! pray don't talk about dress- 
 ing. What o'clock is it?'* 
 
 " Not ten, — you have plenty of time. 
 Ring and give orders to Gabrielle." 
 
 *' Impossible — quite impossible. My nerves 
 are perfectly shattered. I am not even sure 
 that I have a ticket. I have not been there 
 this fortnight. Is this the first of a new sub- 
 scription ? " 
 
 " No; the last of an old one. I know you 
 have one. Let me look in your engagement- 
 box. See! here it is. I shall ring for
 
 222 DIARY OF A DESENNUYEE. 
 
 Gabrielle, and come back and fetch you at 
 eleven/' 
 
 *' Pray, do not torment me ! Even if I 
 dress, I shall never be able to go. Do you 
 know if my sister is to be there?" 
 
 " Yes ; she begged me to meet her at 
 eleven." 
 
 ** Well, I shall make the effort, to please 
 you. I am always making eflPorts for the satis- 
 faction of others. Perhaps I may be able to 
 stay half an hour. To say the truth, I rather 
 want to see Lord Wincham or Lord Hartston, 
 without writing to them to come here. I have 
 been thinking it might be possible to get Cla- 
 rence an attacM-^\\v^ at Naples or Constan- 
 tinople ; and one is sure of meeting the ministers 
 at Almack's." 
 
 At eleven, accordingly, I called for her; 
 and never saw her look better or more capti- 
 vating. The moment the Duke of Merioneth 
 came in, she carried him off to one of the upper 
 benches, where no one was likely to interfere
 
 DIARY OF A DESENNUYEE. 223 
 
 with her, in the way she has of appropriating 
 people without any appearance of design ; and 
 so successfiil were her little agaceries, that in 
 ten minutes she had not only accomplished an 
 invitation for herself and Clarence to the break- 
 fast, but could have procured one for Lady 
 Mardynville, or any other obnoxious individual, 
 had she been so inclined. While they were 
 chatting together, Mrs. Crowhurst, who aJSfects 
 to palliate her impertinences under a character 
 of originality, sauntered towards them, saying, 
 " Duke, I find you have a dejeuner, to which 
 no one is to be invited; which makes me, of 
 course, determine to be of the party. Say 
 * yes,' with a good grace, and tell me how 
 happy you shall be to see me." 
 
 " Most happy, on any other day ; to-mor- 
 row, pas possible. I have no permission to 
 extend my invitations." 
 
 '* Permission? from whom?" 
 
 " That is not my secret. When you give
 
 224 DIARY OF A desennuy:6e. 
 
 me one to keep, you shall find me equally 
 faithful to the trust." 
 
 And he recommenced his conversation with 
 Lady Cecilia, in a tone that rendered it impos- 
 sible for Mrs. Crowhurst to renew her attack ; 
 so away she went to flutter, " like an eagle in 
 a dovecote," the flock of pigeons she has marked 
 as her own among the lordlings and boy~ho- 
 nourables. 
 
 But my own turn was coming. I trust 
 and believe, that nothing is more indiiferent to 
 me than the homage of such a man as Lord 
 Penrhyn, whom I neither like nor respect; 
 and I should, indeed, despise myself if, in- 
 dependent as I am, his recent accession of 
 importance could alter my intentions towards 
 him. Nevertheless, I must own myself deeply 
 piqued by the line of conduct he has taken up. 
 I did not dream of meeting him at Almack's ; 
 it was hardly decent, I think, that he should 
 appear at a ball so soon after his grandfather's
 
 DIARY OF A DESENNUYEE. 225 
 
 interment. In these times, few men care for 
 
 their grandfathers ; but, les bienseances avanf 
 
 tout! We parted intimate friends. He was 
 
 with me in St. James's Place an hour one 
 
 morning after that unlucky drive from Al- 
 
 mack's; chatty, agreeable, empresse as usual, 
 
 — if not quite a declared lover, as nearly so as 
 
 possible. He came to our box, at the opera, 
 
 on the Saturday night, and sat there a fixture, 
 
 comme a Vordinaire. On the Monday, Lord 
 
 Penrhyn died, and of course I saw no more of 
 
 him. 
 
 Last night, at Almack's, having just finished 
 
 a waltz with my little cousin Clarence, I was 
 proceeding on his arm into the tea-room, 
 when in the doorway, sable-suited as night, 
 or an inheriting peer, stood his lordship. I 
 expected he would extend his hand as usual 
 en passant ; and almost feared I put out mine 
 to meet it, when, lo! a bow, as frozen and 
 distant as from the Duke of to a new- 
 made baronet ! I was staggered, and only the 
 l2
 
 226 DIARY OF A d6sENNUY6e. 
 
 more amazed when I saw, that by his side 
 stood his friend, the Crocodile, bouche heante! 
 mouth, eyes, and ears, as usual wide open, 
 who has probably circulated the history, by 
 this time, through White's, Crockford's, and 
 the Travellers'. 
 
 Lord Penrhyn remained at the ball as long 
 or longer than I did, but never once approached 
 within miles of me. He danced only with 
 Lady Sophia Rossana, and talked only to her 
 family. But I fancied, at one moment, I saw 
 significant looks passing between him and Mrs. 
 Percy. What can be the meaning of all this? 
 Does he pretend to resent the newspaper reports 
 of our marriage? or, perhaps, (who knows?) 
 fancies that his character was injured by being 
 seen with me tete-a-ttte in my carriage ! 
 
 I was half afraid that Clarence, who is 
 preux comme Bayard, was going to take more 
 notice than was desirable of the affair. He 
 knows the familiar terms existing between my- 
 self and Penrhyn only last week ; and, I sus-
 
 DIARY OF A DESENNUYEE. 227 
 
 pect, observed me offer my hand. Glancing 
 at my little cousin just afterwards, I saw his 
 cheeks flushed, and his eyes sparkling. 
 
 " Has there been any coolness between you 
 and Penrhyn ? " he inquired. 
 
 " Comme vous voyezy' I replied, as equivo- 
 catingly as I could. 
 
 " I see only that he is a d d coxcomb," 
 
 said Clarence, with more warmth than became 
 the time and place ; '^ I hope, dear Mrs. 
 Delaval, you will take no further notice of the 
 fellow." 
 
 '^ To cut a person is, in my opinion, to take 
 the greatest possible notice of him," I replied. 
 " I shall henceforward treat Lord Penrhyn as 
 I feel towards him, — with complete indiffer- 
 ence." 
 
 I suspect Clarence related what had occur- 
 red to Lady Cecilia ; for she came to me imme- 
 diately afterwards, and, without saying a word, 
 carried me off to Lady Clackmannan's clique^ 
 and devoted her whole evening to me. This
 
 228 DIARY OF A Df:SENNUYf:E. 
 
 gave me an opportunity of noticing how much 
 her feelings prevail over what she calls her 
 *' principles," in the affair between Clarence 
 and Alicia. She adores her son, and doats 
 upon her niece ; and, though fully aware that 
 the match would be most imprudent, and 
 intending to discourage it, unconsciously lends 
 the young people all the assistance in her 
 power. She cannot bear to see her boy look- 
 ing uneasy, and whispers, " She is gone into 
 the tea-room." By and by, fearing that Lady 
 Alicia may forget her engagements to dance 
 with her cousin, she exclaims, " Remember 
 this is the fourth contredanse — remember you 
 are engaged to Clarence."' I do not wonder 
 Lady Clackmannan is angry with her, but she 
 cannot help it. The warmest feelings are still 
 glowing under the leprous crust of worldliness 
 she has contracted in the contaminating lazar- 
 house of fashion. 
 
 A charming day at Hazlebank ! I soon 
 discovered why the duke was so difficult in his
 
 DIARY OF A DESENNUYEE. 229 
 
 invitations, and so early in his hour. The 
 party was made to meet his mother; a very 
 superior woman, who lives in retirement at a 
 fine old family mansion, near Harefield, and is 
 treated by her family with marked respect. 
 The duchess has a most distinguished look. 
 She reminds me of Sir Thomas Lawrence's 
 full-length portrait of Mrs. Siddons. I thought 
 her a little stately, till I was presented to her 
 by her son, when I found her high-breeding 
 tempered by the mildest courtesy. With such 
 a mother, I no longer wonder that the Duke of 
 Merioneth has shewn himself difiicult in the 
 choice of a wife. 
 
 Not having been at Hazlebank before, I 
 was much interested by the collection of 
 modern pictures and sculptures ; still more so, 
 by its conservatories, containing the first collec- 
 tion of exotics in the kingdom. The duke, 
 aware that my engouement on this point equals 
 his own, was good-natured enough to be my 
 cicerone, and explain all that was worth notice.
 
 230 DIARY OF A DESENNUYEE. 
 
 Our party collected in the orangery, where he 
 was pointing out a new system of engrafting 
 practised in Italy, when he suddenly appealed 
 to Lord Hartston, who was standing near us, 
 for confirmation of some startling facts, com- 
 pelling him to be a third person in our con- 
 versation ; which lasted so long, by the way, 
 that the saturnine philosopher and myself can 
 no longer avoid being on speaking terms. We 
 had an elegant dejeuner without effort or pre- 
 tensions; and afterwards, as the evening was 
 warm, came out under the cedar-trees to take 
 ices and coffee. It was all very pleasant, — 
 the party well assorted, — the ZocaZe enchanting. 
 I was quite sorry when dusk came on, and the 
 carriages were ordered to return to town. 
 How dusty, noisy, and vulgar the streets of 
 London appeared, after fresh, dewy, delightful 
 Hazlebank ! I met Mrs. Percy, afterwards, at 
 Mrs. Harrington's ball; who, when she heard 
 that we had had neither music, dancing, tum- 
 bling, nor syllabubs, at the duke's, exclaimed —
 
 DIARY OF A DESENNUYEE, 231 
 
 " Je vousfais rnon compliment of your breakfast. 
 I am really grateful to the duke for not involv- 
 ing me in so humdrum an affair." 
 
 — I am ashamed to admit hov^ much I feel 
 annoyed by this business v^ith Lord Penrhyn. I 
 never vrished him to propose to me, or to have 
 the renown of having refused him ; but quite 
 as little did I wish him to assume the tone of 
 having refused me. His deportment at Almack's 
 will, at all events, lead people to suppose that he 
 resents the rumour of our marriage as arising 
 from myself. Altogether, I am out of spirits. 
 On Monday my sister leaves town for Bedford- 
 shire, and, though I have been unable to persist 
 in my intention of declining my projected visit, 
 I cannot bear the thoughts of parting with her, 
 now I have ascertained from personal observa- 
 tion how uneasy is the life she leads with 
 Herbert. In spite of his talents and good 
 qualities, her attachment must eventually give 
 way under the influence of his detestable 
 temper.
 
 232 DIARY OF A DESENNUYEE. 
 
 Saturday. How strange ! — I had agreed to 
 dine quietly at the Herberts to-day, and, giving 
 up the opera, to pass the evening with Armine. 
 Their hour is seven, and I was punctual ; but my 
 brother-in-law was still out. Half-past seven, 
 — eight, — half-past eight, — no Herbert ! Ar- 
 mine grew horribly uneasy, for Henry is punc- 
 tual to a fault, and to a still greater fault ex- 
 active of punctuality in others. The butler 
 came in twenty times to know if dinner was to 
 be served ; the children cried at being sent to 
 bed without kissing papa ; and at length Armine 
 thought it would be civil to me to propose 
 sitting down to dinner. As I oftener dine at 
 nine this hot weather than any other hour, of 
 course I took pity on my poor sister's fidgeti- 
 ness, and refused. At last, as the clock of Park 
 Street Chapel struck half-past nine, a knock at 
 the door, and in came Mr. Herbert ; looking 
 as cross as if he had lost half his fortune by 
 a M of the stocks. 
 
 *^ We fancied you had changed your mind,
 
 DIARY OF A D^SENNUYiE. 233 
 
 and were gone to dine at the club ; but Har- 
 riet would not hear of sitting down without 
 you," said my sister, in a deprecating tone. 
 
 " She is very obliging. You had much 
 better have dined. The dinner must be spoiled. 
 I could have had a mutton-chop at a minute's 
 notice." 
 
 " Oh, no ! much better sit down all com- 
 fortably together. Dinner will be on the 
 table in a moment. Have you washed your 
 hands r 
 
 " Did you not hear me come straight into 
 this room as I entered the house V 
 
 " Is any thing the matter ?" interposed I, 
 stoutly ; " has any thing occurred to annoy 
 you ?" 
 
 " Nothing ! I was detained by business." 
 
 ^' Not disagreeable, I hope?" 
 
 " When was business ever agreeable?" he 
 replied, stalking out the room. 
 
 Dinner was now announced ; and, by the 
 time the soup was cold, Herbert made his re-
 
 234 DIARY OF A DESENNUY^E. 
 
 appearance from his dressing-room ; refreshed 
 by cold water, but still cross. Only mono- 
 syllables were to be abstracted from him ; and, 
 by the time he had helped us, in the second 
 course, to a green goose — done, not brown, 
 but black — he relapsed into total silence. 
 Armine and I, who had been talking together 
 for three hours, had exhausted our gossip. 
 We formed a charming family party. At last, 
 when dessert was on the table, the servants 
 withdrawn, and himself thrown back into his 
 cogitation chair, he suddenly burst forth into, 
 " A d — d, ugly, gormandizing egotist ! to risk 
 his life against such a thing as that ! " and 
 swallowed a glass of claret, as if to quench 
 the burning particles of his indignation ; while 
 Armine coloured crimson at the indecorum of 
 his ejaculation. 
 
 " You are not aware that you are taking 
 us into your confidence,'^ said I, trying to turn 
 the matter into jest. *'An ugly gormandizing 
 egotist — must designate Mr. Hanton. Whose
 
 DIARY OF A DESENNUYEE. 235 
 
 life you consider too precious to be risked 
 against his, we are yet to learn." 
 
 '^ You have a wide scope for guessing. 
 Scarcely a man about town but is worth the 
 weight of ten such superficial asses as George 
 Hanton." 
 
 " You seem to be in the mood for calling 
 names." 
 
 " I am suffering under great irritation. 
 Hartston has been on the point of fighting 
 George Hanton, and without doing me the 
 honour of calling on me for advice ; I, who 
 have been his most intimate friend these ten 
 yeai's past," 
 
 " A married man is not lightly to be in- 
 volved in such affairs," said I : "he shewed 
 his good taste. And how has the business 
 ended ?" 
 
 " Colonel Trevor acted as his second; and 
 it was the opinion of the club this morning, 
 firom something that fell from Trevor's brother, 
 that a meeting must take place. No one knows
 
 236 DIARY OF A D]feSENNUYE:E. 
 
 the motive of the quarrel ; they say some im- 
 pertinent observation fell from Hanton, as they 
 were riding together in the park, which Hart- 
 ston required him to retract. Whatever it was, 
 after much correspondence between the seconds, 
 Hanton has fully retracted ; but you may sup- 
 pose that I could not return home till my 
 doubts were set at rest. I am out of all 
 patience with Hartston. What business had 
 he to bring himself into contact with such a 
 thing as Hanton ?" 
 
 '' I am sure I am thankful to him for not 
 involving you in the affair," faltered Armine, 
 with tears in her eyes. " I had not thought it 
 possible that my regard for him could have been 
 heightened.*' 
 
 '* How can two men, of pursuits and cha- 
 racter so different, have possibly managed to 
 quarrel?" said I, unwilling to admit all the 
 interest I felt in the subject. 
 
 '^ Pursuit ! what pursuits has George Han- 
 ton but those of stuffing and gambling ? To see
 
 DIARY OF A D^SENNUYflE. 237 
 
 such an animal affect the epicure! — scarcely- 
 finding an ortolan or a partridge delicate enough 
 for the nutriment of a body which a hungry 
 wolf would not deign to feed upon ! '* 
 
 In short, Herbert could scarcely find words 
 to express his indignation ; and, partly to get rid 
 of his violence, partly in hopes to gratify my 
 curiosity touching the cause of a duel which 
 cannot fail to be much talked of, I altered ray 
 determination about the opera, sent for the 
 carriage, and departed. But, on ariving at my 
 box, I found myself de trop. I forgot having 
 announced to Cecilia my determination not to 
 go ; and she had taken with her Madame di 
 Campo Fiorito, who does not '^ take with her," 
 but is invariably *' followed by " a sort of triple 
 shadow, a cerberus of certain three dandies, 
 who, with the two ladies, completely filled our 
 cozy little box. Of course, I would not hear of 
 disturbing them ; — assured Lady Cecilia I had 
 twenty seats at ray disposal, and withdrew in 
 all possible haste, — secretly determined to
 
 238 DIARY OF A DiSENNUY^E. 
 
 go home. As I stood waiting for my carriage, 
 however, the Duke of Merioneth came in from 
 some royal dinner-party, and stopped to say 
 hon soir, en passant. On learning my dilemma, 
 he would not admit of my losing the last act 
 of the new ballet, but insisted on my accom- 
 panying him to his box, which is nearly the 
 best in the house ; when I enjoyed, more than 
 I had ever done before, the dancing of the 
 Taglioni. I could not resist my inclination to 
 question him about the duel, of which he had 
 not heard a syllable ; and seemed to feel the 
 matter as warmly as Herbert. He promised 
 me to go to the Travellers' after the opera, and 
 call on me to-morrow. I am afraid he will 
 not get here before three o'clock. What could 
 Lord Hartston and George Hanton find to fight 
 about ? 
 
 — I, who am never visible to visitors on 
 Sunday mornings, desired to-day that every 
 one might be admitted, in order to avoid the 
 gaucherie of giving an exclusive order for the
 
 DIARY OF A Df:SENNUYEE, 239 
 
 duke. The consequence is, that, from two 
 o'clock till six, my rooms have been filled with 
 all the bores in town, while his Grace has not 
 made his appearance! Perhaps the appoint- 
 ment was mere fa^on de parler, and he never 
 meant to come. 
 
 Had I not been pre-engrossed by the subject 
 of the duel, I should have been at once shocked 
 and amused by a scene which occurred here an 
 hour ago. Lord Hilton and Lady Buntingford 
 were sitting with me, arranging the a quand of 
 a little ball he wants to give on board his 
 yacht at Woolwich, of which he has asked me 
 to do the honours ; when in walked Count 
 Szchazoklwonski, whom, though always wild 
 and reckless, I never yet saw in such a state of 
 perturbation. 
 
 " A thousand excuses, dear Madame Dela- 
 fals," said he, " but {sans vous interrompre) 
 what was it the family lives next house to 
 you; and what name was it, the confounded
 
 240 DIARY OF A d6sENNUy6e. 
 
 rascals which was paying him a visit just 
 now?" 
 
 " A showy -looking foreigner in a showy- 
 looking cabriolet?" said I, readily compre- 
 hending that he alluded to the daily suitor of 
 Miss Augusta Gresham Ronsham. 
 
 *' A beast-looking foreigner, in a beast- 
 looking cab," cried the count, with indignation. 
 " I beseech you what calls he himself?" 
 
 '* I am sorry I cannot inform you," said I ; 
 '* I am equally unacquainted with my neigh- 
 bours and their guests." 
 
 '^ If you mean a tall handsome Transyl- 
 vanian, who goes about with the Gresham 
 Ronshams," observed Lady Buntingford, ^^ his 
 name is something like Schwartzky which. 
 They asked leave to bring him to my ball, 
 but my list was full, and I declined." 
 
 *' Do you not mean Count Schwarzkie- 
 wicz?" inquired Lord Hilton. " He is a 
 friend of Lancaster's, and Sir Jervis Hall's; 
 and they are trying to get him in at the
 
 DIARY OF A DESENNUYEE. 241 
 
 Travellers'. A deuced knowing fellow about 
 horses. They tell me he has a breeding stud 
 in the Ukraine, which furnishes half the Au- 
 strian cavalry." 
 
 " A pitiful rascals, — a disgusting impos- 
 tors ]" cried Szchazoklwonski, in a still greater 
 fury. " Unless my eyes strangeways deceive 
 me, 'tis a runaway hayduck of my father's, 
 which was severely flogged for stealing ; and 
 which would have been sent to the ranks to 
 mend his moral, had he not took French 
 furlough, and made off from Hungarn." 
 
 '^ You must be mistaken, my dear fellow ! — 
 you must be mistaken 1" exclaimed Lord Hilton. 
 " Schwarzkiewicz brought excellent letters here 
 from Paris, — he is very well in society. I 
 don't know him personally, but 1 have heard 
 him highly spoken of by all our fellows." 
 
 " No such tings ! " exclaimed Szchazo- 
 klwonoki, out of all patience ; " 'tis a kerly 
 a vagabonds, — vat you calls a blackguards!" 
 
 VOL. I. M
 
 242 DIARY OF A DESENNUYEE. 
 
 " Be cautious, be cautious!" cried Hilton; 
 '* make sure of your man before you persist 
 in the charge. Where did you see him ? when ?" 
 
 " I caught a glance as he step from his cab 
 into the house who is next from this." 
 
 *' Mr. Gresham Ronsham's, of Wrangham 
 Hall — a higlily respectable family," interposed 
 Lady Buntingford. 
 
 " May be or not," cried the count. Mr. 
 Creeshing Ronshing has a swindlers in his 
 apartments at tis fery minutes !" 
 
 ^' Could not your friend make sure of the 
 fact," observed the more prudent Lady Bunt- 
 ingford, " by remaining here till the count's 
 departure, and watching him into the car- 
 riage?" 
 
 " Certainly, if you think it worth while," 
 said I, addressing the count. 
 
 '^ It is more than worth while ; it is a 
 duty to relieve society of an impostor," ob- 
 served Lord Hilton. *' Since. the question has
 
 DIARY OF A DESENNUYEE. 243 
 
 been raised, and since I know Schwarzkiewicz 
 to be on the eve of admission into the Travel- 
 lers', /, for my own satisfaction, entreat you 
 not to leave the business in doubt." 
 
 " My book- room commands a view of Mr. 
 Gresham Ronsham's door," said I ; "if you 
 like to take up your station there, you cannot 
 fail to see the exit of the count." 
 
 " yo, no ; I would incost him face to face, 
 for more demonstrations!" cried the angry 
 count. ^' I shall walk up and downs the 
 Place till he shall pass." 
 
 " Give me leave to accompany you," said 
 Lord Hilton. *' I shall not be sorry to witness 
 the scene, and you may requii-e testimony of 
 what passes. Allons ! " 
 
 " You will not have long to wait," I ob- 
 served, as they took leave. " My neighbours 
 are always early at the Zoological on Sundays, 
 — always first and last at every public place. 
 It is already four. They will soon be on the 
 wing."
 
 244 DIARY OF A DESENNUYEE. 
 
 " Pray, let me remain with you till the 
 scene is over," said Lady Buntingford: "■ I am 
 dying to know how it ends. I have always 
 told that foolish woman, my friend Mrs. Ron- 
 sham, that, for the mother of a family, she is 
 much too general in her acquaintance. I have 
 no doubt this count will turn out a swindler ; 
 and then the prospects of that unfortunate 
 girl, Augusta, are ruined for life. Do let us 
 come into your book- room." 
 
 The moment we entered the door, loud 
 angry voices, under the window, convinced 
 US the scene was already in progress ; and, 
 looking out, we perceived Count Szchazokl- 
 wonoki collaring the infuriated Schwarzkie- 
 wicz ; while Lord Hilton kept back the in- 
 terference of the footmen of Mr. Gresham 
 Ronsham, whose whole establishment, " foolish 
 fat scullion and all," was assembled on the 
 door-steps. At last, I was vexed to see my 
 friend, Szchazoklwonoki, inflict several blows
 
 DIARY OF A DESENNUYEE. 245 
 
 with his cane on the shoulders of his ' an- 
 tagonist ; readily anticipating what followed, 
 that the interference of the police would be 
 called in by some officious bystander. 
 
 " They be only foreign eerers," said a man 
 in a light porter's jacket. " Dang un, let'un 
 foight it out." 
 
 The police thought otherwise. Both were 
 taken into custody ; when Szchazoklwonoki, 
 addressing the German groom in waiting with 
 his tilbury, bade him drive off to the Austiian 
 Embassy, and bring his two friends, Count 
 Dietrichstein and Prince Lichtenstein, to meet 
 him at the office. The moment this order was 
 given, to the surprise of all present, the aoi- 
 disant Count Schwarzkiewicz, who had hitherto 
 been as magnanimous as le brave Dunois, fe 
 whimpering on his knees upon the pavement, 
 imploring the count to let him off: but 
 Szchazoklwonoki was inflexible ; gave him 
 anew in charge as a swindler, and proceeded
 
 246 DIARY OF A DESENNUYEE. 
 
 to meet him in Marlborough Street. St. 
 James's Place is, luckily, so quiet a situation, 
 that but a moderate mob was collected to 
 witness this strange affair; or to hear the 
 shriek (piercing as that of Parisina) with 
 which, from her bower- window, Miss Augusta 
 Gresham Ron sham witnessed the recreancy of 
 the delinquent. 
 
 So soon as the street was cleared, Lady 
 Buntingford proceeded, at my suggestion, to 
 enlighten the mind of " that foolish woman, 
 her friend, Mrs. Ronsham," touching the mys- 
 teries of the day. I suspect she succeeded in 
 persuading the family that it would be better 
 to put an unconscious face upon the business ; 
 for, in the course of an hour, the family coach 
 came round, and away they rumbled a V ordi- 
 naire into the Park ; the carriage displaying 
 only four pink satin bonnets, instead of five. 
 Miss Augusta remained at home, weeping out 
 her tender sorrows.
 
 DIARY OF A DESENNUYEE. 247 
 
 About six o'clock, I received a few apolo- 
 gizing lines from the duke, stating that he had 
 been unavoidably detained by the arrival of his 
 mother, to pass the day with him ; and in- 
 forming me, that nothing was known of the 
 quarrel between his friend and Mr. Hanton, 
 further than that the affair was at an end. 
 
 — At seven, the Herberts dined with me ; 
 my brother in high spirits at the prospect of 
 quitting town, and Armine quietly happy, be- 
 cause she saw her husband so. Immediately 
 after dinner, I proposed a drive in the open 
 carriage on the Harrow road, — the prettiest, 
 but least frequented of the suburbs ; and, while 
 enjoying the cool of the evening, and gossip- 
 ping of this and that, Lord Hartston and his 
 duel again came upon the tapis. In the open- 
 ness of my heart, I indiscreetly observed, that 
 I believed Hanton capable of any degree of 
 insolence — that his conduct towards myself — 
 I paused, but it was too late. Herbert would
 
 248 DIARY OF A DESENNUYEE. 
 
 not let me rest, till I had explained every par- 
 ticular of the proposal and the letter. 
 
 " By heavens ! I clearly understand it 
 now !" cried he. '* The infernal ass, no doubt, 
 hazarded to Hartston some impertinent com- 
 ment upon your conduct; and Hartston, im- 
 pelled by the foolish preference he is still 
 absurd enough to indulge, and, knowing you 
 had neither husband, father, nor brother, to 
 defend you, thought fit to resent it ! As if the 
 duty did not belong to me ! As if it were not 
 wy place to vindicate the reputation of my 
 sister-in-law ! I must have a serious explana- 
 tion with him ; I must know the truth." 
 
 " But you have not the slightest grounds 
 for your supposition," said I, really alarmed. 
 " There are a thousand, a million of topics, 
 on which they may have disagreed." 
 
 *' No, no, no ! From one or two hints 
 I gathered from Colonel Trevor, who was 
 eager to put an end to my investigation, I
 
 DIARY OF A DESENNUYEE. 249 
 
 am convinced that you, and you only, were the 
 cause of the dispute." 
 
 " At all events," interposed Armine, " the 
 affair is now at rest ; and it would be very 
 unfair to my sister to renew the publicity of 
 what must be painful, and may be injurious to 
 her." 
 
 " Injurious to her!" cried Herbert, losing 
 all command of himself; " I declare to you, 
 Harriet, that for a woman endowed with com- 
 mon sense, I look upon you as worse than 
 inexcusable. Through life your prospects have 
 been ruined by your own wilfulness, — your 
 own folly ! It is now more than ten years 
 since I first became acquainted with you ; and, 
 from that time, I have scarcely ever seen you 
 conduct yourself like a reasonable being." 
 
 " Thank you," said I, trying, at least, to 
 retain the command of my own temper. 
 
 '^ No ; don't think to silence me by a wo- 
 man's flippant retort ! I will tell you the truth.
 
 250 DIARY OF A DESENNUYEE. 
 
 and you shall hear it. Think of all the evil 
 you have heaped on your ovrn head ! Because 
 that fellow, Delaval, swore you were an angel 
 at your first race-ball, and looked well at the 
 head of his regiment on a field-day, you ac- 
 cepted his proposals. You were assured by 
 your friends, that he was a violent man — a 
 man of inferior education ; yet you ventured 
 to give him your hand, and fix yourself for 
 life in one of the most wretched districts in 
 Ireland. Reflect on what he became there ! 
 Reflect on what you suffered under the tyranny 
 of a brute — a sot !" 
 
 " Stay!" cried I. ^^ With myself you are 
 at liberty to deal as harshly as you please. 
 Colonel Delaval is no more. His name is 
 sacred." 
 
 " So far you may be right," replied Her- 
 bert, in a milder tone. *' Of him I have no 
 right to speak ; but of yourself, Harriet, I must 
 and will. You returned among us, having
 
 DIARY OF A DESENNUYEE. 251 
 
 suffered much, and little profited by your suf- 
 ferings ; but young, honoured, wealthy, rich 
 in all that ought to have secured your hap- 
 piness. What have you done to improve these 
 blessings I Branded yourself with fashionable 
 notoriety, and rendered your name as familiar 
 in the mouths of the puppies of the clubs, as 
 those of the vile and worthless. One of the 
 first men in this kingdom was disposed to make 
 you his wife, and elevate you to a position which 
 even the most ambitious of your vain associates 
 have gloried in attaining. Your levity revoked 
 him. It was a woman of heart, of mind, not a 
 flimsy worldling, he wished to find in the com- 
 panion of his future life ; and all he has derived 
 from a momentary illusion, is the stigma of a 
 duel with one of the meanest and most con- 
 temptible of Crockford's profligates. But this 
 is not all. You have exposed yourself to a 
 thousand slights. Penrhyn's insolence (thanks 
 to your friends, the Lancasters and Percies)
 
 252 DIA.RY OF A DESENNUYEE. 
 
 has raised a general laugh at your expense ; 
 yet, apparently unsatisfied with the extent of 
 your incautious, only last night you chose to 
 thrust yourself upon the notice of the public, 
 ttte-a-tete with the Duke of Merioneth, in 
 order that the Sunday prints might hold you 
 up to ridicule as they have done this day, as 
 " the dashing Irish widow, who is venturing a 
 
 bold cast of the net for ;" but why should 
 
 I repeat such trash ! or, rather, why should 
 such inuendoes have been levelled at the 
 daughter of General Montresor!" 
 
 I was too much agitated for any attempt to 
 interrupt or appease him. While he was speak- 
 ing, dearest Armine, unable to repress her tears, 
 took my hand in hers, and pressed it tenderly, 
 as if bespeaking my forbearance towards her 
 husband. But her appeal was needless. I 
 could not be angry with Herbert. Every word 
 he uttered was dictated by the best intentions, 
 ■ — by the warmest interest in my welfare. I
 
 DIARY OF A DESENNUYEE. 253 
 
 trust he exago:erates my errors. I trust he is 
 deceived. 1 
 
 Monday, \st. — I woke this morning with 
 a dreadful headach ; partly caused by reflec- 
 tions on Herbert's remonstrances ; partly by 
 the knowledge that Armine and the children 
 were already some twenty miles on their road 
 into Bedfordshire. However, I have promised 
 to visit them at HoUybridge early in the 
 autumn. 
 
 Monday, St/i. — A whole week elapsed, and 
 not a word in my diary. Since Herbert's rough 
 apostrophe, or, perhaps I should say, since 
 Herbert's harsh administration of wholesome 
 truths, I have dreaded to record my own 
 observations, seeing how completely I have 
 suffered myself to become a dupe to the flat-
 
 254 DIARY OF A DESENNUYEE. 
 
 terers of the world. I misdoubt myself, — I 
 misdoubt others. I would have quitted town 
 the very day of Armine's departure, but that 
 such a precipitate retreat would have been 
 instantly traced by the malicious to its true 
 motive, mortification. I am grown listless, — 
 morose. People ask if I am ill ; and suggest 
 this remedy and that ; as they do to languid 
 fine ladies, sickening under the fatigues of the 
 season, and the vexation of its termination. 
 
 Most families, unshackled by the claims of 
 parliament, or the responsibilities of supreme 
 fashion, have already quitted town. London 
 is more close, more dusty, more disagreeable 
 than I could have supposed possible. The once 
 green park under my windows is now of a 
 tawny yellow; and water-carts and Grange's 
 currant-ice alone preserve the men and beasts, 
 who still frequent it, from being carbonized in 
 the course of their morning's amusements. Is 
 it not one of the strangest abuses of this fox-
 
 DIARY OF A DESENNUYEE. 255 
 
 hunting kingdom, that winter is to be spent in 
 the country, and summer in town ? What a 
 mentorious achievement would it be for the 
 reisrn of Victoria I. to cause the extermination 
 of foxes, like that of the wolves of yore, by ex- 
 acting an annual tribute of so many thousand 
 heads ! thus enablino- the leo^islative lords of 
 the creation to assemble between November 
 and May ; and its ladies to enjoy their parks 
 and flower-gardens, when the rose is on the 
 bush, and the daisy in the grass. 
 
 As it is, we denizens of the scorching me- 
 tropolis seem to pass the dog-days in rushing 
 forth to this suburb and to that, gasping after 
 fresh air. To-day, a dejeuner at Highgate ; 
 to-morrow, a gipsy party to Finchley ; with 
 fish dinners in taverns, savouring of punch, 
 tobacco, Thames mud, and fried flounders ; or 
 venison dinners at the Star and Garter, for the 
 supplementary enjoyment of a dusty drive. Old 
 Lady Burlington and Mrs.Crowhurst, the Lan-
 
 256 DIARY OF A DESENNUYEE. 
 
 casters and Percies, exclaim, every time 1 
 meet them, '' Is not London charming, now all 
 the people are gone 1 It is like ecarte after 
 long whist !" For my part, I find it resemble 
 only the last tedious dragging repetition of a 
 waltz played by a musical snuff-box, of which 
 the main spring is run down. The thing wants 
 winding up. 
 
 The other day we were a little enlivened by 
 the novelty of Lord Hilton's ball. Those espe- 
 cially invited, myself among the number, left 
 Westminster Bridge about four o'clock in the 
 Admiralty barge ; with a brass-band attending, 
 to outbray the strange tumults of the river ; and 
 with little Count Alfred de la Vauguyon (a walk- 
 ing Delcroix's shop) to out-essence its mauvaises 
 odeurs. The river looked of a dingy copper 
 colour ; and the steeples of the city, and engine 
 chimneys of the borough — nay, even the masts 
 of the shipping in the docks, seemed to lose 
 themselves in the haze of an atmosphere worthy
 
 DIARY OF A DESENNUYEE. 257 
 
 the coast of Guinea, or the canvass of some 
 Martinian pandemonium. We arrived at the 
 inn at Woolwich, where five-and-twenty were 
 invited to dine, in a state worthy to have been 
 garnished with fried parsley and served among 
 the fritures. White-bait ought not to tempt - 
 any thing less than an alderman into such su- 
 perfluous exertions in such weather. 
 
 The ball was prettily managed, and the 
 yacht beautifully illun]inated ; but it strikes 
 me we should have danced quite as much to 
 our own satisfaction in Lord Hilton's mansion 
 in Berkley Square. I accompanied Lady Ce- 
 cilia back, i am careful now to avoid being in 
 my own carriage with a vacant seat to be en- 
 croached upon by some impertinent lounger. 
 The most amusing person of the party was 
 Madame di Campo Fiorito. Deeply pene- 
 trated with the notion of the nautical glories 
 of England, and the " rule " which that tin- 
 helmeted Amazon Britannia assumes to herself
 
 258 DIARY OF A DESENNUYEE. 
 
 over the waves, she seemed to fancy that our 
 marine supremacy must commence at London 
 Bridge ; she saw a seventy-four in every West- 
 Indiaman, — a frigate in every Doggerbank 
 cod-schuyt, — and a tar under the jacket of 
 every jolly young waterman. Her ejaculations 
 at the sight of Greenwich Hospital, and its 
 wooden-legged Tom Toughs, were quite Della- 
 Cruscan; and greatly did she applaud the mag- 
 nanimity of our English sovereigns in having, 
 as she concluded, resigned their own palace as 
 a shelter for the veterans of their fleets, and 
 contented themselves with the tumble- down 
 alms-house of St. James's. The yacht, too, 
 enchanted her; and she enchanted us in her 
 turn by the description of a fite she had wit- 
 nessed in childhood, given to Josephine in the 
 Bay of Genoa, by the Ligurian republic ; when 
 hundreds of orange-trees in blossom were em- 
 barked in boats, and towed around the barge 
 containing the wife of the hero of Marengo ;
 
 DIARY OF A DESENNUYEE. 259 
 
 an idea far more elegant, in my opinion, than 
 the tinsel glories of Cleopatra's galley, with 
 its purple brocades and painted Cupids. 
 
 Lady Southam, who leaves town to-morrow, 
 is anxious that I should accompany her to 
 Southam Castle ; and there are few women 
 for the sake of whose society I would more 
 willingly make a sacrifice. But I have pro- 
 mised Lady Cecilia to remain here till some- 
 thing definitive is settled about poor Clarence. 
 How is it I have managed to see so little of 
 Isabella Southam during her stay in town? 
 With the exception of a dinner here, and one 
 at her own house, we have scarcely met. Such 
 is the entraineme7it of fsishion in London society, 
 that persons entertaining a sincere friendship 
 for each other, and living only at a few streets' 
 distance, if engaged in different sets, content 
 the claims of their mutual regard by now and 
 then a formal dinner party, at which they are 
 unable to exchange six words of conversation.
 
 260 DIARY OF A DESENNUYEE. 
 
 Isabella belongs to a sober caste, and seems 
 bigoted to the rationalities of the present court; 
 ■ — is constant to the Ancient Music, — curious 
 about exhibitions and picture auctions, — takes 
 her children half-a-dozen times in the season 
 to the British Museum and Longman's cata- 
 combs of learning ; and eschews a circulating 
 library as she would a masquerade warehouse. 
 Wise in her generation, she will meet her 
 reward ; but, foolish as I am in mine, she will 
 not meet me. I wish I had courage to disen- 
 tangle myself from the webs of filmy gossamer, 
 which I have suffered to fold and enfold me, 
 till they have become potent as chains of mail. 
 But it is too late. 
 
 I have not once seen the Duke of Merion- 
 eth since the newspapers thought proper to 
 couple his name with mine. He called here 
 the other day ; but at the hour when I was 
 certain to be out : for I continue my daily rides 
 with Lady Alicia and her father, — often ex-
 
 DIARY OF A DESENNUYEE. 261 
 
 tending them as far as Roehampton, or Rich- 
 mond. The King and Queen go to Windsor 
 next week, and I shall consequently lose the 
 Clackmannans. Previously to the Penrhyn 
 affair, I had become very intimate with the 
 Rossanas, whom I particularly like : but, not 
 choosing to put myself in the way of his solemn 
 salutations, I have gradually receded from their 
 set. It amuses me, now the gaieties of the 
 season have subsided, to observe divers persons 
 and coteries re-ascending into importance, who, 
 during the crush of June, were forgotten. 
 Lady Kent's card-parties are once more fre- 
 quented ; and Lady William Bately's, once more 
 recherchts. The placard of " to let furnished," 
 is posted anew in the dusty windows of the 
 family mansion, erewhile the scene of poor 
 Augusta Gresham Ronsham's sentimentalities ; 
 and I noticed, that it required a supplementary 
 baggage-waggon, inscribed with the name of 
 " Tanaquil Gresham Ronsham, Esq. Wrang-
 
 262 DIARY OF A DESENNUYEE. 
 
 ham Park, Hunts," to convey into the country 
 the additional trunks, boxes, and cases contain- 
 ing the paraphernalia of their disastrous Lon- 
 don campaign. The exeunt omnes of the family 
 wore a most dispiriting aspect. The elder girls, 
 like the coach-horses, looked worn to their last 
 legs ; the younger ones had been backboarded, 
 metronomed, and mazurk'd into a most cada- 
 verous complexion ; and the meagre baby, with 
 its pinched blue nose, seemed victimized by a 
 course of calomel and a daily apothecary. 
 Lady Buntingford informs me she suggested a 
 couple of months at Leamington for the ge- 
 neral restoration of the family ; but that papa, 
 after due discharge of his bills of the season, 
 was beginning to talk of the hardness of the 
 times, and the reduction of his rent-roll ; while 
 mamma was of opinion, that the less they 
 appeared in public the better, till Stanislas 
 Ruprecht Schmidt {alias Count Schwarzkie- 
 wicz) should be duly released from the
 
 DIARY OF A DESENNUYEE. 263 
 
 tread -mill, and on board the Hamburgh 
 steamer. 
 
 Yes! I shall soon be at liberty. The Cla- 
 rence crisis is approaching. I have just re- 
 ceived a P.P.C. from the Mardynvilles, — an 
 unfailing signal that the Court, and conse- 
 quently the Clackmannans, are on the move 
 for Windsor. 
 
 En attendant, one of the French princes 
 has arrived ; and as so few persons remain in 
 town who are in a position to entertain him, 
 the Duke of Merioneth has determined to give 
 a farewell ball to-morrow, in honour of his 
 royal highness ; the last fete of the season, but 
 probably one of the most brilliant ! 
 
 The last ! Weary as I am of this eternal 
 circle of frivolity, — this day without a night, — 
 this year without a winter, — the idea that I am 
 about to say farewell to so many intimate asso- 
 ciates, — to part, for a period of eight months, 
 and perhaps for ever, from so many who have
 
 264 DIARY OF A DESENNl YEE. 
 
 been kind to me, fills my mind with melan- 
 choly forebodings. Independence, too, is a 
 fine thing ; but the bird that soars highest, and 
 sings loudest in honour of the joys of liberty, 
 still keeps in view the little nest to which, when 
 weary of the wing, it can return for shelter ; 
 while J, who have " the world before me, 
 where to choose my place of rest," tremble at 
 the wideiiess of my prospects, and the know- 
 ledge of my own irresponsibility. I may travel 
 where I will, — abioad, — at home; seek what 
 company I list, good, bad, or indifferent; and 
 no one has a right to call in question my com- 
 ings, or my goings. Wo one cares whether I 
 injure my reputation, — whether [ squander my 
 fortune. Armine is wrapt up in her husband 
 and children ; Herbert in himself. Even the 
 reprimand he lately addressed me arose from 
 the danger in which he supposed me to have' 
 involved his friend, more than from interest in 
 my own welfare. Were I to set forth, on a
 
 DIARY OF A DESENNUYf:E. 265 
 
 tour to the Continent, and indulge my own 
 vagrant devices, until next spring, I verily 
 believe that not a creature would inquire, 
 " What has become of Mrs. Delaval?" unless, 
 perhaps, Lady Cecilia, during the intervals of 
 her heartquakes about her son! — Dispiriting 
 reflexion ! — Rude ecole ! 
 
 — I know not whether my misanthropic 
 doom of yesterday had written strange defeatures 
 in my face ; but, when I entered the ball-room at 
 Merioneth House last night, several persons 
 accosted me with the inquiry, " Pry thee, why 
 so pale?" which is sure to answer itself, by 
 bringing blushes to the cheek. Certes, it was no 
 time or place for tristesse. Beautiful as the 
 fetes there always are, this was surpassing. 
 The encoignures of the room were filled with 
 pyramidal Jarc?i7ii^res reaching to the ceiling, 
 and containing nothing but roses. Every nur- 
 sery-ground near London must have been 
 despoiled ; for there were many hundred varie- 
 
 VOL. I. N
 
 266 DIARY OF A Dl&SENNUYEE. 
 
 ties; some of the choicest kind. It was lite- 
 rally '* the feast of roses ;" and Moore, who 
 was present, must have felt himself in an eighth 
 heaven of his own creation ! 
 
 In honour of the young prince (of whose 
 grand-uncle, the Emperor Leopold, she was 
 formerly the intimate friend), the Duchess of 
 Merioneth for once presided over a fete given 
 by her son ; and queenly, indeed, she looked. 
 It struck me, that her deportment, as a noble 
 matron, and that of the Due de N., as 2^ prince 
 (hi sang, were alike the perfection of high 
 breeding. They talked for some time to- 
 gether; and, formal as such entretiens needs 
 must be, there was none of the restraint be- 
 tween them which would have led some vulgar 
 dowager to observe, '* What could I find to say 
 to a boy?" or some gawky lordling to com- 
 plain, ** What the d — ^1 could I talk of to an 
 oljd woman ? " 
 
 I was rather curious, and perhaps a little
 
 DIARY OF A DESENNUYEE. 267 
 
 anxious, to ascertain whether the reports in 
 circulation would produce any change in his 
 Grace's manners towards myself. But my in- 
 quietudes were quite superfluous. I might 
 have known, that there was nothing of the 
 Penrhyn, — nothing of the Hanton, in his kind 
 and noble nature. He received me more 
 warmly than he had ever done before. The 
 duchess found a place for me to sit near her ; 
 and at supper, I was the only untitled person 
 to whom a place was assigned at the table pre- 
 pared for the Due de Nemours. Lord Lan- 
 caster mentioned accidentally, when I met him 
 the previous day at the British Gallery, that 
 George Hanton was furious at not being in- 
 vited ; and I am convinced, from an observ- 
 ation made to me by the duke, that the omis- 
 sion was intentional, and a compliment to me. 
 I certainly do feel happier in houses where I 
 am secure from the spectacle of his self-com- 
 placent ugliness.
 
 268 DIARY OF A DESENNUY^E. 
 
 In the midst of the ball, Mrs. Percy, per- 
 ceiving me to be in fashion, took my arm, and 
 coaxed me away into one of the half-empty 
 drawing-rooms, much to my discomposure ; for 
 there sat Lady Clackmannan in violent dispu- 
 tation with Clarence, and I would not for the 
 world have appeared to take note of what was 
 going on between them. 
 
 " I congratulate you, my dear creature," 
 whispered Mrs. Percy, after having planted 
 me on one of the ottomans, and herself by my 
 side ; 'Mie is gone, — actually gone !" 
 
 I turned towards her with wondering eyes ; 
 '^ To whom do you allude?" being plainly 
 inscribed in the expression of my face. 
 
 " Penrhyn, — Lord Penrhyn, *^ she replied, 
 carefully examining what effect the mention of 
 that cabalistic name might produce in my 
 countenance. " Refused in form by the Ross- 
 anas, and so much to his astonishment, that 
 he quitted town within four-and-twenty hours,
 
 DIARY OF A DESENNUYEE. 269 
 
 after writing to put off all the people he had 
 invited for August to Penrhyn Hall for grouse- 
 shooting. The Courier of this evening states, 
 that he has ordered his yacht to prepare for a 
 cruise in the Mediterranean." 
 
 " I trust Lord Penrhyn will amuse him- 
 self," said I. "He has long ceased to amuse 
 me. 
 
 " Oh! as to you," cried Mrs. Percy, " his 
 conduct was absolutely unpardonable. I told 
 every one, at the time, that I considered it 
 infamous. However, there were people about 
 him — George Hanton and the Lancasters — who 
 thought it clever to put him up to a tone likely 
 to pique you." 
 
 " They must have been grievously disap- 
 pointed to find me so indifferent on the sub- 
 ject." 
 
 " Of course we were all aware you must be 
 annoyed ; but we did honour to your self-com- 
 mand in seeming to take it so coolly."
 
 270 DIARY OF A DfeSENNUYEE. 
 
 '' More honour than I deserved. I may 
 have been unconscious of insults deliberately 
 prepared by others, and, therefore, to them most 
 evident." 
 
 " Why, really, my dear soul," she was con- 
 tinuing, but at that moment the duke, evi- 
 dently in search of me, approached, to mention 
 his mother's request that I would join her 
 supper-table with the royal party ; and, accept- 
 ing his offered arm, I was not sorry to leave 
 Mrs. Percy to her malicious manoeuvres. After 
 supper, the duke, for the first and only time 
 during the evening, joined the dancers, inviting 
 me to be his partner in a waltz ; on the con- 
 clusion of which, leading me to one of the 
 jardinieres, he plucked an exquisite white and 
 yellow union rose, the object of general admira- 
 tion throughout the evening, and presented it 
 to me. I saw many envious eyes fixed upon 
 me, and, after the mortifications I have recently 
 experienced, could not help feeling a flush of
 
 DIARY OF A. DESENNUYEE. 271 
 
 feminine triumph at being thus singled out by 
 a person singled out by the whole of London. 
 Lord Hartston had just entered the room as 
 I received my beautiful bouquet, and I deter- 
 mined to retire with my laurels and my rose 
 unwithered. Having already asked for my 
 carriage, I withdrew as precipitately as 
 Cinderella. 
 
 — This morning, I was sent for at an early 
 hour, to Lady Cecilia, whom I found half in 
 hysterics, wholly in despair. Lady Clack- 
 mannan's explanations last night with Clarence 
 seem to have been decisive. She has forbidden 
 all further intercourse between the cousins ; 
 and, instead of following the court to Windsor, 
 leaves the marquess to his official duties, and 
 actually sets off with Alicia this very day for 
 Scotland. Clarence fancies himself ill-used ; 
 although Lady C. has acted only as any other 
 parent would have done in her situation ; yet 
 I had some difficulty in preventing Cecilia
 
 272 DIARY OF A D^SENNUYEE. 
 
 from writing to her sister one of those angry 
 letters which create an irreparable breach. 
 Women in a passion should begin by throwing 
 into the fire their pens and paper : as much 
 mischief has been done in the world by hasty 
 letters, as by the discovery of gunpowder. 
 
 Made my adieus to-night to the opera ; — a 
 melancholy spectacle. The house almost 
 empty, — half the boxes not wholly deserted, 
 being filled with problematical. It really 
 oppressed me to note the loss of so many of the 
 charming faces on which I have been gazing 
 for the last four months, till they seemed in- 
 separable from the place ; nor had I patience to 
 look down on the empty benches of the pit, and 
 deserted fops-alley, where only three weeks ago 
 every face was de connaissance. With the ex- 
 ception of some thirty men who, I fancy, never 
 quit London, the desecrated space was filled by 
 haberdashers' apprentices and butlers out of 
 place ! I have just answered a pressing letter
 
 DIARY OF A D^SENNUYEE. 273 
 
 of invitation which I received yesterday from 
 Armine, promising to be at Hollybridge next 
 week. Apres — I trust the stars have me in 
 their keeping; for projects I have none, — • 
 cdors, comme alors ! 
 
 — To increase my depression at the moment 
 of parting with so many friends, I have 
 accidentally been witness to a most painful, or, 
 perhaps, T ought to say, a most impressive scene. 
 On visiting my couturierey to execute a com- 
 mission for one of my Irish friends, I found the 
 good woman's aspect so doleful that I could 
 not help making inquiries. Her venerable in- 
 mate, she said, was upon his death-bed ! 
 
 " Mr. Forster rallied for a time, poor 
 gentleman, under the excitement produced 
 by your generous offices," continued Mrs. 
 Hemstitch ; "and we were in hopes of getting 
 him into the country : but the very heart 
 within him seems to have been worn away by 
 years of trouble ; the vital powers were gone, 
 n2
 
 274 DIARY OF A DESENNUYEE. 
 
 and, for the last three days, he has been rapidly 
 sinking. He knows that his time is come, — is 
 resigned and tranquil ; for your generosity, 
 madam, has secured the welfare of his 
 children. I cannot express the difference in 
 his feelings now and a month ago. Then, it 
 was dreadful to see him shrink from the 
 approach of death ; now, his frame of mind is 
 as it should be. Of one thing he has long 
 been earnestly desirous, poor soul ; — he wants 
 to thank and bless his benefactress. But we 
 have put him off with pretexts of your being 
 absent from town ; for, of course, madam, I 
 felt the impossibility of asking a great lady 
 and a gay lady like yourself to visit a dying 
 man in the attic of one of your tradespeople." 
 
 *' If you think my presence would aflford 
 him the smallest satisfaction," said I, " even 
 now, at the eleventh hour, I will gladly accede 
 to his wish." And I own I was in hopes of 
 hearing ray offer declined, for I did not feel
 
 DIARY OF A DESENNUY^E. 275 
 
 myself to be in a state of preparation for such a 
 scene. 
 
 " If you would so far condescend," said 
 Mrs. Hemstitch, eagerly ; and, without further 
 deliberation, I removed from my head the 
 gaudy bonnet and plumes so unsuitable to the 
 nature of my visit, and followed my blunt but 
 good Samaritan up a dark staircase to a door, at 
 which she tapped gently ; and, after a little 
 whispering with the nurse, beckoned me in. 
 The deathlike stillness of that little chamber 
 scarcely induced the belief that four persons 
 were its inmates ; but the son and daughter 
 were kneeling on either side the bed — their 
 very tears falling silently, lest they should 
 disturb the last moments of the dying man. 
 
 As I looked upon the white head scarcely 
 distinguishable from the pillow on which it lay, 
 and remembered that it was blanched less by 
 years than by affliction (the humiliating afflic- 
 tion of poverty, which might have been so
 
 276 DIARY OF A DfeSENNUYEE. 
 
 readily relieved), my heart grew faint with a 
 sudden consciousness of the responsibilities of 
 the wealthy. The old man's eyes were dim, but 
 his lips moved as though absorbed in inward 
 prayer. Feeling that it was now too late to 
 afford him pleasure by my visit, I was about to 
 withdraw from the room ; when the movement 
 attracted his attention, and, turning his languid 
 eyes towards me, he seemed in a moment to 
 understand the motive of my presence. His 
 countenance brightened. Feebly raising his 
 thin hand from the coverlid, he extended it 
 towards me ; and, having pressed mine with a 
 grasp of fervour, and an earnest expression of 
 face which I shall not easily forget, placed it 
 in benediction on the head of his girl, whose 
 sobs were stifled in the bedclothes, and extended 
 the other intercedingly to Heaven. In another 
 minute the upraised hand fell back relaxed 
 upon, the sheet, and the eyes of the grateful 
 father were already fixed in death. — His
 
 DIARY OF A DESENNUYEE. 277 
 
 labours were over — his privations ended — 
 his days of darkness brightened into eternal 
 light! 
 
 There is comfort to me in the thought, that, 
 useless as is my career of life, in this instance I 
 have had the happiness of contributing to the 
 comfort of a suffering fellow-creature. But 
 was the good deed of mi/ seeking ? Was it 
 not almost forced upon me by the superior 
 virtue of one, so placed in the scale of society 
 that she ought to have received her example of 
 charity from mel Alas! my own merit in the 
 affair is insignificant indeed. 
 
 — Lady Cecilia is just now in one of her un- 
 reasonable fits of nervousness ; and poor Sir 
 Jenison has a happy prospect in the month of 
 conjugal felicity they are about to pass at 
 Cowes. She had settled it with herself that 
 I should accompany her, and that we were to 
 have yachting parties, regattas, and I know not 
 what; and cannot pardon me for preferring
 
 278 DIARY OF A DESENNUY^E. 
 
 Bedfordshire. But I feel the want of quiet, 
 and of my sister's society ; and, even were I not 
 resolved upon visiting the Herberts, Cowes is 
 the last place I should have preferred, as I find 
 Lord Penrhyn is amusing himself in the Isle of 
 Wight, having already plucked off his Rossana 
 willow. 
 
 Holli/bridge, Beds. — What a pleasant sensa- 
 tion, after the tumults and heartburnings of a 
 season in town, to be awakened by the song of 
 birds, from a tranquillizing night's rest ! How 
 beautifully green appears the verdure of the 
 paddock under my windows, and the coppice 
 towards which it slopes, after the dingy Green 
 Park, and the dusty groves of Buckingham 
 Palace! How fresh, how fragrant the air here, 
 after the stifling atmosphere of London! I 
 fancied that the recent dispiritment of my mind
 
 DIARY OF A DESENNUYEE. 279 
 
 arose from regret at the idea of leaving town ; 
 but, no sooner were the chains of habit broken, 
 and I found myself ensconced in my travelling 
 carriage, than I felt relieved from the pressure 
 of a thousand imaginary evils. I am delighted 
 to find myself here. 
 
 Armine and the children have recovered 
 their good looks and good spirits, and received 
 me at the gate, all bloom and cheerfulness; 
 even Herbert seems to be quite a diflferent crea- 
 ture here in his little domain. 
 
 The place is a thousand times prettier than 
 I expected ; and, though ^* a cottage of gen- 
 tility," its pride does not even pretend to be 
 humble. There is a pretty green-house at- 
 tached to the drawing-room; and the gardens 
 are good and extensive for the size of the 
 domain. The windows command an animated 
 landscape ; the book-room is well furnished ; 
 altogether, there is an air of cheerfulness which 
 fully explains my brother's distaste for the
 
 280 DIARY OF A. DESENNUYJEE. 
 
 smoky house in New Norfolk Street. Holly- 
 bridge is a home that seems to invite one to be 
 happy. 
 
 It appears an established rule in country 
 neighbourhoods, that the moment a friend or 
 relative arrives on a visit, all the surrounding 
 families shall confederate to interrupt their en- 
 joyment of each other's society. For three 
 days only was I permitted to be alone with my 
 sister and her rosy children. On the fourth 
 came Lady Farrington, of Farrington Park, 
 full of reproaches to Armine, that she had not 
 more immediately apprised her of dear Mrs. 
 Delaval's arrival ; and insisting that an early 
 day should be fixed for a visit to Sir John and 
 herself. Supposing that the word *^ visit " pur- 
 ported only a formal full-dress dinner party, 
 to be purchased by a drive of five or six miles, 
 I still attempted to telegraph to my sister an 
 entreaty that the project might be negatived. 
 But Lady Farrington was there only to enforce
 
 DIARY OF A DESENNUYEE. 281 
 
 her demand ; and we found it impossible to 
 deny that no pre-engagement prevented our 
 accepting her invitation for Thursday, the se- 
 cond of August. The knotty point thus ad- 
 justed, she withdrew ; but what was my con- 
 sternation on learning from Armine that the 
 neighbourhood of Hollybridge is what is called 
 " a charming sociable neighbourhood ;" i, e. 
 one of those in which it is decreed, that those 
 who dine must sleep, and that those who dine 
 and sleep, extend the penance to eight and forty 
 hours. We have, therefore, impending over us, 
 a visit of two days to fussy, empty, parading 
 Lady Farrington. But this is not my only 
 grievance. She appears to have made a round 
 of visitations for the sole purpose of circulating 
 through the country the arrival of Mrs. Her- 
 bert's sister ; the following day, our pretty little 
 drawing-room was crowded with all the visit- 
 ables within eight miles distance of Holly- 
 bridge.
 
 282 DIARY OF A DESENNUYEE. 
 
 I now admit that I was inhuman in my 
 verdict, that quiet country families, such as the 
 Gresham Ronshams and Farringtons, were 
 better at their country seats than amid the 
 fashionable corruptions of London. I did not 
 know, or had forgotten, the stupifyiug triviality 
 of a sociable, gossipping country neighbourhood. 
 Amongst the five detachments of fiddle-faddlers 
 who yesterday bestowed their tediousness upon 
 Hollybridge, exactly three topics of conversation 
 were started ; the committal of one Phil. Robin- 
 son by a certain worshipful 'Squire Smith, on a 
 charge of having poisoned a fox-cover; — the 
 probability that Sir Thomas Elliot, the high- 
 sheriff, would start a new carriage for the ap- 
 proaching assizes ; — and the injustice of a bill 
 passed last sesssion, for turning the road be- 
 tween Gorse Hill and Broom by Bottom, so as 
 to secure Lord Forcefig's wall-fruit from the 
 dust. On these three nothingnesses did they 
 ring the changes; arguing, re-arguing, swal-
 
 DIARY OF A DESENNUYEE. 283 
 
 lowing their own arguments ; misapprehending, 
 and apologizing for their own stupidity; mis- 
 representing, and sneaking out of their own 
 equivocations, till I scarcely wondered that 
 poor Miss Augusta Gresham Ronsham should 
 have been captivated by the fine, gay, bold-faced 
 villany of a Count Schwarzkiewicz, with his 
 man-of-the-world-like diversity of small talk. 
 No pismire, domesticated in its ant-hill, can 
 entertain a narrower view of life and manners 
 than two-thirds of Armine's country neigh- 
 bours ; valuable people, no doubt, in their 
 generation {^^ Men heureux les pauvres cCes- 
 prit")j but tedious beyond all patience, save that 
 of my gentle amiable sister. I have been try- 
 ing to persuade Armine to remove our work- 
 table and books to-morrow into a delightful 
 grove of lime-trees, a few hundred yards from 
 the house ; but the earnestness with which she 
 pleaded — ^* Still we must receive our visitors; 
 they are kind friendly people ; and, you know,
 
 284 DIARY OF A DESENNUY^E. 
 
 it would be impossible to say, * not at home/ to 
 those who come several miles, only to shew us 
 attention," was unanswerable. It seemed any 
 thing but impossible to me ; but Armine knows 
 best. 
 
 — Farrington Park ! Farrington Park ! — 
 what a type of antediluvianism ! — nothing 
 wanting but the ponderous coach-and-six, with 
 gilt springs, to represent the family establish- 
 ment of all the Grandisons. A great gloomy state 
 drawing-room, without a flower, a book, or a 
 comfortable chair to muse in ; a great state 
 dining-room, with portraits of all variety of 
 badness, in oils and crayons, of Farringtons of 
 the three last reigns, ending with Sir John, 
 M.P., painted at the expense of the corporation 
 of Bedford, in a William- Pitt-like attitude, with 
 a business-like standish and corporation rolls 
 on his writing-table ; a great state billiard- 
 room, with a table of the last century, its green 
 cloth like my own Green Park, faded into
 
 DIARY OF A DESENNUYEE. 285 
 
 autumnal yellow ; a great state staircase, and 
 suite of great state bed-rooms, with great state 
 four-post beds, of dusty damask ; and a great 
 state Dutch flower-garden, three quarters of a 
 mile from the hall door ! Every thing, in short, 
 to secure the discomfort of its inmates. Herbert 
 groaned aloud, as we drove up to the portico ; 
 while Armine felt it her duty to console him by 
 the observation, that, however disagreeable the 
 visit, he would be able to get through a great 
 deal of justice-business with Sir John, in the 
 course of the next two days. 
 
 Lady Farrington welcomed us with the 
 hospitable fervour of an Arab. 
 
 *' I expect a charming party !" said she. 
 " In addition to Sir Thomas Clargess' family, 
 we have Sir Robert and Lady Mardynville, who 
 are coming from Berkshire to pass a week with 
 us; very fashionable people, who live on the 
 most intimate terms with the royal family. 
 Perhaps you may have met them in town?"
 
 286 DIARY OF A DESENNUY^E. 
 
 To record the two days of parade and 
 dulness that followed, would be too severe a 
 task. At half past nine, the breakfast-bell, 
 and a morning sacrifice of pasties, hams, 
 tongues, potted meats, with steaming urns and 
 chocolate-pots, in a room hung with scarlet 
 moreen, and facing the morning sun. Next, a 
 stifling seance round a w^ork-table, covered with 
 worsteds and carpet-work, till the servant's 
 dinner-bell announces a hot luncheon in the 
 scarlet room, now basking in meridian fervour. 
 Then an airing in the family coach, or a walk 
 in the formal Dutch garden, till the half-hour 
 dressing-bell: a grand toilet of silks and 
 satins, — dinner of four courses, — coffee, tea, 
 whist, — and, at half-past ten, a supper. Four 
 regular meals a-day, eaten with the same dull 
 people, in the same dull room, and unseasoned 
 by a single word of rational conversation ! In 
 spite of my presentiments, the Mardynvilles 
 were an acquisition to the party j their exceed-
 
 DIARY OF A DESENNUY^E. 287 
 
 ing absurdity proved a relief, after the common- 
 place jog-trot decorum of Sir John and his 
 wife. Lady Mardynville insisted on making 
 me the accomplice of her affectation ; and 
 talked of " our friend, the Duke of Merioneth," 
 and "our balls at^ St. James's" (to over-awe 
 the country neighbours), in the style of Lady 
 Blarney and Miss Carolina Wilhelmina Amelia 
 Skeggs. But this was not her worst offence. 
 When we made our appearance in the draw- 
 ing-room, jewelled to the teeth, to weary for 
 the second day's dinner. Lady M. who had 
 departed after luncheon on a tour of visits, 
 with her hostess, in the family coach, sailed up 
 to me with a patronizing air, to assure me that 
 dear old Lady Hartston was quite irate with 
 the Herberts, for not having apprized her of 
 my presence at Hollybridge. 
 
 " My sister acted in compliance with my 
 request," was my cold reply ; " I came to 
 Bedfordshire expressly to visit her, and was
 
 288 DIARY OF A DESENNUYEE. 
 
 anxious that the time we pass together should 
 be as little as possible broken in upon by 
 strangers." 
 
 "By strangers, — very possibly; but, by 
 friends, like Lady Hartston?'* 
 
 *' With Lady Hartston I have not even the 
 honour of acquaintance." 
 
 '' Really ? Why, she spoke of you with so 
 much interest, and seemed to know you so 
 intimately, that I concluded you had been 
 friends for years. How strange!" 
 
 " Your mistake does me too much honour. 
 I never spoke to her in my life." 
 
 '^ Well, you will speak to her soon. She is 
 going to Hollybridge on Saturday, expressly to 
 wait upon you ; although Lady Farrington in- 
 forms me that the old lady rarely pays morning 
 visits." 
 
 So, after all, I am condemned to become 
 acquainted with the surly old gentlewoman 
 of the ventilator ; and to-morrow she will be
 
 DIARY OF A DE9ENNUYEE. 289 
 
 here ! How snug and comfortable every thing 
 appears in our little greenery, after the glare 
 and gormandizing of Farrington Park ! Of all 
 the taxes whose payment falls to the lot of 
 civilized mortals, what is called our debt to 
 society is certainly one of the heaviest. 
 
 Saturday. — Decidedly, that Lady Mardyn- 
 ville is the fairy Guignon in disguise. As if 
 for the express purpose of annoyance, she per- 
 suaded Lady Farrington to drive her to Holly- 
 bridge to-day ; being well aware that Lady 
 Hartston was to be here. The grave old lady 
 came, evidently disposed to be kind and cour- 
 teous ; but no sooner did the other two take 
 their places at the luncheon- table, than the 
 Mardynville's abominable fine-ladyism dis- 
 gusted her into silence. Throughout her flip- 
 pancies and pretensions, she appealed to her 
 dear Mrs. Delaval for confirmation ; and I had 
 really no patience to find myself elected the 
 
 VOL. I. o
 
 290 DIARY OF A DESENNUYEE. 
 
 bosom-friend of one, whom I have uniformly 
 avoided as even a visiting acquaintance. What 
 must Lady Hartston think of me, with two 
 such associates as Miss Randall and this lion- 
 and-unicorn hunter ? she was very kind, how- 
 ever, in pressing me to visit her ; and it is 
 arranged, that on Tuesday we dine and sleep 
 at the Abbey. 
 
 Hartston. — I am half inclined to believe 
 that the spirit of local sanctity is never wholly 
 exorcized from the site of a religious house ! 
 There is a tone of human tranquillity about 
 this place, which inclines one to expect a pro- 
 cession of monks gliding through its woods, or 
 an encounter with some cowled Benedictine, 
 telling his beads among the ruins of the sanc- 
 tuary. All is so calm, so still, so holy, that 
 the very belling of the deer under the old oaks 
 becomes a disturbance. 
 
 Many people are of opinion that the Sir
 
 DIARY OF A DESENNUY^E. 291 
 
 Jeffrey Hartston who, in the reign of Elizabeth, 
 erected the present mansion, chose ill in fixing 
 the site so close upon the ruins of the ancient 
 abbey : but the monks seem to have understood 
 the climate of England better than the gene- 
 rality of their successors ; and, in my opinion, 
 the well-screened position of Hartston Abbey, 
 seated on a gentle eminence sloping to a noble 
 stream, is perfection. The park is skirted 
 round by groves ; and the freshness of the 
 home- view delights me more than all the 
 stares over a dozen counties, devised by mo- 
 dern villa-mongers, or puffed by modern auc- 
 tioneers. A library of old books, a gallery 
 of old pictures, groves of old trees, and a ser- 
 vice of old plate, assimilate well with the 
 Elizabethan solidity of the place. I do not 
 wonder that the Mardynville called it dull : 
 her parvenu love of glare and tinsel could not 
 recognize the subdued beauties of a spot where 
 Bacon might have mused, or Sidney meditated.
 
 292 DIARY OF A DESENNUYEE. 
 
 There are two fine pictures here of the 
 present Lord Hartston ; one, painted in early 
 childhood, by Hoppner, in a style that might 
 be mistaken for Reynolds ; the other, at the 
 age of sixteen, by Lawrence. In this last, the 
 youthful countenance gives indication of that 
 striking expression of superiority — that stern, 
 yet not harsh, thoughtfulness, so manifest now 
 in the original. It is a fine and characteristic 
 portrait. I went yesterday, alone, into the 
 breakfast-room w^here it hangs, and carefully 
 examined it. I was still standing with my 
 eyes riveted upon the face, when the old lady, 
 whom I had supposed to be driving out with 
 the rest of the party, entered unobserved be- 
 hind me. 
 
 ''That is the likeness of the best of sons," 
 said she, startling me by the unexpected sound 
 of her voice. " You, who have only seen him 
 careworn by the duties of office, and sallow 
 with the unwholesome atmosphere and habits
 
 DIARY OF A DESENNUYEE. 293 
 
 of London, will scarcely recognize poor Eu- 
 stace in that fine open ingenuous face." 
 
 I felt too guilty to reply ; and Lady Hart- 
 ston, apparently roused to family associations 
 by these allusions to the portrait, took me to 
 her private suite of rooms, and pointed out, 
 with pride and delight, the thoughtfulness with 
 which every modern invention, tending to the 
 comfort of age, every piece of furniture suitable 
 to her tastes and convenience, are constantly 
 selected for her use by her son. " Scarcely a 
 week passes," said she, " that Eustace does not 
 send me down some trifle, to mark his un- 
 ceasing recollection of his mother." 
 
 Notwithstanding this increased intimacy be- 
 tween us, my awe of Lady Hartston does not, 
 in the slightest degree, subside. Without the 
 air de grande dame of the Duchess of Merio- 
 neth, she is twice as imposing. Something in 
 her costume or her countenance always brings 
 Lady Rachel Russell to my mind ; she seems 
 o2
 
 294 DIARY OF A DESENNUYIEE. 
 
 born to be the wife and mother of patriots. 
 Herbert tells me she is the best-informed woman 
 in England ; and Madame de Stael, who ought 
 to be an authority, has assured us that *' tout 
 savoir rend tres indulgent : " yet indulgent she 
 certainly is not. Elle a V esprit juste ; esti- 
 mates people and things at their real value, 
 and seems superior to that maudlin affectation 
 of a virtue, which compromises every honest 
 feeling under a pretence of philanthropy. I, 
 therefore, knowing my weakness, shrink under 
 the clear judgment of Lady Hartston. 
 
 Walking with her in a beautiful flower- 
 garden, laid out under the southern shelter 
 of the walls of the old Abbey, I ventured on 
 the commonplace remark, that she must be 
 greatly attached to so delightful a place. 
 
 *' On the contrary," she replied, " I prefer 
 my own small dower-house in Northampton- 
 shire. Hartston is too vast for a person of 
 my years, who is narrowing down her cares
 
 DIARY OF A DESENNUYEE. 295 
 
 and wishes into a circle, calculated to facilitate 
 the transition into the last and narrowest home. 
 I reside here only till the marriage of my son. 
 Eustace's pursuits and habits prevent his giving 
 his attention to his property ; and I should be 
 sorry to see the abode of his ancestors fall into 
 decay. The time, I hope, is not far distant, 
 when my presence will be superfluous ; and I 
 shall gladly resign my trust to younger hands." 
 This, I suppose, is an intimation that Lord 
 Hartston is about to be married ; and I find he 
 is expected at the Abbey in ten days' time, for 
 the official recess. / shall then have left Bed- 
 fordshire. I have promised to join Lady 
 Cecilia, who assures me she is seriously ill, at 
 Cowes next week ; and if I can persuade her 
 to accompany me, I will try a total change of 
 scene by a short tour on the Continent, — 
 Switzerland, the Rhine, — no matter where, so 
 that I can hear new voices and see new faces 
 for a time.
 
 296 DIARY OF A DESENNUY^E. 
 
 — Yes ! it is as I anticipated : Lord Hartston 
 is going to be married. After the carriages 
 had been ordered this morning for our de- 
 parture from the Abbey, Lady Farrington and 
 Lady Mardynville were announced ; and the 
 severity of air, which I find so overpowering in 
 the old -lady, grew more grim than ever, as she 
 rose to receive them. Though seated at some 
 distance, I overheard Lady Farrington account- 
 ing for the speedy renewal of her visit, by her 
 desire to be among the first with her felicita- 
 tions. 
 
 Lady Hartston's "■ I have not the satisfaction 
 of comprehending you," was freezing. But the 
 flow of Lady Farrington's wishy-washy con- 
 versation is not easily suspended; and I soon 
 caught the words, " satisfactory connexion," 
 — "charming young woman," — *' approaching 
 nuptials," — and " domestic felicity." For 
 some minutes, the name of the intended bride 
 escaped me : but, at length, the exuberant
 
 DIARY OF A DESENNUYEE. 297 
 
 commendation bestowed by the inveterate 
 twaddler upon the whole family of Rossana, 
 guided my guesses ; and her assertion of Lady 
 Sophia's superiority to her sister decided me, 
 that Lord Penrhyn's cruel charmer vvas to be 
 the future Lady Hartston. Well, perhaps he 
 could not have chosen better. There cannot 
 be a more sober, regular, or better educated 
 family. His mother said little on the subject; 
 but we took our leave so immediately afterwards, 
 that I had no opportunity to offer my con- 
 gratulations. 
 
 — Another letter from Cecilia, imploring 
 me to join her immediately : I cannot refuse ; 
 and the Herberts are so persuaded that I shall 
 return to Hollybridge after a few weeks at 
 Cowes, that they have readily sanctioned my 
 immediate departure. I dare not say any thing 
 at present of my continental project. There 
 will be time enough to write, so soon as I shall 
 have arranged my plans with Cecilia. I am
 
 298 DIARY OF A DESENNUYEE. 
 
 satisfied that Herbert will not approve them ; 
 but when does he approve any decision of mine ? 
 — Happily, he will be too much engrossed by 
 the approaching marriage of his friend, to 
 trouble himself much concerning my pro- 
 ceedings, 
 
 Cowes. — Weary of my journey, weary of 
 myself, weary of every thing ! Cecilia's in- 
 disposition is evidently the mere result of her 
 anxieties on account of her son ; and I have 
 already been able to give a more satisfactory 
 turn to the views of both. I cannot persuade 
 her of the possibility of leaving England; but 
 Clarence is to accompany me to the Continent, 
 as soon as she is well enough to part with us. 
 We cannot travel alone; and I have therefore 
 consented to engage a dame, or rather demoiselle 
 de compagnie, a certain Miss Vinicombe, who 
 officiated last season as souffre-douleur to Lady 
 Evelyn Beresford, and was nearly worn into
 
 DIARY OF A DESENNUYEE. 299 
 
 a consumption by arrow -root diet, and the 
 wholesome privations of an invalidery ; and 
 whom Lady Cis recommends as an intelligent, 
 accomplished woman. In ten days all will be 
 prepared ; and '' fresh hopes and climates 
 new " will, I trust, restore that elasticity of 
 spirits which the laborious lightness of London 
 dissipation has so strangely subdued. England 
 has served only to depress me; — on the Con- 
 tinent, I look forward to being thoroughly 
 " desennnyte.'' 
 
 END OF THE FIRST VOLUME. 
 
 LONDON: 
 
 PRINTED BY JAMES MOVES, CASTLK STREETj LEICESTER SQUARE.
 
 NEW NOVEL, 
 
 BY THE AUTHORESS OF " MOTHERS AND DAUGHTERS. 
 
 Just Published f 
 
 MRS. ARMYTAGE; 
 
 ♦ OR, 
 
 FEMALE DOMINATION. 
 
 In 3 vols, post 8vo.
 
 HT 
 
 D'l 
 
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