'A plump round figure, near the fire, who had just put on his spectacles to examine the paper, closed the debate by observing, with a grave aspect, that, as the author was anonymous, it was proper to be very cautious in talking of the performance. After glancing over the pages, he said he could have wished they had set apart a corner for intelligence from America; but, having taken off his spectacles, wiped, and put them into their case, he said, with a tone of discovery, he had found out the reason why there was nothing of that sort in the "Mirror"—it was in order to save the tax upon newspapers.'
The 'Mirror.'—Vol. I. No. 4.
Meliora pii docuere parentes.
Meliora pii docuere parentes.
Meliora pii docuere parentes.
The following is an extract from a letter, addressed by a parent to the editor, on the evil consequences of sending youths to Paris to finish their education:—
'When the day of their return came, my girl, who had been constantly on the look-out, ran to tell me she saw a postchaise driving to the gate. But, judge of my astonishment when I saw two pale, emaciated figures get out of the carriage, in their dress and looks resembling monkeys rather than human creatures. What was still worse, their manners were more displeasing than their appearance. When my daughter ran up, with tears of joy in her eyes, to embrace her brother, he held her from him, and burst into an immoderate fit of laughter at something in her dress that appeared to him ridiculous. He was joined in the laugh by his younger brother, who was pleased, however, to say that the girl was not ill-looking, and, when taught to put on her clothes, and to use a littlerouge, would be tolerable.
'Mortified as I was at this impertinence, the partiality of a parent led me to impute it, in a great measure, to the levity of youth; and I still flattered myself that matters were not so bad as they appeared to be. In these hopes I sat down to dinner. But there the behaviour of the young gentlemen did not, by any means, tend to lessen my chagrin. There was nothing at table they could eat; they ran out in praise of French cookery, and seemed even to be adepts in the science; they knew the component ingredients of most fashionableragoûtsandfricandeaus, and were acquainted with the names and characters of the most celebrated practitioners of the art in Paris.
'In short, it was found these unfortunate youths had returnedignorant of everything they ought to know, their minds corrupted, their bodies debilitated, and their vanity and conceit making them incapable of listening to reason or advice.'
The 'Mirror.'—Vol. I. No. 10.
Mr. Fleetwood, a man of excessive refinement and delicacy of taste, is described as paying visits to his friends in the country. But the pleasures which might possibly be derived from this exercise are marred by his false sensibility.
'Our next visit was to a gentleman of liberal education and elegant manners, who, in the earlier part of his life, had been much in the polite world. Here Mr. Fleetwood expected to find pleasure and enjoyment sufficient to atone for his two previous experiences which were far from agreeable; but here, too, he was disappointed.
'Mr. Selby, for that was our friend's name, had been several years married. His family increasing, he had retired to the country, and, renouncing the bustle of the world, had given himself up to domestic enjoyments; his time and attention were devoted chiefly to the care of his children. The pleasure which he himself felt in humouring all their little fancies made him forget how troublesome that indulgence might be to others.
'The first morning we were at his house, when Mr. Fleetwood came into the parlour to breakfast, all the places at table were occupied by the children; it was necessary that one of them should be displaced to make room for him; and, in the disturbance which this occasioned, a teacup was overturned, and scalded the finger of Mr. Selby's eldest daughter, a child about seven years old, whose whimpering and complaining attracted the whole attention during breakfast. That being over, the eldest boy came forward with a book in his hand, and Mr. Selby asked Mr. Fleetwood to hear him read his lesson. Mrs. Selby joined in the request, though both looked as if they were rather conferring a favour on theirguest. The eldest had no sooner finished, than the youngest boy presented himself; upon which his father observed that it would be doing injustice to Will not to hear him as well as his elder brother Jack, and in this way was my friend obliged to spend the morning in performing the office of a schoolmaster to the children in succession.
'Mr. Fleetwood liked a game at whist, and promised himself a party in the evening, free from interruption. Cards were accordingly proposed, but Mrs. Selby observed that her little daughter, who still complained of her scalded finger, needed amusement as much as any of the company. In place of cards, Miss Harriet insisted on the "game of the goose." Down to it we sat, and to a stranger it would have been not unamusing to see Mr. Fleetwood, with his sorrowful countenance, at the "royal and pleasant game of the goose," with a child of seven years old. It is unnecessary to dwell longer on particulars. During all the time we were at Mr. Selby's the delighted parents were indulging their fondness, while Mr. Fleetwood was repining and fretting in secret.'
The 'Mirror.'—Vol. I. No. 117.
Inanit veteres statuas Damasippus emendo.—Hor.
Inanit veteres statuas Damasippus emendo.—Hor.
Inanit veteres statuas Damasippus emendo.—Hor.
A wife is writing to the 'Mirror' upon a new affliction which has attacked her husband. He happened to receive a crooked shilling in exchange for some of his goods (the husband was a grocer), and a virtuoso informed him that it was a coin of Alexander III., of great rarity and value, whereupon the good man became seized with a passion for collecting curiosities.
'His taste,' says the wife's letter, 'ranges from heaven above to the earth beneath, and to the waters under the earth. Every production of nature or of art, remarkable either for beauty or deformity, but particularly if eitherscarceorold, is now the object of my husband's avidity. The profits of our business, once considerable, but now daily diminishing, are expended, not only on coins, but on shells, lumps of different coloured stones, dried butterflies, old pictures, ragged books, and worm-eaten parchments.
'Our house, which it was once my highest pleasure to keep in order, it would be now equally vain to attempt cleaning as the arkof Noah. The children's bed is supplied by an Indian canoe; and the poor little creatures sleep three of them in a hammock, slung up to the roof between astuffed crocodileand the skeleton of acalf with two heads. Even the commodities of our shop have been turned out to make room for trash and vermin.Kites,owls, andbatsare perched upon the top of our shelves; and it was but yesterday that, putting my hand into a glass jar that used to contain pickles, I laid hold of a largetarantulain place of a mangoe.
'In the bitterness of my soul, Mr. Mirror, I have been often tempted to revenge myself on the objects of my husband's phrenzy, by burning, smashing, and destroying them without mercy; but, besides that such violent procedure might have effects too dreadful upon a brain which, I fear, is already much unsettled, I could not take such a course without being guilty of a fraud to our creditors, several of whom will, I believe, sooner or later, find it their only means of reimbursement to take back each man his own monsters.'
The 'Mirror.'—Vol. I. No. 25.
The 'Mirror' prints a letter upon the grievances felt by the families of men of small fortunes when associated with those enjoying great ones.
'You will remember, sir, my account of a visit which my daughters paid to a great lady in our neighbourhood, and of the effects which that visit had upon them. I was beginning to hope that time, and the sobriety of manners which home exhibited, would restorethem to their former situation, when, unfortunately, a circumstance happened still more fatal to me than their expedition to ——. This, sir, was the honour of a visit from the great lady in return.
'I was just returning from the superintendence of my ploughs, in a field I have lately enclosed, when I was met, on the green before my door, by a gentleman (for such I took him to be) mounted upon a very handsome gelding, who asked me, by the appellation ofhonest friend, if this was not Mr. Homespun's; and, in the same breath, whether the ladies were at home. I told him my name was Homespun, the house was mine, and my wife and daughters were, I believed, within. Upon this, the young man, pulling off his hat, and begging my pardon for calling mehonest, said he was despatched by Lady ——, with her compliments, to Mrs. and Misses Homespun, and that, if convenient, she intended herself the honour of dining with them, on her return from B—— Park (the seat of another great and rich lady in our neighbourhood).
'I confess, Mr. Mirror, I was struck somewhat of a heap with the message; and it would not, in all probability, have received an immediate answer, had it not been overheard by my eldest daughter, who had come to the window on the appearance of a stranger.
'"Mr. Papillot," said she, immediately, "I rejoice to see you;I hope your lady and all the family are well." "Very much at your service, ma'am," he replied, with a low bow; "my lady sent me before, with the offer of her best compliments, and that, if convenient"—and so forth, repeating his words to me. "She does us infinite honour," said my young madam; "let her ladyship know how happy her visit will make us; but, in the meantime, Mr. Papillot, give your horse to one of the servants, and come in and have a glass of something after your ride." "I am afraid," answered he (pulling out his right-hand watch, for, would you believe it, sir, the fellow had one in each fob), "I shall hardly have time to meet my lady at the place she appointed me." On a second invitation, however, he dismounted, and went into the house, leaving his horse to the care of the servants; but the servants, as my daughter very well knew, were all in the fields at work; so I, who have a liking for a good horse, and cannot bear to see him neglected, had the honour of putting Mr. Papillot's horse in the stable myself.'
The arrival of the distinguished party completely upset Mr. Homespun's establishment, turned the heads of his entire family, and annihilated the effect of all his good teachings.
The 'Mirror.'—Vol. I. No. 50.
'It was formerly one of those national boasts which are always allowable, and sometimes useful, that the ladies of Scotland possessed a purity of conduct and delicacy of manners beyond that of most other countries. Free from the bad effects of overgrown fortunes, and from the dissipated society of an overgrown capital, their beauty was natural and their minds were uncorrupted.
'Formerly a London journey was attended with some difficulty and danger, and posting thither was an achievement as masculine as a fox-chase. Now the goodness of the roads and the convenience of the vehicles render it a matter of only a few days' moderate exercise for a lady;Facilis descensus Averni; our wives and daughters are carried thither to see the world, and we are not to wonder if some of them bring back only that knowledge of it which the most ignorant can acquire and the most forgetful retain. That knowledge is communicated to a certain circle on their return; the imitation is as rapid as it is easy; they emulate theEnglish, who before have copied the French; the dress, the phrase, and themoraleof Paris is transplanted first to London, and thence to Edinburgh; and even the sequestered regions of the country are sometimes visited in this northern progress of politeness.
'It will be said, perhaps, that there is often a levity of behaviour without any criminality of conduct; that the lady who talks always loud, and sometimes free, goes much abroad, or keeps a crowd of company at home, rattles in a public place with a circle of young fellows, or flirts in a corner with a single one, does all this without the smallest bad intention, merely as she puts on a cap and sticks it with feathers because she has seen it done by others whose rank and fashion entitle them to her imitation.'
The 'Mirror.'—Vol. II. No. 44.
Sit mihi fas audita loqui.
Sit mihi fas audita loqui.
Sit mihi fas audita loqui.
'Passing the Exchange a few days ago, I perceived a little before me a short, plump-looking man, seeming to set his watch by St. Giles's clock, which had just then struck two. On observing him more closely, I recognised Mr. Blubber, with whom I had been acquainted at the house of our mutual friend Mr. Bearskin.
'He recollected me, and, shaking me cordially by the hand, told me he was just returned safe from his journey to the Highlands, and had been regulating his watch by our town clock, as he found the sun did not go exactly in theHighlands as it did in the Low country. He added, that if I would come and eat a Welsh rare-bit and drink a glass of punch with him and his family that evening, at their lodgings hard by, they would give me an account of their expedition.
'When I went to their lodgings in the evening, I could not help making one preliminary observation, that it was much too early in the season for visiting the country to advantage; but to this Mr. Blubber had a very satisfactory answer: they were resolved to complete their tour before the new tax upon post-horses should be put in execution.
'The first place they visited after they left Edinburgh was Carron, which Mr. Blubber seemed to prefer to any place he had seen; but the ladies did not appear to have relished it much. The mother said, "She was like to have fell into a fit at the noise of the great bellows." Miss Blubber agreed that it wasmonstrousfrightful indeed. Miss Betsy had spoiled her petticoat in getting in, and said it was a nasty place, not fit for genteel people, in her opinion. Blubber put on his wisest face, and observed that women did not know the use of them things. There was much the same difference in their sentiments with regard to the Great Canal. Mr. Blubber took out a piece of paper, on which he had marked down thelockage dutyreceived in a week there; he shook his head, however, and said he was sorry to find the sharesbelow par.
'Taymouth seemed to strike the whole family. The number and beauty of the temples were taken particular notice of; nor was the trimness of the walks and hedges without commendation. Miss Betsy Blubber declared herself charmed with the shady walk by the side of the Tay, and remarked what an excellent fancy it was to shut out the view of the river, so that you might hear the stream without seeing it. Mr. Blubber, however, objected to the vicinity of the hills, and Mrs. Blubber to that of the lake, which she was sure must be extremely unwholesome.
'But, however various were the remarks of the family on the particulars of their journey in detail, I found they had perfectly settled their respective opinions of travelling in general. The ladies had formed their conclusion that it was monstrous pleasant, and the gentleman his that it was monstrous dear.'
The 'Mirror.'—Vol. II. No. 50.
A correspondent is addressing the 'Mirror' on the ill effects of listlessness, indolence, and an aversion to profitable exertion. The writer describes his visit to a barrister without practice, who, having been left a small competence, had relinquished his profession to engage in literary pursuits.
Mr. Mordant, the literary recluse, on his friend's arrival, was discovered cultivating his kitchen garden. The visitor is conducted through the grounds, which had been laid out in accordance with the owner's taste.
'Near a village, on our way homewards, we met a set of countrymen engaged at cricket, and soon after a marriage company dancing the bride's dance upon the green. My friend, with a degree of gaiety and alacrity which I had never before seen him display, not only engaged himself, but compelled me likewise to engage in the exercise of the one and the merriment of the other. In a field before his door an old horse, blind at one eye, came up to us at his call, and ate the remainder of the grains from his hand from which he had previously fed a flock of tame pigeons.
'Our conversation for that evening, relating chiefly to the situation of our common friends, memory of former scenes, and other subjects as friends naturally converse about after a long absence, afforded me little opportunity of gratifying my curiosity. Next morning I arose at my wonted early hour, and stepping into his study found it unoccupied. Upon examining a heap of books and papers that lay confusedly mingled on the table and the floor, I was surprised to find that by much the greater part of them, instead of metaphysics and morals (the branches connected with his scheme of writing), treated ofBelles Lettres, or were calculatedmerely for amusement. There was, besides, a journal of his occupations for several weeks, from which, as it affords a picture of his situation, I transcribe a part:—
'"Thursday, eleven at night.—Went to bed: ordered my servant to wake me at six, resolving to be busy all next day.
'"Friday morning.—Waked a quarter before six; fell asleep again, and did not wake till eight.
'"Till nine read the first act of Voltaire's 'Mahomet,' as it was too late to begin serious business.
'"Ten.—Having swallowed a short breakfast, went out for a moment in my slippers. The wind having left the east, am engaged by the beauty of the day to continue my walk. Find a situation by the river where the sound of my flute produced a very singular and beautiful echo—make a stanza and a half by way of an address to it—visit the shepherd lying ill of a low fever, find him somewhat better (mem.—to send him some wine)—meet the parson, and cannot avoid asking him to dinner—returning home find my reapers at work—superintend them in the absence of John, whom I send to inform the house of the parson's visit—read, in the meantime, part of Thomson's 'Seasons,' which I had with me—from one to six plagued with the parson's news and stories—take up 'Mahomet' to put me in good humour; finish it, the time allotted for serious study being elapsed—at eight, applied to for advice by a poor countryman, who had been oppressed; cannot say as to the law; give him some money—walk out at sunset to consider the causes of the pleasure arising from it—at nine, sup, and sit till eleven hearing my nephew read, and conversing with my mother, who was remarkably well and cheerful—go to bed.
'"Saturday. Some company arrived—to be filled up to-morrow"—(forthat and the two succeeding days there was no further entry in the journal).
'"Tuesday.—Waked at seven; but, the weather being rainy and threatening to confine me all day, lay till nine—ten, breakfasted and read the newspapers; very dull and drowsy—eleven, day clears up, and I resolve on a short ride to clear my head."
'A few days' residence with him showed me that his life was in reality, as is here represented, a medley of feeble exertions, indolent pleasures, secret benevolence, and broken resolutions. Nor did he pretend to conceal from me that his activity was not now so constant as it had been; but he insisted that he still could, when he thought proper, apply with his former vigour, and flattered himself that these frequent deviations from his plan of employment, which in reality were the fruit of indolence and weakness, arose from reason and conviction.
'"After all," said he to me one day, when I was endeavouring to undeceive him, "after all, granting what you allege, if I be happy, and really am so, what more could activity, fame, or preferment bestow upon me?"
'After a stay of some weeks I departed, convinced that his malady was past a cure, and lamenting that so much real excellence and ability should be thus in a great measure lost to the world, as well as to their possessor, by the attendance of a single fault.'
The 'Mirror.'—Vol. II. No. 56.
The following letter is from a dweller in the country, an ardent lover of retirement, who is enchanted with the simplicity of life and incident to be encountered in a pastoral retreat:—
'My dear Sir,—The moment I found myself disengaged from business, you know I left the smoke and din of your blessed city, and hurried away to pure skies and quiet at my cottage.
'You must have heard that our spring was singularly pleasant; but how pleasant it wasyoucould not feel in your dusky atmosphere. My sister remarked that it had a faint resemblance to the spring of ——. Although I omit the year, you may believe that several seasons have passed away since that animating era recollected by my sister. "Alas! my friend," said I, "seasons return, but it is only to the young and the fortunate." A tear started in her eye, yet she smiled and resumed her tranquillity.
'We sauntered through the kitchen-garden, and admired the rapid progress of vegetation. "Everything is very forward," said my sister; "we must begin to bottlegooseberriesto-morrow." "Very forward, indeed," answered I. "This reminds me of the young ladies whom I have seen lately—they seem forward enough, though a little out of season too."
'It was a poor witticism, but it lay in my way, and I took it up. Next morning the gardener came to our breakfasting-parlour. "Madam," said he, "all the gooseberries are gone." "Gone!" cried my sister; "andwhocould be so audacious? Brother, you are a justice of the peace; do make out a warrant directly to search for and apprehend. We have an agreeable neighbourhood, indeed! the insolence of the rabble of servants, of low-born, purse-proud folks, is not to be endured." "The gooseberries are not away," continued the gardener; "they are lying in heaps under the bushes; last night's frost, and a hail-shower this morning, have made the crop fail." "The crop fail!" exclaimed my sister; "and where am I to get gooseberries for bottling?" "Come, come, my dear," said I; "they tell me that in Virginia pork has a peculiar flavour from the peaches on which the hogs feed; you can let in the goslings to pick up the gooseberries, and I warrant you that this unlooked-for food will give them a relish far beyond that of any green geese of our neighbours at the castle." "Brother," replied she, "you are a philosopher." I quickly discovered that, while endeavouring to turn one misfortune into jest, I recalled another to her remembrance, for it seems that, by a series of domestic calamities, all her goslings had perished.
'A very promising family of turkey chicks has at length consoled her for the fate of the goslings, and on rummaging her store-room she finds that she has more bottled gooseberries left of last year than will suffice for the present occasions of our little family.
'That people of sense should allow themselves to be affected by the most trivial accident is ridiculous. There are, indeed, some things which, though hardly real evils, cannot fail to vex the wisest and discompose the equanimity of the most patient; for example, that fulsome court paid by the vulgar to rich upstarts, and the daily slights to which decayed nobility is exposed.'
The 'Mirror.'—Vol. II. No. 68.
'One morning during my late visit to Mr. Umphraville (the writer of the previous letter on life in the country), as that gentleman, his sister, and I were sitting at breakfast, my old friend John came in, and delivered a sealed card to his master. After putting on his spectacles, and reading it with attention, "Ay," said Umphraville, "this is one of your modern improvements. I remember the time when one neighbour could have gone to dine with another without any fuss or ceremony; but now, forsooth, you must announce your intention so many days before; and by-and-by I suppose the intercourse between two country gentlemen will be carried on with the same stiffness of ceremonial that prevails among your small German princes. Sister, you must prepare a feast on Thursday. Colonel Plum says he intends to have the honour of waiting on us." "Brother," replied Miss Umphraville, "you know we don't deal in giving feasts; but if Colonel Plum can dine on a plain dinner, without his foreign dishes and French sauces, I can prepare him a bit of good mutton, and a hearty welcome."
'On the day appointed, Colonel Plum arrived, and along with him the gay, the sprightly Sir Bobby Button, who had posted down to the country to enjoy two days' shooting at Colonel Plum's, where he arrived just as that gentleman was setting out for Mr. Umphraville's. Sir Bobby, always easy, and who, in every society, is the same, protested against the Colonel's putting off his visit, and declared he would be happy to attend him.
'Though I had but little knowledge of Sir Bobby, I was perfectly acquainted with his character; but to Umphraville he was altogether unknown, and I promised myself some amusement from the contrast of two persons so opposite in sentiments, in manners, and in opinions.
'When he was presented I observed Umphraville somewhat shocked with his dress and figure, in both of which, it must be confessed, he resembled a monkey of a larger size. Sir Bobby, however, did not allow him much time to contemplate his external appearance, for he immediately, without any preparation or apology, began to attack the old gentleman on the bad taste of his house, and of everything about it. "Why the devil," said he, "don't you enlarge your windows, and cut down those damned hedges and trees that spoil your lawn so miserably? If you would allow me, I would undertake, in a week's time, to give you a clever place." To this Umphraville made no answer; and indeed the baronet was so fond of hearing himself talk, and chattered away at such a rate, that he neither seemed to desire nor to expect an answer.
'On Miss Umphraville's coming in, he addressed himself to her, and, after displaying his dress, and explaining some particulars with regard to it, he began to entertain her with an account of the gallantries in which he had been engaged the preceding winter in London. He talked as if no woman could resist his persuasive address and elegant figure—as if London were one great seraglio, and he himself the mighty master of it.'
The 'Mirror.'—Vol. II. No. 74.
'Dreams depend in part on the state of the air; that which has power over the passions may reasonably be presumed to have power over the thoughts of men. Now, most people know by experience how effectual, in producing joy and hope, are pure skies and sunshine, and that a long continuance of dark weather brings on solicitude and melancholy. This is particularly the case with those persons whose nervous system has been weakened by a sedentary life and much thinking; and they, as I hinted formerly, are most subject to troublesome dreams. If the external air can affect the motions of so heavy a substance as mercury in the tube of a barometer, we need not wonder that it should affect those finer liquids that circulate through the human body.
'How often, too, do thoughts arise during the day which we cannot account for, as uncommon, perhaps, and incongruous, as those which compose our dreams! Once, after riding thirty miles in a very high wind, I remember to have passed a night of dreams that were beyond description terrible; insomuch that I at last found it expedient to keep myself awake, that I might no more be tormented with them. Had I been superstitious, I should have thought that some disaster was impending. But it occurred to me that the tempestuous weather I had encountered the preceding day might be the occasion of all these horrors; and I have since, in some medical author, met with a remark to justify the conjecture.'
The 'Mirror.'—Vol. III. No. 79.
Of Pastoral Poetry.
'It may be doubted whether the representation of sentiments belonging to therealinhabitants of the country, who are strangers to all refinement, or those entertained by a person of an elegant and cultivated mind, who from choice retires into the country with a view of enjoying those pleasures which it affords, is calculated to produce a more interesting picture. If the former isrecommended by itsnaïvetéand simplicity, it may be expected that the latter should have the preference in point of beauty and variety.
'The enlargement of the field of pastoral poetry would surely be of advantage, considering how much the common topics of that species of writing are already exhausted. We are become weary of the ordinary sentiments of shepherds, which have been so often repeated, and which have usually nothing but the variety of expression to recommend them. The greater part of the productions which have appeared under the name of pastorals are, accordingly, so insipid as to have excited little attention; which is the more remarkable because the subjects which they treat of naturally interest the affections, and are easily painted in such delusive colours as tend to soothe the imagination by romantic dreams of happiness.'
The 'Mirror.'—Vol. III. No. 84.
'To dispute the right of fashion to enlarge, to vary, or to change the ideas, both of man and woman kind, were a want of good breeding, of which the author of a periodical publication, who throws himself, as it were, from day to day on the protection of the polite world, cannot be supposed capable.
'I pay, therefore, little regard to the observations of some antiquated correspondents who pretend to set up what they call the invariable notions of things against the opinions and practice of people of condition.
'I am afraid that Edinburgh (talking like a man who has travelled) is but a sort of mimic metropolis, and cannot fairly pretend to the same license of making a fool of itself as London or Paris. The circle, therefore, taking themen gros, of our fashionable people here, have seldom ventured on the same beautiful irregularity in dress, in behaviour, or in manners that is frequently practised by the leaders oftonin the capital of France or England.
'With individuals the same rule of subordination is to be observed, which, however, persons of extraordinary parts, of genius above their condition, are sometimes apt to overlook. I perceive, in the pit of the play-house, some young men who have got fuddled on punch, as noisy and as witty as the gentlemen in the boxes who have been drinking Burgundy; and others, who have come sober from the counter or writing-desk, give almost as little attention to the play as men of 3,000 l. a year. My old school acquaintance, Jack Wou'd-be, t'other morning had a neckcloth as dirty as a lord's, and picked his teeth after dinner, for a quarter of an hour, by the assistance of the little mirror in the lid of his tooth-pick case. I take the first opportunity of giving him a friendly hint, that this practice is elegant only in a man who has made the tour of Europe.'
The 'Mirror.'—Vol. III. No. 32.
An Essay upon Figure-Makers.
'There is a species of animal, several of whom must have fallen under the notice of everybody present, which it is difficult to class either among the witty or the foolish, the clever or the dull, the wise or the mad, who, of all others, have the greatest propensity to figure-making. Nature seems to have made them up in haste, and to have put the different ingredients, above referred to, into their composition at random. Here there is never wanting a junta of them of both sexes, who are liked or hated, admired or despised, who make people laugh, or set them asleep, according to the fashion of the time or the humour of the audience, but who have always the satisfaction of talking themselves, or of being talked of by others. With us, indeed, a very moderate degree of genius is sufficient for this purpose; in small societies folks are set agape by small circumstances. I have known a lady here contrive to make a figure for half the winter on the strength of a plume of feathers, or the trimming of a petticoat; and a gentleman make shift to be thought a fine fellow, only by outdoing everybody else in the thickness of hisqueue, or the height of his foretop.'
The 'Mirror.'—Vol. III. No. 98.
A student of 'good parts' has accepted, for one year, the post of resident tutor to a young gentleman with rich expectations. He writes to the 'Mirror,' describing the little progress he can make in the advancement of his pupil's education, owing to the frivolous interruptions which postpone serious application from day to day. Study has been already set aside, on various pretexts, for the first four days of the week. The close of his letter relates how he fared on the Friday and Saturday.
'"You must know," says Mrs. Flint, the gentleman's mamma,at breakfast, "that I am assured that Jemmy is very like the Count de Provence, the King of France's own brother. Now Jemmy is sitting for his picture to Martin, and I thought it would be right to get thefriseur, whom you saw last night [he has just arrived from Paris], to dress his hair like the Count de Provence, that Mr. Martin might make the resemblance more complete. Jemmy has been under his hands since seven o'clock. Oh, here he comes!" "Is it not charming?" exclaimed Miss Juliana. "I wish your future bride could see you," added the happy mother. My pupil, lost in the labyrinth of cross curls, seems to look about for himself. "What a powdered sheep's head have we got here?" cried Captain Winterbottom. We all went to Mr. Martin's to assist him in drawing Jemmy's picture. On our return, Mrs. Flint discovered that her son had got an inflammation in his right eye by looking steadfastly on the painter. She ordered a poulticeof bread and milk, and put him to bed; so there was no more talk of "Omnibus in terris" for that evening.
'My pupil came down to breakfast in a complete suit of black, with weepers, and a long mourning-cravat. The Count de Provence's curls were all demolished, and there remained not a vestige of powder on his hair. "Bless me!" cried I, "what is the matter?" "Oh, nothing," said Mrs. Flint; "a relation of mine is to be interred at twelve, and Jemmy has got a burial letter. We ought to acknowledge our friends on such melancholy occasions, I mean to send Jemmy with the coach-and-six; it will teach him how to behave himself in public places."
'At dinner my pupil expressed a vehement desire to go to the play. "There is to be 'Harlequin Highlander,' and the blowing up of the St. Domingo man-of-war," said he; "it will be vastly comical and curious." "Why, Jemmy," said Mrs. Flint, "since this is Saturday, I suppose your tutor will have no objection; but be sure to put on your great coat, and to take a chair in coming home." "I thought," said I, "that we might have made some progress at our books this evening." "Books on Saturday afternoon!" cried the whole company; "it was never heard of." I yielded to conviction; for, indeed, it would have been very unreasonable to have expected that he who had spent the whole week in idleness should begin to apply himself to his studies on the evening of Saturday.'
The 'Mirror.'—Vol. III. No. 105.
The editor is enlarging on certain vanities and fashionable absurdities which town people, when they rusticate for change of air, cannot forbear importing with them.
'In the first place, I would beg of those who migrate from the City not to carry too much of the town with them into the country. I will allow a lady to exhibit the newest-fashioned cut in her riding-habit, or to astonish a country congregation with the height of her head-dress; and a gentleman, in like manner, tosport, as they term it, a grotesque pattern of a waistcoat, or to set the children agape by the enormous size of his buckles. These are privileges to which gentlemen and ladies may be thought to have entitled themselves by the expense and trouble of a winter's residencein the capital. But there is a provoking though a civil sort of consequence such people are apt to assume in conversation which, I think, goes beyond the just prerogative oftownship, and is, a very unfair encroachment on the natural rights of their friends and relations in the country. They should consider that though there are certain subjects oftonand fashion on which they may pronounceex cathedrâ(if I may be allowed so pedantic a phrase) yet that, even in the country, the senses of hearing, seeing, tasting, and smelling may be enjoyed to a certain extent, and that a person may like or dislike a new song, a new lutestring, a French dish, or an Italian perfume, though such person has been unfortunate enough to pass last winter at a hundred miles' distance from the metropolis.'
The 'Mirror.'—Vol. III. No. 108.
The editor is recounting a deeply sentimental story, written with all seriousness, in a style sufficiently burlesque and laughable. It refers to the love of Sir Edward, an English gentleman, who, while travelling in Piedmont, had met with an accidental fall from his horse, and been carried to the residence of a small proprietor named Venoni, for whose daughter the baronet immediately conceived a tenderness, which was returned by the fair Louisa.
'The disclosure of Sir Edward's passion was interrupted by the untoward arrival of Louisa's parent, accompanied with one of their neighbours, a coarse, vulgar, ignorant man, whose possessions led her father to look upon him with favour. Venoni led his daughter aside, told her he had brought her future husband, and that he intended they should be married in a week at furthest.
'Next morning Louisa was indisposed, and kept her chamber. Sir Edward was now perfectly recovered. He was engaged to go out with Venoni; but before his departure he took up his violin, and touched a few plaintive notes on it. They were heard by Louisa.
'In the evening she wandered forth to indulge her sorrows alone. She had reached a sequestered spot, where some poplars formed a thicket, on the banks of a little stream that watered the valley. A nightingale was perched on one of them, and had already begun its accustomed song. Louisa sat down on a withered stump, leaning her cheek upon her hand. After a little while, the bird was scared from its perch, and flitted from the thicket. Louisa rose from the ground, and burst into tears. She turned—and beheld Sir Edward. His countenance had much of its former languor; and, when he took her hand, he cast on the earth a melancholy look, and seemed unable to speak his feelings.
'Louisa was at last overcome. Her face was first pale as death, then suddenly it was crossed with a crimson blush. "Oh, Sir Edward!" she said. "What—what would you have me do?" He eagerly seized her hand, and led her reluctant to the carriage. They entered it, and, driving off with furious speed, were soon out of sight of those hills which pastured the flocks of the forsaken Venoni.'
Thackeray as an Illustrator—The 'North British Review' on Thackeray—Illustrations to 'Men of Character'—The 'Whitey-brown Paper Magazine'—'Comic Tales,' illustrated by Thackeray—Allusions to Caricature Drawing found throughout his writings—Skits on Fashion—Titmarsh on 'Men and Clothes'—Bohemianism in youth—Hatred of conventionality—Sketches of Contemporary Habits and Manners—Imaginative Illustrations to Romances—Skill in Ludicrous Parody—Burlesque of the 'Official Handbook of Court and State.'
Although Thackeray must go down to posterity as an author, and, of necessity, in that character will hold his own as one of the very greatest of English writers, his earnest ambition sought occupation in the career of an artist, and, as must be familiar to our readers, the desire for this distinction retained its hold on his spirit through life.
As a humorous designer we must accord him a position of eminence, and the characteristic originality of his pencil certainly entitles Thackeray to an honourable place in the front rank of fanciful draughtsmen.
The illustrations which he supplied in profusion for the embellishment of his own writings have a certain happy harmony with the thread of the story, which probably no other hand could have contributed. In the field of design, especially of the grotesque order, his imagination was singularly fertile, and the little figures with which he loved to appositely point the texts of his week-day sermons and moralities strike forcibly by their ingenuity and by the aptness of their conception.