| | 1 | Author: | Mitchell
Donald Grant
1822-1908 | Requires cookie* | | | Title: | The lorgnette, or, Studies of the town  | | | | Published: | 1997 | | | | Subjects: | University of Virginia Library, Text collection | UVA-LIB-Text | University of Virginia Library, Early American Fiction, 1789-1875 | UVA-LIB-EarlyAmFict1789-1875 | | | | Description: | Well, Fritz, it is even true, that notwithstanding
my rusticity, I find myself approaching, little by
little, to a state of town domestication; and at the
earnest solicitation of my worthy bookseller, I am
led to resume my weekly observations, and even to
extend their influence, if influence they have, by
association with a large publishing house, which
will give to them a wide country circulation. It
is quite possible, therefore, that this may fall under
your eye at the house of your parson (if a liberal-minded
person), or of your village attorney (if a
man of progress), even before you shall have broken
my private seal. Mr. Timon:—I have read all you have written,
and like it very much. My mamma (for a wonder)
likes it too: so does Aunt Sophy. But they have
forbid my polking with strange gentlemen, at least
those who are introduced to me at the balls. Is
not this ridiculous?—one meets such nice young
men at the balls, and nowhere else! I wish you
would persuade mamma so; if you could, you
would greatly oblige your true friend, Sir:—I can't say that I like altogether the tone
of your remarks about Washingtonians. You
seem to have looked only at such stray individuals
as have lost character at home, (which it is
possible to do,) and gone to your city to set up.
As for the members, I shall not defend them, as
they are at best but a shabby set of fellows, who
bother us amazingly in the winter-time, and have
no more gratitude for favors, personal or domestic,
than so many office-holders. Here we are at length, and what a charming
place!—such trees, and dinners, and then the
bowling alley; (do you ever bowl?) if you do, get
a pair of those pretty gaiters at what-d'ye-call-him's.
Papa has taken two rooms for us in the
east wing, and Marie sleeps in a little alcove just
out of mine. The galleries stretch around inside
the wing, and several gentlemen—married gentlemen,
ma says—(but very handsome) pass very
often. You don't know how pleasant it is to sit in
the window, in that deshabille you said was so becoming.
Ma begins to think so too, for Miss Figgins
has got one just like it. My Dear Timon:—Though your paper has rarely
reached me, yet I have seen enough of its spirit,
to believe that some little account of my country
life will serve your turn, and give you some hints,
that you may possibly work over to good account. I
had made in town, by dint of jobbing, what they
call hereabouts a fortune; and not having gained
much footing in genteel society,—partly because
we didn't care about it, and partly because wife is
principled against low necks, and the opera, I determined
to set up in the country. A year ago I was married to a belle of the town,
and am beginning now fairly to sorrow over my
bargain: nor is this because she has lost her beauty;
for to tell the truth, I think she is more of a belle
now than ever; and is as complacent in her action
toward all the beaux, as I ever knew a woman in
my life. I can scarce come up a single day, from
my business in the city, but I meet her walking
with some spruce fellow of her acquaintance, with
whom she appears to be enjoying herself as well as
she ever did in my company. As you have taken upon yourself to be the censor
of modes and proprieties, which office I must
say, you have filled quite respectably so far, I want
to draw your attention to the developments in a
recent work by a distinguished lady, called (I speak
of the book, and not the lady)—Truth Stranger than
Fiction. Such barbarity as is disclosed in this
book, and such extraordinary defence as is made
of these barbarities, by the officers of a time-honored
Institution, ought to meet with a strong rebuke
from every humane person (as I think you
are) and to make every woman of maidenly
sentiments quiver with indignation and horror. | | | Similar Items: | Find |
|
