University of Virginia Library

LETTERS
OF
JONATHAN OLDSTYLE, Gent.

LETTER I.

Nothing is more intolerable to an old
person than innovation on old habits. The customs
that prevailed in our youth become dear to
us as we advance in years; and we can no more
bear to see them abolished, than we can to behold
the trees cut down under which we have sported
in the happy days of infancy.

Even I myself, who have floated down the
stream of life with the tide—who have humoured
it in all its turnings—who have conformed in a
great measure to all its fashions,—cannot but feel
sensible of this prejudice. I often sigh when I draw
a comparison between the present and the past;
and though I cannot but be sensible that, in general,
times are altered for the better, yet there is

something even in the imperfections of the manners
which prevailed in my youthful days, that is
inexpressibly endearing.

There is nothing that seems more strange and
preposterous to me, than the manner in which
modern marriages are conducted. The parties
keep the matter as secret as if there was something
disgraceful in the connexion. The lady
positively denies that any thing of the kind is to
happen; will laugh at her intended husband, and
even lay bets against the event, the very day before
it is to take place. They sneak into matrimony
as quietly as possible, and seem to pride
themselves on the cunning and ingenuity they have
displayed in their manœuvres.

How different is this from the manners of former
times! I recollect when my Aunt Barbara
was addressed by 'Squire Stylish; nothing was
heard of during the whole courtship, but consultations
and negotiations between her friends and
relatives; the matter was considered and re-considered,
and at length the time set for a final answer.
Never, Mr. Editor, shall I forget the awful
solemnity of the scene. The whole family of the
Oldstyles assembled in awful conclave: my aunt
Barbara dressed out as fine as hands could make
her—high cushion, enormous cap, long waist, prodigious

hoop, ruffles that reached to the end of her
fingers, and a gown of flame-coloured brocade,
figured with poppies, roses, and sun-flowers.
Never did she look so sublimely handsome. The
'Squire entered the room with a countenance suited
to the solemnity of the occasion. He was arrayed
in a full suit of scarlet velvet, his coat decorated
with a profusion of large silk buttons, and the skirts
stiffened with a yard or two of buckram; a long
pig-tailed wig, well powdered, adorned his head;
and stockings of deep blue silk, rolled over the
knees, graced his extremities; the flaps of his vest
reached to his knee-buckles, and the ends of his
cravat, tied with the most precise neatness, twisted
through every button hole. Thus accoutred, he
gravely walked into the room, with his ivory
headed ebony cane in one hand, and gently swaying
his three-cornered beaver with the other. The
gallant and fashionable appearance of the 'Squire,
the gracefulness and dignity of his deportment,
occasioned a general smile of complacency through
the room; my aunt Barbara modestly veiled her
countenance with her fan; but I observed her contemplating
her admirer with great satisfaction
through the sticks.

The business was opened with the most formal
solemnity, but was not long in agitation. The

Oldstyles were moderate—their articles of capitulation
few: the 'Squire was gallant, and acceded
to them all. In short, the blushing Barbara was
delivered up to his embraces with due ceremony.
Then, Mr. Editor—then were the happy times:
such oceans of arrack—such mountains of plum
cake—such feasting and congratulating—such fiddling
and dancing:—ah me! who can think of those
days, and not sigh when he sees the degeneracy
of the present: no eating of cake nor throwing of
stockings—not a single skin filled with wine on the
joyful occasion—nor a single pocket edified by it
but the parson's.

It is with the greatest pain I see those customs
dying away, which served to awaken the hospitality
and friendship of my ancient comrades—that
strewed with flowers the path to the altar, and shed
a ray of sunshine on the commencement of the
matrimonial union.

The deportment of my aunt Barbara and her
husband was as decorous after marriage as before;
her conduct was always regulated by his—her
sentiments ever accorded with his opinions; she
was always eager to tie on his neckcloth of a morning—to
tuck a napkin under his chin at meal times
—to wrap him up warm of a winter's day, and to
spruce him up as smart as possible of a Sunday.

The 'Squire was the most attentive and polite husband
in the world; would hand his wife in and out
of church with the greatest ceremony—drink her
health at dinner with particular emphasis, and ask
her advice on every subject—though I must confess
he invariably adopted his own;—nothing was
heard from both sides, but dears, sweet loves,
doves, &c. The 'Squire could never stir out of a
winter's day, without his wife calling after him from
the window to button up his waistcoat carefully.
Thus, all things went on smoothly; and my relations
Stylish had the name, and, as far as I know,
deserved it, of being the most happy and loving
couple in the world.

A modern married pair will, no doubt, laugh at
all this; they are accustomed to treat one another
with the utmost carlessness and neglect. No longer
does the wife tuck the napkin under her husband's
chin—nor the husband attend to heaping
her plate with dainties;—no longer do I see those
little amusing fooleries in company, where the lady
would pat her husband's cheek, and he chuck her
under the chin; when dears and sweets were as
plenty as cookies on a new-year's day. The wife
now considers herself as totally independent—will
advance her own opinions, without hesitation,
though directly opposite to his—will carry on accounts

of her own, and will even have secrets of
her own, with which she refuses to intrust him.

Who can read these facts, and not lament with
me the degeneracy of the present times;—what
husband is there but will look back with regret to
the happy days of female subjection.