University of Virginia Library

4. THE LORGNETTE.

FEB. 14. NEW-YORK. NO. 4.

I am sorry, Fritz, that my letters to you, written
down in the humor of the moment, and containing
such observations upon town life and society,
as I thought would be agreeable to you to read,
should have provoked the condemnation of bearing
too great a severity of remark, and of wearing an
air of bitterness. I had hoped to be so far sustained
by sensible men and women, in ridicule of what all
must confess to be worthy of ridicule, as to escape
such reproof. You know me well enough, Fritz,
to be aware that it is not in my nature to dislike
for the sake of disliking, or to sneer, from a habit
of sneering.

Is it true, that what all the world reproves in
talk, is not to be reproved in print? and that exceptions
which are taken every day to particular extravagances,
are no sooner made public, and reduced
to the point of words, than they change to
imputed slanders? I abjure this construction, and
the charges which it entails.

A lady of piquant talk will play off the shafts of
her wit upon ridiculous usages, but the moment
she sees the same invested with the dignity of type,
she must needs exclaim against the impropriety!
How in the world, then, are our manners to take
healthier forms, if their abuses are to grow up unnoticed
and unchecked?

Do not for a moment think, my dear Fritz, that
my reception in the town has been such as to sour
my temper, or to render my remarks the result of
an embittered and unworthy envy. There is not a
city in the world where a stranger is welcomed
with more hospitality, and where his short-comings
are treated with a more lenient hand; nor is there
another upon this side the Atlantic, where a man
can pursue the bent of his own inclinations, so little
subject to remark and observation. Nowhere
are the ladies more kind and conciliating; nowhere
are the men more obliging and courteous. But in
a new and growing society, where the old elements

are all the while blending into new combinations,
and where arbitrary distinctions are growing
up to stand in place of the fixed but factitious
ones of the European world, it is but natural that
abuses should creep into the body social, and the
gangrene of fashionable extravagance fester here
and there in the system. God forbid, that in applying
the caustic to the diseased parts, I should
be ignorant or insensible of the healthful and vigorous
action of what is sound and perfect!

But while I deeply regret the reproval of some, I
am proud of that so freely bestowed by others. I
did have a fear, that in proposing a series of observations
upon the fashionable life of the town, I
should in some measure seem to sympathize with
that class of persons who rail ignorantly and blindly
at whatever savors of wealth and respectability,
and who derive their spiritual nutriment from such
papers as the Sunday Courier. But by their most
welcome abuse, they have convinced me of my
error, and have relieved me of one of the worst embarrassments
which beset me. I cannot enough
thank such for their labor, and shall try hard to
merit a continuance of their censure; only regretting
that their capacities are unequal to the task of
rendering it as pointed and forcible as would be
wished.

WAYS OF GETTING INTO SOCIETY.

Tophanes, who is something of a philosopher in
his way, as well as a wag, has arranged from his
note-book, what he calls a schedule of the prerequisites
to fashionable success. He has arranged it in
the pretentious manner of those public economists
and politicians who make a reputation by their synopses
and arrangement of figures. It certainly
has a business-like and authentic air; and though
I must confess to ignorance of its entire credibility,
as well as to sundry of its allusions, it shall
come in precisely as he has prepared it. Prerequisites:—

1st. Money,
Name,
Swagger.

2d. Person,
Impudence,
Mr. Browne.

3d. Display,
Music,
A Coach.

4th. Parties,
Politics,
Invention.

5th. Literature,
Moustache,
Taste.

6th. Religion,
Propriety,
Honesty.

7th. Good-Nature,
Modesty,
Indifference.

Following out his analytical arrangement, Tophanes
has written against each item of his schedule
the names of such as have gained, or still
maintain position, by possession of the prerequisite
with which they stand credited. But since I have
taken Heaven to witness, in the name of old Le
Sage, that I have no personal intent, the names
must be suppressed.

But although these are noted as the prerequisites,
they are not always the absolute causes of success;
and I am assured that not a few with unbounded
means, either from lack of name, or too great impudence—or,
what amounts to the same, too great
modesty—are reckoned quite upon the outskirts of
society. Others again, with abundance of swagger,
yet from a want of either money or music, are
in an almost hopeless state of exile. Still others,
possessing creditable names, are so unfortunately
addicted to propriety or religion, as to render them
utter outcasts. Even Literature, as Tophanes informs
me, without the aid of a moustache, or Mr.
Browne (who I suppose to be a writer for the Literary
World), is a mere nullity; and many a poor
poetaster, in sheer ignorance of Derby and Martell,
has uttered lamentable Jeremiads over his fallen
state, and hung his harp upon the willows. Religion
of itself is not altogether hopeless, provided it be

of a striking and brilliant sort—well spiced up with
startling doctrines, which are altogether in advance
of the old hum-drum order. Thus, a bishop who has
a leaning toward the worship of the Virgin, or a
layman who is strictly tractarian, or a lady who
inclines to private confession and rosaries, or a
trinitarian who verges upon the unity, or a papist
who curses the Pope, are all in a fair way to make
their profession brilliant.

Taste will do very well, but must be properly
guided; and I am assured, that several interesting,
and well-intentioned young men have ruined their
prospects by too great independence in this matter.
It is by no means worth while to express an opinion
about a new opera, or a new picture, before
ascertaining the views entertained by the Home
Journal, De Trobriand's Revue, or the Courier and
Enquirer; and if these could be confirmed by the
opinion of a `distinguished leader of the ton,' the
sooner they are promulgated the better for a man's
reputation. As for expressing a contrary opinion,
none venture upon it, except a few stupid fogees,
who frequent the Society Library, and who read
the London Athenæum.

So with regard to etiquette, and the parure of
balls; nothing would be more fatal, Tophanes tells
me, than for a simple-minded young man to advance

observations upon these subjects, which
would militate against those entertained by a
`French nobleman,' or Martell.

Taste, upon the whole, appears to be rather a
dangerous element in the character of an aspirant;
and if it be rude—that is to say, cultivated under
such old-fashioned teachers as Burke, Alison, and
Reynolds, it had much better be kept in abeyance,
until it shall have become rounded into the graces
of the town dicta. On some topics, indeed, a little
latitude is allowable, such as Forti's singing, or Melville's
last book, or Mrs. Butler's horseback riding;
but woe be to the unfortunate young man, who in
a moment of forgetfulness, should express admiration
for Beneventano's voice, or smile at Sanquirico's
pantomime, or think Truffi any thing but exquisite,
even in black satin.

Indeed, it would be quite unsafe for an ambitious
young man to venture without some previous preparation
on the score of tasty remark, into one of
our town galleries; for if he should inadvertently
linger before a painting which had not received the
stamp of approbation from those who guide in these
matters, it would at once blast his reputation. I
am not a little surprised that some of our publishers
who have latterly taken to stealing occasional matter
from the journals, should not venture upon the

preparation of a little text-book of taste, carefully
compiled from the Home Journal, the Day-Book, and
Sun newspaper, with notes by the author of `Etiquette,'
and a preface by N. P. W. They might
adorn the title with a Vignette—an Hyperion head;
and for tail-piece, they might adopt a prize of the
Art-Union.

You will be on your guard, then, my dear Fritz,
when you come to the city; and don't make your
friends blush by running counter to the town standards;
get hold, if you can, of an odd number of the
Revue de Noveau Monde, and post yourself a page
or two in taste.

Και ταυθ' ο χρήζων, λαμπρος εσθ', ο μή δήλων
Σιγά.

Whip up your Greek, Fritz, and tell me if this
line from Euripides comes not as pit-pat as in
the Attic Stage-piece, or as any on the fly-leaves
of St. Leger? `Follow the town umpires of taste,
and you may achieve a reputation; neglect them,
and you had better be dumb;' and this translation
is as near the mark, as Gliddon's interpretation of
the hieroglyphies; or as any Opera lady's construction
of the quel che fa, in Don Giovanni!

As for music, it will work social wonders, absolutely
Orphean; and a young lady who cannot
boast her two or three months' tuition from some

Signor Birbone, is lost to all hope of success.
Gentlemen who are without a decided bent in that
way, should cultivate a certain intensity of expression,
which is to be worn at all private concerts,
but rarely to be assumed at the Opera: he
should also learn the meaning of barytone, soprano,
and contralto, and if possible pronounce them with
the Italian accent; he should occasionally look
over Saroni's Musical Times, and get some crude
notions about the difference between the German
and Italian composers. It would be well for him
to know something of the personal history of Lablache,
or Grisi, and he should speak enthusiastically
of Meyerbeer, and rather doubtingly of Duprez.
If caught in the society of those who really
talk knowingly on these topics, it would be best for
him to keep silent, look very wise, and to fill up the
intervals of talk, by humming the `Last link is
broken,' or Yankee Doodle.

It would never do to admire the old fashion ballad
singing; and as for psalm tunes, a man had better
be caught listening to `Love not,' from the band
of the Anatomical Museum.

But I must defer, my dear Fritz, saying what
might be said of town coaches and politics, in their
connection with social position, to another letter;
and I shall entertain you, while your are smoking

the lower end of your cigar, with a fragment of a
curious diary, from a fashionable friend of Tophanes'.
You will see that he is almost as little used to
journal making, as many of our later writers of
travels; but there are sparks in him of capital
good taste; and, if I might use the language of the
town critics, though not very scholar-like, it is
clearly the production of a gentleman, and perhaps
a soldier! Tophanes has recommended that
it should be entitled the

DIARY OF A FASHION HUNTER.

Dec. 20. Went to Trimum's party last night;
danced with Miss Thuggins,—rather tasty, but
devilish blue. I wish she wouldn't wear such
a ridiculous head-dress; found everybody laughing
at us; very well for a chat, but musn't dance with
her. Talked with Mrs. Knowem,—a good lady
to be acquainted with, ugly as sin; but then she's
a favorite, and good-natured as possible; offered
to take me to the Blinkum's—kind of her. Hope
it'll be stormy, so we can go in a carriage; don't
like to be seen walking in the street with her.
Must send her a bouquet.

Dec. —. Called to-day on the Blinkum's—rather
cool; but had enough compliments ready to warm
'em down; must get a new stock against I go again.

Got an invitation to receptions—shall accept; shan't
be very particular; they are nice people, very respectable,
but confounded poor.

Dec. —. Go to a ball to-night at Widge's. They
say it's a splendid affair; hardly know how I got
an invitation. (Mem. To call on Browne to-morrow,
and settle up; he'll be blabbing.) Want confoundedly
to get an introduction to Miss Blank—capital
dancer, and very distinguished-like; it would be
quite a feather to take her up to supper; must contrive
it somehow; mustn't forget to wear the embroidered
waistcoat—that's killing. Am afraid I
shall meet Mrs. Dandy, a dear good friend—do
any thing for her; but she'll keep me in the corner
for an hour; must try and not catch her eye. How
infernally she does dress!

Jan. 1. Fagged out! Let me see—a hundred
and fifty calls,—there's a gain of forty-two on last
year—capital gain too—all top-knots! The Widge's
rather cool, but then half a dozen saw me there—
that'll count. There's a stupid set a body must
call on, or they'll be talking him down, and that'll
never do. After all, it's cheap to get a good word
for a visit once a year. Mean to go in a carriage
another year, if the salary don't fall off.

Jan. —. Got an introduction last night to Miss
Tubins; she's an heiress—a hundred thousand, they

say, in her own right. She's a little literary—wish
I'd known it before; might have quoted any quantity
from Byron and Shakspeare. (Mem. To look over
book of extracts.) Is it best to call on her? Am
going to the Opera to-night; hope she'll be there;
no idea of being particular; but then it's a capital
thing to be seen with an heiress; it makes
people talk. And then again, chatting during the
music is capital; it makes one appear indifferent,
as if he had heard better in his day; and, moreover,
it allows you to put your head very close to a lady's
ear, which looks very familiar and confidential-like.
It looks well. (Mem. To put some peppermints in
my vest pocket.)

Jan. —. That cursed fellow B— tells me he
suggested my name to Mrs. Figgins as a nice, gentlemanly
young man—first among the `admissibles'—and
yet haven't got an invitation. Must
look very bold and unsuspicious when I pass her
carriage; think I shall give her a downright stare.
It'll look well—as if I had never heard of her before.
Bowed to-day to the Miss Widges—think they took
it kindly; must call some day next week, and
rub up my French a little before going; they say
they talk French capitally. Should like to manage
to walk home from church with them some Sunday;
all the world is out, and of course it will

make remark. They say, too, they are great
church women—better humor it. (Mem. To look
over Dr. Hawks' tract on Auricular Confession, and
to buy a new box of pomade.)

Jan. —. Wonder where Shanks buys his cravats?
They have a devilish pretty tie. Ask Mrs. Beman
about it, and when the new shirts are coming home.
Am going to the Dangle's to-night—magnificent
house, fine flowers, plenty of money, but only so so
for `blood.' They say she wants to `work up;' think
she may in the course of a winter or two, seeing
that the —'s have done as much. Wonder what
it'll cost her? Shall try, I think, to get into their
graces; they'll be grateful for attentions—know
they will. Needn't be afraid of compliments—can
put 'em on raw; they can't see the edges. They
say Mrs. Dinks visits them, and she's of an old
family; must find her out—meet her as if I knew
her; it'll tell well.

Jan. —. Got an invitation to Swivel's;—made his
money by some small manufacturing, either saddles,
horse-shoes, or book-backs, but musn't decline.
Besides, he has a pretty daughter, though
she don't know much;—all the better for that. Am
to dine out to-morrow. Wonder who'll be there?
Must look over my dinner stories: heard a deuced

good one the other day, but afraid I've lost it.
Wish I had learned to sing.

Met Stokoskinski the other day; wonder if it'll
pay to ask him to dine? He's a vulgar toad, but
then he's a lion: it won't do to lose him: and these
poor seape-goats are, they say, very grateful for a
dinner.

There's Mangle, too—has written a book,—I
don't know what: strange that the ladies can regard
such fal-de-ral matters; but they do. I must
try and see him—of course, meet him as an old
friend, and tell the women I'm intimate, and
that he's a sad dog. The jackanapes won't know
the difference—talk to him about his book, and I'll
play him just where I want him; he's as poor as a
crow. (Mem. To step into Putnam's, and ask what
he wrote?)

Jan. —. They've got a new singer at the Opera—
wonder what they say of her? Must call on Mrs.
H—; it won't do to be precipitate; can't depend
now on the Home Journal; they say it's growing fashionable
to dispute even W—. How shall I manage
to get at some of —'s literary soirées? To be sure,
they sneer at her, but it's sheer envy; besides, one
sees the lions, and as they say, a great many firstrate
people; and gets a deal of serviceable matter

—rather heavy, but do very well to spice with.
Should like to know an artist or two; one gets supplied
with genteel terms about the paintings; and
that reminds me to buy an Italian Dictionary;
what the d—l is chiaro-scuro? Miss Sweepstakes
asked me the other day, and had to tell it was a
particular sort of varnish; hope it is.

Jan. —. Went to a concert last night with the
Swet's—horrid hot, and stupid. But then they are
serviceable bodies, very respectable, and all that;
very good recommends in case I want to get married;
musn't let the acquaintance drop. What a
fool I was to talk about the Opera—ought to have
remembered that they were sad blues; must ask
Wiley for a list of Dr. Cheever's works, and if not
too long, commit to memory.—Asked the S—'s if
they knew the author of Gringers, and pointed him
out; it's all very well to know these characters, but
it is bad to talk too admiringly,—best to be a little
flippant, and patronizing. Shall try and get acquainted
with Dr. G— of the Prose Writers; they
say he knows everybody, and everything, and tells
the oddest stories! A devilish fine acquisition.
(Mem. To ask him if he knows Dr. Headley?) By
Jove, I must write a book!—think the Harpers would
publish if I'd pay for the printing, and advertising,

and guaranty against loss by fire; and as for its moral,
about which they say they are rather tidy, why I'd
stick a verse from the Psalms in the title-page, and
dedicate it to some D—D fellow, or other.

Passed an evening a day or two ago at the
Shrimp's—very learned indeed; quite scientific-like
—talk Greek, they say; yet there was a capital set
—uncommon respectable. Must cultivate the sciences
a little more; wonder what the subscription
price is to Littel?

Jan. —. Have just found out who drives that magnificent
equipage with the splendid harness cloth;
shall try and get upon speaking terms; to be sure,
they are stupid parvenus; but then it tells well to
take off your hat to a showy equipage. The talk
last night at Fidge's ran upon books, and I had the
stupidity to run off in a string of praises upon W's
book, that I picked up in the newspaper. Found
out that the Fidge's felt scandalized at something
he had written; of course they looked horror at
me; must be more careful;—will try and fish up
some abuse against I go there again.

Jan. —. Had a visit from Mapes, a country cousin;
what on earth sent him to town; the fellow
will be insisting on my showing him the lions, and
he's most unconsciously gawky. Wonder if he's

got the money to buy another hat—am afraid I
shall have to lend it. Shall change my lodgings in
the spring.

Went the other night to take supper at Dobson's—a
very scholarly sort of a catch, who wants
to be a high liver, and all that; but he can't make
it go,—at least, don't think so. Latin quotations
won't go down now-a-days. He had better take to
music or horses. However, it looks well to be seen
with such book chaps—glad there are such—you
get up a little reputation for book-knowledge, and
as you don't use it, people think you are very modest;—I
think so too.

Jan. —. It won't do, I am convinced of it, to go to
a Presbyterian Church any more; it may answer
when a man's established in the town, but it ain't
fashionable: can't humor my religious scruples
any more—feel attached to 'em, very much,—but
it won't do:—must try and smuggle into Grace.
The Holy Sacrament is very well, but rather low;
besides, everybody can go there, so there's no particular
merit. (Mem. To buy one of the fancy
prayer-books, and get a velvet collar put on my
coat.) There's more in this church matter than
a body thinks for;—used to slight it, and go regular
as a deacon to Dr. S—'s; but it don't tell at
all.

They say it's getting quite the thing to be vestryman;
must lay an oar to windward for that berth.
As for Puseyism, it's best to keep cool, and see how
the wind lies.

Jan. —. Went to the Opera last night; got for a
moment into the Shrimps's box—very chatty, but
uncommon stupid: told the Blinkum's so, at which
they laughed (never smiled at any thing I said before),
and thought me very funny—asked me to
spend the evening with them.

D—n it, I think I'm getting on!

Such, dear Fritz, is the rude but racy account
which Tophanes' friend has given of his prospects
and tactics. You will, I know, agree with me in
saying, that it bears the stamp of earnestness, and
very many internal proofs of authenticity. Very
many of its allusions are of course unknown to me;
but should they prove to be apt, and pointed, I
shall insist on publishing further extracts. At the
same time, I may add, that while Tophanes holds
himself responsible for all the material statements
of his friend, yet should any thing about them prove
offensive to the parties alluded to, such parties
shall have the amplest opportunity for denial or explanation,
and their letters shall be treated with
the utmost consideration.

CORRESPONDENCE.

We shall give the following letter and its answer;
for although they are hardly worth printing,
they may perhaps serve as an encouragement to
such letter-writers as have never ventured out of
the Sunday papers, or the Globe.