 | THE LORGNETTE. The lorgnette, or, Studies of the town |  |
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.
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
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
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
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
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,
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
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.
| THE LORGNETTE. The lorgnette, or, Studies of the town | |