University of Virginia Library

ΤΑ ΛΕΓΟΜΕΝΑ,
Or Opinions of the Press.

— Those that are so quick in searching, seldon
searche to the quicke; and those miraculous apprehensions
who understand more than alle, before
the client hath told halfe, runne without their errand,
and will return without their answer.—Fuller,—(not
of the Mirror.)

From the Evening Mirror.

* * * The name of the writer is not given, but, to use a vulgarism,
it “sticks out” in every line. The opera-goer's search for lodgings is so
“Tom Peppery” that we give it entire.

Second Notice.—The Lorgnette is growing stupid.

Third Notice.—The author, about whose identity there still remains
some doubt, is generally believed to be “Ike Marvel,” (Mitchel—not of
the Olympic.) He continues to dish up the follies and foibles of society
with a considerable spiciness. The letter written by a young lady at
the Springs to her friend in town, is the best specimen of satire we have
seen since the contributions to our columns of “Ferdinand Mendez Pinto.”
It will do for the Mirror.

From the Sunday Courier.

This is the last stupidity in the form of a funny paper which has been
spawned upon the town. We should think its author was Dr. Potts or
Dr. Tyng.

Second Notice.—This is the production of a dealer in fancy articles,
Mr. J. R. L. McCrackan.

Third Notice.—This is not the production of Mr. J. H. L. McCracken,
and we beg his pardon.

From the Journal of Commerce.

The Lorgnette contains clever satire on the frivolity, folly, and ins pidity
of fashionable life, written in a polished and elegant style.

From the Albion.

The “Opera-Goer,” who puts forth such clever notices of men and
things in this metropolis, continues to preserve his incognito. Twice or
thrice we have commended the appropriate pungency of his satire, and
the neatness and finish of his style.

From the Commercial Advertiser.

Light, pleasant, sketchy, and hits severely some popular foibles.

Second Notice.—The Lorgnette sustains its wit and humor, but we
do not like to see its quizzical author resorting thus early to correspondence.

Third Notice.—This pleasantly sarcastic serial seems to lose none of
its vivacity, and we suppose none of its popularity. The author evidently
knows the value of secrecy, and carefully conceals his local habitation
and his name from the mystery-loving public.

From the Literary World (Editorial.)

First Notice.—Rather too quiet, and Spectatorish.

Second Notice.—If the author has a long purse we advise him to go
on. It is quite as harmless as driving a fast trotter on the Avenue, and
he certainly writes well for a fashionable man.

Third Notice.—The last, if not the latest direct descendant of that
grandmotherly publication—the Spectator.

From Correspondents of Lit. World.

A sufficient proof that the thing is good may be found in the curiosity
to ascertain its author, and the number of those, more or less known in
our literary circles, to whom it has been attributed. Messrs. Willis,
McCracken, R. G. White, and “Ike Marvell” (Mitchell), are among
those mentioned in connection with the Lorgnette. On this matter every
one is free to make his guess, and we must confess that our suspicious
have frequently turned in the direction of some member of the Paulding
family. There is something very Paulding in the style of the Lorgnette.
Two things may be safely predicated: first, it is the work of a man who
has seen a good deal of our best society; and second, of one who has
read a good deal of the best old English and old French.

The fact that the Lorgnetter has thorough experience—that he has
been `in,' `of,' and `through,' as well as frequently so far `above' the
follies which he treats of so feelingly—of course gives weight and efficacy
to his opinions. But we confess to have been strangely affected by
these writings, previously to any knowledge of their source. There
seems to be a subtile intrinsic power in their half-earnest expressions, independent
of, and far superior to any extraneous authority.

Their unusual combination of strength, delicacy, and refinement, is
quite consoling; and we rejoice that one writer of these days can be
severe, without forgetting the gentleman, and can demonstrate that wit
is most keen and sparkling when set in English, `pure and undefiled.'

From the Merchants' Day Book.

First Notice.—Of all the forlorn hopes ever put forward as specimens
of New-York wit and humor, this is quite the most forlorn. It is promiscuously
attributed to Richard Grant White, Harry Franco Briggs, Gaslight
Foster, and General Morris.

Second Notice.—This quiet and modest publication has been steadily
increasing in interest and ability for some time past. Timon has
proven himself, by the way he has submitted to his course of sprouts, a
capital fellow.

From the New York Tribune.

First Notice.—“The Lorgnette,” by an Opera-Goer, has won a
flattering reputation for its quiet, mischievous humor, its lively sketches
of fashionable follies, its shrewd delineations of character, and its mastery
of a graceful, transparent, healthy English style. It speaks well
for the versatility of literary talent among us, that nearly a score of the
wits of Gotham have had the credit of its paternity. The author has
no reason to be ashamed of his production. A second series is announced
by Stringer & Townsend, of which we have the first number, devoted to
the mysteries of May moying, and the still more profound mysteries of
the Polka and the Polkists.

Second Notice.—Nos. 16 and 17 have a true spicy flavor, not at all
impaired by the hot weather;—the invisible author has been behind the
scenes in the modern Athens.

From the New York Express.

First Notice.—No. 1 of this publication was pleasant; No. 2 was
less so; No. 3 stupid; and in No. 4, we must say we saw neither wit,
humor, or the purpose. Ere long we shall have to write over it the two
last lines of old Malsherbe's epitaph—

Second Notice.—This amusing melange is now issued once a fornight,
by its enterprising publishers, who have undertaken to keep it before the
people. Mr. McCracken is rather more talked about now, as the author
of these clever papers, than any one else.

Subsequent Notices.—John Timon in his last number did himself
great credit by his introductory tribute to the late President. In that
before us he opens with a graphic memento of Sir Robert Peel, and gives
a very graphic description of a victory won by that consummate debater,
in the House of Commons, over Mecaulay, of which the writer says he
was an eye-witness.

— His sketches are portraits true as daguerreotypes.

— John Timon is coming out more and more richly every fortnight.
We hope we shall not be trenching upon Messrs. Stringer &
Townsend's copy-right by giving a page or two out of the paper before us.

From the Courier and Enquirer.

The writer's name is kept concealed, but he is evidently a man who has
seen the world, abroad as well as at home, who has traveled without
leaving his morals behind him, and mixed in society without acquiring
any disgust for simple, home-bred virtues.

Flash critics vote anything of this kind stupid which is not filthy or
abusive. There are readers, however, who will like it all the better because
its author is evidently a scholar and a gentleman,—one whom they
would have no scruple in admitting to their friendship, and from whom
they will hear nothing but truth in courteous phrase.

There is not an indelicate allusion, an immoral sentiment, a personal
fling, which we have been able to detect in the book. It is the best thing
of the sort since Salmagundi.

From the Democratic Review.

The Lorgnette has attracted some attention. As a specimen of English
composition it is certainly very creditable.

Beyond hearsay he has evidently no knowledge. He speaks truth
when he describes himself as a countryman and an outsider.

From the Revue du Nouvean Monde.

First Notice.—Qui est il? Un écrivain? Un Journaliste? Un homme
du monde? ou simplement un homme d'esprit? Voilà ce que l'on se demande
partout à propos du Timon qui publie ce qu'il voit à travers les
verres de sa Lorgnette. Quelques uns qui regardent curieusement par
le gros bout, croient deviner à l'orifice opposé un œil de femme.

Le fait est que ce n'est pas A * * qui n'a pas assez de finesse, ni B * *
qui n'a pas assez d'esprit, ni C * * qui n'a pas assez de moderation, ni
D * * assez de style. Qui est-ce done? nous n'en savons rien, et souhaitons
que personne n'en sache davantage, afin de laisser à Timon toute
libertié.

* * Nous ne saurions mentionner particulièrement aucun de ces croquis
dont la verité est incontestable comme le talent. Les memoranda
d'un coureur de salons à l'affût de tout ce qui peut lui conquérir une
place dans la fashion, sont vraiment pris sur nature, et la Lorgnette se
transforme ainsi bien souvent en daguerreotype où nous retrouvons
jusque dans leur plus legers détails les conversations que nous avons entendues,
les travers qui nous ont fait sourire, et les ridicules que la politesse
nous oblige souvent dans le monde à saleur avec un sérieux
méritoire.

Second Notice.—Nous doutons que nos concitoyens des Massachusetts
et de la Pennsylvanie lui dressent jamais des autels par reconnaissance de
tout ce qu'elle met chez eux en lumiere, et plus d'un, sans doute, se sera
promené sur Broadway avec quelqu' inquiétude, en songeant à ce daguerréotype
invisible braqué traîtreusement sur leur passage comme un
condottieri l'escopette au poing. Ses épigrammes sont d'un goût irréproachable
et ne descendent jamais à la personnalité. Qu'il soit homme
d'esprit, c'est ce qu'on ne peut lui refuser en parcourant ses pages; mais
qu'il soit un homme de sens, c'est ce dont personne ne doute en lisant la
couverture de ses dernières livraisons. Là, les opinions de la presse sont
reproduites avec une fidelité et une abnegation touchante, depuis celles
qui lui sont une approbation encourageante, jusqu'à celles qui se traduisent
par le mot stupid.

From the Newark Advertiser.

We have read them as they appeared first, because of a shrewd surmise
that they were written by an old acquaintance, (Ike Marvel,) and
secondly, because they are intrinsically excellent. They bring us back
to the palmy days of the Spectator, by their sprightly style, and their
under-current of satire and instruction.

From the Southern Literary Messenger.

Its tone is that of a gentleman, not of a cynic; its humor is almost invariably
refined; and its language felicitous and chaste, to a most exemplary
degree. We may predict for it a great run both in town and
country. The author's name is still a secret. Upon my honor I declare
to you that I have not the slighest idea who he is. I have been told as
a great secret, upon most infallible good authority, by people who are
never mistaken in matters of literary gossip, the names of some ten or a

dozen who are the fathers of the child, but among them all, the true
author of the deed disappears, and the curious public is no wiser than
before.

From the Springfield Republican.

It purports to give a description of New-York society generally, and
fashionable society particularly, by a series of letters signed “John
Timon,” the nom de plume of Mr. Fayette Robinson, the literary critic
of the New York Express. There was some discussion and wrangling
about the authorship at first, but it has been acknowledged by Mr.
Robinson.

From the Evening Post.

Its sketches of town-life and character are marked by acuteness of observation,
and often with wit; but there is a certain refinement of manners
about them which perhaps stands somewhat in the way of their
popularity.

From the Boston Post.

No. 16 of the Lorgnette contains a “Boost for Bostonians.” As we
do not perceive much merit or truthfulness in this “boost”—it may be
full of both. To our best judgment, however, the “Lorgnette” man,
generally, is a pert, flat, gentlemanly gossiper; and in the present instance
is as green as grass about Boston notions.

From the International.

The Lorgnette, the cleverest book of its kind (we were about to write
since the days of Addison, but to avoid possible disagreement, say)—
since Irving and Paulding gave us Salmagundi, is still coming before us
at agreeable intervals.

From the Boston Journal.

This sprightly periodical maintains its interest. In the present number,
the editor has made a brief digression, and paid his respects to Boston.
He gives a lively picture of Boston life.

From the Home Journal.

— This is the taking title of a beautifully printed and gracefully
written weekly, issued by H. Kernot.

Second Notice.—The Lorgnette is too well bred and considerate to
have any great rush of popularity; but the ladies all talk about it; and
its style as a literary composition improves curiously fast, seeming rather
the relapse into a good style, after assuming a new and worse one for
novelty, than the progress of an untried writer.

Anything that grows in value with progressing, as does the “Lorgnette,”
is note-worthy in these tapering times; and why we have not
spoken of the numbers as they have appeared, is simply because we have
not received them; for they are of a Salmagundi spiciness that it were
dull knowingly to overlook. The sketches of a “Bostonian” a “Philadelphian,”
and other “Strangers in Town,” as estimated in New York,
are truly capital.

We find throughout a current of earnest, sometimes almost stern
thought, running beneath the easy smoothness and epigrammatic ripples
of its pages. John Timon is a gentleman, and we are glad to know

that he has had leisure to write; but something beyond the results of
native courtesy, and familiarity with good society, and lettered ease,
appears in these pages. Let not grave fathers sniff at John Timon, lest
so they mock themselves, unwittingly deriding their own advice and
counsels to their daughters.