Real Life In London, Volumes I. and II. Egan Pierce
drunk, ) ask me, my dear, and you're in luck:
Bon Ton's to swear, break windows, beat the Watch,
Pick up a wench, drink healths, and roar a catch.
Keep it up, keep it up! d—— me, take your swing—
Bon Ton is Life, my boy! Bon Ton's the thing!
“Ah, I loves Life and all the joys it yields—
(Says Madam Fussock. warm from Spitalfields; )
Bon Ton's the space 'twixt Saturday and Monday,
And riding out in one-horse shay o' Sunday;
?Tis drinking tea on summer afternoons
At Bagnigge Wells, with china and gilt spoons;
?Tis laying by our stuffs, red cloaks and pattens,
To dance cowtillions all in silks and satins.”
“Vulgar! (cries Miss) observe in higher Life
The feather'd spinster and three feather'd wife;
The Club's Bon Ton—Bon Ton's a constant trade
Of rout, festino, ball and masquerade;
?Tis plays and puppet shows—'tis something new—
?Tis losing thousands every night at loo;
Nature it thwarts, and contradicts all reason;
?Tis stiff French stays, and fruit when out of season,
A rose, when half a guinea is the price;
A set of bays scarce bigger than six mice;
To visit friends you never wish to see—
Marriage 'twixt those who never can agree;
Old dowagers, dress'd, painted, patch'd and curl'd—
This is Bon Ton, and this we call the World!
AS they passed through the gate, Tom observed it was rather too early to expect much company. “Never mind,” said Sparkle, “we are company enough among ourselves; the morning is fine, the curricle not arrived, and we shall find plenty of conversation, if we do not discover interesting character, to diversify our promenade. Travelling spoils conversation, unless you are squeezed like an Egyptian mummy into a stage or a mail-coach; and perhaps in that case you may meet with animals who have voices, without possessing the power of intellect to direct them to any useful or agreeable purpose.”
Tallyho, who was at all times delighted with Sparkle's descriptions of society and manners, appeared pleased with the proposition.
“Your absence from town,” continued Sparkle, addressing himself to Dashall, “has prevented my introduction of Mr. Mortimer before, though you have heard me mention his Sister. They are now inhabitants of our own sphere of action, and I trust we shall all become better known to each other.”
This piece of information appeared to be truly acceptable to all parties. Young Mortimer was a good-looking and well made young man; his features were animated and intelligent; his manners polished, though not quite so unrestrained as those which are to be acquired by an acquaintance with metropolitan associations.
“I am happy,” said he, “to be introduced to any friends of your's, and shall be proud to number them among mine.”
“You may,” replied Sparkle, “with great safety place them on your list; though you know I have already made it appear to you that friendship is a term more generally made use of than understood in London—
“For what is Friendship but a name,
A charm which lulls to sleep,
A shade that follows wealth and fame,
And leaves the wretch to weep?
And Love is still an emptier sound,
The modern fair one's jest;
On earth unseen, or only found
To warm the turtle's nest.”
“These sentiments are excellently expressed,” said Tom, pinching him by the arm—“and I suppose in perfect consonance with your own?”
Sparkle felt 'the rebuke, look'd down, and seem'd confused; but in a moment recovering himself,
“Not exactly so,” replied he; “but then you know, and I don't mind confessing it among friends, though you are aware it is very unfashionable to acknowledge the existence of any thing of the kind, I am a pupil of nature.”
“You seem to be in a serious humour all at once,” said young Mortimer.
"Can't help it,” continued Sparkle—“for,
“Let them all say what they will,
Nature will be nature still.”
“And that usurper, or I should rather say, would be usurper, Fashion, is in no way in alliance with our natures. I remember the old Duchess of Marlborough used to say 'That to love some persons very much, and to see often those we love, is the greatest happiness I can enjoy;' but it appears almost impossible for any person in London to secure such an enjoyment, and I can't help feeling it.”
By the look and manner with which this last sentiment was uttered, Tom plainly discovered there was a something labouring at his heart which prompted it. “Moralizing!” said he. “Ah, Charley, you are a happy fellow. I never yet knew one who could so rapidly change 'from grave to gay, from lively to severe; and for the benefit of our friends, I can't help thinking you could further elucidate the very subject you have so feelingly introduced.”
“You are a quiz” said Sparkle; “but there is one thing to be said, I know you, and have no great objection to your hits now and then, provided they are not knock down blows.”
“But,” said Mortimer, “what has this to do with friendship and love? I thought you were going to give something like a London definition of the terms.”
“Why,” said Sparkle, “in London it is equally difficult to get to love any body very much, or often to meet those that we love. There are such numbers of acquaintances, such a constant succession of engagements of one sort or other, such a round of delights, that the town resembles Vauxhall, where the nearest and dearest friends may walk round and round all night without once meeting: for instance, at dinner you should see a person whose manners and conversation are agreeable and pleasing to you; you may wish in vain to become more intimate, for the chance is, that you will not meet so as to converse a second time for many months; for no one can tell when the dice-box of society may turn up the same numbers again. I do not mean to infer that you may not barely see the same features again; it is possible that you may catch a glimpse of them on the opposite side of Pall Mall or Bond-street, or see them near to you at a crowded rout, without a possibility of approaching.
“It is from this cause, that those who live in London are so totally indifferent to each other; the waves follow so quick, that every vacancy is immediately filled up, and the want is not perceived. The well-bred civility of modern times, and the example of some 'very popular people,' it is true, have introduced a shaking of hands, a pretended warmth, a dissembled cordiality, into the manners of the cold and warm, alike the dear friend and the acquaintance of yesterday. Consequently we continually hear such conversation as the following:—' Ah, how d'ye do? I'm delighted to see you! How is Mrs. M——?'
?She's very well, thank you.' 'Has she any increase in family?' 'Any increase! why I've only been married three months. I see you are talking of my former wife: bless you, she has been dead these three years.'—Or, ?Ah, my dear friend, how d'ye do? You have been out of town some time; where have you been? In Norfolk?' 'No, I have been two years in India.'”
This description of a friendly salutation appeared to interest and amuse both Talltho and Mortimer. Tom laughed, shrugg'd up his shoulders, acknowledged the picture was too true, and Sparkle continued.
“And thus it is, that, ignorant of one another's interests