Real Life In London, Volumes I. and II.
nags all in readiness, Sparkle and Mortimer were soon horsed, and Tom
and Bob seated in the curricle. They proceeded to Richmond, taking
surveys of the scenery on the road, and discoursing on the usual topics
of such a journey, which being foreign to the professed intention of
this work, are omitted. Suffice it to say they returned refreshed from
the excursion, and parted with a promise to meet again at nine o'clock,
in Grosvenor Square.
“Egad!” said Dashall, as they entered the diningroom, “there is
something very mysterious in all this. Sparkle has hitherto been the
life and soul of society: he seems to be deeply smitten with this young
Lady, Miss Mortimer, and promises fairly, by his manner, to prove a
deserter from our standard, and to inlist under the banners of Hymen.”
“Not unlikely,” replied Tallyho, “if what we are told be true--that it
is what we must all come to.”
“Be that as it may, it ought not to interfere with our pursuits, Real
Life in London, though, to be sure, the Ladies, dear creatures, ought
not to be forgotten: they are so nearly and dearly interwoven with our
existence, that, without them, Life would be insupportable.”
~184~~After dinner, they prepared for the evening party, and made their
appearance in Grosvenor Squire at the appointed hour. But as this will
introduce new characters to the Reader, we shall defer our account of
them till the next Chapter.
CHAPTER XIV
Ye are stars of the night, ye are gems of the morn,
Ye are dew-drops whose lustre illumines the thorn;
And rayless that night is, that morning unblest,
When no beam in your eye, lights up peace in the breast;
And the sharp thorn of sorrow sinks deep in the heart,
Till the sweet lip of Woman assuages the smart;
'Tis her's o'er the couch of misfortune to bend,
In fondness a lover, in firmness a friend;
And prosperity's hour, be it ever confest,
From Woman receives both refinement and zest;
And adorn'd by the bays, or enwreath'd with the willow,
Her smile is our meed, and her bosom our pillow.
ARRIVED at Grosvenor Square, they found the party consisted of Colonel
B----, his son and daughter, Miss Mortimer, and her brother, Mr.
Sparkle, Mr. Merrywell, and Lady Lovelace. The first salutations of
introduction being over, there was time to observe the company, among
whom, Miss Mortimer appeared to be the principal magnet of attraction.
The old Colonel was proud to see the friends of Mr. Sparkle, and had
previously given a hearty welcome to Mr. Merrywell, as the friend of his
nephew, the young Mortimer. Sparkle now appeared the gayest of the gay,
and had been amusing the company with some of his liveliest descriptions
of character and manners, that are to be witnessed in the metropolis.
While Merrywell, who did not seem to be pleased with the particular
attentions he paid to Miss Mortimer, was in close conversation with her
brother.
Tom could not but acknowledge that it was scarcely possible to see Miss
Mortimer, without feelings of a nature which he had scarcely experienced
before. The elegant neatness of her dress was calculated to display the
beauty of her form, and the vivid flashes of a dark eye were so
many irresistible attacks upon the heart; a sweet voice, and smiling
countenance, appeared to throw a radiance around the room, and
illuminate the visages of the whole ~186~~party, while Lady Lovelace
and Maria B---- served as a contrast to heighten that effect which
they envied and reproved. While tea was preparing, after which it was
proposed to take a rubber at cards, a sort of general conversation took
place: the preparations for the Coronation, the new novels of the day,
and the amusements of the theatre, were canvassed in turn; and speaking
of the writings of Sir Walter Scott, as the presumed author of the
celebrated Scotch novels, Lady Lovelace declared she found it impossible
to procure the last published from the library, notwithstanding her name
has been long on the list, so much was it in request.
Sparkle replied, “That he had purchased the Novel, and would willingly
lend it to the Ladies. As for the Libraries,” continued he, “they are
good places of accommodation, but it is impossible to please every one,
either there or any where else; they are however very amusing at times,
and as a proof of it, I strolled the other morning to a Circulating
Library, for the express purpose of lounging away an hour in digesting
the politics and news of the day; but the curious scenes to which I
was witness during this short period, so distracted my attention, that,
despite of the grave subjects on which I was meditating, I could not
resist lending an attentive ear to all that passed around me. There was
something of originality in the countenance of the Master of the Library
which struck me forcibly; and the whimsical answers which he made to his
numerous subscribers, and the yet more whimsical tone in which they
were pronounced, more than once provoked a smile. The first person
who attracted my notice was a fine showy looking woman, dressed in
the extreme of fashion, with a bloom upon her cheek, which might have
emulated that of the rose, with this exception, that it wanted the charm
of nature. Putting a list into the hands of the Bookseller, she
inquired if he had any of the productions the names of which were
there transcribed. Glancing his eye over the paper, he replied (with
an archness which not a little disconcerted her, and which probably
occasioned her abrupt disappearance, “_The Fine Lady_, Madam, is seldom
or ever at home; but _Family Secrets_ we are always ready to let out.”
'_Characters of Eminent Men_' growled out a little vulgar consequential
Citizen, whose countenance bore the stamp of that insufferable
dulness that might almost tempt ~187~~one to imagine him incapable of
comprehending the meaning of the words which he pronounced with an air
of so much self-importance; '_Characters of Eminent Men_, 195,' repeated
the Snarler, in the same tone, 'I much fear if we can boast a quarter
of that number, eh! Mr. Margin?' “I fear not, Sir,” replied Margin;
“but such as we have are very much at your service.” 'Better be in the
service of the nation than in mine, by far,' said the little purse-proud
gentleman, shrugging his shoulders very significantly. “Shall I send
it for you, Sir?” said Margin, without noticing the last remark. 'By no
means, by no means; the volume is not so large, it won't encumber me
much; I believe I shall find it small enough to put in my pocket,'
pursued the little great man, grinning at the shrewdness of his own
observations, and stalking out with as much self-complacency as he had
stalked in. I knew the man well, and could not help laughing at the
lofty airs he assumed, at the manner in which he affected to decry all
his countrymen without mercy, at his unwillingness to acknowledge
any talent amongst them, though he himself was a man of that plodding
description who neither ever had done, nor ever could do any thing to
entitle him to claim distinction of any sort. The young Coxcomb who next
entered, was a direct contrast to the last applicant, both in person and
manner. Approaching with a fashionable contortion, he stretched out his
lady-like hand, and in the most languid and affected tone imaginable,
inquired for The Idler. “That, Sir,” said Margin, “is amongst the works
we have unhappily lost, but you will be sure to meet with it at any of
the fashionable libraries in the neighbourhood of Bond Street or St.
James's.” The young Fop had just sense enough to perceive that the shaft
was aimed at him, but not enough to relish the joke, or correct the
follies which provoked it, and turned abruptly on his heel. He was met
at the door by a sentimental boarding-school Miss, who came flying into
the shop in defiance of her governess, and inquired, in a very pathetic
tone, for _The Constant Lover_. “That, I am afraid,” said Margin, “is
not amongst our collection.” 'Dear me,' lisped the young Lady, with an
air of chagrin, 'that's very provoking, I thought that was what every
one had.' “Give me leave to assure you, Ma'am, that you are quite
mistaken. I fancy you will find that it is not to be met with all over
London.”
~188~~An old Gentleman of the old school, whose clothes were decidedly
the cut of the last century, and whose stiff and formal manners were
precisely of the same date with his habiliments, next came hobbling
in. Poring through his spectacles over the catalogue which lay upon the
counter, the first thing which caught his eye, was _An Essay upon Old
Maids_. “Tom, Tom,” said the complaisant Librarian, calling to a lad at
the other end of the shop, “reach down the Old Maids for the gentleman.
They won't appear to advantage, I'm afraid, a little dusty or damaged,
with having laid so long upon the shelf,” he added, with a simper, which
was not lost upon any one present. A melancholy looking man, in whose
countenance meekness and insipidity were alike plainly depicted,
now came forward, inquiring, in an under, and what might almost be
designated an alarmed tone of voice, for _The Impertinent Wife_; a
female, who hung upon his arm, interrupted him by entreating, or rather
insisting in no very gentle tone, 'that he would ask for something
better worth having.' Margin, affecting only to hear the former speaker,
immediately produced the book in question, and observed, with much
naivete, “that the Impertinent Wife was sure to be in the way at all
hours,” at the same time not omitting to recommend Discipline as “a
better work.” A young man, whom I knew to be one of the greatest fortune
hunters about town, with an air of consummate assurance, put out
his hand for _Disinterested Marriage_. “That's a thing quite out of
date--never thought of now, Sir,” said Margin, who knew him as well as
myself; “Allow me to recommend something of more recent date, something
more sought after in the fashionable world, Splendid Misery, Sir,
or--“The young man heard no more: spite of his impudence, he was so
abashed by the reply, that he made a hasty retreat. The last person whom
I thought it worth my while to notice, was a tall, meagre looking man,
whom I recollected to have seen pointed out to me as a wit, and a genius
of the first order. His wit was, however, of that dangerous sort which
caused his company to be rather shunned than courted; and it was very
evident, from his appearance, that he had not had the wit to work
himself into the good graces of those who might have had it in their
power to befriend him. Though he spoke in a very low tone, I soon
found that he was inquiring for _Plain Sense_. On Margin's replying,
~189~~with much nonchalance, that _Plain Sense_ had of late become very
rare, finding himself disappointed in his first application, his next
aim was _Patronage_. “That, Sir, (said the wary bookseller) is so much
sought after, that I really cannot promise it to you at present; but if,
as I conclude, you merely want something to beguile a leisure hour or
two, probably _The Discontented Man_ will answer the purpose very well.”
To this description of Sparkle, the whole company listened with
attention and delight, frequently interrupting him with bursts of
laughter. Tea was handed round, and then cards introduced. Young
Mortimer and Merrywell seemed to take but little interest in the play,
and evidently discovered their anxiety to be liberated, having some
other object in view. Mortimer felt no great portion of pleasure in
passing his time with his uncle, the Colonel, nor with his sister, Lady
Lovelace, who was a perfect model of London affectation; besides, his
friend Mr. Merrywell, who was to him what Tom Dashall and Sparkle had