The Fitz-Boodle Papers | Page 9

dressed in Lord Dawdley's frocks indeed! I recollect that one at his
christening had the sweetest lace in the world!"
Fourth Lady.--"What do you think of this, ma'am--Lady Emily, I mean?
I have just had it from Howell and James:--guipure, they call it. Isn't it
an odd name for lace! And they charge me, upon my conscience, four
guineas a yard!"
Third Lady.--"My mother, when she came to Flintskinner, had lace
upon her robe that cost sixty guineas a yard, ma'am! 'Twas sent from
Malines direct by our relation, the Count d'Araignay."

Fourth Lady (aside).--"I thought she would not let the evening pass
without talking of her Malines lace and her Count d'Araignay. Odious
people! they don't spare their backs, but they pinch their--"
Here Tom upsets a coffee-cup over his white jean trousers, and another
young gentleman bursts into a laugh, saying, "By Jove, that's a good
'un!"
"George, my dear," says mamma, "had not you and your young friend
better go into the garden? But mind, no fruit, or Dr. Glauber must be
called in again immediately!" And we all go, and in ten minutes I and
my brother are fighting in the stables.
If, instead of listening to the matrons and their discourse, we had taken
the opportunity of attending to the conversation of the Misses, we
should have heard matter not a whit more interesting.
First Miss.--"They were all three in blue crape; you never saw anything
so odious. And I know for a certainty that they wore those dresses at
Muddlebury, at the archery-ball, and I dare say they had them in town."
Second Miss.--"Don't you think Jemima decidedly crooked? And those
fair complexions, they freckle so, that really Miss Blanche ought to be
called Miss Brown."
Third Miss.--"He, he, he!"
Fourth Miss.--"Don't you think Blanche is a pretty name?"
First Miss.--"La! do you think so, dear? Why, it's my second name!"
Second Miss.--"Then I'm sure Captain Travers thinks it a BEAUTIFUL
name!"
Third Miss.--"He, he, he!"
Fourth Miss.--"What was he telling you at dinner that seemed to
interest you so?"
First Miss.--"O law, nothing!--that is, yes! Charles--that is,-- Captain
Travers, is a sweet poet, and was reciting to me some lines that he had
composed upon a faded violet:--
"'The odor from the flower is gone, That like thy--,
like thy something, I forget what it was; but his lines are sweet, and so
original too! I wish that horrid Sir John Todcaster had not begun his
story of the exciseman, for Lady Fitz-Boodle always quits the table
when he begins."
Third Miss.--"Do you like those tufts that gentlemen wear sometimes
on their chins?"

Second Miss.--"Nonsense, Mary!"
Third Miss.--"Well, I only asked, Jane. Frank thinks, you know, that he
shall very soon have one, and puts bear's-grease on his chin every
night."
Second Miss.--"Mary, nonsense!"
Third Miss.--"Well, only ask him. You know he came to our
dressing-room last night and took the pomatum away; and he says that
when boys go to Oxford they always--"
First Miss.--"O heavens! have you heard the news about the Lancers?
Charles--that is, Captain Travers, told it me!"
Second Miss.--"Law! they won't go away before the ball, I hope!"
First Miss.--"No, but on the 15th they are to shave their moustaches!
He says that Lord Tufto is in a perfect fury about it!"
Second Miss.--"And poor George Beardmore, too!" &c.
Here Tom upsets the coffee over his trousers, and the conversations end.
I can recollect a dozen such, and ask any man of sense whether such
talk amuses him?
Try again to speak to a young lady while you are dancing--what we call
in this country--a quadrille. What nonsense do you invariably give and
receive in return! No, I am a woman-scorner, and don't care to own it. I
hate young ladies! Have I not been in love with several, and has any
one of them ever treated me decently? I hate married women! Do they
not hate me? and, simply because I smoke, try to draw their husbands
away from my society? I hate dowagers! Have I not cause? Does not
every dowager in London point to George Fitz-Boodle as to a dissolute
wretch whom young and old should avoid?
And yet do not imagine that I have not loved. I have, and madly, many,
many times! I am but eight-and-thirty,* not past the age of passion, and
may very likely end by running off with an heiress--or a cook-maid (for
who knows what strange freaks Love may choose to play in his own
particular person? and I hold a man to be a mean creature who
calculates about checking any such sacred impulse as lawful love)--I
say, though despising the sex in general for their conduct to me, I know
of particular persons belonging to it who are worthy