MRS. THOMSON'S WHITE MASK.
THE white mask was a conspicuous disguise assumed by the beau- tiful and restless Dutchess of Tyrconnel to cover her intrigues with the Jacobite party : the " White Milliner" of the New Exchange, however, is only one of many notorious characters of the troublesome period immediately succeeding the Revolution of 1688 who figure in these pages. The heroine is Lady Amy, granddaughter of the Earl of Castlemaine, who was the first husband of the shameless Dutchess of Cleveland ; though the interest of the story arises rather out of the circumstances with which she is surrounded than from any very strong sympathy for her sorrows : indeed, the characters throughout are too indistinctly developed to excite a lively interest in their fortunes, and they are for the most part unattractive when not absolutely disagreeable. It is for its pictures of the political and social aspects of the times that this fiction is to be admired : the stagnant decorum of a dull court, the turmoils of an unsettled state, and the brutal and licentious habits—not the less coarse and profligate for wearing the mask of a formal politeness—that cha- racterized the town life of the latter end of William's and the com- mencement of Anne's reign, are delineated with an air of truthful- ness such as belongs to memoirs of the period. The love-tale, which serves as a thread to connect the historical scenes and per- sonages, is neither exciting nor progressive. Lady Amy's affection for Joscelyne de Clare is not so much a cherished passion as an entanglement from which she would fain free herself if she could; while the cold and equivocal conduct of her lover is inexplicable as the manifestation of a deep-seated devotion : the pair seem playing a game of fast and loose—coquetting with each other at a distance, though both believe that they are separated by an impassable barrier. The artful brother, Gilbert de Clare, whose treacherous duplicity, springing from a secret fondness for the lady, is the cause of the misunderstanding between the lovers, is more successful in imposing upon his family than the race of Blifil and Joseph Surface commonly are. Lord Sussex, the selfish and dissipated father of Lady Amy ; her cousin and suitor, the second Lord Castlemaine—a plain, plodding country gentleman ; and the whole tribe of aunts and cousins, from Mrs. M'Connek the " horse-godmother " and family housekeeper to Lady Betty the venomous spinster of quality, are serviceable as lay figures to wear the costumes and illustrate the habits of the day. Farquhar the dramatist is incidentally connected with the story; intro- duced as a secret admirer of Lady Amy,—who, inded, takes more than a friendly interest in his welfare. The scenes at the court of King William, and the sketch of that monarch and his clock-work consort Queen Mary, with the handsome hero Marlborough and his imperious wife, are lifelike. In short, the exterior characteris- tics of persons, manners, and things, are well indicated, as they would appear to the passing glance of an observant mind ; but the impression is rather weakened than strengthened when any cha- racter is repeatedly brought before the reader's attention, from the want of dramatic force and consistency in the individual portrait. Description is the forte of Mrs. THoMsoN, and her narrative is en- livened by characteristic touches that are more influential in carry- ing back the mind to the period than the studied phraseology of the dialogue. Here is a picture of the famous
MARTLEBONE GARDENS.
Meantime, Lord Sussex and Amy proceeded, by a circuitous route, to the place of their destination : this was the celebrated gardens of Marylebone. They were late ; for coaches and horsemen, and ladies riding on pillions, and an innumerable train of pedestrians, were already seen in progress from May Fair and Pimlico—nay, from the East and North, to the secluded village of Mary- lebone, then at a mile's distance from the busy parts of London. Those who came from the Western part of London had to pass along the Conduit Mead, (where now stands Stratford Place,) and coming into pasture-fields, on which, in our day, rise the squares and streets of Marylebone, repaired to an isolated tavern, standing behind that part which is now called High Street, and situ- ated not far ,from the Manor-house, formerly a royal palace. The tavern, gay with flags, and filled with company of the highest rank, commanded ex- tensile gardens, in which a baud of music was playing, and which was, at the early hour of three, thronged with company. The diversions which attracted persona to this place were still decorous—still inoffensive : and the tiger-fight- sg, the bear-baiting, the bull-fights, the prize-fights, the exploits of the ccle- brated pugilist Figg, and the challenge of the famous Mrs. Hobbs to the Hi- bernian heroines, (for there were mistresses as well as masters in the science of boxing)—all those demoralizing sports, and the betting and gambling which drew down the comments of the Spectator, and employed the pencil of Hogartb, who has immortalized Figg in the Rake's Progress, were the diversions of a later period. At present, the riotous manners and dark deeds which Gay has figured forth, making Marylebooe Gardens the scene of Macheath's revels, had not sullied this fashionable resort.
Paying a shilling for their admittance, the gay and great poured into the
gardens, which formed a sort of Exchange for the polite world. Here walked a knot of lawyers, fresh from the courts, discussing the many prosecutions which then employed the functionaries of the Crown. There, in a corner shaded by trees, grave divines, nay, even busy statesmen, relaxed from their cares, and played bowls, a game not then discarded by the great, with young courtiers. Here a group of high-born ladies, in hoods and masks, sat round a tea-table, laying aside their masks to converse, but holding them up to shade their faces, as young gallants passed and paid their obeisance. Beyond, to the North, might be discerned the turrets of the Manor-house of Marylebone ; now replaced, 0 woful bathos! by the erection of Devonshire Mews. Far to the
\V est lay the green meadows of Lilestone, or Lisson Green; whilst nearly on a line with the gardens rose the ruinous old church. * • •
In the present day, there would be, at a broad glance, little diversity of
aspect among such an assembly. The outward attributes of the male portion of the company—from the elderly gentleman, who abandons his grey whiskers at sixty to their fate, to the lounger in public places, who wears his waistcoat embroidered and turns down his collar at thirty, would he, generally, not other- wise unlike than as the young differ always from the old. No one could pro-
test that the accomplished and ofttimes elegant and always devoted figure who selects our gloves and mittens in the morning, was not in the evening a per- fect gentleman, as far as costume is concerned. In the gardens of Mary lebone, however, gentility knew her own. There was the Peer with full-curled wig, still an naturel amid the elderly men, whilst their modish juniors had begun to friz and powder, after the fashion of the prince of perruquiers, Louis the Fourteenth : their tradesmen and upper servants, be it remembered, wore only the bob-wig, or the tie, or even the scratch. There was the jewelled hand of Halifax with a pinch of snuff betwixt his fingers, his white wrist garnished. with a ruffle of delicate point ; and when his fair hand rested in his waistcoat- pocket, it touched nothing less than costly satin garded with gold lace. His solicitor, mind you, had his plain cambric ruffle, his drab or chocolate-coloured single-breasted coat ; a large silver buckle might grace his broad-toed shoe, and a white silk stocking sit well on his leg, (a member on which much account was placed—men have no legs now); and sometimes the good man, rising in the world, might venture upon the atrocity of diamond knee-buckles. He always sported a sixpenny-sized medallion ring on his third finger ; but, and if he were a prudent man, he lived and died in his scratch-wig, drab-coat, paste knee-buckles, and square toes. Then the ladies : to the higher classes was confined the privilege and distinction of patches, an article at this time first introduced into the toilets of our countrywomen, yet not then arrived at that importance which it attained when party-feuds ran high. Fur, then, the patch became the signal-post of the politician ; the Whig ladies patched on the right side, the Tories on the left; and those of the Aristocracy who wished to preserve neutrality patched indifferently. Such were the follies of the suc- ceeding century. At the time to which I refer, the ladies patched upon the usual principle, to enslave the heart of man.
The generality, however, of these fair creatures, decorated then with their
own natural curls, and easy and even graceful in their attire, wore masks, or held fans before their faces; each individual of the female regiment, as Addison calls an assembly of ladies, holding her weapon in her hand : and at that time, a general sobriety and modesty of attire enhanced the comeliness of all ranks of society—a sobriety of brief continuance. The gentlemen had already begun to follow Continental fashions. Among the ladies there were similar symptoms of folly, and, here and there, petticoats, which afterwards blew out into an enormous concave, and fashioned themselves into the odious hoop, were already set out by wire, and had begun to give the modish fair the appearance of walk- ing in ago-cart ; whilst the long dishevelled hair might be seen gathered up, and borne up to an enormous height by a commode, a construction of wire- called by the French a fontarige, upon which rested a cap, or flowers, or lace, or jewels, or ribands, according to the fancy of the wearer. Such contrivances were, however, adopted with some reluctance and reserve, for the Queen dis- approved of extremes : and, for the moat part, the modest hood, partially falling back, revealed the open forehead and easy tresses of the lady of fashion; whilst citizens' daughters, unmasked—for it was deemed a proof of condition to wear the domino—clubbed back their locks beneath quiet skull-caps of cam- bric with a plain border, over which cherry and violet-coloured hoods preserved. the complexions of the wearers. Upon this, as we should now deem it, singular assembly, closed the summer's sun; whilst blazing sky-rockets and garish sun- flowers soon cast a bright unnatural gleam upon the tiers of spectators who ventured, in spite of the dreaded flectora, to view the fireworks.
AN OLD-FASHIONED DRAWING•ROOM.
Barbara followed Lady Betty into the drawing-room. A cheerless, stiff, uncomfortable circle were sitting round, on strait-backed chairs; and two ser- vants, grim as ghosts, in gorgeous liveries, were handing little cups of choco- late to the assembled party. Lord Castlemaine was seated at the head of the room, thoughtfully listening to Mrs. M'Connek's agitated details. Amy and Judy were near him. The rest of the circle consisted of those sort of people that one sees everywhere and remembers nowhere—dry old men, made ex- pressly to fit into a dinner-table—persons who always talk and are never listened to. The generation is not extinct : on the contrary, there is an ex- press revival of this particular species, who belong to every age, every civilized. country, and are alike invited and forgotten.
The circle was complete—not a segment broken ; and the ladies discreetly
all sat on one side, the gentlemen on the other. All were stately, dull, and uncomfortable. People did not understand drawing-room comfort in those days ; they seemed to think it quite enough to sit down and to give their friends seats. To sit 1—Heavens ! what ideas of formal misery the mere idea of those strait chairs presents! There was no tea to warm the circle; only thimblefuls of chocolate : and, on the whole, after reviewing that which was in such times called a social evening, one feels no surprise that our grand- mothers had their light closets to be easy and snug in, or that our grand- fathers sat half the day in summer-houses or arbours' in wrapping-gowns and velvet night-caps. They were either in a state of indolent untidiness, or braced up, bewigged, and bedizened to the agony-point of finery.
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