THE CAMERA OBSCURA.-NO. II. Fashion in the East.-By Clement Clearsight, Gent. MRS. BOMBASINE, of Houndsditch, is my most particular friend. She is also something of a relation, claiming affinity from a collateral branch, and in such a refined degree, as, I think, would puzzle the heads of the Herald's College to define. Her grandfather, the great Mr. Peter Drydust, called great not only from being a member of a great corporation, but also his own person being a corporation of itself, was first cousin to my great aunt's second husband's nephew, lineally descended from the Broomsticks of London-Wall, perhaps you have heard of them. Well, Mrs. Bombasine being, as I said before, a very particular friend, and somewhat of a relation, I am generally invited to all her parties. Mr. Bombasine is in the Manchester line, doing, as his lady takes care to inform all her friends, a good stroke of business. Mrs. B. had originally a great contempt for every thing that was born, bred, eat, made, or that lived in the city; and, when at Mrs. Tomkins's fashionable seminary at Chelsea, was heard to declare, that she would as live think of marrying the old gentleman himself (I am not exactly aware who she signified among her numerous acquaintances) as a city pert. But, however, Tempus rerum mutat, (as we say at school), changed Miss Drydust's resolution, and Mr. Bombasine found more grace in her eyes than ever city-man did before. But Mrs. B., although she had "stooped to conquer" a citizen-although she had condescended to live within that formidable barrier, that separates fashion from vulgarity, and gentility from affluence-Temple Bar,-determined not to be ousted from her elegant notions. She pondered awhile on the best course she could pursue, and at last came to the resolution, that, as the agreement between her and her spouse previous to their marriage was, that they should reside in the city, it was an impossibility that they could reside in "the west ;" so, left to her resources, she determinedhear it, ye philosophers, and wonder at the work of a woman-to make the east the west; which she did by transplanting the fashions of the latter quarter into the less genial air she was compelled for a while to breathe. Scarce had the bustle of the wedding-day passed, when the signal of a total revolution in city fashions and habits took place. It afforded a striking instance, as Bailie Mucklethrift would say, of the mutability of human affairs. The peaceful inhabitants of Wellclosesquare and Crutched-friars were observed to take infinite delight in a regular route, and all the company were shortly afterwards " at home," for the first time in their lives. Houndsditch was a scene of uproar three evenings of the week, to the great annoyance of the unfashionable shopkeepers round about. It must be confessed that Mrs. B.'s rooms were not without some attraction; the ball-room, although in Houndsditch, would vie in decoration and capacity to any in St. James'ssquare. The refreshments were provided by a celebrated alderman in Cornhill, whose name is as pleasing to the gourmands and bon-vivants, as it is terrifying to school-boys and apprentices. The company, although Mrs. B. prided herself on its being "vastly select," was, in general, chosen with more regard to quantity than quality, although "carriage visitors" were much distinguished above the pedestrian and hackney fry, and their names were announced with a peculiar emphasis by the servant standing in the hall for that purpose. What Mrs. B. peculiarly plumed herself on was, she had some "west end" acquaintances. Among these was Sir Peter Nicholson, who, upon being knighted, had removed the seat of his establishment from Broad-street buildings to Edward-street, Portman-square; and as this gentleman is ostensibly the subject of this exordium, it is incumbent on me to take more than ordinary notice of him. Who Sir Peter was, was rather an enigma; some people, indeed, were uncharitable enough to say that he actually had rose from nothing, forming a paradox of that ancient and well-received adage, “ex nihil, nihil fit ;" for Sir Peter evidently was (and he took care that every body should think so) somebody. Certain it is, that he had indulged the force of an ardent mind by mercantile pursuits, and had, by his own industry, amassed a very considerable fortune, or, as I have heard, one "not to be sneered at.” I can assure you, I hold that point of his character in much respect. Well, it was about last Christmas that Mrs. B. determined on giving a grand route; and it was privately circulated that Sir Peter Nicholson was to be there. Rumour also spread abroad that the Russian ambassador, Count Slap-dash-swash-what's-y'-name, or his secretary, or his secretary's secretary, was to join him. The deputy of Portsoken ward, and the dashing heiresses of Finsbury-square, were invited also to grace the circle. Upon this eventful evening, I sallied out of my third story, Essex-court, in the Temple, to join the circle, eat the supper, and abuse the visitors. What a shame! some of my readers will exclaim ; poor devil of an author, living, or rather starving, in a third floor, which most likely serves him for " parlour, kitchen, and all," abusing a city knight and an alderman's deputy! I was unfashionable enough to be there within half an hour of the time specified by the card of invitation; perhaps not so much to keep up my character of punctuality, as to observe the entrees of the different visitors. Scores of Mr. Roberts and Miss Johnsons, Miss Browns and Miss Jones', and other high and lofty names, were announced: Monsieur Florentine Fontaine, the ambassador's secretary's secretary; the deputy and his amiable and lovely deputyship, together with their niece, Miss Susannah, and the charming heiresses of Finsbury-square, were all assembled; and yet disappointment was visible on the features of the accomplished hostess, whose uneasiness seemed to wax stronger at the perpetual enquiries whether Sir Peter would be there. Time slipped away, but no Sir Peter came; till at last it was currently reported throughout the room that he had cut the Bombasines. Too bad, without an apology!" was rejoined. In the midst of the speculations of the cause for this unlooked-for disappointment, the rolling of a carriage over the stones-how different to a refined ear to the rumbling of a Jarvey !— was heard. All was attention, anxiety, and curiosity. Would it stop there?-no-it went on; it has turned round, and, in another moment, a thundering application at the knocker, which electrified the nerves, wound up as they were by expectation, of all present, and which, by the repeater of Miss Jemina Bland, lasted one minute and thirty-two seconds, was heard. The porter, as if influenced by an amiable rivalry at this point of distinction, announced, in Stentorian tones, “SIR PETER NICHOLSON, KNIGHT." Both of the folding doors were thrown open, as if to make room for a very great personage indeed; when the indu bitable hero himself stalked into the room. I believe some present, having their minds prepared by anticipation, had, like myself, expected something supernatural. Guess my disappointment, when, instead of seeing, as I had pictured in my mind, a fine, noble, portly-looking being, with "grace in all his steps," and "majesty in his eye," breathing with all the dignity of a superior being in an inferior sphere, a little bustling epitome, a ninth-part of a man, enter the room!-his face vulgar beyond expression, for it had none whatever; his figure square built, like the letter H; and his step, his gait-Oh! thought I, if this is fashion and gentility, heavens defend me from it! With an air of insufferable consequence he marched up to the lady of the house, and condescended to exchange fingers with Bombasine; all the rest he certainly thought dirt, for no one could get a nod, or even so much as a glance, from the gentleman. A very few minutes showed the effects of his presence; the harmony and mirth that had previously enlivened the room seemed as if an extinguisher had been placed over it; the young men were afraid to be attentive, and the young ladies seemed terrified at attempting to be agreeable, lest they should show their city manners. The centre of attraction was the knight himself, who condescended to give a proof of the elegance of the west, and his own good breeding, by turning up the flaps of his coat, and enacting the part of a fire-screen. Many were the attempts by the men to draw him into conversation; he professed, to their utter astonishment, even to those he had formerly solicited for their votes, his utter ignorance of the proceedings of the Common Council; knew nothing whatever of the price of stocks, neither knew or cared a pin about the West India Controversy, Mrs. Fry's Equitable Loan, or the Joint Stock Company. All these answers were made to the aspiring querists without turning his face to them; he all the time confabulating with the only man in the room he thought good enough to speak to the Deputy; their conversation turning principally on the Debates, Madame Catalani, and Mr. Smith, the missionary, to the great edification of the listening multitude. Once, indeed, he condescended to ask Bombasine, whether he knew how the house had divided last night; on which subject Bombasine professed his astonishment, simply declaring that he had heard the storm had only blown the chimney-pots down! Fortunately for Bombasine, the knight had all the He! he! he! to himself. Determined as the knight was, not to be pleased, 1 must do Mr. and Mrs. B. the justice of saying, they did all in their power to entertain their thrice honourable guest. When asked whether he was fond of music, as a young lady had just seated herself at the piano, and a gentleman was twanging the strings of a fiddle, by way of overture, he professed his abhorrence-it was downright murder, unless Grasiani, or Pasta, or Ronzi de Begnis, performed; and the young lady was therefore prevented from showing off, as it was disagreeable to Sir Peter. When he saw a quadrille forming, he protested that nothing was so great a bore as dancing, since Mercandotti had rolled off with the golden Ball; to be sure, Vestris was tolerable, aud her sister held out some hopes. In compliance with this implied wish, the quadrille was suspended. By this time I thought I could discern a little disappointment struggling on the features of the young ladies and gentlemen, some of whom began to wish the knight was enjoying his dignity else. where. Twelve o'clock had scarcely arrived, before the supper-room was thrown open, entirely against the protest of Sir Peter, who declared that the Countess of P. and the Baroness of Q. never gave any refreshment till the best part of the party was gone. At supper, the knight gave a new specimen of the superiority of the manners he had acquired since his removal from that side of Temple Bar, by helping himself to the tit-bits, and gallantly leaving the ladies on each side him to shift for themselves. Once, indeed, with his mouth full, he asked one to take wine, but requested the footman to pour it out. Having washed out his mouth with some water, he proved, to the satisfaction of all present, that he was unfashionable enough to use a finger-glass, though not for the express purpose it was originally designed for. He then declared he should be too late to hear the last act of the ballet, that he should get in disgrace with the Viscountess, and should be prodigiously happy to see his friend Bombasine at Edward-street. He then ordered his carriage, and putting forth his fore-finger to Bombasine, and bending his neck to the lady of the mansion, made his exit.— Curiosity by this time was amply gratified; the steps were put up-the door shut-the carriage rolled off-and I saw (nor did I wish to see) any thing more of the GREAT MAN of the party! POETIC VIGILS. By BERNARD BARTON. Cradock, and Joy. 1824. Londou. Baldwin, Ir is as great a relief to turn from the glittering tinsel and gaudy dy es of some of our fair countrywomen, to the modes and bonnet, and sober sadness of the drab of a neat though prim quaker, as it is, after wading through the meretricious and highly ornamented verse of many of the first poets of the day, to the quiet and peaceful strains of Friend Bernard. The poetry of Mr. Barton possesses great sweetness, and no inconsiderable portion of elegance: it displays a keen perception of the beauties of nature, and the nobleness of the soul; but it wants that power of descrtption, those touches of passion, which play round the senses, and come home to the heart. This failing may be ascribed more to the frigidity of the maxims of his sect, a constant practice of which tends to crush the aspirings of the imagination, and stop the growth of impassioned sensibility. This, however beneficial in a moral sense, acts as an extinguisher to the poet's mind. The following sonnet we quote with much pleasure, as being the glowing sentiments of the poet's mind, and affording something like an insight into his character: "The springs of life are falling one by one, And age, with quicken'd step, is drawing nigh; Since cause for cold ingratitude is none. And, while amid the chords my fingers stray, The following tribute to the memory of Mary Dyer, one of the earliest martyrs in the Society of Friends, gives a proof of more impassioned feeling, than we should have thought Mr. Barton could have possessed. "We too have had our martyrs. Such wert Thou, Illustrious woman! though the starry crown In the world's eye, of far more wide renown. Manhood's warm reverence, Childhood's guileless tears. "Heroic martyr of a Sect despis'd! 66 Thy name and memory to my heart are dear : Thy Christian worth demands no poet's lay, Yet seems it like a sacred debt to give The brief memorial thou mayst well supply; With the following extract we must conclude our review of this interesting volume, which is far from diminishing that high character the Author always possesses as being one of the first poets of the day. WINTER EVENINGS. "The summer is over, The autumn is past, Dark clouds around us hover, But clouds cannot darken, nor tempests destroy. Its splendour around: And blithe is its sound: Then welcome in evening, and shut out the day, Each day brings its share; And the clouds that pass o'er us by day shall look bright |