Eighteenth Century Waifs. Ashton John

thick tweed waistcoat, with flannel back and sleeves, two thick flannel undervests, tweed trousers, a flannel shirt, flannel drawers, boots, and stockings, Tam o’ Shanter cap, and a thick, scarlet worsted muffler around his neck.” The furniture he found scanty, and very rough, and the houses very dirty. St. Kilda is not a desirable retreat, for Dr. Acheson reports that at present there are no games nor music in the island, and – strangest fact of all in this official document – “whistling is strictly forbidden.”’

      A FASHIONABLE LADY’S LIFE

      There is a little poem by Dean Swift, published by him in Dublin, in 1728, and reprinted in London, in 1729. Its price was only fourpence, and it is called, ‘The Journal of a Modern Lady, in a Letter to a Person of Quality.’ It is so small, that it is absolutely lost in the Dean’s voluminous works, yet it is very amusing, and, as far as I can judge (having made an especial study of the Social Life of the Eighteenth Century), it is not at all exaggerated; and for this reason I have ventured to reproduce it. It is borne out in similar descriptions both in the early and latter portions of the century; as, for instance, in ‘The English Lady’s Catechism,’ 1703, of which the following is a portion:

HOW DO YOU EMPLOY YOUR TIME NOW?

      ‘I lie in Bed till Noon, dress all the Afternoon, Dine in the Evening, and Play at Cards till Midnight.’

      ‘How do you spend the Sabbath?’

      ‘In Chit-Chat.’

      ‘What do you talk of?’

      ‘New Fashions and New Plays.’

      ‘How often do you go to Church?’

      ‘Twice a year or oftener, according as my Husband gives me new Cloaths.’

      ‘Why do you go to Church when you have new Cloaths?’

      ‘To see other People’s Finery, and to show my own, and to laugh at those scurvy, out-of-fashion Creatures that come there for Devotion.’

      ‘Pray, Madam, what Books do you read?’

      ‘I read lewd Plays and winning Romances.’

      ‘Who is it you love?’

      ‘Myself.’

      ‘What! nobody else?’

      ‘My Page, my Monkey, and my Lap Dog.’

      ‘Why do you love them?’

      ‘Why, because I am an English lady, and they are Foreign Creatures: my Page from Genoa, my Monkey from the East Indies, and my Lap Dog from Vigo.’

      ‘Would they not have pleased you as well if they had been English?’

      ‘No, for I hate everything that Old England brings forth, except it be the temper of an English Husband, and the liberty of an English Wife. I love the French Bread, French Wines, French Sauces, and a French Cook; in short, I have all about me French or Foreign, from my Waiting Woman to my Parrot.’

      ‘How do you pay your debts?’

      ‘Some with money, and some with fair promises. I seldom pay anybody’s bills, but run more into their debt. I give poor Tradesmen ill words, and the rich I treat civilly, in hopes to get further in their debt.’

      Addison, in the Spectator (No. 323, March 11th, 1712), gives Clarinda’s Journal for a week, from which I will only extract one day as a sample.

      ‘Wednesday. From Eight to Ten. Drank two Dishes of Chocolate in Bed, and fell asleep after ’em.

      ‘From Ten to Eleven. Eat a Slice of Bread and Butter, drank a Dish of Bohea, read the Spectator.

      ‘From Eleven to One. At my Toilet, try’d a new Head.7 Gave orders for Veney8 to be combed and washed. Mem. I look best in Blue.

      ‘From One till Half an Hour after Two. Drove to the Change. Cheapened a couple of Fans.

      ‘Till Four. At Dinner. Mem. Mr. Frost passed by in his new Liveries.

      ‘From Four to Six. Dressed, paid a visit to old Lady Blithe and her Sister, having heard they were gone out of Town that Day.

      ‘From Six to Eleven. At Basset.9 Mem. Never sit again upon the Ace of Diamond.’

      Gambling was one of the curses of the Eighteenth Century. From Royalty downwards, all played Cards – the men, perhaps, preferred dice, and ‘Casting a Main’ – but the women were inveterate card-players, until, in the latter part of the century, it became a national scandal, owing to the number of ladies who, from their social position, should have acted better, who kept Faro-tables, and to whom the nickname of Faro’s Daughters was applied. There were Ladies Buckinghamshire and Archer, Mrs. Concannon, Mrs. Hobart, Mrs. Sturt, and others, whose houses were neither more nor less than gaming-houses. The evil was so great, that Lord Kenyon, in delivering judgment in a trial to recover £15 won at card-playing, said that the higher classes set a bad example in this matter to the lower, and, he added, ‘They think they are too great for the law; I wish they could be punished. If any prosecutions of this kind are fairly brought before me, and the parties are justly convicted, whatever be their rank or station in the country – though they be the first ladies in the land – they shall certainly exhibit themselves in the pillory.’

      The caricaturists got hold of his Lordship’s speech, and depicted Lady Archer and others in the pillory, and Lady Buckinghamshire being whipped at a cart’s-tail by Lord Kenyon. With the century this kind of play died out; but some mention of it was necessary in order to show that Swift’s description of ladies gambling was not exaggerated.

THE JOURNAL OF A MODERN LADY

      Sir,

      It was a most unfriendly Part

      In you who ought to know my Heart;

      And well acquainted with my Zeal

      For all the Females’ Common-weal.

      How cou’d it come into your Mind

      To pitch on me of all Mankind,

      Against the Sex to write a Satire,

      And brand me for a Woman-Hater?

      On me, who think them all so fair,

      They rival Venus to a Hair:

      Their Virtues never ceas’d to sing,

      Since first I learn’d to tune a String.

      Methinks I hear the Ladies cry,

      Will he his Character belye?

      Must never our Misfortunes end?

      And have we lost our only Friend?

      Ah! lovely Nymph, remove your Fears,

      No more let fall those precious Tears,

      Sooner shall, etc.

(Here several verses are omitted.)

      The Hound be hunted by the Hare,

      Than I turn Rebel to the Fair.

      ’Twas you engaged me first to write,

      Then gave the Subject out of Spite.

      The Journal of a Modern Dame,

      Is by my Promise what you claim;

      My Word is past, I must submit,

      And yet perhaps you may be bit.

      I but transcribe, for not a Line

      Of all the Satire shall be mine.

      Compell’d by you to tag in Rhimes

      The common Slanders of the Times,

      Of modern Times, the Guilt is yours

      And me my Innocence secures:

      Unwilling Muse, begin thy Lay,

      The Annals of a Female Day.

      By

7

Head-dress.

8

Venus, her lap dog.

9

A game at cards introduced into France by Signor Justiniani, Ambassador of Venice in 1674. The players are the dealer or banker, his assistant, who looks after the losing cards – a croupier, in fact – and the punters, or anyone who plays against the banker.