| Citation |
NHG-P.767.011
6 Feb 1767:31,32,33 (540)
From the London Magazine.
A JUST SATIRE ON MODERN EXTRAVAGANCE AND COXCOMBS.
To the Author, &c: Good Sir,
I am an old man, and little used to writing, but Sir, as I
see you are so obliging to others as to communicate their
sentiments and complaints to the world, I dare say you will
mine.
. . . [24 lines describing the author's retirement from
London to Gloucesterhire, a friend he left behind, and his
impressions of London upon his return to it]
Business, sir, calling me to town this spring (my daughter's
marriage, good sir, if you must know) I resolv'd to enquire
after my old friend's family. He had three sons: The
eldest I found was ruined by horse racing, and went to
settle at Lisbon; the next, Tom by name, became a bankrupt
in sixty, by vice and extravagance, and went to America,
where we must all go soon, at least the younger part of us.
I got a direction for Jack, a haberdasher near the Change; I
trudged to see him last Wednesday morning; I asked for Mr.
John Holland, and, to my very great surprize, was introduced
to a gentleman as fine as my Lord Cockatoo, and his hair
dressed as high, and powder'd as white; I begged pardon, and
told him, I supposed the man had made a mistake; on which
he, recollecting me, called me by name, and run across the
room, and kissed me (the devil take his French fashions) he
expressed great joy, indeed, at seeing me, and insisted on
my dining with him at his house in the country; my coach,
said he, will be at the door directly; Miss Pattypan and her
papa, the great city cook, will favour us with their
company, and you shall make one. Not being engaged,
curiosity induced me to take the spare corner of the coach,
and go with them into the country, as they call'd it; that
is, to Highgate. I will not trouble you with all the
particulars of our journey and dinner but only tell you,
that it cut me to the heart to see my friend's son so great
a contrast to his father. One the road they entertained me
with all that passed in public; they all belonged, I
understood, to the city concert, and the assembly; never
failed at Mrs. Thing a-my's in Soho square; had been at two
ridottos this winter; lov'd the opera; and Miss Pattypan
sung us an Italian air; an impudent minx! I could have
knocked her empty pate against her father's jolter! When we
arrived, we were introduced to madam Holland; how she was
dressed in jewels and gold! and then her hair curled six
inches from her head (God forgive me if I am mistaken, but I
believe it was a wig.) Then, when the dinner came in, how
was I amazed to see the table cover'd with seven dishes, and
more so, when I was told there was a second course! The
turbot cost 18s. the turkey polts 14s. madam told us, for
she gloried in her shame.
[32:30 more lines in which the author is driven to lecture
the young man on his spendthrift ways, comparing him
unfavorably to his frugal father] If your father even in
those cheaper times, had furnish'd his table like the
prodigals of the present, he must, instead of leaving ten
thousand pounds, have liv'd and died a beggar; your father
had no country house; he had a saying, that
Those who do two houses keep,
Must often wake when others sleep.
Though the verse is not extraordinary, the moral is good; he
had no coach, therefore the price of oats or hay hurt not
him; he neither subscribed to, nor idl'd his time at public
assemblies; . . . [2 lines]
In my younger days there wan't a shopkeeper in London kept
his coach; now scarce one is to be found who condescends to
walk, and not only shop keepers, but whores, dancing masters
and fidlers, have their equipages; you use an hundred times
as much butter as was used formerly, with your sauces,
fricassees, and tea; your vanity employs five hundred times
the horses; you confound more of God's good creatures at one
dinner, than would have feasted your ancestors for a month,
and yet pretend to be amazed that things are not so
plentiful as they were; . . . [18 lines, 16 lines]
Here I flounced out of the room, and so ended our scolding.
I am, Sir, yours &c. Peter Moderation.
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