SIDE-WALK STUDIES.*
Few writers have got so easily into the skin of the century which they have 'Chosen for their own as Mr. Austin Dobson.
He is of the eighteenth century, and he writes, and even seems to think, as though he were. In other words, he wears the skin without a crease, yet it is the skin and not the brain which is his. Re tur-1 his sentences with a true Georgian
neatness ; there is a modishness in his phrase which suggests wigs and patches. Take, for instance, the following passage, wholly characteristic of his gossiping Muse. He pauses by the riverside, and memories press thick upon him :—
"I can see Steele landing at Strand Bridge," he writes, "with ten sail of Apricock boats ' from Richmond, after taking in melons at Nine Elms ; I can see Sir Roger' and Mr. Spectator' em- barking at the Temple Stairs in the wherry of the waterman who had lost his leg at La Hogue. Yonder comes a sound of French horns, and Mr. Horace Walpole's barge goes sliding past, with • Sick. Walk Studies. By Austin Dobson. London : Chatto and Wind. 1.48.1
flashing oars, carrying Lady Caroline Petersham and 'Little Ashe ' to mince chicken at Vauxhall, and picking up Lord Granby on the way, very drunk from Jenny's Whim: Or it is Swift, with that puppy Patrick' in attendance to hold his nightgown and slippers, bathing by moonlight at Chelsea; and by and by posting home to tell Mrs. Dingley and Stella, in the famous 'Journal,' that he has lost his landlady's napkin in the water, and will have to pay for it."
That is the sort of gossip which Mr. Dobson writes better than most. It is pleasant, amiable, and discreet. The brilliant men and beautiful women about whom he writes, with a proper air of knowing artificiality, have all been indifferent for more than a century to what the world says of them, and the personal chatter which seems so vulgar when it is hot from the press needs only time to purge it of offence and to enrich it with interest.
Personal chatter, then, is the note of Mr. Dobson's Side- Walk Studies. His reflections are superficial, as they should be, and cover a wide field. He takes you into St. James's
Park, and shows you the beautiful Miss Gunnings mobbed by the rabble. "They can't walk in the Park," says Walpole, " or go to Vauxhall, but such mobs follow them that they are generally driven away." Or he asks you to look at the hand- some Duchess of Devonshire through the eyes of Miss Fanny Barney. "Mr. Burney, Hetty, and I took a walk in the Park on Sunday morning," says the lady, "where, among others, we saw the young and handsome Duchess of Devonshire." She did not present a highly finished picture, this elegant lady: "two of her curls came quite unpinned, and fell lank on one of her shoulders ; one shoe was down at heel, the trimming of her jacket and coat was in some places unsewn ; her cap was awry; and her cloak, which was rusty and powdered, was flung half on half off." But the Duchess, no doubt, was a law unto herself, and could appear in such a guise as would be a disgrace to another.
Thus Mr. Dobson sketches many great ladies and clever men. His chapter upon Mrs. Woffington is sympathetic, and does not contain a word too much. It is hard to say anything fresh of Mrs. Delany, that "truly great woman of fashion," as Burke called her, "not only the woman of fashion of the present age, but the highest-bred woman in the world, and the woman of fashion of all ages." But if nothing new can be said of this peerless woman, Mr. Dobson has said what is to be said with a conciseness and lucidity which are beyond praise. The sketch of the Covent Garden Journal, on the other hand, is quite fresh, and is truthfully described as "a hitherto-unwritten chapter in the Life of Henry Fielding." Of course there is nothing which touches this great man that does not interest us, but the publication of the Covent Garden Journal is not the most glorious episode in the career of the author of Amelia. The disputes of literary men are seldom to their credit, and there was room in the same city and the same century for Smollett and Fielding. But each was a master of scurrility, and neither liked to let his gift rust for lack of use. A far more amiable topic is the Chinese Shadows, which in 1779 were brought from Paris to London, and took the fancy of the town. And those who are pleased to worship at the shrines of the great will find "Dr. Johnson's Haunts and Habitations" full of curious and patiently collected facts. Indeed, the book is very pleasant reading, it bristles -with great names, it is packed with recondite allusions, and is at the same time both learned and attractive.
Yet when we have read it the impression which it leaves upon us is an impression of triviality. The eighteenth century in Mr. Dobson's sketch seems given over to the pursuit of frivolous pleasures; and if we consider the social aspect alone, the foolish phrase of an American critic, "the poor little eighteenth century," seems justified. But a little reflection will prove the absurdity of this hasty judgment.
The eighteenth century is paradoxical perhaps, but it is neither poor nor little. The age, it is true, was interested in the outward shows, in little theatres, in fashions of dress, in wigs, in catch-phrases. But it was interested in these toys because it had energy to spare after all the labour of art and policy and warfare was accomplished. It is impossible to read of what seems a frivolous age without encountering at every turn the great names of English literature and govern- ment Fielding and Richardson, Johnson and Goldsmith, Pope and Dryden, Bolingbroke and Pitt, Junius and Swift., all belong to the eighteenth century, and they are giants all.
What other century, in truth, can match them in diversity: And yet the splendid century to which they all belong ha; been most cruelly misjudged, nor is the misjudgment wholly inexcusable. It was the age of the Georges, which raised levity to a fine art. The Court, presided over by dell Kings, found refuge in frivolity, and the people followed the example of the Court. The Maids of Honour played their pranks, and cracked their jokes, and all the while pose were making their verses, philosophers were elaborating their systems, politicians were building up or pulling down an Empire. The modern world, as we know it to-day, was coming into being with its multifarious interests and its delight in all manifestations of human ingenuity. Ana shall never understand the wonderful eighteenth century until we recognise this manifold variety. The serious histories show us one side; the splendid literature of the time shows us another ; and books of gossip such as Mr. Dobson's show us a third, brilliant with gaiety and joyously irresponsible. Aild while, no doubt, politics and literature are of paramount im- portance, life is not to be neglected, and we are grateful to M- Dobson for an entertaining chapter in the history of manner.
Previous page
