I expect you in town with all the impatience of a friend zealous for your happiness and advantage: but I wish not to interfere with any charitable or virtuous employment.—When you have finished your affairs, remember your faithful
J. SPENCER.
LETTER VIII.
TO Miss GRENVILLE.
Surrounded with mantua-makers, milliners, and hair-dressers, I blush to say I have hardly time to bestow on my dear Louisa. What a continual bustle do I live in, without having literally any thing to do! All these wonderful preparations are making for my appearance at court; and, in consequence of that, my visiting all the places of public amusement. I foresee my head will be turned with this whirl of folly, I am inclined to call it, in contradiction to the opinion of mankind.—If the people I am among are of any character at all, I may comprise it in few words: to me they seem to be running about all the morning, and throwing away time, in concerting measures to throw away more in the evening. Then, as to dress, to give an idea of that, I must reverse the line of an old song.
"What was our shame, is now our pride."
I have had a thousand patterns of silks brought me to make choice, and such colours as yet never appeared in a rainbow. A very elegant man, one of Sir William's friends I thought, was introduced to me the other morning.—I was preparing to receive him as a visitor; when taking out his pocket-book, he begged I would do him the honour to inspect some of the most fashionable patterns, and of the newest taste. He gave me a list of their names as he laid them on the cuff of his coat. This you perhaps will think unnecessary; and that, as colours affect the visual orb the same in different people, I might have been capable of distinguishing blue from red, and so on; but the case is quite otherwise; there are no such colours now. "This your ladyship will find extremely becoming,—it is la cheveaux de la Regne;—but the colour de puce is esteemed before it, and mixed with d'Artois, forms the most elegant assemblage in the world; the Pont sang is immensely rich; but to suit your ladyship's complexion, I would rather recommend the feuile mort, or la noysette." Fifty others, equally unintelligible, he ran off with the utmost facility. I thought, however, so important a point should be determined by wiser heads than mine;—therefore requested him to leave them with me, as I expelled some ladies on whose taste I had great reliance. As I cannot be supposed from the nature of things to judge for myself with any propriety, I shall leave the choice of my cloaths to Lady Besford and Lady Anne Parker, two ladies who have visited me, and are to be my protectors in public.
I was extremely shocked, when I sent for a mantua-maker, to find a man was to perform that office. I even refused a long time to admit him near me—and thinking myself perfectly safe that I should have him on my side, appealed to Sir William. He laughed at my ridiculous scruples, as he called them, and farther told me, "custom justified every thing; nothing was indecent or otherwise, but as it was the ton." I was silent, but neither satisfied or pleased,—and submitted, I believe, with but an ill grace.
Lady Besford was so extremely polite to interest herself in every thing concerning my making a fashionable appearance, and procured for me a French frizeur of the last importation, who dressed hair to a miracle, au dernier gout. I believe, Louisa, I must send you a dictionary of polite phrases, or you will be much at a loss, notwithstanding you have a pretty competent knowledge of the French tongue. I blush twenty times a day at my own stupidity,—and then Sir William tells me, "it is so immensely bore to blush;" which makes me blush ten times more, because I don't understand what he means by that expression, and I am afraid to discover my ignorance; and he has not patience to explain every ambiguous word he uses, but cries, shrugging up his shoulders, ah! quel savage! and then composes his ruffled spirits by humming an Italian air.