Retiring to bed in the early hours of the morning, the dandy of the early Georges lay till noon, and then donned a shirt much befrilled, belaced, and embroidered, for the benefit of any chance visitor who might call. His periwig lay in full display somewhere in the room, curled, powdered, and scented according to the latest fashion. About midday he rose and performed his toilet, donning his gorgeous silken hose and coloured shoes glorified with silver buckles, his velvet breeches, embroidered waistcoat, and silken coat, then his periwig; and, posing before his mirror, he arranged his gay cravat, stuck on his patches, painted his face if necessary, scented his lace handkerchief—the fashionable lace was Valenciennes—attached his dangling sword, and took his meal. After this, his mirror was again resorted to for adjusting his hat in exactly the proper manner, his snuff-box was the finishing touch, and his chairmen then bore to the Park, or some other pleasure resort, this gentleman of fortune whose personal attire alone must have represented hundreds of pounds.
Any one who had been in the army always wore his scarlet uniform, while the private individual bedecked himself with coats of silks and brocades, velvets and satins, embroidered with gold. These garments the habitués of Hyde Park carried with such graceful bearing that a City of London man could be discerned at once from the gaucheries he performed. Few of the merchants wore silken coats, for so late as this the sumptuary laws of Elizabeth could be traced in the various grades and trades of the people. Even in 1908 have we not the blue smock of the butcher and our ’Varsity gowns surviving voluntarily as a relic of these old laws?
The daily appearance in the Park meant much more to the early eighteenth-century ladies than it does to Society dames of the present day. They saw little of their husbands, and were—so far as their home life went—often alone. They read practically nothing; in fact, their intellects were starved. Dress was their one and only idea, and engrossed much of the day, until they went to the Park in their grand equipages drawn by four horses, running footmen preceding, others following.
The ignorance of the age was deplorable. The gatherings of the wits and literary men, so famous under Anne, had been dispersed by the strong political force of Sir Robert Walpole. Addison, Swift, and Pope alone remained in prominence.
The Duchesses of Marlborough and Buckingham still vied with each other as to who should be the most important factor in Society. The Duchess of Shrewsbury; Miss Lepell, who afterwards married Lord Hervey; Mary Bellenden, the lady who refused the attentions of the Prince of Wales and married Colonel Campbell; Miss Howe, Lord Hervey, Sir Robert Walpole, and Lord Chesterfield, were all familiar figures in the haunts of Hyde Park. Added to these was Lady Mary Wortley Montagu, whose sprightly conversation was in great request in those days.
MOLLY LEPELL, afterwards Lady Hervey.
Her tongue and pen had a somewhat sharp edge. She waged war on the ignorance of the day, and her Letters have come down to us full of the culture and cleverness for which she was distinguished. Writing to the Countess of Mar in 1723, she said:
“Your old friend Mrs. Lowther is still fair and young, and in pale pink every night in the Park; but after being highly in favour, poor I am in utter disgrace, without my being able to guess wherefore, except she fancied me the author or abettor of two vile ballads written on her ‘dying adventure,’ which I am so innocent of that I never saw.”
The explanation of the “dying adventure” is too good to pass over.