ENNUI OF FASHION.


It must be owned that five years form an awful lapse in human life:--a
lapse whose hours and minutes leave no where a trace more sharp and
injurious than on the minds and countenances of individuals involved
in the buzzing, stinging gnatswarms of fashionable life. Elsewhere,
existence marches with a more dignified step, and the scenes pictured
among the records of our memory assume a grander aspect; they lie in
masses,--their shadows are broader,--their lights more brilliantly
thrown out. But reminiscences of a life of ton are as vexatious as
they are frivolous. The season of 1829 differs from that of 1830,
only inasmuch as its quadrilles are varied with galoppes as well
as waltzes, and danced at Lady A.'s and Lady B.'s,--instead of the
Duchess of D.'s, and Countess E.'s. The Duchess is dead,--the Countess
ruined;--but no matter!--there are still plenty of balls to be had.
"Another and another still succeeds!" Since young ladies _will_ grow
up to be presented, lady-mothers and aunts _must_ continue to project
breakfasts, water parties, and galas, whereby to throw them in the way
of flirtation, courtship, and marriage. Mischief, in her most smiling
mask, sits like the beautiful witch in Thalaba at an everlasting
spinning-wheel, weaving a mingled yarn of sin and sorrow for the
daughters of Fashion. Although the cauldron of Hecate and her
priestesses has vanished from the heath at Forres, it bubbles in
nightly incantations among the elm-trees of Grosvenor Square; and
Hopper and Hellway, Puckle and Straddling, now croak forth their
chorus of rejoicing where golden lamps swing blazing over the écarté
tables, and the soft strains of the Mazurka enervate the atmosphere of
the gorgeous temples of May Fair. Never yet was there a woman _really_