This eBook was produced by David Widger
Etchings of Hyde Park in the month of June, which, if this history escapes those villains the trunk-makers, may be of inestimable value to unborn antiquarians.—Characters, long absent, reappear and give some account of themselves.
Five years have passed away since this history opened. It is the monthof June once more,—June, which clothes our London in all its glory,fills its languid ballrooms with living flowers, and its stony causewayswith human butterflies. It is about the hour of six P.M. The lounge inHyde Park is crowded; along the road that skirts the Serpentine crawl thecarriages one after the other; congregate by the rails the lazy lookers-on,—lazy in attitude, but with active eyes, and tongues sharpened on thewhetstone of scandal,—the Scaligers of club windows airing theirvocabulary in the Park. Slowly saunter on foot idlers of all degrees inthe hierarchy of London idlesse: dandies of established-fame; youthfultyros in their first season. Yonder in the Ride, forms less inanimateseem condemned to active exercise; young ladies doing penance in acanter; old beaux at hard labour in a trot. Sometimes, by a morethoughtful brow, a still brisker pace, you recognize a busy member ofthe Imperial Parliament, who, advised by physicians to be as much onhorseback as possible, snatches an hour or so in the interval between theclose of his Committee and the interest of the Debate, and shirks theopening speech of a well-known bore. Among such truant lawgivers (griefit is to say it) may be seen that once model member, Sir GregoryStollhead. Grim dyspepsia seizing on him at last, "relaxation from hisduties" becomes the adequate punishment for all his sins. Solitary herides, and communing with himself, yawns at every second. Upon chairsbeneficently located under the trees towards the north side of the walkare interspersed small knots and coteries in repose. There you mightsee the Ladies Prymme, still the Ladies Prymme,—Janet and Wilhelmina;Janet has grown fat, Wilhelmina thin. But thin or fat, they are noless Prymmes. They do not lack male attendants; they are girls of highfashion, with whom young inen think it a distinction to be seen talking;of high principle, too, and high pretensions (unhappily for themselves,they are co-heiresses), by whom young men under the rank of earls neednot fear to be artfully entrapped into "honourable intentions." Theycoquet majestically, but they never flirt; they exact devotion, but theydo not ask in each victim a sacrifice on the horns of the altar; theywill never give their hands where they do not give their hearts; andbeing ever afraid that they are courted for their money, they willnever give their hearts save to wooers who have much more money thanthemselves. Many young men stop to do passing homage to the LadiesPrymme: some linger to converse; safe young men,—they are all youngersons. Farther on, Lady Frost and Mr. Crampe, the wit, sit amicably sideby side, pecking at each other with sarcastic beaks; occasionallydesisting, in order to fasten nip and claw upon that common enemy, thepassing friend! The Slowes, a numerous family, but taciturn, sit bythemselves; bowed to much, accosted rarely.
Note that man of good presence, somewhere about thirty, or a year or twomore, who, recognized by most of the loungers, seems not at home in thelounge. He has passed by the various coteries just described, made hisobeisance to the Ladies Prymme, received an icy epigram from Lady Frost,and a laconic sneer from Mr. Crampe, and exchanged silent bows with sevensilent Slowes. He has wandered on, looking high