Republican Herald

AMUSING
MISCELLANY.

[From the London New Monthly Magazine.]

AUTO-BIOGRAPHY OF AN UGLY MAN

Behold me then in London, that focus at once of human bliss and bane, where most persons find their level, whether for wealth or for poverty, for birth, for talent or for folly, for beauty, or for yes, for ugliness. Why, then, might I not hope what others fear-to be out-done? Yes, for a whole week, while I took mine ease at mine inn. "I laid this flattering unction to my soul," for I read no warning in the obsequious bows and smiling impressment of the waiters at the Clarendon. Moreover, I had accumulated a valuable moral capital of maxims, from which I was beginning to derive a comfortable income of self-conceit. I treasured up the memorable boasts of that arch-scoundrel, John Wilkes, that there was only a fortnight's difference between him and the handsomest man in England in gaining a woman's affections. I feasted on the false and absurd assertion of Philip Thicknesse, that "nothing is completely ugly what is not old." (I was only thirty) and lulled myself into a fool's paradise, by carefully weeding my library of "Mason on Self-knowledge," and all such egotistical "Daily Remembrancers," Matilda Markham had given me a surfeit of teens, blue eyes, flaxen hair, and bread-and-butter passions. Having endeavored to "turn my own silver lining on the" cloud, and dazzle and conquer by the beauties of my mind, I began to look about for a handsome, sensible woman, not too young, half Juno, half Minerva, who would be too intellectual to think of a man's person; but although this "bright Egeria" was not to think about my appearance, that was no reason why I should be equally regardless of it. My hair was decidedly against my inspiring a devoted passion, as it might have been easily mistaken for burnt flax; I therefore determined upon educating it into a state of perfectibility, through the medium of Mr. Rigmarole's Tyran Dye. I never rightly understood the meaning of "purple light of love," till I saw my own head in the glass the next morning, after my first application of Mr. Rigmarole's praises; but, like a too vivid painting, it mellowed down in the course of time, exceedingly, and in a few hours after my head presented the appearance of a fine old Rembrandt, a great relief after it had so long glared upon my sight in all the aching paleness of one of Flaxman's illustrations: from that hour I began to look- "Ashyan is in love are supposed to look, or A something between Abelard & old Blucher."

The deuce was in it, if, after literally dying to please the women, I could not succeed. As I was extended on the sofa one morning in the dog-days, quaffing hock and soda-water, in order to allay the parching heat of a large fire which I was enduring, that my hair might dry sooner, and enable me to get out to Richmond to dinner, my man entered with a note- "from Lord Castleton, sir --the servant waits an answer." Castleton was a college chum of mine, the best fellow in the world; in short, my fidus Achates; but somehow or other, he had always (though unwittingly) crossed me in every thing; in a word, he had played the Leopold to my Prince of Orange, ever since I had known him. His note ran thus:

"Dear Clavering,-If you have not disposed of yourself for this evening, either positively or conditionally will you look in at Mrs. Danver's, No.-, Grosvenor street? She is a beauty, a blue, and a widow, and therefore thought she might be in your way, and, as she gave me a carte blanche, have filled it up with your name; but mind, I give you fair warning, not to think of her sister, who is a perfect goddess de- scend from heaven, as refreshing, as sparkling, and as cold too, I fear, d--n her, as iced champagne-see soir-Yours. Castleton."

cried I, in an ecstasy, as I poured out the remainder of the bottle of hock: "no flippancy and fifteen for me;" and so saying, I rang the bell violently. when my servant entered. "Jefferson," said I, "order Ganymede to be saddled instantly, and go yourself to Henderson's for my violets." "Well, then, take May-fly, and tell them to be sure to send me the large double violets."-From the moment of my coming to town, I had contracted with Henderson to let me have violets, all the year round, for 150l. a year, and I should strenuously recommend, and.--, com mul- tis aliis, who possess no more personal attractions than myself, never to be without a bouquet of violets, except in the months of February and March. (when all the world can have them, and therefore a moss-rose should be substituted;) but it is astonishing the sensation they produce, and the notice they obtain for one, in December or July." Then you will see eyes, that never would have glanced towards you will have the sweetest voices exclaim-"Oh, Mr. Such-a-one, or Lord Su-and-so, where did you get those dear violets?" 'To have any thing belonging to one called dear, and still more, the next moment, to see what was dear in you transferred to the most beautiful bosom in the world! This at least, is cheap at 150l a year but I am obliged to go farther. Having always a collection of very costly and beautifully designed rings hanging to my chain, they are sure to attract the attention of some fair creature or other; upon which I immediately invent some Polish, or Turkish superstition, as belonging to them, which serves as a pretext for my presenting, and their accepting them! Oh, La depense d'etre laid!

I could hardly wait patiently till half past ten, to present myself at Mrs. Damer's. A beauty-she was a perfect goddess; a blue indeed!-She was the cleverest woman I had ever met in my life ; and then such a voice! She thanked me for coming, and said she had heard so much of me from Castleton. I need not say that my violets were in her bosom at the end of half an hour. The sister was certainly pretty, looked like a Psyche, not come out, half cherub, half coquette ; but the corners of her mouth curled up too much, and her eye was too laughing and restless for me to venture much near her. I soon became an habitue in Grosvenor street. Oh those delicious, long, lounging morning visits!-when I had the ecstasy of hearing-"Not at home" to every one but myself! we talked politics, metaphysics, physiology, and even some times common sense ; but we had not yet got to sentiment, N'importe cela viendra thought I, and in thinking so every morning found some new offering on Mrs. Damer's shrine from her devoted slave. I happened to possess a copy of the original edition of "Shaftesbury's Characteristics." I had valued it as the apple of my eye, this too was sacrificed to my celestial, or, as Castleton had it, cerulean passion; but I was more than re- paid by the grateful delight with which it was received. A few days after this my last gift, I received a note from Mrs. Damer ; it was the first note I had ever had from her. On the effect of that first note from a woman one loves!-I do not know whether to call it electricity or natural magic, or what; the note was only to ask me if I would go with her and Dora (her sister) to Deville's, and she would call for me at three; but it was read, and re-read, and I thought the hand prettier than Matilda Markham's; and I had to write an answer over six times before I could write to my satis- faction this eloquent reply;-

"Dear Mrs Damer.--Yes, with the greatest pleasure, and I shall be ready when you call for me at three.

"Ever faithfully yours,

"Augustus Clavering."

Mrs. Damer and Dora were half an hour later than they said, and I thought it six hours at least; at length we were en route, and I was sitting opposite to all that I cared to behold in the world! I reaped comfort from the harvest of human ugliness which is always to be found in the Strand, and my thoughts actually became pleasant thereupon, till I saw two or three successive pattened and umbrellaed damsels touch their companion's arm, look at me, and laugh; then all became doubt, strife, and bitterness within me-so true is it that,

"Life is a comedy to those who think,
A tragedy to those who feel."

Mr. Deville soon explained to us all the "vacuums" and "organs" in our respective craniums, but said so much of the wonders of mine in particular, that Mrs. Damer and Dora became very urgent that I should have a cast of my head taken. I resolutely refused for very cogent reasons. Mr. Deville pushed back a phalanx of skulls and lamps and began entreating me with great gesticulation and oratory ; still I was immovable, till Dora whispered me, with her little malicious will-o'-the-wisp smile "If you so obstinately refuse to become a slave to the harp, you can never expect to have a slave of the ring." Mrs. Damer colored at this speech, and said imploringly, "Do, Mr. Clavering, let Mr. Deville take a cast of your head. I should so like to have it." There was no resisting this; so, with the air of a martyr, I sat down, and like an excommunicated nun, was soon walled up alive. When released from my plaster Pandemonium, Mrs. Damer and her sister were laughing, almost convulsively, over a slip of paper that Miss Dora was holding. "I begged to be let into the jest but they refused. Emboldened by my own great stretch of complaisance, I snatched the paper out of Dora's hand, and had the satisfaction of reading the following epigram on myself, which she had scribbled with a pencil, while I was enduring the torments of the d--d, to please herself and sister :-

Love triumphs, and the struggle's past,
To seem less strange in beauty's eye
He'll set his fate upon a cast,
And stand the hazard of the die."

This was too much. No sooner were we reseated in the carriage, than I began a pathetic remonstrance with Mrs. Damer upon the impropriety of her allowing her mad-cap of a sister to turn every thing into ridicule, and make a laughing stock of every body. She replied, with the most insulting sang froid, "Really Mr. Clavering, in this instance I must acquit Dora ; for as Lord Shaftesbury very justly observes, there is a great difference between seeking how to raise a laugh from every thing, and seeking in every thing what justly may be laughed at.'" This was indeed barbing the arrow with a feather from my own wing, and so making the wound rankle more deeply. Was there ever such heartlessness? but those clever women never have any heart. With this thought I dashed open the carriage door and sprang into the street. I hurried on, and never stopped till I arrived at my own room; there I foreswore all ideas of love, at least of marriage, from that day. Three years have elapsed since my adventure at Deville's. I am now thirty- four, and most true it is that

"Time, who steals our years away,
Steals our pleasures too."

for it has stolen away the only pleasure I ever had-hope. I am too old to hope, and consequently unfit to live. My property is considerably diminished, by foolish generosity to an ungrateful sex; in every grade, and in all attempts at propitiating them I have failed; even a little French opera-dancer who took my diamonds when I addressed some verses to her, beginning with

"O toi a qui l'amour a prete tous les charmes,"

had the impertinence to return me Ninon d'Enclos' well known answer to a similar effusion---

"Eh bien si l'amour prete des charmes,
Pourquoi n'empruntes-tu pas."

I shall only record one more of my adventures, or rather failures, as Lord Byron's Journal of Mr. Hobhouse's piscatory exploits would, with a slight alteration in the wording, serve right well for "an abstract and brief chronicle of the rise, progress, decline and fall of my bonnes fortunes, -i. e." Hobhouse went out to fish-caught nothing."

I was beginning to forget the many bitter lessons I had learnt, and feel a great deal more than was either prudent or proper for that prettiest of all pretty woman Lady for at all times, and at all places, she not only spoke to me, but spoke kindly to me. She asked me one night if I would go to the Opera with her. We were tete-a-tete till nearly the last act of the "Medea." I have no doubt Pasta was more divine than ever, but I neither saw nor heard; I was thinking I had never seen such eyes, or such an arm as Lady s. I was going to tell her so, when the door opened and Castleton came in. He was my best friend, but I wished him most sincerely to the d--; he stayed out the whole ballet, but he left us in the crush-room.- Georgiana, as I now began to call her in my own mind, leant on me; I put her into her carriage; in getting in she dropped her handkerchief; I picked it up and thought I never heard such music as the voice in which she said "Thank you;" she would have said it just as sweetly to an adder that had got out of her way. The next morning saw me in Belgrave-square by two o'clock. I was admitted; Lady was in her boudior; the atmosphere was heavy with the breath of flowers, and the deep shade of the rose-colored blinds at first prevented my perceiving that she had been in tears. She withdrew her handkerchief and tried to smile when I came in.- "Good heavens, Lady said I, what can have made you so unhappy? I do not ask who has done so, for no one could be barbarous enough.' After a little hesitation and fresh burst of tears she at length sobbed out, "Lord is so very unkind to me—so—so angry—about the Opera—last night.". The next moment I was at her feet, and grasping her hand, exclaimed, "Dearest Lady ! angry at your going with me She withdrew her hand hastily, and smiling, nay almost laughing outright, through her tears, said, "Jealous of you! On no no! Mr. Clavering, no one would be jealous of you, which was the reason I asked you; but it was he—be—because Lord Castleton came into my box, though I am sure he did not stay ten minutes." Here was another agreeable denouement. I rose and strode to the window. My eyes fell upon my five hundred guinea horse, (which I had brought solely because Lady -- had admired it.) "A shudder came o'er me, why wert thou so dear?" I left the house-I vowed vengeance against love, and "all its dear delightful, d--d sensations." I tried public life, and stood the other day for a certain borough, but all the women were against me, and—but what matter details—I lost my election. My father has been dead some years; my baronetcy is ancient enough, God knows; there is moreover a dormant peerage in our family. Will not these soften the heart of some gentle Zelica, and throw a silver veil over my unprepossessing physiognomy. Shall I try an advertisement? mystery has great attractions—or—.

*I have heard, Mr. Editor, another story respecting the origin of this epigram, and have known it attributed to another lady. I say with Mahomet, "Mine is the only true account.
What's this, Jefferson? a roll of paper --the last caricature. Ha! confusion-- the Lovely Lover!-What, this in St- James's street-crowds round the win- dow! 'Sdeath! I shall go mad! Caricature, indeed! I wish it was--it is an exact likeness-a copy from the very picture I gave to the opera-dancer, after making the d--d painter flatter the resemblance as much as he could!