Attempt > Volume 1 and Select writings

96
THE ATTEMPT
into a perfect bevy of ladies eagerly discussing the delights of last night’s hall. They
are young and bright, and joyous and pretty, and his heart softens as a silvery peal
of laughter rings on his ear, as he watches the sparkle of the eyes, telling how light¬
hearted and innocent their merriment is, and even he, the stoic of a few minutes before,
forgets the prime object of his presence there, and delights his eyes with these living
pictures of grace and beauty. All unconsciously he continues to gaze and listen till
he is suddenly reminded that his bright fascinators are but beings of this every-day
world, by hearing somebody’s awkwardness decried in no gentle terms, and seeing a
pair of bright eyes dart glances of reproach at the possessor of the clumsy foot which
has wrought such damage to her trailing robe. Intuitively our would-be cynic knows
himself to be the defaulter, and the colofur of the bronzed and furrowed cheek, upon
which mid-day suns and winter blasts have no effect, is momentarily heightened as he
hastily begs pardon, and continues his round of inspection, for his feelings have received
a rude shock, and as he eyes remorsefully the rent he has so unwittingly caused, he
acknowledges that he is out of place in this gay scene—that he is far more at home in
the corn market or Cross of Edinburgh than in this true Vanity Fair,
There are children here too, little old men and women of the world, who carry
juvenile season tickets in their muffs, and criticise with adult severity both the pictures
and assembly. We remember the day, and it is not so far distant either, when a visit
to the Exhibition was the grand Saturday treat, when we looked upon its suite of
rooms as the best place in the world for a game at hide-and-seek. Quite tranquil and
self-possessed we required to be, or we would soon have been called to order; but few
who have not experienced can understand how we enjoyed the mere idea of losing and
finding one another in that throng of people; and as young ladies, even while delight¬
ing in the retrospect, we blush to think how very undignified and improper such
behaviour must have appeared to the rest of the world. But the little ones of to-day
give no such uneasiness to anxious guardians; romping and rioting are almost out of
fashion, and childhood, with its innocent joys and weaknesses, has now a very short
reign. Lounges running the length of the rooms are monoplized by the dowager belles
of our fair city (each a petty sovereign, robed in fur and velvet), who hold an almost
daily audience in the Exhibition of Paintings. Graciously they sit in state, scattering
condescending bows of recognition right and left, while winning smiles of welcome
reward the favoured few who have courage to approach their august ladyships. Let us
not for one moment suppose that an innate love of adulation, or even a selfish craving
after excitement, is the motive of their daily visit. A chaperon has arduous duties to
perform, all gratifying though they may appear to the rest of the world; for where