Journal of Sarah Eve, March 23, 1773

A most fine day indeed, but as this is not uncommon at this season, I dare say, in a week it will be entirely forgotten, as in general it is only the rare occurences that make impressions on the memory. In this year we have had as yet but one day rendered memorable by its temperature, and that was the 21st of February, the extreme coldness of which made it so. Scarcely a day but you hear it referred to; it was "that cold Sunday" that such an one caught their cold; the relation of such, another, attributes the death of a friend to " that cold Sunday," such a thing happened a week or two before "that cold Sunday," when was it ? let me see, it was, it was, oh! it was the day before, or after "that cold Sunday," and so on! It puts me in mind of those lines of our poet Godfrey:^l

Curiosity's another name for Man;

The blazing meteor streaming thro' the air,

Commands our wonder, and admiring eyes

With eager gaze we trace the lucent paths

Till spent at last, it shrinks to native nothing,

While the bright stars which ever steady glow

Unheeded shine and bless the world below.

The weather certainly may be said to be an emblem of mankind; there are few men in an age that are remembered after they are dead, and those few for being remarkable, like the days of the year, extreme in something, man for his goodness, wisdom, or ambition, for the service or disservice he has done a community, in common, with the weather only pleases or displeases for the present, all is forgotten when no more. It seems ingratitude so soon to forget those whose whole lives were made eminent by their social virtues, when perhaps another will be remembered and his name handed down to posterity for having been the best hair-dresser, or the best fiddle-maker of his time.

_______________

1 Thomas Godfrey whose poems were published in 1765. He was the son of the inventor of the quadrant, was born in Philadelphia 1736, and died at the age of twenty-six. The lines quoted are from The Prince of Parthia, A Tragedy. Act I. Scene 2d.

SOURCE: “Extracts from the Journal of Miss Sarah Eve,” The Pennsylvania Magazine of History and Biography, Vol. 5, No. 1 (1881), pp. 27-8

Journal of Sarah Eve, January 5, 1773

A clear day. Dined at Mr. Mitchell's with Mrs. Curry; she excused the Doctor all in her power. I begin to think he is not quite so much to blame as we at first imagined, first he was not so long in town as we heard, then he has had a bad cold, and what he thought much more about, and what we can not be angry with him for, was he had entertained so high an idea of our quality, that the poor Doctor thought his cloathes were not good enough to wait upon us in, therefore he delays his visit until he gets fitted up in the "macaronia"² taste, I suppose.

_______________

² This was the common designation of a beau or dandy at the time Miss Eve wrote, and, as it has crept into some versions of the national song of Yankee Doodle, which read: "He stuck a feather in his hat and called it Macaroni," it may be well to say something of its origin. In Wright's Caricature History of the Georges it is said that in the early part of the reign of George III a club was formed in London by a number of young men, who had made the tour of the continent, and had returned from Italy with all the vices and follies they had picked up there. The club was called "The Macaroni," from the dish which peculiarly distinguished their table and the members soon became distinguished by the title of Macoronis; it was their pride to carry to the utmost excess every description of dissipation, effeminacy of manners, and modish novelty of dress. Everything that was fashionable was a la Macaroni. Even the clergy had their wigs combed, their cloths cut, "their delivery refined a la Macaronis." Macaroni articles abounded everywhere. There was Macaroni music, and there were Macaroni songs set to it. The most popular of these latter was the following: —

THE MACARONI.

 

Ye belles and beaux of London town,

Come listen to my ditty;

The muse in prancing up and down

Has found out something pretty,

With little hat, and hair dress'd high,

And whip to ride a pony ;

If you but take a right survey,

Denotes a Macaroni.

 

Along the street to see them walk,

With tail of monstrous size, sir,

You'll often hear the graver ones talk,

And wish their sons were wiser.

With consequence they strut and grin,

And fool away their money;

Advice they care for not a pin

Ay— that's a Macaroni.

 

With boots, and spurs, and jockey-cap,

And breeches like a sack, O;

Like curs sometimes they'll bite and snap,

And give their whip a smack, O.

When this you see, then think of me,

My name is Merry Crony;

I'll swear the figure that you see

Is called a Macaroni.

 

Five pounds of hair they wear behind,

The ladies to delight, O;

Their senses give unto the wind,

To make themselves a fright, O;

This fashion who does e'er pursue,

I think a simple-tony;

For he's a fool, say what you will,

Who is a Macaroni.

SOURCE: “Extracts from the Journal of Miss Sarah Eve,” The Pennsylvania Magazine of History and Biography, Vol. 5, No. 1 (1881), p. 23-4