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
