"
This trivial circumstance is, I am fully conscious, quite enough to
provoke the blandest of smiles from masculine lips.
"Such a paltry distraction for sensible people!" I hear them utter. So
be it; we will not dispute the point in our own favor, but we will
confess that whether it reflect or not upon the tone and dignity of
our leading tastes, there is an undeniable gratification for every
woman in the contemplation of another's wardrobe or jewel-box. It is a
rest for our eyes that are wearied of gazing upon our own familiar
belongings, to search among the novel trinkets of a friend. We like to
touch them, to hold them, to try them in our ears, or on our fingers,
or to twine them around our wrists, not that we covet them either, for
a moment's inspection gratifies us, and we tire of them quickly.
It is an inherent peculiarity I dare say, and most certainly a
harmless one. We all have it to some extent. I will admit that it has
its abuses like all other innocent things, that it is often a powerful
channel for individual venom and an incentive to the emptiest vanity.
There are women I know, who buy bonnets on purpose to vex Mrs. Jones,
their rival neighbor, and I have seen Mrs. Parvenue, time and again,
indulging a magnificent caprice with some rare luxury, upon which
straitened aristocracy was bestowing covetous and admiring glances.
Our daily observations confirm the fact that feather brained
_protegees_ of fortune, expend much wealth, and flaunt much finery for
the passive pleasure of being looked at with wonder by a struggling
gentility; and the essence of their gratification, virtually lies in
the consciousness that they are provoking a scrutiny, at least, from
better-bred people not in possession of such solid wealth as affords
them these material comforts.
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