THERE is an amiable kind of young gentleman going about in society, upon
whom, after much experience of him, and considerable turning over of the
subject in our mind, we feel it our duty to affix the above appellation.
Young ladies mildly call him a ‘sarcastic’ young gentleman, or a ‘severe’
young gentleman. We, who know better, beg to acquaint them with the
fact, that he is merely a censorious young gentleman, and nothing else.
The censorious young gentleman has the reputation among his familiars of
a remarkably clever person, which he maintains by receiving all
intelligence and expressing all opinions with a dubious sneer,
accompanied with a half smile, expressive of anything you please but
good-humour. This sets people about thinking what on earth the
censorious young gentleman means, and they speedily arrive at the
conclusion that he means something very deep indeed; for they reason in
this way—‘This young gentleman looks so very knowing that he must mean
something, and as I am by no means a dull individual, what a very deep
meaning he must have if I can’t find it out!’ It is extraordinary how
soon a censorious young gentleman may make a reputation in his own small
circle if he bear this in his mind, and regulate his proceedings
accordingly.
As young ladies are generally—not curious, but laudably desirous to
acquire information, the censorious young gentleman is much talked about
among them, and many surmises are hazarded regarding him. ‘I wonder,’
exclaims the eldest Miss Greenwood, laying down her work to turn up the
lamp, ‘I wonder whether Mr. Fairfax will ever be married.’ ‘Bless me,
dear,’ cries Miss Marshall, ‘what ever made you think of him?’ ‘Really I
hardly know,’ replies Miss Greenwood; ‘he is such a very mysterious
person, that I often wonder about him.’ ‘Well, to tell you the truth,’
replies Miss Marshall, ‘and so do I.’ Here two other young ladies
profess that they are constantly doing the like, and all present appear
in the same condition except one young lady, who, not scrupling to state
that she considers Mr. Fairfax ‘a horror,’ draws down all the opposition
of the others, which having been expressed in a great many ejaculatory
passages, such as ‘Well, did I ever!’—and ‘Lor, Emily, dear!’ ma takes up
the subject, and gravely states, that she must say she does not think Mr.
Fairfax by any means a horror, but rather takes him to be a young man of
very great ability; ‘and I am quite sure,’ adds the worthy lady, ‘he
always means a great deal more than he says.’
The door opens at this point of the disclosure, and who of all people
alive walks into the room, but the very Mr. Fairfax, who has been the
subject of conversation! ‘Well, it really is curious,’ cries ma, ‘we
were at that very moment talking about you.’ ‘You did me great honour,’
replies Mr. Fairfax; ‘may I venture to ask what you were saying?’ ‘Why,
if you must know,’ returns the eldest girl, ‘we were remarking what a
very mysterious man you are.’ ‘Ay, ay!’ observes Mr. Fairfax, ‘Indeed!’
Now Mr. Fairfax says this ay, ay, and indeed, which are slight words
enough in themselves, with so very unfathomable an air, and accompanies
them with such a very equivocal smile, that ma and the young ladies are
more than ever convinced that he means an immensity, and so tell him he
is a very dangerous man, and seems to be always thinking ill of somebody,
which is precisely the sort of character the censorious young gentleman
is most desirous to establish; wherefore he says, ‘Oh, dear, no,’ in a
tone, obviously intended to mean, ‘You have me there,’ and which gives
them to understand that they have hit the right nail on the very centre
of its head.
When the conversation ranges from the mystery overhanging the censorious
young gentleman’s behaviour, to the general topics of the day, he
sustains his character to admiration. He considers the new tragedy well
enough for a new tragedy, but Lord bless us—well, no matter; he could say
a great deal on that point, but he would rather not, lest he should be
thought ill-natured, as he knows he would be. ‘But is not Mr.
So-and-so’s performance truly charming?’ inquires a young lady.
‘Charming!’ replies the censorious young gentleman. ‘Oh, dear, yes,
certainly; very charming—oh, very charming indeed.’ After this, he stirs
the fire, smiling contemptuously all the while: and a modest young
gentleman, who has been a silent listener, thinks what a great thing it
must be, to have such a critical judgment. Of music, pictures, books,
and poetry, the censorious young gentleman has an equally fine
conception. As to men and women, he can tell all about them at a glance.
‘Now let us hear your opinion of young Mrs. Barker,’ says some great
believer in the powers of Mr. Fairfax, ‘but don’t be too severe.’ ‘I
never am severe,’ replies the censorious young gentleman. ‘Well, never
mind that now. She is very lady-like, is she not?’ ‘Lady-like!’ repeats
the censorious young gentleman (for he always repeats when he is at a
loss for anything to say). ‘Did you observe her manner? Bless my heart
and soul, Mrs. Thompson, did you observe her manner?—that’s all I ask.’
‘I thought I had done so,’ rejoins the poor lady, much perplexed; ‘I did
not observe it very closely perhaps.’ ‘Oh, not very closely,’ rejoins
the censorious young gentleman, triumphantly. ‘Very good; then _I_ did.
Let us talk no more about her.’ The censorious young gentleman purses up
his lips, and nods his head sagely, as he says this; and it is forthwith
whispered about, that Mr. Fairfax (who, though he is a little prejudiced,
must be admitted to be a very excellent judge) has observed something
exceedingly odd in Mrs. Barker’s manner.