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The magnificence of the physical world, and its influence upon the human mind, have been the favourite themes of our most eminent poets. The herd of bluestocking ladies and sonneteering gentlemen seem to consider a strong sensibility to the "splendour of the grass, the glory of the flower," as an ingredient absolutely indispensable in the formation of a poetical mind.
Nothing can be more unjust than to confound these outpourings of a kind heart, sure of perfect sympathy, with the egotism of a bluestocking, who prates to all who come near her about her own novel or her own volume of sonnets. It was natural that the triumphant issue of Miss Burney's first venture should tempt her to try a second.
She almost lived out of doors, for Uncle Ted said he was determined to transform the little Boston bluestocking into a wild Indian; and so Patty had become browned by the sun, and her rowing and swimming had developed a fine amount of muscle.
To our surprise the Bluestocking began to blush, and her blush is not the coy, irresponsible flushing of an ordinary girl, but a painful rush of blood to the face under stress of deep earnestness, the kind of blush which forces one to look away. ‘Well,’ she said, with a gulp, ‘I think, perhaps they might.’ It was obvious the admission had cost her something. We were all dumfounded.
‘I was taught,’ said the Good Stockbroker slowly, ‘to regard marriage as a sacred institution a holy mystery.’ ‘Then you were taught rot,’ snapped the Bluestocking, thus living up to the worst traditions of the polite dinner-table, and quivering with intellectual fury. ‘Recrimination ’ began the Good Stockbroker. ‘ is not argument,’ continued the Good Stockbroker.
They all clapped when she had finished somewhat breathlessly. It was obvious that the brave Bluestocking so far lacked the courage of her opinions as to be agonisingly embarrassed at this public expression of them. The Gentle Lady, who is the most tactful creature in existence, accordingly rose before anyone had time to speak, and the two women left the room together.
THE ELDERLY GENTLEMAN. Make me happy! A bluestocking of fifty! Thank you. THE MAN. Bluestocking? The effort to make out your meaning is fatiguing. Besides, you are talking too much to me: I am old enough to discourage you. THE ELDERLY GENTLEMAN. Certainly. I have no wish to force my conversation on any man who does not desire it. Perhaps you would like to take a nap.
Anyhow, 'tis so, and Horry, who would have all think him above such thoughts, is most demurely conceited that a Walpole ahem! should grace the British peerage. Remains now only Charlotte, and I dare swear she will carry her charms to no worse market than Maria, though not so great a Venus. I went yesterday evening to the Bluestocking Circle at Mrs Montagu's fine house in Hill Street.
These ladies were exceptions to the rule of general urbanity before mentioned. Both had fiery faces, and each read the other through and through at a glance. There was a Miss Bluestocking who charmed some people, irritated others, frightened a few, and caused many to sneer.
"You are above gossip and I prefer the men to the books. You'll ruin your pretty eyes, and you had the makings of a fine bluestocking when I rescued you. A successful woman with her husband and with Society has only sparkling shallows in her pretty little head. Now, I must run. I really shouldn't have come all the way up here for lunch."
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