BLUE-STOCKING HALL.
J. D. NICHOLS, 25, PARLIAMENT STREET.
BLUE-STOCKING HALL.
IN THREE VOLUMES.
VOL. III.
LONDON:
HENRY COLBURN, NEW BURLINGTON STREET.
1827.
This, my dearest Emily, is the last letterwhich you will receive from Frederick in London;and though time speeds on rapid wing inthis focus of attraction, I reckon the days withimpatience till the heath-clad tops of our dearmountains break upon my view. To travel,and see new men and manners, would be toodelightful, if mother and sisters were with me,but, unfashionable as the confession may be, Iown to the weakness of loving mine enough to[2]make me wish to be always near them. In afew days we are to set out, and Arthur startsfor France, when we turn our faces towardsGlenalta. I fear that my uncle is not gainingground; there is a consultation every day, butit seems to me as if many of these great doctorsmake up in mannerism of one sort or otherwhat they want in penetration. One assumes arough tone, and thinks it for his advantage toact the brute, in order to assure his patients thathe is an honest man. Another looks as smoothas satin, and prescribes such numerous andexpensive remedies, that none but a nabob couldafford to be cured. A third experiments uponall the vegetables and minerals in the modernPharmacopœia, and “thrice slays the slain,”before he stumbles by accident on the disease.If I am to be killed by Esculapian skill, I wouldrather receive my quietus from a sober practitionerin the country, who had never heard ofarsenic, digitalis, or the prussic acid, than betorn piece-meal by a triad of London physicians,who, ten to one, know as little of thecase as of the constitution submitted to them,[3]and ceremoniously agree to put one out of theworld with the profoundest adherence to etiquette.I cannot help thinking the businessaltogether a solemn farce, which I long to seebrought to a conclusion, and as I am growingevery day more and more attached to this nearand dear relation, I look anxiously for his removal,from what appears to me, a pick-pocketconfederacy. The dread with which my uncle’smanner at first inspired me, is gradually wearingaway. With Phil. and me he is charming,full of information, classical taste, and literarycriticism. He has a fund of humour also,which gives variety to his powers of pleasing;and when bodily pain does not weigh upon hisspirits, he is a delightful companion, whosesociety will add considerably to the pleasures ofour winter fire-side. But his frown is as awfulas his smile is beaming, and would have petrifiedme long ago, if I had ever encountered hisbrow in the act of concentrating its forces uponme, as it does when aunt Howard and Louisaappear in his presence. The whole horizon ofhis forehead is then hung thickly in clouds, a[4]morose expression marks his countenance, anda s