INTRODUCTION TO THE BLUES.

THE term "blue-stocking" took its origin from the blue stockings of Mr. Stillingfleet,- -a prominent member of the literary coterie who assembled frequently at the house of Mrs. Montague. The title was first applied in pleasantry to the whole society, which consisted of both sexes, and was afterwards appropriated to the bookish ladies, who formed so conspicuous a part of it. Had choice instead of chance presided at the naming, Lord Byron's term "blue-bottle" might have deserved the preference. With the sarcastic eye which he cast over society, and his hatred of false pretension, it was impossible that the learned airs of unlearned ladies should escape the rebuke of his biting pleasantry. In "Beppo" and "Don Juan" he has brushed laughingly but not tenderly, the blue down besprinkled over the wings of these butterflies, and, in 1820, he amused himself with pinning in this "Literary Eclogue" a few specimens of the azure beings who fluttered about the fashionable world during his London life. He called the jeu d'esprit "a mere piece of buffoonery never meant for publication," and it was solely owing to the entreaties of Mr. Hunt that it appeared in "The Liberal." With some little liveliness, this trifling effusion was not, it must be acknowledged, the product of a witty or poetic hour. In comparison with the keener strokes in "Don Juan," it was like stabbing with the hilt instead of with the point of the sword. Much of the amusement, however, depended upon a knowledge of the originals from whom the characters are drawn, and no traditionary information can enable a later generation to apprehend fully the force of the allusions. If the satire seems tame, it is for the most part good-humoured, and even the sketch of Lady Byron, under the name of Miss Lilac, is devoid of bitterness. Had his spleen been really roused, the gaiety of his mocking-mood would have been mingled with many a 66 glittering shaft of war."

But the benches are cramm'd, like a garden in flower,
With the pride of our belles, who have made it the fashion;
So, instead of "beaux arts," we may say "la belle passion"
For learning, which lately has taken the lead in

The world, and set all the fine gentlemen reading.

Tra. I know it too well, and have worn out my patience
With studying to study your new publications.

There's Vamp, Scamp, and Mouthy, and Wordswords and Co.
With their damnable-

Ink.

Whom you speak to?

Tra.

Hold, my good friend, do you know

Right well, boy, and so does "the Row:"

You're an author-a poet

Ink.

And think you that I

1 [Paternoster-Row-long and still celebrated as a very bazaar of booksellers. Sir Walter Scott "hitches into rhyme" one of the most important firms—that

"Of Longman, Hurst, Rees, Orme, and Brown,

Our fathers of the Row."]

Can stand tamely in silence, to hear you decry

The Muses?

Tra.

Excuse me: I meant no offence

To the Nine; though the number who make some pretence
To their favours is such but the subject to drop,

I am just piping hot from a publisher's shop,
(Next door to the pastry-cook's; so that when I
Cannot find the new volume I wanted to buy
On the bibliopole's shelves, it is only two paces,
As one finds every author in one of those places :)
Where I just had been skimming a charming critique,
So studded with wit, and so sprinkled with Greek!

Where your friend-you know who-has just got such a threshing,
That it is, as the phrase goes, extremely "refreshing:
What a beautiful word!

Ink.

Very true; 'tis so soft

And so cooling-they use it a little too oft;

And the papers have got it at last-but no matter.
So they've cut up our friend then ?

Tra.

Not left him a tatter

Not a rag of his present or past reputation,
Which they call a disgrace to the age, and the nation.
Ink. I'm sorry to hear this! for friendship, you know
Our poor friend!--but I thought it would terminate so.
Our friendship is such, I'll read nothing to shock it.
You don't happen to have the Review in your pocket ?

Tra. No; I left a round dozen of authors and others
(Very sorry, no doubt, since the cause is a brother's)
All scrambling and jostling, like so many imps,
And on fire with impatience to get the next glimpse.
Ink. Let us join them.

Tra.

What, won't you return to the lecture? Ink. Why the place is so cramm'd, there's not room for a spectre. Besides, our friend Scamp is to-day so absurd

Tra. How can you know that till you hear him?
Ink.

Quite enough; and, to tell you the truth, my retreat
Was from his vile nonsense, no less than the heat.

I heard

2 [This cant phrase was first used in the Edinburgh Review-probably by Mr. Jeffrey.]

Tra. I have had no great loss then?

Ink.

Loss!--such a palaver!

I'd inoculate sooner my wife with the slaver

Of a dog when gone rabid, than listen two hours
To the torrent of trash which around him he pours,
Pump'd up with such effort, disgorged with such labour,
That come do not make me speak ill of one's neighbour.
Tra. I make you!

Ink.

Yes, you! I said nothing until

You compell'd me, by speaking the truth

Tra.

Is that your deduction?

Ink.

To speak ill?

When speaking of Scamp ill,

I certainly follow, not set an example.

The fellow's a fool, an impostor, a zany.

Tra. And the crowd of to-day shows that one fool makes many.

But we two will be wise.

Ink.

Tra. I would, but

Ink.

Pray, then, let us retire.

There must be attraction much higher

Than Scamp, or the Jew's harp he nicknames his lyre,

Pray get out of this hobble as fast as you can.

You wed with Miss Lilac! 'twould be your perdition:

She's a poet, a chymist, a mathematician.

Tra. I say she's an angel.

Ink.

Say rather an angle.

If you and she marry, you'll certainly wrangle.

I say

she's a Blue, man, as blue as the ether.

Tra. And is that any cause for not coming together? Ink. Humph! I can't say I know any happy alliance Which has lately sprung up from a wedlock with science. She's so learned in all things, and fond of concerning

Herself in all matters connected with learning,

That

Tra.
Ink.

What?

I perhaps may as well hold my tongue; But there's five hundred people can tell you you're wrong.

Tra. You forget Lady Lilac's as rich as a Jew.

Ink. Is it miss or the cash of mamma you pursue?

Tra. Why, Jack, I'll be frank with you-something of both. The girl's a fine girl,

Ink.

And you feel nothing loth

To her good lady-mother's reversion; and yet

Her life is as good as your own, I will bet.

Tra. Let her live, and as long as she likes; I demand
Nothing more than the heart of her daughter and hand.

Ink. Why, that heart's in the inkstand-that hand on the pen.
Tra. A propos-Will you write me a song now and then?
Ink. To what purpose?

Tra.

You know, my dear friend, that in prose

My talent is decent, as far as it goes;

But in rhyme

Ink.

You're a terrible stick, to be sure.

Tra. I own it; and yet, in these times, there's no lure

For the heart of the fair like a stanza or two;

And so, as I can't, will you furnish a few?

Ink. In your name?

Tra.
To slip into her hand at the very next rout.
Ink. Are you so far advanced as to hazard this?

In my name. I will copy them out,

Why,

Tra.
Do think me subdued by a Blue-stocking's eye,
you

So far as to tremble to tell her in rhyme
What I've told her in prose, at the least, as sublime?

Ink. As sublime! If it be so, no need of my Muse.
Tra. But consider, dear Inkel, she's one of the "Blues."
Ink. As sublime !-Mr. Tracy-I've nothing to say.
Stick to prose-As sublime!!—but I wish you good day.
Tra. Nay, stay, my dear fellow-consider—I'm wrong;
I own it; but, prithee, compose me the song.

Ink. As sublime!!

Tra.

I but used the expression in haste.