Blue-Stocking Hall, (Vol. 1 of 3)Scargill, William Pitt
General
Blue-Stocking Hall, (Vol. 1 of 3)
Scargill, William Pitt
Epistolary fiction; Women -- Conduct of life -- Fiction; Women -- Education -- Fiction
every thing, and every body, that, forgetful of a quarrel which
I had with _Ady_. in the morning, I caught Lord Crayton by the
arm, and, under pretence of asking his advice how to prepare for
uncle's arrival, gave him such a _teeth-watering_ account of the
old boy's investments in the 3 _per cent. Consols_, that milord
stuck, for the rest of the evening, like bird-lime to my pensive
sister, and almost overturned poor Sir Leonard Twig to _beau_ mamma
down stairs; since when, he has never missed a day in visiting,
riding with our coterie in the park; and in short I shall not be
surprized if, before your return from the _land of darkness_, you
see a paragraph in the Morning Post: but what should bring the
Morning Post into the wilderness? I give myself immense credit for
remembering ever since I performed the Druidical priestess at Lady
Penguin's, and learned my evening's task for the occasion, that
Annan is the Druid's name for your island of saints, and that it
was held to be the dominions of night. It is _so à propos_!
Well, but I was talking of Crayton and Adelaide. If indeed a
London newspaper should meet your eyes while you are suffering
_ostracism_, (I got _such_ credit for that stroke last night) I
verily think it not improbable, that you will stumble ere long,
upon, "It is rumoured in the higher circles, that Viscount Crayton
is shortly to lead to the Hymeneal altar the lovely Miss A.
Howard." What more you may see here-after, I cannot give you a hint
of till you come.
Poor Lionel Strangeways bores me to death with his _petits soins_.
Sir Stephen (that odious name always sets me sneezing) haunts
Grosvenor-square; and Annesley with whom you used to be so _lié_,
and who, begging your pardon, is neither more nor less than _bête_,
worries me to dance wherever I meet him.
Adelaide, Crayton, Lord George, and I, made a _parti quarré_, in
the park yesterday, when we met him quite _en polisson_. He had no
servant, looked _bourgeois_; and though I am not ill-natured as you
_know_, I was obliged to sham blindness, and to pass by without
even a nod. This may cure _him_, and release _me_ from a _blister_.
If he were not nephew to the Duke of Elsbury, there would be no
bearing him; but every one knows the relationship, and therefore
one is _safe_ in acknowledging him, though he is so horribly
disagreeable. Directly after I gave him _the go by_, I recollected
that perhaps he had heard from you since your letter to us of the
5th, and I might have asked how your cough is, but I did not think
of it in time.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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