BLUE-STOCKING HALL. J. D. NICHOLS, 25, PARLIAMENT STREET. BLUE-STOCKING HALL. “From woman’s eyes this doctrine I derive: They sparkle still the right Promethean fire; They are the books, the arts, the academes, That show, contain, and nourish all the world.” LOVE’S LABOUR LOST. IN THREE VOLUMES. VOL. III. LONDON: HENRY COLBURN, NEW BURLINGTON STREET. 1827. BLUE-STOCKING HALL. LETTER XXVII. FREDERICK TO EMILY DOUGLAS. This, my dearest Emily, is the last letter which you will receive from Frederick in London; and though time speeds on rapid wing in this focus of attraction, I reckon the days with impatience till the heath-clad tops of our dear mountains break upon my view. To travel, and see new men and manners, would be too delightful, if mother and sisters were with me, but, unfashionable as the confession may be, I own to the _weakness_ of loving mine enough to make me wish to be always near them. In a few days we are to set out, and Arthur starts for France, when we turn our faces towards Glenalta. I fear that my uncle is not gaining ground; there is a consultation every day, but it seems to me as if many of these great doctors make up in _mannerism_ of one sort or other what they want in penetration. One assumes a rough tone, and thinks it for his advantage to act the brute, in order to assure his patients that he is an honest man. Another looks as smooth as satin, and prescribes such numerous and expensive remedies, that none but a nabob could afford to be cured. A third experiments upon all the vegetables and minerals in the modern Pharmacopœia, and “thrice slays the slain,” before he stumbles by accident on the disease. If I am to be killed by Esculapian skill, I would rather receive my _quietus_ from a sober practitioner in the country, who had never heard of _arsenic_, _digitalis_, or the _prussic acid_, than be torn piece-meal by a triad of London physicians, who, ten to one, know as little of the case as of the constitution submitted to them, and ceremoniously agree to put one out of the world with the profoundest adherence to etiquette. I cannot help thinking the business altogether a solemn farce, which I long to see brought to a conclusion, and as I am growing every day more and more attached to this near and dear relation, I look anxiously for his removal, from what appears to me, a pick-pocket confederacy. The dread with which my uncle’s manner at first inspired me, is gradually wearing away. With Phil. and me he is charming, full of information, classical taste, and literary criticism. He has a fund of humour also, which gives variety to his powers of pleasing; and when bodily pain does not weigh