_The conversazione blue_, or _bureau d’esprit blue_. It is remarkable that in order to designate this order we are obliged to borrow from two foreign languages.--a proof that it is not natural to England; but numbers of this order have been seen of late years, chiefly in London and Bath, during the season. The _bureau d’esprit_, or _conversazione blue_, is a most hard-working creature--the servant of the servants of the public.--If a dinner-giving blue (and none others succeed well or long), Champagne and ice and the best of fish are indispensable. She may then be at home once a week in the evening, with a chance of having her house fuller than it can hold, of all the would-be wits and three or four of the leaders of London. Very thankful she must be for the honour of their company. She had need to have all the superlatives, in and out of the English language, at her tongue’s end; and when she has exhausted these, then she must invent new. She must have tones of admiration, and looks of ecstasy, for every occasion. At reading parties,--especially at her own house, she must cry--“charming!”--“delightful!” “quite original!” in the right places even in her sleep.--Awake or asleep she must read every thing that comes out that has a name, or she must talk as if she had--at her peril--to the authors themselves,--the irritable race!--She must know more especially every article in the Edinburgh and Quarterly Reviews; and at her peril too, must talk of these so as not to commit herself, so as to please the reviewer abusing, and the author abused; she must keep the peace between rival wits;--she must swallow her own vanity--many fail in this last attempt--choke publicly, and give it up. I am sorry that so much has been said about the blues; sorry I mean that such a hue and cry has been raised against them all, good, bad, and indifferent. John Bull would have settled it best in his quiet way by just letting them alone, leaving the disagreeable ones to die off in single blessedness. But people got about John, and made him set up one of his “_No popery_” cries; and when becomes to that pitch be loses his senses and his common sense completely. “_No blues!_” “Down with the blues!”--now what good has all that done? only made the matter ten times worse. In consequence of this universal hubbub a new order of things has arisen.