Chap, X-On the use of Definitions, and the
moral benefits of Accuracy in Language,.
Chap. XI-On Religion-The Necessity and
Duty of Early Instruction, shown by anal-
ogy with humar, learning,
Chap. XII-On the manner of Instructing
young persons in Religion-General Re-
marks on the genius of Christianity,
Chap. XIII-Hints suggested for furnishing
young persons with a scheme of Prayer,
Chap. XIV-The practical use of female
knowledge, with a sketch of the female
character, and a comparative view of the
A NOBLE earl!-the name I spare,
From reverence to the living heir-
Lov'd pleasure; but to speak the truth,
Not much refinement grac'd the youth.
The path of pleasure which he trod
Was somewhat new, and rather odd;
For, that he haunted park or play,
His house's archives do not say;
Or that more modish joys he felt,
And would in opera transports melt;
Or that he spent his morning's prime
In Bond-street bliss till dinner-time:
No treasur'd anecdotes record
Such pastimes pleas'd the youthful lord.
One single taste historians mention,
A fact unmingled with invention;
It was a taste you'll think, I fear,
Somewhat peculiar for a peer,
Though the rude democratic pen
Pretends that peers are only men.
Whatever town or country fair
Was advertised, my lord was there.
'Twas not to purchase or to seil-
Why went he then? The Muse shall tell.
At fairs he never fail'd to find
The joy congenial to his mind.
This dear diversion would you know?
What was it? 'twas a puppet-show!
Transported with the mimic art,
The wit of Punch enthrall'd his heart,
He went, each evening, just at six,
When Punch exhibited his tricks;
And, not contented every night
To view this object of delight,
He gravely made the matter known
He must and would have Punch his own
For if, exclaims the noble lord,
Such joys these transient views afford
If I receive such keen delight
From a short visit every night,
'Tis fair to calculate what pleasure
Will spring from owning such a treasure
I need not for amusement roam,
I shall have always Punch at home.
He rav'd with this new fancy bit,
Of Punch's sense and Punch's wit.
Not more Narcissus long'd to embrace
The watery mirror's shadowy face;
Not more Pygmalion long'd to claim
Th' unconscious object of his flame;
Than long'd the enamour'd legislator
To purchase this delightful creature.
Each night he regularly sought him,
Nor did he rest till he had bought him.
Soon he accomplishes the measure,
And pays profusely for the treasure:
He bids them pack the precious thing
So careful not to break a spring;
So anxious not to bruise a feature,
His own new coach must fetch the creature!
He safely brought the idol home,
And lodg'd beneath his splendid dome,
All obstacles at length surmounted,
My lord on perfect pleasure counted.
If you have feelings, guess you may
How glad he passed the live long day.
His eating room he makes the station
Of his new favourite's habitation.
'Convivial Punch!' he cried, 'to-day,
Thy genius shall have full display!
How shall I laugh to hear thy wit
At supper nightly as I sit!
And how delightful as I dine,
To hear some sallies, Punch, of thine!"
Next day, at table, as he sat,
Impatient to begin the chat,
Punch was produc'd; but Punch, I trow,
Divested of his puppet-show,
Was nothing, was a thing of wires,
Whose sameness disappoints and tires.
Depriv'd of all eccentric aid,
The empty idol was betray'd.
No artful hand to pull the springs,
And Punch no longer squeaks or sings.
Ah me! what horror seiz'd my lord,
'Twas paint, 'twas show, 'twas pasted-board
He marvell'd why the pleasant thing
Which could such crowds together bring;
Which charm'd him when the show was full.
At home should be so very dull.
He ne'er suspected 'twas the scenery,
He never dreamt 'twas the machinery;
The lights, the noise, the tricks, the distance
Gave the dumb idol this assistance.
Preposterous peer! far better go
To thy congenial puppet-show;
Than buy, divested of its glare,
The empty thing which charm'd thee there.
Be still content abroad to roam,
For Punch exhibits not at home.
The moral of the tale I sing
To modern matches home I bring
Ye youths, in quest of wives who go
To every crowded puppet-show;
If, from thesc scenes, you choose for life
A dancing, singing, dressing wife;
O marvel not at home to find
An empty figure, void of mind;
Stript of her scenery and garnish,
A thing of paint, and paste, and varnish.
Ye candidates for earth's best prize,
Domestic life's sweet charities!
If long you've stray'd from Reason's way,
Enslav'd by fashion's wizard sway;
If by her witcheries still betray'd,
You wed some vain fantastic maid;
Snatch'd, not selected, as you go,
The heroine of the puppet-show;
In every outward grace refin'd,
And destitute of nought but mind;
If skill'd in ev'ry polish'd art,
She wants simplicity of heart;
On her for bliss if you depend,
Without the means you seek the end
You seek, o'erturning nature's laws,
A consequence without a cause;
A downward pyramid you place,
The point inverted for the base.
As the soft powers of oil assuage
Of ocean's waves the furious rage;
Lull to repose the boiling tide,
And the rough billows bid subside;
And you, bright nymphs! who bless our eyes, Till every angry motion sleep,
With all that art, that taste supplies;
Learn that accomplishments, at best,
Aro but the garnish of life's feast;
And tho' your transient guests may praise
Your showy board on gala days:
Yet, while you treat each frippery sinner
With mere deserts, and call 'em dinner,
Your lord who lives at home, still feels
The want of more substantial meals;
Of sense and worth, which every hour
Enlarge Affection's growing power;
Of worth, not emulous to praise,
Of sense, not kept for gala days.
O! in the highest, happiest lot,
By woman be it ne'er forgot,
That human life's no Isthmian game,
Where sports and shows must purchase fame.
Tho' at the puppet-show he shone,
Punch was poor company alone.
Life is no round of jocund hours,
Of garlands gay, and festive bowers;
Even to the young, to whom I sing,
Its serious business life will bring.
Tho' bright the suns which now appea
To gild your cloudless atmosphere,
Oft, unawares, some direful storm,
Serenest skies may soon deform;
In dim Affliction's dreary hour
The flash of mirth must lose its power;
Whilst faith a constant light supplies,
And virtue cheers the darkest skies.
To bless the matrimonial hours
Must three joint leaders club their powers,
GOOD-NATURE, PIETY, and SENSE,
Must their confederate aids dispense.
And softest tremblings hush the deep:
Good-nature! thus thy charms controul
The tumults of the troubled soul:
By labour worn, by care opprest,
On thee the wearied head shall rest;
From business and distraction frec,
Delighted, shall return to thee;
To thee the aching heart shall cling,
And find that peace it does not bring.
And while the light and empty fair,
Form'd for the ball-room's dazzling glare
Abroad, of speech, so prompt and rapid,
At home, so vacant and so vapid;
Of every puppet-show the life,
At home, a dull and tasteless wife ;-
The mind with sense and knowledge stor'd
Can counsel, or can soothe its ord:
His varied joys or sorrows feel,
And share the pains it cannot heal.
But, Piety without thy aid,
Love's fairest prospects soon must fade.
Blest architect! rear'd by thy hands,
Connubial Concord's temple stands.
Tho' Wit, tho' Genius, raise the pile,
Tho' Taste assist, tho' Talents smile,
Tho' Fashion, while her wreaths she twine,
Her light Corinthian columns join ;
Still the frail structure Fancy rears,
A tottering house of cards appears;
Some sudden gust, nor rare the case,
May shake the building to its base
Unless, bless'd Picty! thou join
Thy keystone to ensure the shrine;
Unless, to guard against surprises,
On thy broad arch the temple rises.
THE BAS BLEU; OR, CONVERSATION.
ADDRESSED TO MRS. VESĖY
The following trifle owes it birth and name to the mistake of a foreigner of distinction whu gave the literal appellation of the Bas-bleu to a small party of friends, who had been often called, by way of pleasantry, the Blue Stockings. These little societies have been sometimes misrepre. sented. They were composed of persons distinguished, in general for their rank, talents, or respectable character, who met frequently at Mrs. Vesey's, and at a few other houses, for the sole purpose of conversation, and were different in no respect from other parties, but that the company did not play at cards.
May the author be permitted to bear her grateful testimony (which will not be suspected of flattery, now that most of the persons named in this poem are gone down to the grave) to the many pleasant and instructive hours she had the honour to pass in this company; in which learn ing was as little disfigured by pedantry, good taste as little tinctured by affectation, and general conversation as little disgraced by calumny, levity, and the other censurable errors with which it is too commonly tainted, as has perhaps been known in any society.
VESEY! of verse the judge and friend!
Awhile my idle strain attend:
Not with the days of early Greece,
I mean to ope my slender piece;
The rare Symposium to proclaim
Which crown'd th' Athenian's social name;
Or how ASPASIA's parties shone,.
The first Bas-bleu at Athens known;
Where SOCRATES unbending sat,
With ALCIBIADES in chat;
And PERICLES vouchsafed to mix
Taste, wit, and mirth, with politics.
Nor need I stop my tale to show,
At least to readers such as you,
How all that Rome esteem'd polite,
Supp d with LUCULLUS every night;
LOCULLUS, who, from Pontus come,
Where point, and turn, and equivoque
Distorted every word they spoke!
All so intolerably bright,
Plain Common Sense was put to flight,
Each speaker, so ingenious ever,
'Twas tiresome to be quite so clever ;
There twisted Wit forgot to pleasc,
Brought conquests, and brought cherries home. And Mood and Figure banish'd ease;
Name but the suppers in th' Apollo.
What classics images will follow!
How wit flew round, while each might take
Conchylia from the Lucrine lake;
And Attic salt; and Garum sauce,
And lettuce from the isle of Cos;
The first and last from Greece transplanted,
Us'd here because the rhyme I wanted:
How pheasant's heads, with cost collected,
And phennicopters stood neglected.
To laugh at SCIPIO's lucky hit,
POMPEY'S bon-mot, or CESAR's wit!
Intemperance, list'ning to the tale,
Forgot the mullet growing* stale;
And Admiration balanc'd, hung
'Twixt PEACOскs' brains, and TULLY's tongue.
I shall not stop to dwell on these,
But be as epic as I please,
And plunge at once in medias res
To prove the privilege I plead,
I'll quote from Greek I cannot read;
Stunn'd by Authority, you yield,
And I, nct Reason, keep the field.
Long was Society o'er-run
By Whist, that desolating Hun;
Long did Quadrille despotic sit,
That vandal of colloquial Wit:
And conversation's setting light
Lay half-obscur'd in Gothic night;
At length the mental shades decline,
Colloquial Wit begins to shine;
Genius prevails, and Conversation
Emerges into Reformation.
The vanquish'd triple crown to you,
BOSCAWEN sage, bright MONTAGU,
Divided, fell;-your cares in haste
Rescued the ravag'd realms of Taste;
And LYTTLETON's accomplished name,
And witty PULTNEY shar'd the fame;
The men, not bound by pedant rules,
Nor ladiest Precieuses ridicules;
For polish'd WALPOLE show'd the way,
How wits may be both learn'd and gay;
And CARTER taught the female train,
The deeply wise are never vain ;
And she whom SHAKSPEARE'S Wrongs redrest,
Prov'd that the brightest are the best.
This just deduction still they drew,
And well they practis'd what they knew;
Nor taste, nor wit, deserves applause,
Uuless still true to critic laws;
Good sense, of faculties the best,
Inspire and regulate the rest,
O! how unlike the wit that fell,
RAMBOUILLET! at thy quaint hotel;
Seneca says, that in his time the Romans were arrived at such a pitch of luxury, that the mullet was reckoned stale which did not die in the hands of the guest. See Moliere's comedy.
The society at the hotel de Rambouillet, though composed of the most polite and ingenious persons in France, was much tainted with affectation and false taste. Sce Voiture, Menage, &c.
No votive altar smok'd to thee,
Chaste queen, divine Simplicity!
But forc'd Conceit, which ever fails,
And stiff Antithesis prevails.
Uneasy Rivalry destroys
Society's unlaboured joys:
NATURE, of stilts and fetters tir'd,
Impatient from the wits retir'd,
Long time the exile, houseless stray'd
Till SEVIGNE receiv'd the maid.
Though here she comes to bless our isle,
Not universal is her smile.
Muse! snatch the lyre which CAMBRIDGE stru
When he the empty ball-room sung;
'Tis tun'd above thy pitch, I doubt,
And thou no music would'st draw out,
Yet, in a lower note, presume
To sing the full dull drawing room.t
Where the dire circle keeps its station,
Each common phrase is an oration;
And cracking fans, and whisp'ring misses,
Compose their conversation blisses.
The inatron marks the goodly show,
While the tall daughter eyes the beau-
The frigid beau! ah! luckless fair,
'Tis not for you that studied air;
Ah! not for you that sidelong glance,
And all that charming nonchalance;
Ah; not for you the three long hours
He worship'd the cosmetic powers;'
That finish'd head which breathes oerfume,
And kills the nerves of half the room;
And all the murders meant to lie
In that large, languishing, gray eye;
Desist;-less wild th' attempt would be,
To warm the snows of Rhodope:
Too cold to feel, too proud to feign,
For him you're wise and fair in vain ;
In vain to charm him you intend,
Self is his object, aim, and end.
Chill shade of that affected peer,
Who dreaded mirth, come safely here'
For here no vulgar joy effaces
Thy rage for polish, ton, and graces.
Cold Ceremony's leaden hand,
Waves o'er the room her poppy wand,
Arrives the stranger; every guest
Conspires to torture the distrest:
At once they rise-so have I seen-
You guess the similie I mean,
Take what comparison you ploase,
The crowded streets, the swarming bees,
The pebbles on the shore that lie,
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The late earl of Mansfield told the author that when he was ambassador at Paris, he was assured that it had not been unusual for those persons of a purer taste who frequented these assemblies, to come out from their society so weary of wit and laboured ingenuity, that they used to express the comfort they felt in their emancipa tion, by saying, "Allons! faisons des so lecismes !"
These grave and formal parties now scarcely exist, having been swallowed up in the reigning multitudi nous assemblies.
The stars which form the galaxy;
These serve t' embellish what is said,
And show, besides, that one has read ;-
At once they rise-th' astonish'd guest
Back in a corner slinks, distrest;
Scar'd at the many bowing round,
And shock'd at her own voice's sound,
Forgot the thing she meant to say,
Her words, half-uttered die away;
In sweet oblivion down she sinks,
And of her next appointment thinks.
While her loud neighbour on the right,
Boasts what she has to do to-night,
So very much, you'd swear her pride is
To match the labours of ALCIDES;
Tis true, in hyperbolic measure,
She nobly calls her labours Pleasure
In this unlike ALCMENA'S Son,
She never means they should be done
Her fancy of no limits dreams,
No ne plus ultra stops her schemes;
Twelve! she'd have scorn'd the paltry round,
No pillars would have mark'd her bound;
CALPE and ABYLA, in vain
Had nodded cross th' opposing main;
A circumnavigator she
On Ton's illimitable sea.
We pass the pleasures vast and various,
Of routs, not social, but gregarious
Where high heroic self-denial
Sustains her self-inflicted trial.
Day lab'rers! what an easy life,
To feed ten children and a wife!
No-I may juster pity spare
To the night lab'rer's keener care;
And, pleas'd, to gentler scenes retreat,
Where Conversation holds her seat.
Small were that art which would ensure
The circle's boasted quadrature!
See VESEY's* plastic genius make
A circle every figure take;
Nay, shapes and forms, which would defy
All science of Geometry;
Isosceles, and parallel,
Names, hard to speak, and hard to spell!
The enchantress wav'd her hand, and spoke!
Her potent wand the circle broke;
The social spirits hover round,
And bless the liberated ground.
Here, rigid CATO, awful sage!
Bold censor of a thoughtless age,
Once dealt his pointed moral round,
And, not unheeded, fell the sound;
The Muse his honour'd memory weeps,
For CATO now with Roscius sleeps!
Here once HORTENSIUS+ lov'd to sit,
Apostate now from social wit:
Ah! why in wrangling senates waste
The noblest parts, the happiest taste?
Why democratic thunders wield,
And quit the Muses' calmer field?
Ask you what charms this gift dispense?
Tis the strong spell of COMMON SENSE.
Away dull Ceremony flew,
And with her bore Detraction too.
This amiable lady was remarkable for her talent in breaking the formality of a circle, by inviting her parties to form themselves into little separate groups. This was written in the year 1787, when Mr. Ed. Gurd Burke had joined the then opposition
Nor only geometric art,
Does this presiding power impart ;
But chymists too, who want the essence
Which makes or mars all coalescence,
Of her the secret rare might get,
How different kinds amalgamate:
And he, who wilder studies chose,
Finds here a new metempsychose;
How forms can other forms assume
Within her Pythagoric room;
Or be, and stranger is th' event,
The very things which Nature meant,
Nor strive by art and affectation.
To cross their genuine destination.
Here sober duchesses are seen,
Chaste wits, and critics void of spleen,
Physicians, fraught with real scienco
And whigs and tories in alliance;
Poets, fulfilling Christian duties,
Just, lawyers, reasonable beauties;
Bishops who preach, and peers who pay.
And countesses who seldom play;
Learn'd antiquaries, who from College,
Reject the rust, and bring the knowledge
And, hear it, Age, believe it, Youth,-
Polemics, really seeking truth;
And travellers of that rare tribe,
Who've seen the countries they describe;
Who study'd there, so strange their plan,
Not plants, nor herbs alone, but man;
While travellers, of other notions,
Scale mountain tops, and traverse oceans
As if so much these themes engross,
The study of mankind, was moss.
Ladies who point, nor think me partial,
An epigram as well as MARSHALL,
Yet in all female worth succeed,
As well as those who cannot read.
Right pleasant were the task, I ween,
To name the groups which fill the scene;
But rhymes of such fastidious nature,
She proudly scorns all nomenclature,
Nor grace our northern names her lips,
Like HOMER's catalogue of ships.
Once-faithful Memory! heave a sigh
Here Roscius gladdened every eye.
Why comes not Maro? Far from town,
He rears the urn to Taste, and BROWN,
Plants cypress round the tomb of GRAY,.
Or decks his English garden gay;
Whose mingled sweets exhale perfume,
And promise a perennial bloom.
Taste thou the gentler joys they give,
With HORACE and with LELIUS live.
Hail, CONVERSATION, Soothing power,
Sweet goddess of the social hour!
Not with more heartfelt warmth, at least.
Does LELJUS bend, thy true high priest;
Than I the lowest of thy train,
These field-flowers bring to deck thy fane;
Who to thy shrine like him can haste,
With warmer zeal, or purer taste?
O may thy worship long prevail,
And thy true votaries never fail!
Long may thy polish'd altars blaze
With wax-lights' undiminish'd rays!
Still be thy nightly offering paid,
Libations large of lemonade!
On silver vases, loaded, rise
The biscuits' ample sacrifice!
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