cases, without doubt, the consciousness of capacity of a really extraordinary nature, have been sufficient to create a certain number of characters, which are somewhat inaccurately and unjustly classed together by the gentlemen of Edinburgh, under the appellation of "our Blue-stockings.' With the chief and most prominent persons of this class, it has as yet been my good or evil fortune to come very little in contact. My introductions into society in this place have been mostly through the intervention of the men of high literary character, and these are here, as everywhere, the greatest, that is to say, the most contemptuous enemies the Bluestocking tribe has to encounter. Last night, however, I was present at a small rout, or conversatione, which, although the lady of the house is by no means a Blue-stocking, had not a little of the appearance of a Blue-stocking party about it. A number of the principal Bas-bleus were there, and a considerable proportion of the literati, small and great, were, of course, in attendance. In short, I suspect it was as near an approach to the true and genuine scene, as I am likely to have an opportunity of observing.

I was ushered into a room decently crowded with very welldrest people, and not having any suspicion that much amusement was likely to be had, I privately intended to make my bow to Mrs. and retire as soon as possible-for I had left a very snug party over their claret at my friend W's, and certainly thought I could spend the rest of the evening more agreeably with them, than at any such rout as I had yet met with in Edinburgh. I had not been long in the room, however, when I heard Mr. Jeffrey announced, and as I had not seen him for some time, I resolved to stay, and, if possible, enjoy a little of his couversation in some corner. When he entered, I confess I was a good deal struck with the different figure he made from what, I had seen at C-g C-k. Instead of the slovenly set-out which he then sported the green jacket, black neckcloth, and grey pantaloons-I have seldom seen a man more nice in his exterior than Mr. Jeffrey now seemed to be. His little person looked very neat in the way he had now adorned it. He had a very well-cut blue-coat-evidently not after the design of any Edinburgh artist-light kerseymere breeches, and ribbed silk stockings-a pair of elegant buckles-white kid gloves, and a tri-color watch-ribbon. He held his hat under his arm in

a very degagée manner and altogether he was certainly one of the last men in the assembly, whom a stranger would have guessed to be either a great lawyer or a great reviewer. In short, he was more of a Dandy than any great author I ever saw-always excepting Tom Moore and David Williams.

Immediately after him, Dr. Brown came into the room, equipped in an equally fashionable, though not quite so splendid manner, and smiling on all around with the same mild, gentle air, which I had observed on his entrance to his lecture-room. Close upon his heels followed Professor Lesslie, with a large moss-rose in his bosom. The Professor made his obeisance to one or two ladies that stood near him, and then fixing himself close by the fire-place, assumed an' aspect of blank abstraction, which lasted for many minutes without the least alteration. The expression of his massy features and large grey eyes, rolling about while he stood in this attitude, was so solemn, that nothing could have formed a more amusing contrast to the light and smiling physiognomies of the less contemplative persons around him. I saw that Mr. Jeffrey was eyeing him all the while with a very quizzical air, and indeed heard him whisper something about heat, to Lady, with whom he was conversing, which I fear could have been nothing more innocent than some sarcasm against the ruminating philosopher. For my part, I now perceived plainly, that I was in a rout of no ordinary character, and, rubbing my spectacles, prepared to make the best use of my time.

While I was studying very attentively the fine hemispherical development of the organ of Casuality, in the superior part of Mr. Lesslie's head, I heard the name of the Earl of Buchan, travelling up the stair-case, from the mouth of one lackey to that of another, and looked round with some curiosity to see the brother of the celebrated Chancellor Erskine. His lordship came into the room with a quick and hurried step, which one would not have expected from the venerable appearance of his white hairs-the finest white hairs, by the way, I ever saw, and curling in beautiful ringlets all down his shoulders. I could easily trace a strong family resemblance to his brother, although the Earl has much the advantage, in so far as mere beauty of lineament is concerned. I do not remember to have seen a more exquisite old head, and think it is no wonder that so many portraits have been

painted of him by the artists of Edinburgh. The features are all perfect; but the greatest beauty is in his clear blue eyes, which are chased in his head in a way that might teach something to the best sculptor in the world. Neither is there any want of expression in these fine features; although, indeed, they are very far from conveying any thing like the same ideas of power and penetration, whiga fall from the overhanging shaggy eye-brows of his brother. The person of the old Earl is also very good; his legs, in particular, are well shaped, and wonderfully muscular in their appearance, considering their length of service.

He ran up immediately to professor Lesslie, with whom he seemed to be on terms of infinite familiarity, and began to talk about the new plan for a Grand National Monument in Scotland, in honour of the conclusion of the late war. "My dear Professor," said he, "you must really subscribe-your name, you know, merely your name. As the Duke of Sussex says to myself in a letter I received from his Royal Highness only this morning, upon this very subject-Lady B's nephew is aid-de-camp to his Royal Highness, and he is particularly kind and attentive on my account--- His Royal Highness says, he has just taken the liberty (he does me too much honour) to put me down as one of the committee. My dear Lord B, are his Royal Highness's words, we positively can't go on without you---you must give us your name---Now do, Professor, do give us your name.' And then, without looking or waiting for the worthy professor's reply, his Lordship passed across the room to Mr. Jeffrey, and seizing him by the button, and whispering close into his ear, began making the very same request (for I could catch the words "Duke of Sussex,") in, I doubt not, the same phrase. But he stopped not for the reply of Mr. Jeffrey any more than for that of Professor Lesslie; and after looking round the room for a single moment, he vanished through a folding-door into an inner apartment, where, from some preparatory screams of a violin that reached my ear, I had no doubt there was about to be an interlude of concert, to break the intense seriousness of thought, supposed to be inseparable from the keen intellectual collisions of a conversazione.

On looking into the room which had just received Lord Buchan, I observed him to take his place among a row of mu sical cognoscenti, male and female, who already occupied a

set of chairs disposed formally all around the centre of enchantment. By and bye, a young lady began thumping on the piano-forte, and I guessed, from the exquisite accompaniment of Mr. Yaniewicz, that it was her design to treat us with some beautiful airs in the Don Giovanni of Mozart. Nothing, however, could be more utterly distressing, than the mode in which the whole of her performance murdered that divine master-piece, unless, indeed, it might be the nauseous sing-song of compliments, which the ignorance or the politeness of the audience thundered out upon its conclusion.

After this blessed consummation had restored to us the free use of our limbs and tongues, (I say free-for in spite of nods, and whispers of rebuke, administered by some of the Dowagers, our silence had never been much more complete than the music merited,) I joined a small party, which had gradually clustered around Mr. Jeffrey, and soon found that the redoubtable critic bad been so unfortunate as to fall into an ambush laid to entrap him by a skilful party of blue-stocking tirailleures. There he was pinioned up against the wall, and listening, with a greater expression of misery than I should have supposed to be compatible with his Pococurante disposition, to the hints of one, the remarks of another, the suggestion of a third, the rebuke of a fourth, the dissertation of a fifth, and last, not least, in this cruel catalogue of inflictions, *to the questions of a sixth. "Well now, Mr. Jeffrey, don't you agree with me, in being decidedly of opinion, that Mr. Scott is the true author of the Tales of my Landlord? O Lord!-they're so like Mr. Scott, some of the stories—one could almost believe one beard him telling them. Could not you do the same, Mr. Jeffrey?"-The shrug of ineffable derision which Mr. Jeffrey vainly endeavoured to keep down, in making some inaudible reply of two syllables to this, did not a whit dismay another, who forthwith began to ply him with query upon query, about the conduct of Lord Buchan, in deserting his wife-and whether or not, he (Mr. J) considered it likely, that Lord Buchan had had himself, (Lord Buchan,) in his eye, in drawing the character of the Corsair"and ob, now, Mr. Jeffrey, don't you think Gulnare so romantic a name? I wish I had been christened Gulnare. Can people change their names, Mr. Jeffrey, without an estate ?"— "Why, yes, ma'am," replied the critic-after a most malicious pause," by being married."-**** "Mr. Jeffrey," exclaimed a fierce-looking damsel with a mop head-" I in

sist upon hearing if you have read Peter Bell-will you ever be convinced? Shall I ever be able to persuade you? Can you deny the beauty of the white sapling-' as white as cream? Can you be blind to the pathetic incident of the poor ass kneeling under the blows of the cruel, hard-hearted, odious Peter? Can you be blind to the charm of the boat?" "Why--oh-the laker has made a good deal of his tub'Twin sister to the Crescent-Moon.''

"Ah!-naughty man, you are incorrigible-I'll go speak to Mr. Wilson."

He had a little

I looked round, and saw Mr. Wilson. book of fishing flies in his hand, and was loudly and sonorously explaining the beauty of a bit of grizzled hackle on the wings of one of them to Mr. McKenzie. My venerable friend seemed to be listening with the deepest interest to what he said, but the young lady broke in upon their conversation with the utmost intrepidity. I could just hear enough of what passed, to be satisfied, that the brother poet made as light of the matter as the adverse critic. I suspect, that from the cruelty of Peter Bell's bludgeon, she made a transition to the cruelty of killing poor innocent trouts; but before that subject had time to be adequately discussed, supper was announced, and I descended close behind Mr. Jeffrey, who had a lady upon each arm, one all the way down discussing the Bank Restriction Bill, and the other displaying equal eloquence in praise of "that delightful-that luminous article in the last number upon the Corn Laws."

Ever yours.

P.M.

LETTER XXV.

TO THE SAME.

I was never a lover of Blue-Stockings either at home or abroad; but of all that I have met with, I think the French are the most tolerable, and the Scotch the most tormenting.