Blue-Stocking Hall, (Vol. 3 of 3)

Blue-Stocking Hall, (Vol. 3 of 3)

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[2] 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 Pharmacopia, 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,[3] 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 uncles 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 upon his spirits, he is a delightful companion, whose society will add considerably to the pleasures of our winter fire-side. But his frown is as awful as his smile is beaming, and would have petrified me long ago, if I had ever encountered his brow in the act of concentrating its forces upon me, as it does when aunt Howard and Louisa appear in his presence. The whole horizon of his forehead is then hung thickly in clouds, a[4] morose expression marks his countenance, and a sullen silence indicates displeasure, as far as the rules of common civility will permit. With Arthur he is less unconstrained than with me; but I hope that ere we quit London, there will be no difference in his feelings towards us. The kind partiality with which he treats your Frederick is easily accounted for, and arises not from any comparison between the individuals in question, or I could not be his favourite. I should write with more satisfaction than I feel at present, if I were not so soon to see you; but the slowness of my pen makes me impatient, when I reflect on the glibness of tongue with which I hope in less than a fortnight to pour out all my news viv voce, for your amusement. Besides, when once the novelty of the thing is over, there is a tiresome monotony in the routine of a London life. ......Buy Now (To Read More)

Product details

Ebook Number: 55407
Author: Scargill, William Pitt
Release Date: Aug 21, 2017
Format: eBook
Language: English