Part 55 (1/2)
”Is it the dancing dogs they are speaking about?” asked Grizzy. But looks of silent contempt were the only replies she received.
”I trust I shall not be esteemed presumptuous,” said Miss Graves, ”or supposed capable of entertaining views of detracting from the merits of the n.o.ble Author at present under discussion, if I humbly but firmly enter my caveat against the word 'crunch,' as const.i.tuting an innovation in our language, the purity of which cannot be too strictly preserved or pointedly enforced. I am aware that by some I may be deemed unnecessarily fastidious; and possibly Christina, Queen of Sweden, might have applied to me the celebrated observation, said to have been elicited from her by the famed work of the laborious French Lexicographer, viz. that he was the most troublesome person in the world, for he required of every word to produce its pa.s.sport, and to declare whence it came and whither it was going. I confess, I too, for the sake of my country, would wish that every word we use might be compelled to show its pa.s.sport, attested by our great lawgiver, Dr.
Samuel Johnson.”
”Unquestionably,” said Mrs. Bluemits, ”purity of language ought to be preserved inviolate at any price; and it is more especially inc.u.mbent to those who exercise a sway over our minds--those are, as it were, the moulds in which our young imaginations are formed, to be the watchful guardians of our language. But I lament to say that in fact it is not so; and that the aberrations of our vernacular tongue have proceeded solely from the licentious use made of it by those whom we are taught to reverence as the fathers of the Sock and Lyre.”
”Yet in familiar colloquy, I do not greatly object to the use of a word occasionally, even although unsanctioned by the authority of our mighty Lexicographer,” said a new speaker.
”For my part,” said Miss Parkins, ”a genius fettered by rules always reminds me of Gulliver in the hairy bonds of the Lilliputians; and the sentiment of the elegant and enlightened bard of Twickenham is also mine--
'Great wits sometimes may glorious offend, And rise to faults true critics dare not mend; From vulgar bounds with brave disorder part, And match a grace beyond the reach of art.'
So it is with the subject of our argument: a tamer genius than the ill.u.s.trious Byron would not have dared to 'crunch' the bone. But where, in the whole compa.s.s of the English language, will you find a word capable of conveying the same idea?”
”Pick,” modestly suggested one of the novices in a low key, hoping to gain some celebrity by this her first effort; but this dawn of intellect pa.s.sed unnoticed.
The argument was now beginning to run high; parties were evidently forming of crunchers and anticrunchers, and etymology was beginning to be called for, when a thundering knock at the door caused a cessation of hostilities.
”That, I flatter myself, is my friend Miss Griffon,” said Mrs. Bluemits, with an air of additional importance; and the name was whispered round the circle, coupled with ”Celebrated Auth.o.r.ess--'Fevers of the Heart'-- 'Thoughts of the Moment,'” etc. etc.
”Is she a _real_ auth.o.r.ess that is coming?” asked Miss Grizzy at the lady next her. And her delight was great at receiving an answer in the affirmative; for Grizzy thought to be in company with an auth.o.r.ess was the next thing to being an auth.o.r.ess herself; and, like some other people, she had a sort of vague mysterious reverence for everyone whose words had been printed in a book.
”Ten thousand thousand pardons, dearest Mrs. Bluemits!” exclaimed Miss Griffon, as she entered. ”I fear a world of intellect is lost to me by this cruel delay.” Then in an audible whisper--”But I was detained by my publisher. He quite persecutes me to write. My 'Fevers of the Heart'
has had a prodigious run; and even my 'Thoughts,' which, in fact, cost me no thought, are amazingly _recherche._ And I actually had to force my way to you to-night through a legion of printer's devils, who were lying in wait for me with each a sheet of my 'Billows of Love.'”
”The t.i.tle is most musical, most melancholy,” said Mrs. Bluemits, ”and conveys a perfect idea of what Dryden terms 'the sweeping deluge of the soul;' but I flatter myself we shall have something more than a name from Miss Griffon's genius. The Aonian graces, 'tis well known, always follow in her train.”
”They have made a great hole in it then,” said Grizzy, officiously displaying a fracture in the train of Miss Griffon's gown, and from thence taking occasion to deliver her sentiments on the propriety of people who tore gowns always being obliged to mend them.
After suitable entreaties had been used, Miss Griflon was at last prevailed upon to favour the company, with some specimens of the ”Billows of Love” (of which we were unable to procure copies) and the following sonnet, the production of a friend;--
”Hast thou no note for joy, thou weeping lyre?
Doth yew and willow ever shade thy string And melancholy sable banners fling, Warring 'midst hosts of elegant desire?
How vain the strife--how vain the warlike gloom!
Love's arms are grief--his arrows sighs and tears; And every moan thou mak'st, an altar rears, To which his wors.h.i.+ppers devoutly come.
Then rather, lyre, I pray thee, try thy skill, In varied measure, on a sprightlier key: Perchance thy gayer tones' light minstrelsy May heal the poison that thy plaints distil.
But much I fear that joy is danger still; And joy, like woe, love's triumph must fulfil.”
This called forth unanimous applause--”delicate imagery”--”smooth versification” --”cla.s.sical ideas”--”Petrarchian sweetness,” etc. etc., resounded from all quarters.
But even intellectual joys have their termination, and carriages and servants began to be announced in rapid succession.
”Fly not yet, 'tis just the hour,” said Mrs. Bluemits to the first of her departing guests, as the clock struck ten.
”It is gone, with its thorns and its roses,” replied er friend with a sigh, and a farewell pressure of the hand.
Another now advanced--”Wilt thou be gone? It is not yet near day.”