things the outward sign,
And not the things themselves they but define,
So exclamations, tender tones, fond tears,
And all the graceful drapery feeling wears,--
These are her garb, not her; they but express
Her form, her semblance, her appropriate dress;
And these fair marks,--reluctant I relate,--
These lovely symbols, may be counterfeit.
There are who fill with brilliant plaints the page,
If a poor linnet meet the gunner's rage;
There are who for a dying fawn deplore,
As if friend, parent, country, were no more;
Who boast, quick rapture trembling in their eye,
If from a spider's snare they snatch a fly;
There are whose well-sung plaints each breast inflame,
And break all hearts--but his from whence they came."

The "Bas Bleu" is a sprightly portraiture of what she considered to
be the right constitution and character of social conversation. It
is a vivacious image of that circle of gay and graceful conversers
from whose appellation it takes its name. It was first circulated
in manuscript, and we find Miss More apologizing to her sister for
the shortness of a letter, on the ground that she had not a moment
to spare, as she was copying the "Bas Bleu," for the king, at his
request. Dr. Johnson pronounced it to be "a very great performance."
To the author herself he expressed himself in yet stronger terms.
She writes to her sister, "As to the 'Bas Bleu,' all the flattery
I ever received from every body together would not make up his sum.
He said--but I seriously insist you do not tell any body, for I
am ashamed of writing it even to you--he said, 'there was no name in
poetry that might not be glad to own it.' You cannot imagine how
I stared; all this from Johnson, that parsimonious praiser! I
told him I was delighted at his approbation; he answered quite
characteristically, 'And so you may, for I give you the opinion of
a man who does not rate his judgment in these things very low, I
can tell you.'" The following extract will give some idea of its
merits:--

"What lively pleasure to divine
The thought implied, the printed line!
To feel allusion's artful force,
And trace the image to its source!
Quick Memory blends her scattered rays,
Till Fancy kindles at the blaze;
The works of ages start to view,
And ancient wit elicits new.
But wit and parts if thus we praise,
What nobler altars shall we raise?
Those sacrifices could we see
Which wit, O virtue! makes to