Gaunt Gourmand! with whole nations for your You should be civil in a modest way: [booty, Suppress, then, some slight feminine diseases; And take as many heroes as Heaven pleases.

X.

Fair Adeline, the more ingenuous

Where she was interested (as was said), Because she was 1.ot apt, like some of us, To like too readily, or too high bred To show it (points we need not now discuss), Would give up artlessly both heart and head Unto such feelings as seem'd innocent, For objects worthy of the sentiment.

XI.

Some parts of Juan's history, which Rumour.

That live-gazette, had scatter'd, to disfigure, She had heard; but women hear with more good humour

Such aberrations, than we men of rigour : Besides his conduct since in England grew more Strict, and his mind assumed a manlier vigour; Because he had, like Alcibiades,

The art of living in all climes with ease.

XII.

His manner was perhaps the more seductive.
Because he ne'er seemed anxious to seduce:
Nothing affected, studied, or constructive,
Of coxcombry or conquest; no abuse
Of his attractions marr'd the fair perspective,
To indicate a Cupidon broke loose,
And seem to say, 'Resist us if you can'-
Which makes a dandy, while it spoils a man.

XIII.

They are wrong-that's not the way to set about it;
As, if they told the truth, could well be shown.
But, right or wrong, Don Juan was without it:
In fact, his manner was his own alone.
Sincere he was-at least you could not doubt it,
In listening merely to his voice's tone.
The devil hath not, in all his quiver's choice,
An arrow for the heart like a sweet voice.

XIV.

By nature soft, his whole address held off
Suspicion though not timid, his regard
Was such as rather seemed to keep aloof,
To shield himself, than put you on your guard:
Perhaps 'twas hardly quite assured enough,

But modesty's at times its own reward,
Like virtue; and the absence of pretension
Will go much further than there's need to mention.

XV.

Serene, accomplish'd, cheerful, but not loud;
Insinuating, without insinuation;
Observant of the foibles of the crowd,

Yet ne'er betraying this in conversation:
Proud with the proud, yet courteously proud,
Sǝ as to make them feel he knew his station
And theirs without a struggle for priority,
He neither brook'd nor claimed superiority.
XVI.

That is, with men with women he was what
They pleased to make or take him for; and their

Imagination's quite enough for that:

So that the outline's tolerably fair, They fill the canvas up-and verbum sat. If once their phantasies be brought to bear Upon an object, whether sad or playful, They can transfigure brighter than a Raphael.

XVII.

Adeline, no deep judge of character,

Was apt to add a colouring from her own: 'Tis thus the good will amiably err,

And eke the wise, as has been often shown. Experience is the chief philosopher,

But saddest when his science is well known: And persecuted sages teach the schools Their folly in forgetting there are fools.

XVIII.

Was it not so, great Locke? and greater Bacon? Great Socrates? And thou, Diviner still,* Whose lot it is by man to be mistaken,

And Thy pure creed made sanction of all ill? Redeeming worlds to be by bigots shaken,

How was Thy toil rewarded? We might fill Volumes with similar sad illustrations,

But leave them to the conscience of the nations.

XIX.

I perch upon an humbler promontory.
Amidst life's infinite variety;

With no great care for what is nicknamed glory,
But speculating as I cast mine eye

On what may suit, or may not suit, my story,
And never straining hard to versify,

I rattle on exactly as I'd talk

With anybody in a ride or walk.

XX.

I don't know that there may be much ability
Shown in this sort of desultory rhyme;
But there's a conversational facility,

Which may round off an hour upon a time.
Of this I'm sure, at least there's no servility
In mine irregularity of chime,
Which rings what's uppermost of new or hoary,
Just as I feel the Improvisatore.

XXI.

Omnia vult belle Matho dicere-dic aliquando
Et bene, dic neutrum, dic aliquando male.
The first is rather more than mortal can do;

The second may be sadly done or gaily;
The third is still more difficult to stand to;
The fourth we hear, and see, and say too, daily:
The whole together is what I could wish
To serve in this conundrum of a dish.

As it is necessary in these times to avoid ambiguity, I say that I mean by Diviner still,' Christ. If ever God was man, or man God, He was both. I never arraigned His creed, but the use, or abuse, made of it. Mr. Canning one day quoted Christianity to sanction negro slavery, and Mr. Wilberforce had little to say in reply. And was Christ crucified that black men might be scourged? If so, He had better been born a Mulatto, to give both colours an equal chance of freedom, or at least salvation.

But laissez aller-knights and dames I sing,
Such as the times may furnish. 'Tis a flight
Which seems at first to need no lofty wing,
Plumed by Longinus or the Stagyrite.
The difficulty lies in colouring

(Keeping the due proportions still in sight)
With nature, manners which are artificial,
And rendering general that which is especial.
XXVI.

The difference is, that in the days of old,

Men made the manners; manners now make men-
Pinn'd like a flock, and fleeced too in their fold,
At least nine, and a ninth beside of ten.

Now this at all events must render cold
Your writers, who must either draw again
Days better drawn before, or else assume
The present, with their commonplace costume.

XXIX.

She had a good opinion of advice,

Like all who give and eke receive it gratis, For which small thanks are still the market price, Even where the article at highest rate is. She thought upon the subject twice or thrice, And morally decided the best state is, For morals, marriage; and this question carried, She seriously advised him to get married

ΧΧΧ.

Juan replied, with all becoming deference,
He had a predilection for that tie;
But that at present, with immediate reference
To his own circumstances, there might lie
Some difficulties, as in his own preference,
Or that of her to whom he might apply;
That still he'd wed with such or such a lady,
If that they were not married all already,

ΧΧΧΙ.

Next to the making matches for herself,

And daughters, brothers, sisters, kith or kin,
Arranging them like books on the same shelf,
There's nothing women love to dabble in
More (like a stockholder in growing pelf)
Than matchmaking in general: 'tis no sin,
Certes, but a preventative, and therefore
That is, no doubt, the only reason wherefore.
XXXII,

But never yet (except of course a miss
Unwed, or mistress never to be wed,
Or wed already, who object to this)
Was there chaste dame who had not, in her head,
Some drama of the marriage unities,

Observed as strictly, both at board and bed,
As those of Aristotle, though sometimes
They turn out melodrames or pantomimes.
XXXIII.

They generally have some only son,

Some heir to a large property, some friend

Of an old family, some gay Sir John,

Or grave Lord George, with whom perhaps might A line, and leave posterity undone,

Unless a marriage was applied to mend The prospect and their morals; and, besides, They have at hand a blooming glut of brides. XXXIV.

From these they will be careful to select,

For this an heiress, and for that a beauty : For one, a songstress who hath no defect; For t'other, one who promises much duty: For this, a lady no one can reject,

[end,

Whose sole accomplishments were quite a booty: A second for her excellent connections; A third because there can be no objections.

When Rapp the Harmonist embargoed marriage In his harmonious settlement (which flourishes

This extraordinary and flourishing German colony in America does not entirely exclude matrimony, as the Shakers' do, but lays such restrictions upon it as prevent more than a certain quantum of births within a certain number of years; which births (as Mr. Hulme observes) 'generally arrive in a little flock

Strangely enough as yet without miscarriage, Because it breeds no more mouths than it nourishes,

Without those sad expenses which disparage

What Nature naturally most encourages), Why call'd he' Harmony' a state sans wedlock? Now here I've got the preacher at a dead lock. XXXVI.

Because he either meant to sneer at harmony
Or marriage, by divorcing them thus oddly;
But whether reverend Rapp learn'd this in Ger-
many

Or not, 'tis said his sect is rich and godly,
Pious and pure, beyond what I can term any

Of ours, although they propagate more broadly.
My objection's to his title, not his ritual,
Although I wonder how it grew habitual.
XXXVII.

But Rapp is the reverse of zealous matrons,
Who favour, malgrè Malthus, generation-
Professors of that genial art, and patrons

Of all the modest part of propagation;
Which, after all, at such a desperate rate runs,
That half its produce tends to emigration,
That sad result of passions and potatoes-
Two weeds which pose our economic Catos.

XXXVIII.

Had Adeline read Malthus? I can't tell :

I wish she had; his book's the eleventh com. mandment,

Which says, 'Thou shalt not marry,' unless well! This he (as far as I can understand) meant. 'Tis not my purpose on his views to dwell,

Nor canvass what 'so eminent a hand’* meant ; But certes it conducts to lives ascetic, Or turning marriage into arithmetic.

XXXIX.

But Adeline, who probably presumed
That Juan had enough of maintenance,
Or separate maintenance, in case 'twas doom'd-
As on the whole it is an even chance
That bridegrooms, after they are fairly groom'd,
May retrograde a little in the dance

Of marriage (which might form a painter's fame, Like Holbein's Dance of Death-but 'tis the san:e):

XL.

But Adeline determined Juan's wedding

In her own mind, and that's enough for woman: But then with whom? There was the sage Miss Reading,

Miss Raw, Miss Flaw, Miss Showman, and Miss Knowman,

And the two fair co-heiresses Giltbedding.

She deem'd his merits something more than common:

like those of a farmer's lambs, all within the same month perhaps.' These Harmonists (so called from the name of their settlement) are represented as a remarkably flourishing, pious, and quiet people. See the various recent writers on America.

Jacob Tonson, according to Mr. Pope, was accustomed to call his writers able pens, 'persens of honour,' and especially eminent hands.' Vide Correspondence, etc.

All these were unobjectionable matches,
And might go on, if well wound up, like watches.

XLI.

There was Miss Millpond, smooth as summer's sea,
That usual paragon, an only daughter,
Who seem'd the cream of equanimity,

Till skimm'd-and then there was some milk and water,

With a slight shade of blue, too, it might be,

Beneath the surface; but what did it matter? Love's riotous, but marriage should have quiet, And, being consumptive, live on a milk diet.

XLII.

And then there was the Miss Audacia Shoestring,
A dashing demoiselle of good estate,
Whose heart was fixed upon a star or blue string;
But whether English dukes grew rare of late,
Or that she had not harp'd upon the true string
By which such sirens can attract our great,
She took up with some foreign younger brother,
A Russ or Turk-the one's as good as t'other.

XLIII.

And then there was--but why should I go on, Unless the ladies should go off?-there was Indeed a certain fair and fairy one,

Of the best class, and better than her classAurora Raby, a young star who shone

O'er life, too sweet an image for such glass; A lovely being, scarcely form'd or moulded, A rose with all its sweetest leaves yet folded;

XLIV.

Rich, noble, but an orphan; left an only

Child to the care of guardians good and kind; But still her aspect had an air so lonely!

Blood is not water; and where shall we find Feelings of youth like those which overthrown lie By death, when we are left, alas, behind, To feel in friendless palaces, a home Is wanting, and our best ties in the tomb? XLV.

Early in years, and yet more infantine.

In figure, she had something of sublime In eyes, which sadly shone, as seraphs' shine: All youth-but with an aspect beyond time: Radiant and grave-as pitying man's decline; Mournful-but mournful of another's crime; She look'd as if she sat by Eden's door, And grieved for those who could return no more.

XLVI.

She was a Catholic, too, sincere, austere,
As far as her own gentle heart allow'd ;
And deem'd that fallen worship far more dear,
Perhaps, because 'twas fallen: her sires were
proud

Of deeds and days, when they had filled the ear
Of nations, and had never bent or bow'd
To novel power; and as she was the last,
She held their old faith and old feelings fast.
XLVII.

She gazed upon a world she scarcely knew,
As seeking not to know it; silent, lone,
As grows a flower, thus quietly she grew,

And kept her heart serene within its zone.

There was awe in the homage which she drew:
Her spirit seem'd as seated on a throne,
Apart from the surrounding world, and strong
In its own strength-most strange in one so young.

XLVIII.

Now it so happen'd, in the catalogue

Of Adeline, Aurora was omitted, Although her birth and wealth had given her vogue, Beyond the charmers we've already cited: Her beauty also seem'd to form no clog Against her being mention'd as well fitted By many virtues to be worth the trouble Of single gentlemen, who would be double.

XLIX.

And this omission, like that of the bust
Of Brutus at the pageant of Tiberius,
Made Juan wonder, as no doubt he must.

This he express'd, half smiling and half serious; When Adeline replied, with some disgust,

And with an air, to say the least, imperious, She marvell'd 'what he saw in such a baby, As that prim, silent, cold Aurora Raby!'

L.

Juan rejoined, she was a Catholic,

And therefore fittest, as of his persuasion; Since he was sure his mother would fall sick, And the Pope thunder excommunication, If But here Adeline, who seem'd to pique Herself extremely on the inoculation

Of others with her own opinions, stated

As usual-the same reason which she late did.
LI

And wherefore not? A reasonable reason,
If good, is none the worse for repetition;
If bad, the best way's certainly to tease on,
And amplify-you lose much by concision!
Whereas insisting in or out of season

Convinces all men, even a politician;
Or-what is just the same-it wearies out:
So the end's gain'd, what signifies the route?

LII.

Why Adeline had this slight prejudice-
For prejudice it was-against a creature
As pure as sanctity itself from vice,

With all the added charm of form and feature, For me appears a question far too nice,

Since Adeline was liberal by nature?
But nature's nature, and has more caprices
Than I have time, or will, to take to pieces.
LIII.

Perhaps she did not like the quiet way

With which Aurora on those baubles look'd,
Which charm most people in their earlier day;
For there are few things by mankind less brook'd,
And womankind too, if we so may say,

Than finding thus their genius stand rebuked,
Like Antony's by Cæsar,' by the few
Who look upon them as they ought to do.

LIV.

It was not envy-Adeline had none;

Her place was far beyond it, and her mind: It was not scorn-which could not light on one Whose greatest fault was leaving few to find:

It was not jealousy, I think; but shun

Following the ignes fatui of mankind : It was not-- But 'tis easier far, alas, To say what it was not than what it was.

LV.

Little Aurora deem'd she was the theme
Of such discussion. She was there a guest
A beauteous ripple of the brilliant stream

Of rank and youth, though purer than the rest, Which flow'd on for a moment in the beam

Time sheds a moment o'er each sparkling crest. Had she known this, she would have calmly She had so much, or little, of the child. [smiledLVI.

The dashing and proud air of Adeline

Imposed not upon her; she saw her blaze Much as she would have seen a glow-worm shine, Then turn'd unto the stars for loftier rays. Juan was something she could not divine,

Being no sibyl in the new world's ways; Yet she was nothing dazzled by the meteor, Because she did not pin her faith on feature.

LVII.

His fame, too-for he had that kind of fame Which sometimes plays the deuce with womankind

A heterogeneous mass of glorious blame,

Half virtues and whole vices being combined: Faults which attract because they are not tame; Follies trick'd out so brightly that they blind: These seals upon her wax made no impression, Such was her coldness or her self-possession.

LVIII.

Juan knew nought of such a character

High, yet resembling not his lost Haidée: Yet each was radiant in her proper sphere. The island girl, bred up by the lone sea, More warm, as lovely, and not less sincere, Was Nature's all: Aurora could not be, Nor would be, thus: the difference in them Was such as lies between a flower and gem.

LIX.

Having wound up with this sublime comparison, Methinks we may proceed upon our narrative, And, as my friend Scott says, I sound my warison;'

Scott, the superlative of my comparative— Scott, who can paint your Christian knight or Saracen,

Serf, lord, man, with such skill as none would share it, if

There had not been one Shakspeare and Voltaire, Of one or both of whom he seems the heir.

L.X.

I say, in my slight way I may proceed
To play upon the surface of humanity.

I write the world, nor care if the world read;
At least for this I cannot spare its vanity.
My muse hath bred, and still perhaps may breed.
More foes by this same scrol: when I began
it, I

Thought that it might turn out so-now I know it;
But still I am, or was, a pretty poet,

LXI.

The conference or congress (for it ended
As congresses of late do) of the Lady
Adeline and Don Juan rather blended
Some acids with the sweets-for she was heady;
But ere the matter could be marr'd or mended,
The silvery bell rang, not for dinner ready,'
But for that hour, call'd half-hour, given to dress,
Though ladies' robes seem scant enough for less.
LXII.

Great things were now to be achieved at table,
With massy plate for armour, knives and forks
For weapons; but what Muse since Homer's able
(His feasts are not the worst part of his works)
To draw up in array a single day-bill

Of modern dinners, where more mystery lurks In soups or sauces, or a sole ragout,

Than witches, b-ches, or physicians brew?

Those truffles, too, are no bad accessories,
Follow'd by petits puits d'amour*-a dish
Of which perhaps the cookery rather varies:
So every one may dress it to his wish,
According to the best of dictionaries,

Which encyclopedize both flesh and fish;
But even sans confitures, it no less true is
There's pretty picking in those petits puits.
LXIX.

The mind is lost in mighty contemplation
Of intellect, expanded on two courses;
And indigestion's grand multiplication

Requires arithmetic beyond my forces.
Who would suppose, from Adam's simple ration,
That cookery could have call'd forth such

resources,

As form a science and a nomenclature,
From out the commonest demands of nature ?

LXX.

The glasses jingled, and the palates tingled;
The diners of celebrity dined well;
The ladies with more moderation mingled

In the feast, pecking less than I can tell.
Also the younger men, too; for a springald

Can't, like ripe age, in gourmandise excel; But thinks less of good eating than the whisper (When seated next him) of some pretty lisper.

I.XXI.

Alas! I must leave undescribed the gibier,
The salmi, the consommé, the purée,
All which I use to make my rhymes run glibber,
Than could roast beef in our rough John Bull

way:

I must not introduce even a spare-rib here:
Bubble and squeak' would spoil my liquid lay;
But I have dined, and must forego, alas,
The chaste description even of a bécasse,

LXXII.

And fruits, and ice, and all that art refines
From nature, for the service of the gout-
Taste or the gout-pronounce it as inclines

Your stomach: ere you dine, the French will do;

transplantation of cherries (which he first brought into Europe), and the nomenclature of some very good dishes; and I am not sure that (barring indigestion) he has not done more service to mankind by his

cookery than by his conquests. A cherry-tree may weigh against a bloody laurel: besides, he has contrived to earn celebrity from both.

Petits puits d'amour garnis des confitures, a classical and well-known dish for part of the flank of