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There were two poachers caught in a steel trap,
Ready for jail, their place of convalescence;
There was a country girl in a close cap
And scarlet cloak (I hate the sight to see, since-
Since-since-in youth I had the sad mishap-

But luckily I've paid few parish fees since).
That scarlet cloak, alas! unclosed with rigour,
Presents the problem of a double figure.

A reel within a bottle is a mystery,

One can't tell how it e'er got in or out,
Therefore the present piece of natural history
I leave to those who are fond of solving doubt,
And merely state, though not for the consistory,
Lord Henry was a justice, and that Scout
The constable, beneath a warrant's banner,
Had bagg'd this poacher upon Nature's manor.

Now justices of peace must judge all pieces
Of mischief of all kinds, and keep the game
And morals of the country from caprices

Of those who've not a license for the same;
And of all things, excepting tithes and leases,
Perhaps these are most difficult to tame:
Preserving partridges and pretty wenches
Are puzzles to the most precautious benches.

The present culprit was extremely pale,

Pale as if painted so; her cheek being red By nature, as in higher dames less hale,

'Tis white, at least when they just rise from bed. Perhaps she was ashamed of seeming frail,

Poor soul! for she was country born and bred,
And knew no better in her immorality
Than to wax white-for blushes are for quality.


Her black, bright, downcast, yet espiègle eye Had gather'd a large tear into its corner, Which the poor thing at times essay'd to dry, For she was not a sentimental mourner, Parading all her sensibility,

Nor insolent enough to scorn the scorner, But stood in trembling, patient tribulation, To be call'd up for her examination.



You see here was enough of occupation
For the Lord Henry, link'd with dogs and horses,
There was much bustle too and preparation
Below stairs on the score of second courses,
Because, as suits their rank and situation,

Those who in counties have great land resources, Have "public days," when all men may carouse, Though not exactly what's call'd "open house"LXIX.

But once a week or fortnight, uninvited

(Thus we translate a general invitation),
All country gentlemen, esquired or knighted,
May drop in without cards, and take their station
At the full board, and sit alike delighted

With fashionable wines and conversation;
And, as the isthmus of the grand connexion,
Talk o'er themselves, the past and next election.

Lord Henry was a great electioneerer,

Burrowing for boroughs like a rat or rabbit, But country contests cost him rather dearer,

Because the neighbouring Scotch Earl of Giftgabbit
Had English influence in the self-same sphere here;
His son, the Honourable Dick Dice-drabbit,
Was member for "the other interest" (meaning
The self-same interest, with a different leaning).

Courteous and cautious therefore in his county,
He was all things to all men, and dispensed
To some civility, to others bounty,

And promises to all-which last commenced
To gather to a somewhat large amount, he

Not calculating how much they condensed; But, what with keeping some and breaking others, His word had the same value as another's.


A friend to freedom and freeholders-yet
No less a friend to government-he held
That he exactly the just medium hit

'Twixt place and patriotism-albeit compell'd,
Such was his sovereign's pleasure (though unfit,
He added modestly, when rebels rail'd),
To hold some sinecures he wish'd abolish'd,
But that with them all law would be demolish'd.

Of course these groups were scatter'd here and there, He was "free to confess"-(whence comes this phrase? Not nigh the gay saloon of ladies gent.

The lawyers in the study; and in air

The prize pig, ploughman, poachers; the men sent From town, viz. architect and dealer, were

Both busy (as a general in his tent Writing despatches) in their several stations, Exulting in their brilliant lucubrations.


But this poor girl was left in the great hall,
While Scout, the parish guardian of the frail,
Discuss'd (he hated beer yciept the "small")
A mighty mug of moral double ale:
She waited until Justice could recall

Its kind attentions to their proper pale,
To name a thing in nomenclature rather
Pedexing for most virgins-a child's father.

Is 't English? No-'tis only parliamentary) That innovation's spirit now-a-days

Had made more progress than for the last century.
He would not tread a factious path to praise,
Though for the public weal disposed to venture high;
As for his place, he could but say this of it,
That the fatigue was greater than the profit.

Heaven and his friends knew that a private life
Had ever been his sole and whole ambition;
But could he quit his king in times of strife
Which threaten'd the whole country with perdition?
When demagogues would with a butcher's knife

Cut through and through (oh! damnable incision!) The Gordian or the Geordian knot, whose strings Have tied together Commons, Lords, and Kings

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And champion him to the utmost "—he would keep it, Till duly disappointed or dismiss'd:

Profit he cared not for, let others reap it;
But should the day come when place ceased to exist,
The country would have far more cause to weep it;
For how could it go on? Explain who can!
He gloried in the name of Englishman.

He was as independent-ay, much more-
Than those who were not paid for independence,
As common soldiers, or a common-shore
Have in their several arts or parts ascendance
O'er the irregulars in lust or gore

Who do not give professional attendance.
Thus on the mob all statesmen are as eager
To prove their pride, as footmen to a beggar.

All this (save the last stanza) Henry said,
And thought. I say no more-I've said too much;
For all of us have either heard or read

Of or upon the hustings-some slight such
Hints from the independent heart or head
Of the official candidate. I'll touch
No more on this-the dinner-bell hath rung,

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His jokes were sermons, and his sermons jokes; But both were thrown away amongst the fens ; For wit hath no great friend in aguish folks.

No longer ready ears and short-hand pens Imbibed the gay bon-mot, or happy hoax:

The poor priest was reduced to common sense,
Or to coarse efforts very loud and long,
To hammer a hoarse laugh from the thick throng.

There is a difference, says the song, "between
A beggar and a queen," or was (of late
The latter worse used of the two we've seen-
But we'll say nothing of affairs of state)-
A difference "'twixt a bishop and a dean,"
A difference between crockery-ware and plate,
As between English beef and Spartan broth-

And grace is said; the grace I should have sung-And yet great heroes have been bred by both.


But I'm too late, and therefore must make play.
'Twas a great banquet, such as Albion old
Was wont to boast-as if a glutton's tray
Were something very glorious to behold.
But 't was a public feast and public day,-
Quite full, right dull, guests hot, and dishes cold,
Great plenty, much formality, small cheer,
And every body out of their own sphere.

The squires familiarly formal, and

My lords and ladies proudly condescending; The very servants puzzling how to hand

Their plates-without it might be too much bending From their high places by the sideboard's standYet, like their masters, fearful of offending; For any deviation from the graces

Might cost both men and masters too-their places. LXXX.

There were some hunters bold, and coursers keen, Whose hounds ne'er err'd, nor grayhounds deign'd to lurch;

Some deadly shots too, Septembrizers, seen

Earliest to rise, and last to quit the search
Of the poor partridge through his stubble screen.
There were some massy members of the church,
Takers of tithes, and makers of good matches,
And several who sung fewer psalmns than catches.

There were some country wags, too,-and, alas!
Some exiles from the town, who had been driven
To gaze, instead of pavement, upon grass,
And rise at nine, in lieu of long eleven.
And lo! upon that day it came to pass,

I sate next that o'erwhelming son of Heaven,
The very powerful parson, Peter Pitli,
The loudest wit I e'er was deafen'd wi


But of all Nature's discrepancies, none

Upon the whole is greater than the difference Beheld between the country and the town,

Of which the latter merits every preference From those who've few resources of their own, And only think, or act, or feel with reference To some small plan of interest or ambitionBoth which are limited to no condition.


But "en avant!" The light loves languish o'er
Long banquets and too many guests, although
A slight repast makes people love much more,
Bacchus and Ceres being, as we know,
Even from our grammar upwards, friends of yore
With vivifying Venus, who doth owe

To these the invention of champagne and truffles
Temperance delights her, but long fasting ruffles.

Dully pass'd o'er the dinner of the day;

And Juan took his place he knew not where, Confused, in the confusion, and distrait,

And sitting as if nail'd upon his chair; Though knives and forks clang'd round as in a fray He seem'd unconscious of all passing there, Till some one, with a groan, express'd a wish (Unheeded twice) to have a fin of fish.


On which, at the third asking of the bans,

He started; and, perceiving smiles around Broadening to grins, he coloured more than once, And hastily-as nothing can confound

A wise man more than laughter from a dunce-
Inflicted on the dish a deadly wound,
And with such hurry that, ere he could curb .t,
He'd paid his neighbour's prayer with half a turbos,


This was no bad mistake, as it occurr'd,
The supplicator being an amateur ;
But others, who were left with scarce a third,
Were angry-as they well might, to be sure.
They wonder'd how a young man so absurd
Lord Henry at his table should endure;
And this, and his not knowing how much oats
Had fallen last market, cost his host three votes.

They little knew, or might have sympathized,
That he the night before had seen a ghost;
A prologue, which but slightly harmonized
With the substantial company engross'd
By matter, and so much materialized,

That one scarce knew at what to marvel most Of two things-how (the question rather odd is) Such bodies could have souls, or souls such bodies.


But what confused him more than smile or stare From all the 'squires and 'squiresses around, Who wonder'd at the abstraction of his air, Especially as he had been renown'd

For some vivacity among the fair,

Even in the country circle's narrow bound

(For little things upon my lord's estate


Though this was most expedient on the whole,
And usual-Juan, when he cast a glance
On Adeline while playing her grand role,
Which she went through as though it were a dance
(Betraying only now and then her soul

By a look scarce perceptibly askance
Of weariness or scorn), began to feel
Some doubt how much of Adeline was real;

So well she acted all and every part

By turns-with that vivacious versatility, Which many people take for want of heart. They err-'t is merely what is call'd mobility, A thing of temperament, and not of art,

Though seeming so, from its supposed facility; And false-though true; for surely they're sincerest, Who're strongly acted on by what is nearest.


This makes your actors, artists, and romancers,
Heroes sometimes, though seldom-sages never;
But speakers, bards, diplomatists, and dancers,

Little that's great, but much of what is clever;
Most orators, but very few financiers,

Though all Exchequer Chancellors endeavour, Of late years, to dispense with Cocker's rigours,

Were good small-talk for others still less great) And grow quite figurative with their figures.


Was, that he caught Aurora's eye on his,
And something like a smile upon her cheek.
Now this he really rather took amiss:

In those who rarely smile, their smile bespeaks A strong external motive; and in this

Smile of Aurora's there was nought to pique, Or hope, or love, with any of the wiles Which some pretend to trace in ladies' smiles.


"T was a mere quiet smile of contemplation,
Indicative of some surprise and pity;
And Juan grew carnation with vexation,
Which was not very wise and still less witty,
Since he had gain'd at least her observation,
A most important outwork of the city-

As Juan should have known, had not his senses
By last night's ghost been driven from their defences.

But, what was bad, she did not blush in turn,
Nor seem embarrass'd-quite the contrary;
Her aspect was, as usual, still-not stern-

And she withdrew, but cast not down, her eye, Yet grew a little pale-with what? concern?

I know not; but her colour ne'er was highThough sometimes faintly flush'd-and always clear As deep seas in a sunny atmosphere.


But Adeline was occupied by fame

This day; and watching, witching, condescending To the consumers of fish, fowl, and game, And dignity with courtesy so blending, As all must blend whose part it is to aim Especially as the sixth year is ending) At their lord's, son's, and similar connexions' Safe conduct through the rocks of re-elections.


The poets of arithmetic are they,

Who, though they prove not two and two to be Five, as they would do in a modest way,

Have plainly made it out that four are three,
Judging by what they take and what they pay.
The Sinking Fund's unfathomable sea,
That most unliquidating liquid, leaves
The debt unsunk, yet sinks all it receives.

While Adeline dispensed her airs and graces,

The fair Fitz-Fulke seem'd very much at ease; Though too well-bred to quiz men to their faces. Her laughing blue eyes with a glance could sen The ridicules of people in all places-

That honey of your fashionable bees--
And store it up for mischievous enjoyment;
And this at present was her kind employment.


However, the day closed, as days must close;

The evening also waned-and coffee came. Each carriage was announced, and ladies rose,

And curtsying off, as curtsies country dame, Retired: with most unfashionable bows

Their docile esquires also did the same, Delighted with the dinner and their host, But with the lady Adeline the most.

CII. Some praised her beauty; others her great grace; The warmth of her politeness, whose sincerity Was obvious in each feature of her face, Whose traits were radiant with the rays of verity. Yes: she was truly worthy her high place!

No one could envy her deserved prosperity: And then her dress-what beautiful simplicity Draperied her form with curious felicity!"


Meanwhile sweet Adeline deserved their praises, By an impartial indemnification

For all her past exertion and soft phrases,

In a most edifying conversation,


And full of sentiments, sublime as billows Heaving between this world and worlds beyond, Don Juan, when the midnight hour of pillows Arrived, retired to his; but to despond

Which turn'd upon their late guests' miens and faces, Rather than rest. Instead of poppies, willows
And families, even to the last relation;
Waved o'er his couch; he meditated, fond
Their hideous wives, their horrid selves and dresses, Of those sweet bitter thoughts which banish sleep,
And truculent distortion of their tresses.
And make the worldling sneer, the youngling weep.


True, she said little-'t was the rest that broke Forth into universal epigram:

But then 't was to the purpose what she spoke: Like Addison's "faint praise" so wont to damn Her own but served to set off every joke,

As music chimes in with a melodrame. How sweet the task to shield an absent friend! I ask but this of mine, to-not defend.


There were but two exceptions to this keen Skirmish of wits o'er the departed; one, Aurora, with her pure and placid mien;

And Juan too, in general behind none In gay remark on what he'd heard or seen, Sate silent now, his usual spirits gone: In vain he heard the others rail or rally, He would not join them in a single sally.


Tis true he saw Aurora look as though
She approved his silence; she perhaps mistook
Its motive for that charity we owe

But seldom pay the absent, nor would look
Further; it might or it might not be so:
But Juan, sitting silent in his nook,
Observing little in his reverie,

Yet saw this much, which he was glad to see.


The ghost at least had done him this much good, In making him as silent as a ghost,

If in the circumstances which ensued

He gain'd esteem where it was worth the most. And certainly Aurora had renew'd

In him some feelings he had lately lost
Or harden'd; feelings which, perhaps ideal,
Are so divine, that I must deem them real:-


The love of higher things and better days;

The unbounded hope, and heavenly ignorance Of what is call'd the world, and the world's ways; The moments when we gather from a glance More joy than from all future pride or praise, Which kindle manhood, but can ne'er entrance The heart in an existence of its own, Of which another's bosom is the zone. CIX.

Who would not sigh Λι αι των Κυθηρείαν!

That hath a memory, or that had a heart? Alas! her star must wane like that of Dian, Ray fades on ray, as years on years depart. Anacreon only had the soul to tie on

Unwithering myrtle round the unblunted dart Of Eros; but, though thou hast play'd us many tricks, Still we respect thee, "Alma Venus Genitrix!"


The night was as before: he was undrest,
Saving his night-gown, which is an undress:
Completely "sans culotte," and without vest;
In short, he hardly could be clothed with less;
But, apprehensive of his spectral guest,

He sate, with feelings awkward to express (By those who have not had such visitations), Expectant of the ghost's fresh operations.


And not in vain he listen'd-Hush! what's that?
I see I see-Ah, no! 't is not-yet 't is-
Ye powers! it is the-the-the-Pooh! the cat!
The devil may take that stealthy pace of his!
So like a spiritual pit-a-pat,

Or tiptoe of an amatory Miss,
Gliding the first time to a rendezvous,

And dreading the chaste echoes of her shoe.


Again what is 't? The wind? No, no,-this time
It is the sable friar as before,

With awful footsteps, regular as rhyme,

Or (as rhymes may be in these days) much more. Again, through shadows of the night sublime,

When deep sleep fell on men, and the world wore The starry darkness round her like a girdle Spangled with gems-the monk made his blood curdle. CXIV.

A noise like to wet fingers drawn on glass,

Which sets the teeth on edge; and a slight clatter, Like showers which on the midnight guests will pass Sounding like very supernatural water,Came over Juan's ear, which throbb'd, alas! For immaterialism's a serious matter: So that even those whose faith is the most great In souls immortal, shun them tête-à-tête.

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The door flew wide, not swiftly-but, as fly

The sea-gulls, with a steady, sober flight-
And then swung back; nor close-but stood awry,
Half letting in long shadows on the light,
Which still in Juan's candlesticks burn'd high,

For he had two, both tolerably bright,—
And in the door-way, darkening darkness, stood
The sable friar in his solemn hood.


Don Juan shook, as erst he had been shaken The night before; but, being sick of shaking, He first inclined to think he had been mistaken, And then to be ashamed of such mistaking; His own internal ghost began to awaken

Within him, and to quell his corporal quakingHinting, that soul and body on the whole Were odds against a disembodied soul.


And then his dread grew wrath, and his wrath Gerce; And he arose-advanced-the shade retreated; But Juan, eager now the truth to pierce,

Follow'd; his veins no longer cold, but heated, Resolved to thrust the mystery carte and tierce, At whatsoever risk of being defeated: The ghost stopp'd, menaced, then retired, until He reach'd the ancient wall, then stood stone still.


Juan put forth one arm-Eternal Powers!
It touch'd no soul, nor body, but the wall,
On which the moonbeams fell in silvery showers
Chequer'd with all the tracery of the hall:
He shudder'd, as no doubt the bravest cowers
When he can't tell what 't is that doth appal.
How odd, a single hobgoblin's nonentity
Should cause more fear than a whole host's identity."


But still the shade remain'd; the blue eyes glared,
And rather variably for stony death;

Yet one thing rather good the grave had spared-
The ghost had a remarkably sweet breath.
A straggling curl show'd he had been fair-hair'd;
A red lip, with two rows of pearl beneath,
Gleam'd forth, as through the casement's ivy shroud
The moon peep'd, just escaped from a gray cloud.

And Juan, puzzled, but still curious, thrust

His other arm forth-Wonder upon wonder!

It press'd upon a hard but glowing bust,

Which beat as if there was a warm heart under. He found, as people on most trials must, That he had made at first a silly blunder, And that in his confusion he had caught Only the wall instead of what he sought. CXXIII.

The ghost, if ghost it were, seem'd a sweet soul, As ever lurk'd beneath a holy hood:

A dimpled chin, a neck of ivory, stole

Forth into something much like flesh and blood; Back fell the sable frock and dreary cowl, And they reveal'd (alas! that e'er they should!) In full, voluptuous, but not o'ergrown bulk, The phantom of her frolic grace-Fitz-Fulke!



Note 1. Stanza v.

Brave men were living before Agamemnon.
"Vixere fortes ante Agamemnona," etc.-Horace.
Note 2. Stanza xvii.

Save thine "incomparable oil," Macassar! "Description des vertus incomparables de l'huile de Macassar."-See the advertisement.

Note 3. Stanza xlii.

Although Longinus tells us there is no hymn

Where the sublime soars forth on wings more ample. See Longinus, Section 10, ἵνα μὴ ἔν τι περὶ αὐτὴν πάθος φαίνηται, παθῶν δὲ σύνοδος.

Note 4. Stanza xliv.

They only add them all in an appendix.

Fact. There is, or was, such an edition, with all the obnoxious epigrams of Martial placed by themselves at the end.

Note 5. Stanza lxxxviii.

The bard I quote from does not sing amiss, Campbell's Gertrude of Wyoming; (I think) the opening of Canto II. but quote from memory.

Note 6. Stanza cxlviii.

Is it for this that General Count O'Reilly, Who took Algiers, declares I used him vilely? Donna Julia here made a mistake. Count O'Reilly did not take Algiers-but Algiers very nearly took him; he and his army and fleet retreated with great loss, and not much credit, from before that city, in the year 17—.

Note 7. Stanza ccxvi.

My days of love are o'er, me no more.
"Me nec fœmina, nec puer
Jam, nec spes animi credula mutui;
Nec certare juvat mero,

Nec vincire novis tempora floribus."


Note 1. Stanza xlv.

For none likes more to hear himself converse.
Rispose allor Margutte: a dirtel tosto,

lo non credo piu al nero, ch' a l'azzurro;
Ma nel cappone, o lesso, o vuogli arrosto;

E credo alcuna volta anco nel burro,

Ne la cervogia, e quando' io n' ho nel mosto;
E molto piu ne l'aspro che il mangurro;

Ma sopra tutto nel buon vino ho fede;

E credo che sia salvo chi gli crede.

PULCI, Morgante Maggiore, Canto 18, Stanza 115

Note 2. Stanza lxxi.

That e'er by precious metal was held in. This dress is Moorish, and the bracelets and bar are worn in the manner described. The reader will per ceive hereafter, that, as the mother of Haidee was of | Fez, her daughter wore the garb of the country.

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