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.

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.

Juan knew nought of such a character—
High, yet resembling not his lost Haidee;
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.

Having wound up with this sublime comparison,

Methinks we may proceed upon our nar-
rative,

And, as my friend Scott says, "I sound my
Warison;"

or Saracen,

Scott, the superlative of my comparative-
Scott, who can paint your Christian knight | But I must crowd all into one grand mess
Or mass; for should I stretch into detail,
Serf, Lord, Man, with such skill as none My Muse would run much more into excess,
would share it, if Than when some squeamish people deem
There had not been ́one Shakespeare and
her frail.
Voltaire,
Of one or both of whom he seems the heir.

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 scroll 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.

The conference or congress (for it ended
As congresses of late do) of the Lady

But though a "bonne vivante,” I must
confess

Her stomach's not her peccant part: this tale,
However, doth require some slight refection,
Just to relieve her spirits from dejection.

Fowls à la Condé, slices eke of salmon,
With sauces Genevoises, and haunch of
venison;

Wines too which might again have slain
young Ammon,
A man like whom I hope we shan't see many

soon;

They also set a glazed Westphalian ham on,
Whereon Apicius would bestow his benison;
And then there was Champagne with
foaming whirls,

As white a Cleopatra's melted pearls.

Then there was God knows what "à l'Alle Than could roast-beef in our rough John

mande," “A l'Espagnole," "timballe," and "Salpicon"

With things I can't withstand or understand, Though swallow'd with much zest upon the whole;

Bull way:

I must not introduce even a spare rib here,
"Bubble and squeak" would spoil my li-
quid lay;

But I have dined, and must forego, alas!
The chaste description even of a "Bécasse,"

And "entremets" to piddle with at hand,
Gently to lull down the subsiding soul;
While great Lucullus' (robe triomphale) | And fruits, and ice, and all that art refines
From nature for the service of the goût,
Taste or the gout,-pronounce it as inclines
Your stomach! Ere you dine, the French
will do ;

muffles

(There's Fame)-young partridge-fillets, deck'd with truffles.

Which nodded to the nation's spoils below? Where the triumphal chariot's haughty march?

Gone to where victories must like dinners go.

Further I shall not follow the research:

But after, there are sometimes certain signs
Hast ever had the gout? I have not had it-
Which prove plain English truer of the two.
But I may have, and you too, Reader,
dread it.

The simple olives, best allies of wine,
Must I pass over in my bill of fare?

But oh! ye modern heroes with your cart-I must, although a favourite “plat” of mine In Spain, and Lucca, Athens, every where: When will your names lend lustre even to On them and bread 'twas oft my luck to dine,

ridges,
partridges?

The glasses jingled, and the palates tingled;
The diners of celebrity dined well;

The grass my table-cloth, in open air,
On Sunium or Hymettus, like Diogenes,
Of whom half my philosophy the progeny is.

Amidst this tumult of fish, flesh and fowl,
And vegetables, all in masquerade,
The guests were placed according to their
roll,

But various as the various meats display'd:
Don Juan sat next an "à l'Espagnole
No damsel, but a dish, as hath been said;
But so far like a lady, that 'twas drest
Superbly, and contained a world of zest.

By some odd chance too he was placed
between
Aurora and the Lady Adeline-
A situation difficult, I ween,
For man therein, with eyes and heart,to dine.
Also the conference which we have seen
Was not such as to encourage him to shine;
For Adeline, addressing few words to him,
With two transcendent eyes seem'd to look
through him.

The ladies with more moderation mingled In the feast, pecking less than I can tell; Also the younger men too; for a springald | I sometimes almost think that eyes have ears: Can't like ripe age in gourmandise excel, This much is sure, that, out of earshot, things But thinks less of good eating than the Are somehow echoed to the pretty dears, whisper Of which I can't tell whence their know(When seated next him) of some pretty lisper. ledge springs; Like that same mystic music of the spheres, Which no one hears so loudly though it rings.

Alas! I must leave undescribed the gibier,
The salmi, the consommé, the purée,
All which I use to make my rhymes run
glibber

Also observe, that like the great Lord Coke,
(See Littleton) whene'er I have exprest
Opinions two, which at first sight may look
Twin opposites, the second is the best.

Which show'd such deference to what fe- Perhaps I have a third too in a nook,