XXX.

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.

XXXI.

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 stock-holder in growing pelf)
Than match-making in general: 't is 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 end

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,

Whose sole accomplishments were quite a booty;

A second for her excellent connexions ;

A third, because there can be no objections.

XXXV.

When Rapp the harmonist embargo'd marriage'
In his harmonious settlement-(which flourishes
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 have 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 Germany
Or no, 't is 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, malgré 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 commandment, Which says, "thou shalt not marry”—unless well :

This he (as far as I can understand) meant ;

'T is 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 't was 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

3

Of marriage-which might form a painter's fame,
Like Holbein's "Dance of Death"---but 't is the same);-

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:

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 comsumptive, live on a milk diet.

XLII.

And then there was the Miss Audacia Shoestring,
A dashing demoiselle of good estate,
Whose heart was fix'd upon a star of bluestring;

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 class,
Aurora 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 't was fallen: her sires were proud

Of deeds and days when they had fill'd 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 nappen'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 rejoin'd-" 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.

LITI.

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 "Anthony'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 't is easier far, alas!
say what it was not, than what it was.

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