XVI.

La short, she was a walking calculation,

covers,*

*

Or Mrs. Trimmer's books on education,†

Or "Colebs' Wife" set out in quest of lovers, Morality's prim personification,

In which not Envy's self a flaw discovers; To others' share let "female errors fall," For she had not even one-the worst of all.

XVII.

Oh! she was perfect past all parallel

Of any modern female saint's comparison; So far above the cunning powers of hell,

Her guardian angel had given up his garrison; Even her minutest motions went as well

As those of the best time-piece made by Harri

son:

In virtues nothing earthly could surpass her, Save thine "incomparable oil," Macassar!

XVIII.

Perfect she was, but as perfection is

Insipid in this naughty world of ours, Where our first parents never learn'd to kiss Till they were exiled from their earlier bowers, Where all was peace, and innocence, and bliss (I wonder how they got through the twelve hours),

Don Jose, like a lineal son of Eve,

Went plucking various fruit without her leave.

XIX.

He was a mortal of the careless kind,

With no great love for learning, or the learn'd, Who chose to go where'er he had a mind,

And never dream'd his lady was concern'd; The world, as usual, wickedly inclined

To see a kingdom or a house o'erturn'd, Whisper'd he had a mistress, some said two; But for domestic quarrels one will do.

XX.

Now Donna Inez had, with all her merit,

A great opinion of her own good qualities; Neglect, indeed, requires a saint to bear it, And such, indeed, she was in her moralities; But then she had a devil of a spirit,

And sometimes mix'd up fancies with realities, And let few opportunities escape Of getting her liege lord into a scrape.

XXI.

This was an easy matter with a man

Oft in the wrong, and never on his guard; And even the wisest, do the best they can,

Have moments, hours, and days, so unprepared,

* Maria Edgeworth, author of "Treatise on Practical Education,' ""Castle Rackrent," etc., etc., etc. +"Comparative View of the New Plan of Education," "Teacher's Assistant," etc., etc.

Hannah More's "Colebs in Search of a Wife," etc. "The facts are:-I left London for Kirby Mallory, the residence of my father and mother, on the 15th of January, 1816. Lord Byron had signified to me in writing (January 6) his absolute desire that I should leave London on the earliest day that I could conveniently fix. It was not safe for me to undertake the fatigue of a journey sooner than the 15th. Previously to my departure, it had been strongly impressed on my mind, that Lord Byron was under the influence of insanity. This opinion was derived in a great measure from the communications made to me by his nearest relatives and personal attendant, who had more opportunities than myself of observing him during the latter part of my stay in town. It was even represented to me that he was in danger of destroying himself. With the concurrence of his family, I had consulted Dr. Baillie as a friend (January 8) respecting this

And why and wherefore no one understands.

XXII.

"T is pity learned virgins ever wed

With persons of no sort of education,

Or gentlemen, who, though well born and bred,
Grow tired of scientific conversation:

I don't choose to say much upon this head,
I'm a plain man, and in a single station,
But-Oh! ye lords of ladies intellectual,
Inform us truly, have they not hen-peck'd you all!

XXIII.

Don Jóse and his lady quarrell'd-why,
Not any of the many could divine,
Though several thousand people chose to try,
'T was surely no concern of theirs nor mine;
I loathe that low vice-curiosity;

But if there's anything in which I shine,
'Tis in arranging all my friends' affairs,
Not having, of my own, domestic cares.
XXIV.

And so I interfered, and with the best
Intentions, but their treatment was not kind;
I think the foolish people were possess'd,
For neither of them could I ever find,
Although their porter afterwards confess'd-
But that's no matter, and the worst 's behind,
For little Juan o'er me threw, down stairs,
A pail of housemaid's water unawares.

XXV.

A little curly-headed, good-for-nothing,
And mischief-making monkey from his birth;
His parents ne'er agreed except in doting
Upon the most unquiet imp on earth;
Instead of quarrelling, had they been but both in
Their senses, they 'd have sent young master forth
To school, or had him soundly whipp'd at home,
To teach him manners for the time to come.

XXVI.

Don Jóse and the Donna Inez led

For some time an unhappy sort of life, Wishing each other, not divorced, but dead; } They lived respectably as man and wife, Their conduct was exceedingly well-bred,

And gave no outward signs of inward strife, Until at length the smother'd fire broke out, And put the business past all kind of doubt.

XXVII.

For Inez call'd some druggists and physicians,
And tried to prove her loving lord was mad,

supposed malady. On acquainting him with the state of the case, and with Lord Byron's desire that I should leave London, Dr. Baillie thought that my absence might be advisable as an experiment, assuming the fact of mental derangement; for Dr. Baillie, not having had access to Lord Byron, could not pronounce a positive opinion on that point. He enjoined that in correspondence with Lord Byron I should avoid all but light and soothing topics. Under these impressions. I left London, determined to follow the advice given by Dr. Baillie."-Lady Byron.

"I was surprised one day by a doctor (Dr. Baillie) and a lawyer (Dr. Lushington) almost forcing themselves at the same time into my room. I did not know till afterwards the real object of their visit. I thought their questions singular, frivolous, and somewhat importunate, if not impertinent, but what should I have thought, if I had known that they were sent to provide proofs of my insanity. I have no doubt that my answers to these emissaries were not very rational or consistent, for my imagination was heated with other things. But Dr. Baillie could not conscientiously make, me

But as he had some lucid intermissions,

She next decided he was only bad;

Yet when they ask'd her for her depositions,
No sort of explanation could be had,
Save that her duty both to man and God
Required this conduct-which seem'd very odd.
XXVIII.

She kept a journal, where his faults were noted,
And open'd certain trunks of books and letters,
All which might, if occasion served, be quoted;
And then she had all Seville for abettors,
Besides her good old grandmother (who doted);
The hearers of her case became repeaters,
Then advocates, inquisitors, and judges,
Some for amusement, others for old grudges.

XXIX.

And then this best and meekest woman bore
With such serenity her husband's woes,
Just as the Spartan ladies did of yore,

Who saw their spouses kill'd, and nobly chose Never to say a word about them more

Calmly she heard each calumny that rose, And saw his agonies with such sublimity,

That all the world exclaim'd, "What magnanimity!"

XXX.

XXXIV.

But ah! he died; and buried with him lay
The public feeling and the lawyers' fees:
His house was sold, his servants sent away,
A Jew took one of his two mistresses,
A priest the other-at least so they say:
I ask'd the doctors after his disease-
He died of the slow fever call'd the tertian,
And left his widow to her own aversion.

XXXV.

Yet Jóse was an honorable man,

That I must say, who knew him very well;
Therefore his frailties I 'll no further scan,
Indeed there were not many more to tell:
And if his passions now and then outran
Discretion, and were not so peaceable
As Numa's (who was also named Pompilius),
He had been ill brought up, and was born bilious.
XXXVI.

Whate'er might be his worthlessness or worth,
Poor fellow! he had many things to wound him.
Let's own since it can do no good on earth-
It was a trying moment that which found him
Standing alone beside his desolate hearth,

Where all his household gods lay shiver'd round him:

Is philosophic in our former friends;

66

"T is also pleasant to be deem'd magnanimous,
The more so in obtaining our own ends;
And what the lawyers call a malus animus "
Conduct like this by no means comprehends:
Revenge in person's certainly no virtue,
But then 't is not my fault, if others hurt you.

XXXVII.

Dying intestate, Juan was sole heir

To a chancery suit, and messuages, and lands, Which, with a long minority and care, Promised to turn out well in proper hands: Inez became sole guardian, which was fair, And answer'd but to nature's just demands; An only son left with an only mother Is brought up much more wisely than another.. XXXVIII.

Sagest of women, even of widows, she

Resolved that Juan should be quite a paragon, And worthy of the noblest pedigree:

Then for accomplishments of chivalry, (His sire was of Castile, his dam from Aragon.)

In case our lord the king should go to war again, He learn'd the arts of riding, fencing, gunnery, And how to scale a fortress-or a nunnery.

XXXIX.

But that which Donna Inez most desired,
And saw into herself each day before all
The learned tutors whom for him she hired,
Was, that his breeding should be strictly moral:
Much into all his studies she inquired,

And so they were submitted first to her, all,
Arts, sciences, no branch was made a mystery
To Juan's eyes, excepting natural history.

XL.

The languages, especially the dead,

The sciences, and most of all the abstruse, The arts, at least all such as could be said

To be the most remote from common use, In all these he was much and deeply read; But not a page of anything that 's loose, Or hints continuation of the species, Was ever suffer'd, lest he should grow vicious.

Byron with an affectionate consideration and indulgence, which extended to every little peculiarity of his feelings. Never did an irritating word escape her lips in her whole intercourse with him."-Lady Byron.

* Mr. Rogers, Mr. Hobhouse, etc., etc.

XLI.

His classic studies made a little puzzle,
Because of filthy loves of gods and goddesses,
Who in the earlier ages raised a bustle,

But never put on pantaloons or bodices;
His reverend tutors had at times a tussle,
And for their Æneids, Iliads, and Odysseys,
Were forced to make an odd sort of apology,
For Donna Inez dreaded the Mythology.

XLII.

Ovid's a rake, as half his verses show him,
Anacreon's morals are a still worse sample,
Catullus scarcely has a decent poem,

I don't think Sappho's Ode a good example, Although Longinus tells us there is no hymn Where the sublime soars forth on wings more ample;

But Virgil's songs are pure, except that horrid one Beginning with "Formosum Pastor Corydon." XLIII.

Lucretius' irreligion is too strong

For early stomachs, to prove wholesome food; I can't help thinking Juvenal was wrong, Although no doubt his real intent was good, For speaking out so plainly in his song,

So much indeed as to be downright rude;
And then what proper person can be partial
To all those nauseous epigrams of Martial ?
XLIV.

Juan was taught from out the best edition,
Expurgated by learned men, who place,
Judiciously, from out the schoolboy's vision,
The grosser parts; but, fearful to deface
Too much their modest bard by this omission,
And pitying sore his mutilated case,
They only add them all in an appendix,*
Which saves, in fact, the trouble of an index;

XLV.

For there we have them all "at one fell swoop,"
Instead of being scatter'd through the pages;
They stand forth marshall'd in a handsome troop,
To meet the ingenuous youth of future ages,
Till some less rigid editor shall stoop

To call them back into their separate cages,
Instead of standing staring all together;
Like garden gods—and not so decent either.

XLVI.

The Missal too (it was the family Missal)
Was ornamented in a sort of way
Which ancient mass-books often are, and this all
Kinds of grotesques illumined; and how they,
Who saw those figures on the margin kiss all,

Could turn their optics to the text and pray, Is more than I know-But Don Juan's mother Kept this herself, and gave her son another.

XLVII.

Sermons he read, and lectures he endured,
And homilies, and lives of all the saints;
To Jerome and to Chrysostom inured,

He did not take such studies for restraints;
But how faith is acquired, and then insured,
So well not one of the aforesaid paints
As Saint Augustine in his fine Confessions,
Which make the reader envy his transgressions. †

*Fact! There is, or was, such an edition, with all the obnoxious epigrams of Martial placed by themselves at the end. + See his Confessions, 1. i., c. ix. By the representation which Saint Augustine gives of himself in his youth, it is easy to see that he was what we should call a rake. He

XLVIII.

This, too, was a seal'd book to little Juan-
I can't but say that his mamma was right,
If such an education was the true one.

She scarcely trusted him from out her sight;
Her maids were old, and if she took a new one,
You might be sure she was a perfect fright:
She did this during even her husband's life—
I recommend as much to every wife.

XLIX.

Young Juan wax'd in goodliness and grace;
At six a charming child, and at eleven
With all the promise of as fine a face

As e'er to man's maturer growth was given:
He studied steadily, and grew apace,

And seem'd, at least, in the right road to heaven, For half his days were pass'd at church, the other Between his tutors, confessor, and mother.

L.

At six, I said, he was a charming child,
At twelve he was a fine, but quiet boy;
Although in infancy a little wild,

They tamed him down amongst them: to destroy

His natural spirit not in vain they toil'd,

At least it seem'd so; and his mother's joy Was to declare how sage, and still, and steady, Her young philosopher was grown already.

LI.

I had my doubts, perhaps I have them still, But what I say is neither here nor there: I knew his father well, and have some skill In character-but it would not be fair From sire to son to augur good or ill:

He and his wife were an ill-sorted pairBut scandal 's my aversion-I protest Against all evil-speaking, even in jest.

LII.

For my part I say nothing-nothing-but
This I will say-my reasons are my own-
That if I had an only son to put

To school (as God be praised that I have none), 'Tis not with Donna Inez I would shut

Him up to learn his catechism alone; No-no-I'd send him out betimes to college, For there it was I pick'd up my own knowledge.

LIII.

For there one learns-'t is not for me to boast,
Though I acquired-but I pass over that,

As well as all the Greek I since have lost :
I say that there's the place-but "Verbum sat,”
I think I pick'd up too, as well as most,
Knowledge of matters-but no matter what-
I never married-but, I think, I know
That sons should not be educated so.

LIV.

Young Juan now was sixteen years of age,
Tall, handsome, slender, but well knit: he seem'd
Active, though not so sprightly, as a page;
And everybody but his mother deem'd
Him almost man; but she flew in a rage

And bit her lips (for else she might have scream'd)
If any said so, for to be precocious
Was in her eyes a thing the most atrocious.

avoided the school as the plague; he loved nothing but gaming and public shows; he robbed his father of everything he could find; he invented a thousand lies to escape the rod, which they were obliged to make use of to punish his irregularities.

The darkness of her Oriental eye

Accorded with her Moorish origin;
(Her blood was not all Spanish, by the by;
In Spain, you know, this is a sort of sin.)
When proud Granada fell, and, forced to fly,
Boabdil wept,* of Donna Julia's kin
Some went to Africa, some stay'd in Spain,
Her great great grandmamma chose to remain.
LVII.

She married (I forget the pedigree)

With an Hidalgo, who transmitted down
His blood less noble than such blood should be;
At such alliances his sires would frown,
In that point so precise in each degree

That they bred in and in, as might be shown, Marrying their cousins,-nay, their aunts, and nieces,

Which always spoils the breed, if it increases.

LVIII.

This heathenish cross restored the breed again, Ruin'd its blood, but much improved its flesh; For from a root the ugliest in Old Spain

Sprung up a branch as beautiful as fresh ; The sons no more were short, the daughters plain; But there's a rumor which I fain would hush, 'Tis said that Donna Julia's grandmamma Produced her Don more heirs at love than law.

LIX.

However this might be, the race went on
Improving still through every generation,
Until it centred in an only son,

Who left an only daughter; my narration
May have suggested that this single one

Could be but Julia (whom on this occasion I shall have much to speak about), and she Was married, charming, chaste, and twenty-three. LX.

Her eye (I'm very fond of handsome eyes)

Was large and dark, suppressing half its fire Until she spoke, then through its soft disguise Flash'd an expression more of pride than ire, And love than either; and there would arise A something in them which was not desire, But would have been, perhaps, but for the soul Which struggled through and chasten'd down the whole.

LXI.

Her glossy hair was cluster'd o'er a brow
Bright with intelligence, and fair, and smooth;
Her eyebrow's shape was like the aerial bow,

Her cheek all purple with the beam of youth,

*Having surrendered the last symbol of power, the unfortunate Boabdil continued on towards the Alpuxarras, that he might not behold the entrance of the Christians into his capital. His devoted band of cavaliers followed him in gloomy silence. Having ascended an eminence commanding the last view of Granada, they paused involuntarily to take a farewell gaze at their beloved city, which a few steps more would shut from their sight for ever. While they yet looked, a light cloud of smoke broke forth from the citadel; and

Mounting, at times, to a transparent glow,
As if her veins ran lightning; she, in sooth,
Possess'd an air and grace by no means common:
Her stature tall-I hate a dumpy woman.

LXII.

Wedded she was some years, and to a man
Of fifty, and such husbands are in plenty;
And yet, I think, instead of such a ONE
"T were better to have Two of five-and-twenty,
Especially in countries near the sun :

And now I think on 't, "mi vien in mente,"
Ladies even of the most uneasy virtue
Prefer a spouse whose age is short of thirty.

LXIII.

'Tis a sad thing, I cannot choose but say,
And all the fault of that indecent sun,
Who cannot leave alone our helpless clay,
But will keep baking, broiling, burning on,
That howsoever people fast and pray,

The flesh is frail, and so the soul undone :
What men call gallantry, and gods adultery,
Is much more common where the climate 's sultry.
LXIV.

Happy the nations of the moral North!

Where all is virtue, and the winter season Sends sin, without a rag on, shivering forth ('T was snow that brought Saint Anthony † to reason);

Where juries cast up what a wife is worth,

By laying whate'er sum, in mulct, they please on The lover, who must pay a handsome price, Because it is a marketable vice.

presently a peal of artillery, faintly heard, told that the city was taken possession of, and the throne of the Moslem kings was lost for ever. The heart of Boabdil, softened by misfortunes, and overcharged with grief, could no longer contain itself. Allah achbar! God is great!' said he; but the words of resignation died upon his lips, and he burst into a flood of tears."-WASHINGTON IRVING.

+ For the particulars of Saint Anthony's recipe for hot blood in cold weather, see Mr. Alban Butler's "Lives of the Saints."

LXVIII.

I can't tell whether Julia saw the affair
With other people's eyes, or if her own
Discoveries made, but none could be aware

Of this, at least no symptom e'er was shown;
Perhaps she did not know, or did not care,
Indifferent from the first, or callous grown:
I'm really puzzled what to think or say,
She kept her counsel in so close a way.
LXIX.

Juan she saw, and, as a pretty child,

Caress'd him often-such a thing might be Quite innocently done, and harmless styled,

When she had twenty years, and thirteen he; But I am not so sure I should have smiled

When he was sixteen, Julia twenty-three; These few short years make wondrous alterations, Particularly amongst sunburnt nations.

LXX.

Whate'er the cause might be, they had become
Changed; for the dame grew distant, the youth shy,
Their looks cast down, their greetings almost dumb,
And much embarrassment in either eye;
There surely will be little doubt with some
That Donna Julia knew the reason why,
But as for Juan, he had no more notion
Than he who never saw the sea of ocean.

LXXI.

Yet Julia's very coldness still was kind,
And tremulously gentle her small hand
Withdrew itself from his, but left behind
A little pressure, thrilling, and so bland
And slight, so very slight, that to the mind
'Twas but a doubt; but ne'er magician's wand
Wrought change with all Armida's fairy art
Like what this light touch left on Juan's heart.

LXXII.

And if she met him, though she smiled no more,
She looked a sadness sweeter than her smile,
As if her heart had deeper thoughts in store
She must not own, but cherish'd more the while
For that compression in its burning core;

Even innocence itself has many a wile,
And will not dare to trust itself with truth,
And love is taught hypocrisy from youth.
LXXIII.

But passion most dissembles, yet betrays
Even by its darkness; as the blackest sky
Foretells the heaviest tempest, it displays
Its workings through the vainly guarded eye,
And in whatever aspect it arrays

Itself, 't is still the same hypocrisy ;
Coldness or anger, even disdain or hate,
Are masks it often wears, and still too late.
LXXIV.

Then there were sighs, the deeper for suppression,
And stolen glances, sweeter for the theft,
And burning blushes, though for no transgression,
Tremblings when met, and restlessness when left;
All these are little preludes to possession,

Of which young passion cannot be bereft,
And merely tend to show how greatly love is
Embarrass'd at first starting with a novice.
LXXV.

Poor Julia's heart was in an awkward state;
She felt it going, and resolved to make
The noblest efforts for herself and mate,

For honor's, pride's, religion's, virtue's sake.
Her resolutions were most truly great,

And almost might have made a Tarquin quake:

She pray'd the Virgin Mary for her grace, As being the best judge of a lady's case.

LXXVI.

She vow'd she never would see Juan more,
And next day paid a visit to his mother,
And look'd extremely at the opening door,
Which, by the Virgin's grace, let in another;
Grateful she was, and yet a little sore-

Again it opens, it can be no other,
'Tis surely Juan now-No! I'm afraid
That night the Virgin was no further pray'd.
LXXVII.

She now determined that a virtuous woman
Should rather face and overcome temptation,
That flight was base and dastardly, and no man
Should ever give her heart the least sensation;
That is to say, a thought beyond the common
Preference, that we must feel upon occasion,
For people who are pleasanter than others,
But then they only seem so many brothers.