pause a moment in our way— This cousin merits a survey.
Left, yet a boy, an orphan,-wide
The estate bequeathed him by his sire--That fine large common-ground, supplied With vagrants to one's heart's desire, And call'd" The Public," in the schools Of rogues-a double meaning clothingBut I believe your honest fools
More generally call it-" Nothing."
In short, his father had possest
A
very liberal turn of mind ;-
No man was better fed and drest---
No habits could be more refin'd,---
No bard had more contempt for Cocker,
-Or more grim faces at his knocker.
The first five years, the estate transmitted
To him from thirty squirearchs, flitted.
N'importe !—when ten years more had fled, it
Grew serious Debt had murthered Credit.
He bore the matter well, and placid,
Retired from life on prussic acid;
Left Christian patience to the Cits,
And to his son he left---his wits!
And Julian was extremely clever,
But not exactly in that way
your D's live for ever,
And leave-not have-the devil to pay.
Two maiden aunts, who thought him pretty,
Bestowed upon him more than pity:
Sent him to school, and thence to college,
And wing'd Ability with Knowledge.
Large was his mind, and clear-yet deep;
A little pensive, but not whining:
Ambition, courage, hope, can keep
All stuff, worth keeping, from repining.
Wisdom, which now folks really seem
To think is pick'd up like a fashion,
Became to him a goal-a dream———
A faith-a glory--and a passion.
And so at length-for time and toil
Wring harvests from the sternest soil
At length, the wealth within him stored,
Swelled slowly to no common hoard;
And Fellows to Professors turning,
Talked of young Laneham's "real learning.”
No German, and no poet loved
Nature's minutest mysteries more
Than he;--they moulded and they moved His heart as viewless springs ;--the lore Of harsher thought they raised and warmed, And from each dream the self they bore That young Ambition formed.
But Nature's altar is within,
The Priest that serves it is the Feeling, Secret her worship-nor would win A single tribute unconcealing; She asks few hours but holy; giving The rest of life, in short, to living.
So Julian play'd not the romantics,
Too lofty for such sombre antics;
Mostly, indeed, he lived alone,
And shunn'd the customs of the crowd, For Knowledge had his palace grown, And he was poor and proud.
But when he mix'd with men, he wore
The aspect and the mood they bore,
And his strong sense and vigorous mind
Led-but by joining with-mankind.
The deeper and the shrewder saw
In him those qualities that guide
To Fame, in spite of Fortune's law.
For his worst fault, his very pride
Had in it something stern and hard;
That stubborn, unbowed, conquering spirit That clasps, or climbs to, its reward,
And masters all that it may merit.
In short, 'twas gen'rally agreed,
Julian was one who must succeed,-
Although his genius was not indolent;
Although his studies were not brown;
Although he never at a window leant;
And turned his collars nicely down.-
Generous he was, and kind and bold,
But calm his mien-his aspect cold;
And the edg'd sharpness of his tongue,
(When Folly roused or Malice stung,)
Where the swift wit so brightly play'd,
It lit-it mocked-the wounds it made.
Stirr'd the half-conscious spleen of those
Who, bat-like, flit 'twixt friends and foes;
Hunting suspicion thro' the dark,
And feeding on-" a kind remark."
If Hate to Talent spares the laurels,
It grubs within-among its morals.
So those who owned his parts, denied
The motive which the act supplied.
His life was guiltless-True! but Art
Can hide, and Interest blunt-the heart.
He might be sure in life to rise;
But
there was something in his eyes!
They did not mean to call him vicious,
But Wit was always so malicious.
His head was good—that all might know -
A good heart never made a show.
Whether or not these hints were true,
I fear this tale can scarcely prove,
Which only broadly brings to view
His heart-in that one weakness-Love.
His Aunts departed life-their will
Left four black cats to Margaret Still,
With a most adequate annuity
In proper comfort to maintain 'em;
And one cool thousand-a gratuity
To their dear nephew-Julian Laneham.
Expressing kindly, all their grieving,
That more they'd not the power of leaving.
Upon this thousand he is living,
While we're this introduction giving.
Although accustomed to command some
Attention--Julian scarce was handsome.*
* I find the two following verses in that most agreeable and graceful poem, The Advice to Julia," sufficiently like those in the text to convict me if unquoted-of a plagiarism of which I was unconscious. "Julia-I own you may command some
Attention—you are young and handsome.” p. 30.
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