DEAR Alice! you'll laugh when you know it, -- Last week, at the Duchess's ball, I danced with the clever new poet, -- You've heard of him, -- Tully St. Paul. Miss Jonquil was perfectly frantic; I wish you had seen Lady Anne! It really was very romantic, He is such a talanted man! He came up from Brazenose College, Just caught, as they call it, this spring; And his head, love, is stuffed full of knowledge Of every conceivable thing. Of science and logic he chatters, As fine and as fast as he can; Though I am no judge of such matters, I'm sure he's a talented man. His stories and jests are delightful; -- Not stories or jests, dear, for you; The jests are exceedingly spiteful, The stories not always quite true. Perhaps to be kind and veracious May do pretty well at Lausanne; But it never would answer, -- good gracious! Chez nous -- in a talented man. He sneers, -- how my Alice would scold him! -- At the bliss of a sigh or a tear; He laughed -- only think! -- when I told him How we cried o'er Trevelyan last year; I vow I was quite in a passion; I broke all the sticks of my fan; But sentiment's quite out of fashion, It seems, in a talented man. Lady Bab, who is terribly moral, Has told me that Tully is vain, And apt -- which is silly -- to quarrel, And fond -- which is sad -- of champagne. I listened, and doubted, dear Alice, For I saw, when my Lady began, It was only the Dowager's malice; -- She does hate a talented man! He's hideous, I own it. But fame, love, Is all that these eyes can adore; He's lame, -- but Lord Byron was lame, love, And dumpy, -- but so is Tom Moore. Then his voice, -- such a voice! my sweet creature, It's like your Aunt Lucy's toucan: But oh! what's a tone or a feature, When once one's a talented man? My mother, you know, all the season, Has talked of Sir Geoffrey's estate; And truly, to do the fool reason, He has been less horrid of late. But today, when we drive in the carriage, I'll tell her to lay down her plan; -- If ever I venture on marriage, It must be a talented man! P.S. -- I have found, on reflection, One fault in my friend, -- entre nous; Without it, he'd just be perfection; -- Poor fellow, he has not a sou! And so, when he comes in September To shoot with my uncle, Sir Dan, I've promised mamma to remember He's only a talented man!