"
These poems were issued in one volume, and under one title--The
Harmodiad--although there must have been some half-hundred of them,
and not more than nine odes to freedom in the lot. Some were almost
tolerable, and others lofty rubbish, and the critics (not knowing the
author) spoke their bright opinions freely. The poet, though shy as a
mouse in his preface, expected a mountain of inquiry as to the identity
of this new bard, and modestly signed himself "Asteroid," which made
his own father stare and swear. Growing sore prematurely from much
keelhauling--for the reviewers of the period were patriotic, and the
English public anti-Gallic--Frank quitted his chambers at Lincoln's Inn,
and came home to be comforted for Christmas. This was the wisest thing
that he could do, though he felt that it was not Harmodian. In spite of
all crotchets, he was not a bad fellow, and not likely to make a good
lawyer.
As the fates would have it (being naturally hostile to poets who defy
them), by the same coach to Stonnington came Master Johnny, in high
feather for his Christmas holidays. Now these two brothers were as
different of nature as their sisters were, or more so; and unlike the
gentler pair, each of these cherished lofty disdain for the other. Frank
looked down upon the school-boy as an unlicked cub without two
ideas; the bodily defect he endeavoured to cure by frequent outward
applications, but the mental shortcoming was beneath his efforts.
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