Though Fanny's moonlight dreams were sweet as those I've dwelt so long upon--they were more stable; Hers were not "castles in the air" that rose Based upon nothing; for her sire was able, As well she knew, to "buy out" the one half Of Fashion's glittering train, that nightly quaff XXXI. Wine, wit, and wisdom, at a midnight rout, From dandy coachmen, whose "exquisite" grin And "ruffian" lounge flash brilliantly without, Down to their brother dandies ranged within, Gay as the Brussels carpeting they tread on, And sapient as the oysters they are fed on. XXXII. And Rumour (she's a famous liar, yet 'Tis wonderful how easy we believe her) Had whisper'd he was rich, and all he met In Wall-street, nodded, smiled, and "tipp'd the beaver;" All, from Mr. Gelston, the collector, Down to the broker, and the bank director. XXXIII. A few brief years pass'd over, and his rank Among the worthies of that street was fix'd; He had become director of a bank, And six insurance offices, and mix'd Familiarly, as one among his peers, With grocers, dry-good merchants, auctioneers, XXXIV. Brokers of all grades--stock and pawn--and Jews Of all religions, who at noonday form, On 'Change, that brotherhood the moral muse Delights in, where the heart is pure and warm, And each exerts his intellectual force To cheat his neighbour--legally, of course. XXXV. And there he shone a planetary star, Circled around by lesser orbs, whose beams From his were borrow'd. The simile is not far From truth--for many bosom friends, it seems, Did borrow of him, and sometimes forget To pay--indeed, they have not paid him yet. XXXVI. But these he deem'd as trifles, when each mouth Was open in his praise, and plaudits rose Upon his willing ear, "like the sweet south Upon a bank of violets," from those Who knew his talents, virtues, and so forth; That is--knew how much money he was worth. XXXVII. Alas! poor human nature; had he been But satisfied with this, his golden days Their setting hour of darkness had not seen, And he might still (in the mercantile phrase) Be living "in good order and condition;" But he was ruined by that jade Ambition, XXXVIII. "That last infirmity of noble minds," Whose spell, like whiskey, your true patriot liquor, To politics the lofty hearts inclines Of all, from Clinton down to the bill-sticker Of a ward-meeting. She came slyly creeping To his bedside, where he lay snug and sleeping. XXXIX.