Her brow was turban'd with a bucktail wreath, A broach of terrapin her bosom wore, Tompkins' letter was just seen beneath Her arm, and in her hand on high she bore A National Advocate--Pell's polite Review Lay at her feet--'twas pommell'd black and blue. XL. She was in fashion's elegant undress, Muffled from throat to ankle; and her hair Was all "_en papillotes_," each auburn tress Prettily pinn'd apart. You well might swear She was no beauty; yet, when "made up," ready For visiters, 'twas quite another lady. XLI. Since that wise pedant, Johnson, was in fashion, Manners have changed as well as moons; and he Would fret himself once more into a passion, Should he return (which heaven forbid!), and see, How strangely from his standard dictionary, The meaning of some words is made to vary. XLII. For instance, an _undress_ at present means The wearing a pelisse, a shawl, or so; Or any thing you please, in short, that screens The face, and hides the form from top to toe; Of power to brave a quizzing-glass, or storm-- 'Tis worn in summer, when the weather's warm. XLIII. But a full dress is for a winter's night. The most genteel is made of "woven air;" That kind of classic cobweb, soft and light, Which Lady Morgan's Ida used to wear. And ladies, this aërial manner dress'd in, Look Eve-like, angel-like, and interesting. XLIV. But Miss Ambition was, as I was saying, "_Dèshabillée_"--his bedside tripping near, And, gently on his nose her fingers laying, She roar'd out Tammany! in his frighted ear. The potent word awoke him from his nap, And then she vanish'd, whisp'ring _verbum sap_. XLV. The last words were beyond his comprehension, For he had left off schooling, ere the Greek Or Latin classics claim'd his mind's attention: Besides, he often had been heard to speak Contemptuously of all that sort of knowledge, Taught so profoundly in Columbia College. XLVI. We owe the ancients something. You have read Their works, no doubt--at least in a translation; Yet there was argument in what he said, I scorn equivocation or evasion, And own it must, in candour, be confess'd, They were an ignorant set of men at best. XLVII. 'Twas their misfortune to be born too soon By centuries, and in the wrong place too; They never saw a steamboat, or balloon, Velocipede, or Quarterly Review; Or wore a pair of Baehr's black satin breeches, Or read an Almanac, or Clinton's Speeches. XLVIII.