Again, there was Simpkins, a clerk and a fop, Who sported a very luxuriant crop Of whiskers, cut clearly for 'cutting a dash,' And flanked by a stylishly twisted mustache, Adorning the uppermost part of the gash In his meaningless face, like a regular hedge Of russety foliage skirting the edge Of a cavern, containing a prominent ledge Of rocky projections, above and below (Though the charge was not 'cast in his teeth,' as I know). Arrayed, with intent to astonish the vision, In garments whose 'set' was the pink of precision;-- His chain was of workmanship costly and cunning, And the stone on his bosom was really stunning. The taste of which no one could doubt his possession, Had found in his waistcoat a fitting expression; Nor less in his neck tie, 'a neat institution,' And collar, which threatened to do execution. A marvel, indeed--from the soles of his boots To the hair, that was scented and greased to its roots-- A something for silly young damsels to scan, And sighingly say--'What a love of a man!' And then there was one sentimental young man, Got up on a rather irregular plan Of features and form, with a wandering air, A collar Byronic, and very long hair. 'Twas whispered about--'He's a genius and poet; And as for myself, I was happy to know it, For a package of genuine mental precocity Is certainly always a great curiosity, And worthy the cost and the toil of a visit-- Like Barnum's astonishing creature--'What is it?' (A good advertisement for Phineas, that is, And kind of the author to put it in gratis: I hope he'll observe my benign disposition, And send for the season a card of admission.) Of course there was that unavoidable myth, Who is everywhere known by the _nomen_ of Smith-- For there never was aught in the way of sensation, From a horrible crime to a great celebration, But that somehow, before they had time to get through with it Mr. Smith has had something or other to do with it. Now Smith was a sensible sort of a fellow, With a beard that in color was nearest a yellow, And a visage denoting his faith in the creed That man is a creature intended to feed. Another one still we must certainly mention-- 'Tis Mr. McFudgins, who claims our attention. In mould of plebeian he never was cast (His caste was of gentlemen, wealthy and 'fast'). Not noted for morals, nor even sobriety, He always had moved in the 'highest society.' I had seen him so 'high' as to hiccough and stutter, And once I had noticed him low in the gutter; Yet he was a 'very respectable' man; And into whatever excesses he ran, His riches and impudence safely would carry him, And plenty of ladies were dying to marry him.