Fanny Part 8

That night his dream (if after deeds make known Our plans in sleep) was an enchanting one.

Cx.x.xVII.

He woke, in strength, like Samson from his slumber, And walk'd Broadway, enraptured the next day; Purchased a house there--I've forgot the number-- And sign'd a mortgage and a bond, for pay.

Gave, in the slang phrase, Pearl-street the go-by, And cut, for several months, St. Tammany.

Cx.x.xVIII.

Bond, mortgage, t.i.tle-deeds, and all completed, He bought a coach and half a dozen horses (The bill's at Lawrence's--not yet receipted-- You'll find the amount upon his list of losses), Then fill'd his rooms with servants, and whatever Is necessary for a "genteel liver."

Cx.x.xIX.

This last removal fix'd him: every stain Was blotted from his "household coat," and he Now "show'd the world he was a gentleman,"

And, what is better, could afford to be; His step was loftier than it was of old, His laugh less frequent, and his manner told

CXL.

What lovers call "unutterable things"-- That sort of dignity was in his mien Which awes the gazer into ice, and brings To recollection some great man we've seen, The Governor, perchance, whose eye and frown, 'Twas shrewdly guess'd, would knock Judge Skinner down.

CXLI.

And for "Resources," both of purse and head, He was a subject worthy Bristed's pen; Believed devoutly all his flatterers said, And deem'd himself a Cr[oe]sus among men; Spread to the liberal air his silken sails, And lavish'd guineas like a Prince of Wales.

CXLII.

He mingled now with those within whose veins The blood ran pure--the magnates of the land-- Hail'd them as his companions and his friends, And lent them money and his note of hand.

In every inst.i.tution, whose proud aim Is public good alone, he soon became

CXLIII.

A man of consequence and notoriety; His name, with the addition of esquire, Stood high upon the list of each society, Whose zeal and watchfulness the sacred fire Of science, agriculture, art, and learning, Keep on our country's altars bright and burning.

CXLIV.

At Eastburn's Rooms he met, at two each day, With men of taste and judgment like his own, And play'd "first fiddle" in that orchestra Of literary worthies--and the tone Of his mind's music, by the listeners caught, Is traced among them still in language and in thought.

CXLV.

He once made the Lyceum a choice present Of muscle sh.e.l.ls pick'd up at Rockaway; And Mitchill gave a cla.s.sical and pleasant Discourse about them in the streets that day, Naming the sh.e.l.ls, and hard to put in verse 'twas, "Testaceous coverings of bivalve moluscas."

CXLVI.

He was a trustee of a Savings Bank, And lectured soundly every evil doer, Gave dinners daily to wealth, power, and rank, And sixpence every Sunday to the poor; He was a wit, in the pun-making line-- Past fifty years of age, and five feet nine.

CXLVII.

But as he trod to grandeur's pinnacle, With eagle eye and step that never falter'd, The busy tongue of scandal dared to tell That cash was scarce with him, and credit alter'd; And while he stood the envy of beholders, The Bank Directors grinn'd, and shrugg'd their shoulders.

CXLVIII.

And when these, the Lord Burleighs of the minute, Shake their sage heads, and look demure and holy, Depend upon it there is something in it; For whether born of wisdom or of folly, Suspicion is a being whose fell power Blights every thing it touches, fruit and flower.

CXLIX.

Some friends (they were his creditors) once hinted About retrenchment and a day of doom; He thank'd them, as no doubt they kindly meant it, And made this speech, when they had left the room: "Of all the curses upon mortals sent, One's creditors are the most impudent;

CL.

"Now I am one who knows what he is doing, And suits exactly to his means his ends; How can a man be in the path to ruin, When all the brokers are his bosom friends?

Yet, on my hopes, and those of my dear daughter, These rascals throw a bucket of cold water!

CLI.

"They'd wrinkle with deep cares the prettiest face, Pour gall and wormwood in the sweetest cup, Poison the very wells of life--and place Whitechapel needles, with their sharp points up, Even in the softest feather bed that e'er Was manufactured by upholsterer."

CLII.

This said--he journey'd "at his own sweet will,"

Like one of Wordsworth's rivers, calmly on; But yet, at times, Reflection, "in her still Small voice," would whisper, something must be done; He ask'd advice of f.a.n.n.y, and the maid Promptly and duteously lent her aid.

CLIII.

She told him, with that readiness of mind And quickness of perception which belong Exclusively to gentle womankind, That to submit to slanderers was wrong, And the best plan to silence and admonish them, Would be to give "a party"--and astonish them.

CLIV.

The hint was taken--and the party given; And f.a.n.n.y, as I said some pages since, Was there in power and loveliness that even, And he, her sire, demean'd him like a prince, And all was joy--it look'd a festival, Where pain might smooth his brow, and grief her smiles recall.

CLV.