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 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,

"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.

Her brow was turbaned with a bucktail wreath, A broach of terrapin her bosom wore, Tompkins's 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 pommelled black and blue.

She was in fashion's elegant undress, Muffled from throat to ankle; and her hair