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 Which you may understand as best may fit you; Besides the blackest fiddlers of those days, Placed like their sire, Timotheus, on high, With horsehair fiddle-bows and teeth of ivory.

The carpets were rolled up the day before, And, with a breath, two rooms became but one, Like man and wife—and, on the polished floor, Chalk in the artists' plastic hand had done All that chalk could do—in young Eden's bowers They seemed to tread, and their feet pressed on flowers.

And when the thousand lights of spermaceti Streamed like a shower of sunbeams—and free tresses Wild as the heads that waved them—and a pretty Collection of the latest Paris dresses Wandered about the rooms like things divine, It was, as I was told, extremely fine.

The love of fun, fine faces, and good eating, Brought many who were tired of self and home; And some were there in the high hope of meeting The lady of their bosom's love—and some To study that deep science, how to please, And manners in high life, and high-souled courtesies.