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 He bade adieu, when safely on the shore, To poetry—and, as he thought, forever. That night his dream (if after deeds make known Our plans in sleep) was an enchanting one.

He woke, in strength, like Samson from his slumber, And walked Broadway, enraptured the next day; Purchased a house there—I've forgot the number— And signed a mortgage and a bond, for pay. Gave, in the slang phrase, Pearl Street the go-by, And cut, for several months, St. Tammany.

Bond, mortgage, title-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 filled his rooms with servants, and whatever Is necessary for a "genteel liver."

This last removal fixed him: every stain Was blotted from his "household coat," and he Now "showed 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