120
FANNY.
lxv.
The New York State Militia. From Bellevue,
E'en to the Battery flag-staff, the proud story
Of their manœuvres at the last review
Has rung; and Clinton's "order" told afar
He never led a better corps to war.
lxvi.
Of Mr. Charles, Judge Spencer, or Van Buren?
The first with cards, the last in politics,
A conjuror's fame for years have been securing.
And who would now the Athenian dramas read,
When he can get "Wall Street," by Mr. Mead.
lxvii.
Those "grave and reverend seigniors," who compose
Our learned societies—but here my pen
Stops short; for they themselves, the rumor goes,
The exclusive privilege by patent claim,
Of trumpeting (as the phrase is) their own fame.
lxviii.
To bless the hour the Corporation took it