an uncommon one. It is merely a brief sketch of the history of Fanny's father, a New York merchant, whose commercial speculations ultimately prove unsuccessful. A portion of the poem, in no way connected with the narrative, has been omitted, as containing local remarks, but little interesting to the British reader. An English edition of "Fanny" has been published, but does not appear to have had a very extensive circulation.

FANNY.

"A fairy vision

Of some gay creatures of the element,

That in the colours of the rainbow live

And play in the plighted clouds."-MILTON.

I.

FANNY was younger once than she is now,
And prettier of course: I do not mean

To

say, that there are wrinkles on her brow; Yet, to be candid, she is past eighteenPerhaps past twenty-but the girl is shy About her age, and God forbid that I

11.

Should get myself in trouble by revealing
A secret of this sort: I have too long
Lov'd pretty women with a poet's feeling;

And when a boy, in day-dream and in song,
Have knelt me down and worshipp'd them: alas!
They never thank'd me for't-but let that pass.

III.

I've felt full many a heart-ache in my day,
At the mere rustling of a muslin gown;
And caught some dreadful colds, I blush to say,
While shivering in the shade of beauty's frown.
They say her smiles are sunbeams-it may be-

But never a sunbeam would she throw on me.

IV.

But Fanny's is an eye that you may gaze on
For half an hour, without the slightest harm:
E'en when she wore her smiling summer face on,

There was but little danger; and the charm
That youth and wealth once gave, has bade farewell.
Hers is a sad, sad tale-'tis mine its woes to tell.

V.

Her father kept, some fifteen years ago,

A retail dry-good shop in Chatham-street,
And nurs'd his little earnings, sure though slow;
Till, having muster'd wherewithal to meet
The gaze of the great world, he breath'd the air
Of Pearl-street-and set up in Hanover-square.

VI.

Money is power, 'tis said-I never tried;
For I'm a poet—and bank-notes to me
Are curiosities, as closely eyed,

Whene'er I get them, as a stone would be, Toss'd from the moon on Doctor Mitchill's table, Or classic brick-bat from the tower of Babel.

VII.

But he I sing of well has known and felt

That money hath a power and a dominion; For when in Chatham-street the good inan dwelt, No one would give a sous for his opinion. And though his neighbours were extremely civil, Yet, on the whole, they thought him—a poor devil;

VIII.

A decent kind of person; one whose head
Was not of brains particularly full;
It was not known that he had ever said
Any thing worth repeating-'twas a dull,
Good, honest man—what Paulding's muse would call
A "cabbage head,"-but he excelled them all

IX.

In that most noble of the sciences,

The art of making money; and he found
The zeal for quizzing him grew less and less
As he grew richer; till upon the ground
Of Pearl-street, treading proudly in the might.
And majesty of wealth, a sudden light

X.

Flash'd like the midnight lightning on the eyes
Of all who knew him; brilliant traits of mind,
And genius, clear and countless as the dies

Upon the peacock's plumage; taste refin'd, Wisdom and wit, were his-perhaps much more. 'Twas strange they had not found it out before.

XI.

In this quick transformation, it is true

That cash had no small share; but there were still Some other causes, which then gave a new

Impulse to head and heart, and join'd to fill His brain with knowledge; for there first he met The editor of the New-York Gazette,

XII.

The sapient Mr. Lang. The world of him
Knows much; yet not one half so much as he
Knows of the world. Up to its very brim
The goblet of his mind is sparkling free
With lore and learning. Could proud Sheba's queen
In all her bloom and beauty, but have seen

XIII.

This modern Solomon-the Israelite,

Earth's monarch as he was, had never won her.
He would have hang'd himself for very spite;
And she, blest woman, might have had the honour

Of some neat" paragraphs”—worth all the lays
That Judah's minstrel warbled in her praise.