A Golden Legend. "What Is Here? Gold! Yellow, Glittering, Precious Gold?" Timon Of Athens. Her Pedigree. I. To Trace The Kilmansegg Pedigree To The Very Root Of The Family Tree Were A Task As Rash As Ridiculous: Through Antediluvian Mists As Thick As London Fog Such A Line To Pick Were Enough, In Truth, To Puzzle Old Nick, Not To Name Sir Harris Nicolas. Ii. It Wouldn't Require Much Verbal Strain To Trace The Kill-Man, Perchance, To Cain; But, Waiving All Such Digressions, Suffice It, According To Family Lore, A Patriarch Kilmansegg Lived Of Yore, Who Was Famed For His Great Possessions. Iii. Tradition Said He Feather'D His Nest Through An Agricultural Interest In The Golden Age Of Farming; When Golden Eggs Were Laid By The Geese, And Colehian Sheep Wore A Golden Fleece, And Golden Pippins - The Sterling Kind Of Hesperus - Now So Hard To Find - Made Horticulture Quite Charming! Iv. A Lord Of Land, On His Own Estate, He Lived At A Very Lively Rate, But His Income Would Bear Carousing; Such Acres He Had Of Pastures And Heath, With Herbage So Rich From The Ore Beneath, The Very Ewe'S And Lambkin'S Teeth Were Turn'D Into Gold By Browsing. V. He Gave, Without Any Extra Thrift, A Flock Of Sheep For A Birthday Gift To Each Son Of His Loins, Or Daughter: And His Debts - If Debts He Had - At Will He Liquidated By Giving Each Bill A Dip In Pactolian Water. Vi. 'Twas Said That Even His Pigs Of Lead, By Crossing With Some By Midas Bred, Made A Perfect Mine Of His Piggery. And As For Cattle, One Yearling Bull Was Worth All Smithfield-Market Full Of The Golden Bulls Of Pope Gregory. Vii. The High-Bred Horses Within His Stud, Like Human Creatures Of Birth And Blood, Had Their Golden Cups And Flagons: And As For The Common Husbandry Nags, Their Noses Were Tied In Money-Bags, When They Stopp'D With The Carts And Wagons. Viii. Moreover, He Had A Golden Ass, Sometimes At Stall, And Sometimes At Grass, That Was Worth His Own Weight In Money And A Golden Hive, On A Golden Bank, Where Golden Bees, By Alchemical Prank, Gather'D Gold Instead Of Honey. Ix. Gold! And Gold! And Gold Without End! He Had Gold To Lay By, And Gold To Spend, Gold To Give, And Gold To Lend, And Reversions Of Gold In Futuro. In Wealth The Family Revell'D And Roll'D, Himself And Wife And Sons So Bold; - And His Daughters Sang To Their Harps Of Gold "O Bella Eta Del'Oro!" X. Such Was The Tale Of The Kilmansegg Kin, In Golden Text On A Vellum Skin, Though Certain People Would Wink And Grin, And Declare The Whole Story A Parable - That The Ancestor Rich Was One Jacob Ghrimes, Who Held A Long Lease, In Prosperous Times, Of Acres, Pasture And Arable. Xi. That As Money Makes Money, His Golden Bees Were The Five Per Cents, Or Which You Please, When His Cash Was More Than Plenty - That The Golden Cups Were Racing Affairs; And His Daughters, Who Sang Italian Airs, Had Their Golden Harps Of Clementi. Xii. That The Golden Ass, Or Golden Bull, Was English John, With His Pockets Full, Then At War By Land And Water: While Beef, And Mutton, And Other Meat, Were Almost As Dear As Money To Eat, And Farmers Reaped Golden Harvests Of Wheat At The Lord Knows What Per Quarter! Xiii. What Different Dooms Our Birthdays Bring! For Instance, One Little Manikin Thing Survives To Wear Many A Wrinkle; While Death Forbids Another To Wake, And A Son That It Took Nine Moons To Make Expires Without Even A Twinkle! Xiv. Into This World We Come Like Ships, Launch'D From The Docks, And Stocks, And Slips, For Fortune Fair Or Fatal; And One Little Craft Is Cast Away In Its Very First Trip In Babbicome Bay, While Another Rides Safe At Port Natal. Xv. What Different Lots Our Stars Accord! This Babe To Be Hail'D And Woo'D As A Lord! And That To Be Shun'D Like A Leper! One, To The World'S Wine, Honey, And Corn, Another, Like Colchester Native, Born To Its Vinegar, Only, And Pepper. Xvi. One Is Litter'D Under A Roof Neither Wind Nor Water Proof - That's The Prose Of Love In A Cottage - A Puny, Naked, Shivering Wretch, The Whole Of Whose Birthright Would Not Fetch, Though Robins Himself Drew Up The Sketch, The Bid Of "A Mess Of Pottage." Xvii. Born Of Fortunatus'S Kin Another Comes Tenderly Ushered In To A Prospect All Bright And Burnish'D: No Tenant He For Life'S Back Slums - He Comes To The World, As A Gentleman Comes To A Lodging Ready Furnish'D. Xviii. And The Other Sex - The Tender - The Fair - What Wide Reverses Of Fate Are There! Whilst Margaret, Charm'D By The Bulbul Rare, In A Garden Of Gul Reposes - Poor Peggy Hawks Nosegays From Street To Street Till - Think Of That, Who Find Life So Sweet! - She Hates The Smell Of Roses! Xix. Not So With The Infant Kilmansegg! She Was Not Born To Steal Or Beg, Or Gather Cresses In Ditches; To Plait The Straw, Or Bind The Shoe, Or Sit All Day To Hem And Sew, As Females Must - And Not A Few - To Fill Their Insides With Stitches! Xx. She Was Not Doom'D, For Bread To Eat, To Be Put To Her Hands As Well As Her Feet - To Carry Home Linen From Mangles - Or Heavy-Hearted, And Weary-Limb'D, To Dance On A Rope In A Jacket Trimm'D With As Many Blows As Spangles. Xxi. She Was One Of Those Who By Fortune'S Boon Are Born, As They Say, With A Silver Spoon In Her Mouth, Not A Wooden Ladle: To Speak According To Poet'S Wont, Plutus As Sponsor Stood At Her Font, And Midas Rocked The Cradle. Xxii. At Her First D?But She Found Her Head On A Pillow Of Down, In A Downy Bed, With A Damask Canopy Over. For Although, By The Vulgar Popular Saw, All Mothers Are Said To Be "In The Straw," Some Children Are Born In Clover. Xxiii. Her Very First Draught Of Vital Air, It Was Not The Common Chameleon Fare Of Plebeian Lungs And Noses, - No - Her Earliest Sniff Of This World Was A Whiff Of The Genuine Otto Of Roses! Xxiv. When She Saw The Light, It Was No Mere Ray Of That Light So Common - So Everyday - That The Sun Each Morning Launches - But Six Wax Tapers Dazzled Her Eyes, From A Thing - A Gooseberry Bush For Size - With A Golden Stem And Branches. Xxv. She Was Born Exactly At Half-Past Two, As Witness'D A Timepiece In Ormolu That Stood On A Marble Table - Showing At Once The Time Of Day, And A Team Of Gildings Running Away As Fast As They Were Able, With A Golden God, With A Golden Star, And A Golden Spear, In A Golden Car, According To Grecian Fable. Xxvi. Like Other Babes, At Her Birth She Cried; Which Made A Sensation Far And Wide - Ay, For Twenty Miles Around Her: For Though To The Ear 'Twas Nothing More Than An Infant'S Squall, It Was Really The Roar Of A Fifty-Thousand Pounder! It Shook The Next Heir In His Library Chair, And Made Him Cry, "Confound Her!" Xxvii. Of Signs And Omens There Was No Dearth, Any More Than At Owen Glendower'S Birth, Or The Advent Of Other Great People Two Bullocks Dropp'D Dead, As If Knock'D On The Head, And Barrels Of Stout And Ale Ran About, And The Village Bells Such A Peal Rang Out, That They Crack'D The Village Steeple. Xxviii. In No Time At All, Like Mushroom Spawn, Tables Sprang Up All Over The Lawn; Not Furnish'D Scantly Or Shabbily, But On Scale As Vast As That Huge Repast, With Its Loads And Cargoes Of Drink And Botargoes, At The Birth Of The Babe In Rabelais. Xxix. Hundreds Of Men Were Turn'D Into Beasts, Like The Guests At Circe'S Horrible Feasts, By The Magic Of Ale And Cider: And Each Country Lass, And Each Country Lad Began To Caper And Dance Like Mad, And Ev'N Some Old Ones Appear'D To Have Had A Bite From The Naples Spider. Xxx. Then As Night Came On, It Had Scared King John Who Considered Such Signs Not Risible, To Have Seen The Maroons, And The Whirling Moons, And The Serpents Of Flame, And Wheels Of The Same, That According To Some Were "Whizzable." Xxxi. Oh, Happy Hope Of The Kilmanseggs! Thrice Happy In Head, And Body, And Legs, That Her Parents Had Such Full Pockets! For Had She Been Born Of Want And Thrift, For Care And Nursing All Adrift, It's Ten To One She Had Had To Make Shift With Rickets Instead Of Rockets! Xxxii. And How Was The Precious Baby Drest? In A Robe Of The East, With Lace Of The West, Like One Of Croesus'S Issue - Her Best Bibs Were Made Of Rich Gold Brocade, And The Others Of Silver Tissue. Xxxiii. And When The Baby Inclined To Nap, She Was Lull'D On A Gros De Naples Lap, By A Nurse In A Modish Paris Cap, Of Notions So Exalted, She Drank Nothing Lower Than Cura?Oa Maraschino, Or Pink Noyau, And On Principle Never Malted. Xxxiv. From A Golden Boat, With A Golden Spoon, The Babe Was Fed Night, Morning, And Noon; And Altho' The Tale Seems Fabulous, 'Tis Said Her Tops And Bottoms Were Gilt, Like The Oats In That Stable-Yard Palace Built For The Horse Of Heliogabalus. Xxxv. And When She Took To Squall And Kick - For Pain Will Wring, And Pins Will Prick, E'En The Wealthiest Nabob'S Daughter - They Gave Her No Vulgar Dalby Or Gin, But A Liquor With Leaf Of Gold Therein, Videlicet, - Dantzic Water. Xxxvi. In Short She Was Born, And Bred, And Nurst, And Drest In The Best From The Very First, To Please The Genteelest Censor - And Then, As Soon As Strength Would Allow, Was Vaccinated, As Babes Are Now, With Virus Ta'En From The Best-Bred Cow Of Lord Althorpe'S - Now Earl Spencer. Her Christening. Xxxvii. Though Shakspeare Asks Us, "What'S In A Name?" (As If Cognomens Were Much The Same), There'S Really A Very Great Scope In It. A Name? - Why, Wasn'T There Doctor Dodd, That Servant At Once Of Mammon And God, Who Found Four Thousand Pounds And Odd, A Prison - A Cart - And A Rope In It? Xxxviii. A Name? - If The Party Had A Voice, What Mortal Would Be A Bugg By Choice? As A Hogg, A Grubb, Or A Chubb Rejoice? Or Any Such Nauseous Blazon? Not To Mention Many A Vulgar Name, That Would Make A Door-Plate Blush For Shame, If Door-Plates Were Not So Brazen! Xxxix. A Name? - It Has More Than Nominal Worth, And Belongs To Good Or Bad Luck At Birth - As Dames Of A Certain Degree Know. In Spite Of His Page'S Hat And Hose, His Page'S Jacket, And Buttons In Rows, Bob Only Sounds Like A Page In Prose Till Turn'D Into Rupertino. Xl. Now To Christen The Infant Kilmansegg, For Days And Days It Was Quite A Plague, To Hunt The List In The Lexicon: And Scores Were Tried, Like Coin, By The Ring, Ere Names Were Found Just The Proper Thing For A Minor Rich As A Mexican. Xli. Then Cards Were Sent, The Presence To Beg Of All The Kin Of Kilmansegg, White, Yellow, And Brown Relations: Brothers, Wardens Of City Halls, And Uncles - Rich As Three Golden Balls From Taking Pledges Of Nations. Xlii. Nephews, Whom Fortune Seem'D To Bewitch, Rising In Life Like Rockets - Nieces, Whose Dowries Knew No Hitch - Aunts, As Certain Of Dying Rich As Candles In Golden Sockets - Cousins German And Cousins' Sons, All Thriving And Opulent - Some Had Tons Of Kentish Hops In Their Pockets! Xliii. For Money Had Stuck To The Race Through Life (As It Did To The Bushel When Cash So Rife Posed Ali Baba'S Brother'S Wife) - And Down To The Cousins And Coz-Lings, The Fortunate Brood Of The Kilmanseggs, As If They Had Come Out Of Golden Eggs, Were All As Wealthy As "Goslings." Xliv. It Would Fill A Court Gazette To Name What East And West End People Came To The Rite Of Christianity: The Lofty Lord, And The Titled Dame, All Di'Monds, Plumes, And Urbanity: His Lordship The May'R With His Golden Chain, And Two Gold Sticks, And The Sheriffs Twain, Nine Foreign Counts, And Other Great Men With Their Orders And Stars, To Help "M. Or N." To Renounce All Pomp And Vanity. Xlv. To Paint The Maternal Kilmansegg The Pen Of An Eastern Poet Would Beg, And Need An Elaborate Sonnet; How She Sparkled With Gems Whenever She Stirr'D, And Her Head Niddle-Noddled At Every Word, And Seem'D So Happy, A Paradise Bird Had Nidificated Upon It. Xlvi. And Sir Jacob The Father Strutted And Bow'D, And Smiled To Himself, And Laugh'D Aloud, To Think Of His Heiress And Daughter - And Then In His Pockets He Made A Grope, And Then, In The Fulness Of Joy And Hope, Seem'D Washing His Hands With Invisible Soap In Imperceptible Water. Xlvii. He Had Roll'D In Money Like Pigs In Mud. Till It Scem'D To Have Entered Into His Blood By Some Occult Projection: And His Cheeks Instead Of A Healthy Hue, As Yellow As Any Guinea Grew, Making The Common Phrase Seem True, About A Rich Complexion. Xlviii. And Now Came The Nurse, And During A Pause, Her Dead-Leaf Satin Would Fitly Cause A Very Autumnal Rustle - So Full Of Figure, So Full Of Fuss, As She Carried About The Babe To Buss, She Seem'D To Be Nothing But Bustle. Xlix. A Wealthy Nabob Was Godpapa, And An Indian Begum Was Godmamma, Whose Jewels A Queen Might Covet - And The Priest Was A Vicar, And Dean Withal Of That Temple We See With A Golden Ball, And A Golden Cross Above It. L. The Font Was A Bowl Of American Gold, Won By Raleigh In Days Of Old, In Spite Of Spanish Bravado; And The Book Of Pray'R Was So Overrun With Gilt Devices, It Shone In The Sun Like A Copy - A Presentation One - Of Humboldt'S "El Dorada." Li. Gold! And Gold! And Nothing But Gold! The Same Auriferous Shine Behold Wherever The Eye Could Settle! On The Walls - The Sideboard - The Ceiling-Sky - On The Gorgeous Footmen Standing By, In Coats To Delight A Miner'S Eye With Seams Of The Precious Metal. Lii. Gold! And Gold! And Besides The Gold, The Very Robe Of The Infant Told A Tale Of Wealth In Every Fold, It Lapp'D Her Like A Vapor! So Fine! So Thin! The Mind At A Loss Could Compare It To Nothing Except A Cross Of Cobweb With Bank-Note Paper. Liii. Then Her Pearls - 'Twas A Perfect Sight, Forsooth, To See Them, Like "The Dew Of Her Youth," In Such A Plentiful Sprinkle. Meanwhile, The Vicar Read Through The Form, And Gave Her Another, Not Overwarm, That Made Her Little Eyes Twinkle. Liv. Then The Babe Was Cross'D And Bless'D Amain! But Instead Of The Kate, Or Ann, Or Jane, Which The Humbler Female Endorses - Instead Of One Name, As Some People Prefix, Kilmansegg Went At The Tails Of Six, Like A Carriage Of State With Its Horses. Lv. Oh, Then The Kisses She Got And Hugs! The Golden Mugs And The Golden Jugs That Lent Fresh Rays To The Midges! The Golden Knives, And The Golden Spoons, The Gems That Sparkled Like Fairy Boons, It Was One Of The Kilmansegg'S Own Saloons, But Looked Like Rundell And Bridge'S! Lvi. Gold! And Gold! The New And The Old! The Company Ate And Drank From Gold, They Revell'D, They Sang, And Were Merry; And One Of The Gold Sticks Rose From His Chair, And Toasted "The Lass With The Golden Hair" In A Bumper Of Golden Sherry. Lvii. Gold! Still Gold! It Rained On The Nurse, Who - Unlike Dan?E - Was None The Worse! There Was Nothing But Guineas Glistening! Fifty Were Given To Doctor James, For Calling The Little Baby Names, And For Saying, Amen! The Clerk Had Ten, And That Was The End Of The Christening. Her Childhood. Lviii. Our Youth! Our Childhood! That Spring Of Springs! 'Tis Surely One Of The Blessedest Things That Nature Ever Intended! When The Rich Are Wealthy Beyond Their Wealth, And The Poor Are Rich In Spirits And Health, And All With Their Lots Contented! Lix. There'S Little Phelim, He Sings Like A Thrush, In The Selfsame Pair Of Patchwork Plush, With The Selfsame Empty Pockets, That Tempted His Daddy So Often To Cut His Throat, Or Jump In The Water-Butt - But What Cares Phelim? An Empty Nut Would Sooner Bring Tears To Their Sockets. Lx. Give Him A Collar Without A Skirt, (That's The Irish Linen For Shirt) And A Slice Of Bread With A Taste Of Dirt, (That's Poverty'S Irish Butter) And What Does He Lack To Make Him Blest? Some Oyster-Shells, Or A Sparrow'S Nest, A Candle-End And A Gutter. Lxi. But To Leave The Happy Phelim Alone, Gnawing, Perchance, A Marrowless Bone, For Which No Dog Would Quarrel - Turn We To Little Miss Kilmansegg, Cutting Her First Little Toothy-Peg With A Fifty-Guinea Coral - A Peg Upon Which About Poor And Rich Reflection Might Hang A Moral. Lxii. Born In Wealth, And Wealthily Nursed, Capp'D, Papp'D, Napp'D, And Lapp'D From The First On The Knees Of Prodigality, Her Childhood Was One Eternal Round Of The Game Of Going On Tickler'S Ground Picking Up Gold - In Reality. Lxiii. With Extempore Carts She Never Play'D, Or The Odds And Ends Of A Tinker'S Trade, Or Little Dirt Pies And Puddings Made, Like Children Happy And Squalid; The Very Puppet She Had To Pet, Like A Bait For The "Nix My Dolly" Set, Was A Dolly Of Gold - And Solid! Lxiv. Gold! And Gold! 'Twas The Burden Still! To Gain The Heiress'S Early Good-Will There Was Much Corruption And Bribery - The Yearly Cost Of Her Golden Toys Would Have Given Half London'S Charity Boys And Charity Girls The Annual Joys Of A Holiday Dinner At Highbury. Lxv. Bon-Bons She Ate From The Gilt Cornet; And Gilded Queens On St. Bartlemy'S Day; Till Her Fancy Was Tinged By Her Presents - And First A Goldfinch Excited Her Wish, Then A Spherical Bowl With Its Golden Fish, And Then Two Golden Pheasants. Lxvi. Nay, Once She Squall'D And Scream'D Like Wild - And It Shows How The Bias We Give To A Child Is A Thing Most Weighty And Solemn: - But Whence Was Wonder Or Blame To Spring If Little Miss K., - After Such A Swing - Made A Dust For The Flaming Gilded Thing On The Top Of The Fish Street Column? Her Education. Lxvii. According To Metaphysical Creed, To The Earliest Books That Children Read For Much Good Or Much Bad They Are Debtors - But Before With Their A B C They Start, There Are Things In Morals, As Well As Art, That Play A Very Important Part - "Impressions Before The Letters." Lxviii. Dame Education Begins The Pile, Mayhap In The Graceful Corinthian Style, But Alas For The Elevation! If The Lady'S Maid Or Gossip The Nurse With A Load Of Rubbish, Or Something Worse, Have Made A Rotten Foundation. Lxix. Even Thus With Little Miss Kilmansegg, Before She Learnt Her E For Egg, Ere Her Governess Came, Or Her Masters - Teachers Of Quite A Different Kind Had "Cramm'D" Her Beforehand, And Put Her Mind In A Go-Cart On Golden Casters. Lxx. Long Before Her A B And C, They Had Taught Her By Heart Her L. S. D. And As How She Was Born A Great Heiress; And As Sure As London Is Built Of Bricks, My Lord Would Ask Her The Day To Fix, To Ride In A Fine Gilt Coach And Six, Like Her Worship The Lady May'Ress. Lxxi. Instead Of Stories From Edgeworth'S Page, The True Golden Lore For Our Golden Age, Or Lessons From Barbauld And Trimmer, Teaching The Worth Of Virtue And Health, All That She Knew Was The Virtue Of Wealth, Provided By Vulgar Nursery Stealth With A Book Of Leaf Gold For A Primer. Lxxii. The Very Metal Of Merit They Told, And Praised Her For Being As "Good As Gold"! Till She Grew As A Peacock Haughty; Of Money They Talk'D The Whole Day Round, And Weigh'D Desert, Like Grapes, By The Pound, Till She Had An Idea From The Very Sound That People With Nought Were Naughty. Lxxiii. They Praised - Poor Children With Nothing At All! Lord! How You Twaddle And Waddle And Squall Like Common-Bred Geese And Ganders! What Sad Little Bad Little Figures You Make To The Rich Miss K., Whose Plainest Seed-Cake Was Stuff'D With Corianders! Lxxiv. They Praised Her Falls, As Well As Her Walk, Flatterers Make Cream Cheese Of Chalk, They Praised - How They Praised - Her Very Small Talk, As If It Fell From The Solon; Or The Girl Who At Each Pretty Phrase Let Drop A Ruby Comma, Or Pearl Full-Stop, Or An Emerald Semi-Colon. Lxxv. They Praised Her Spirit, And Now And Then The Nurse Brought Her Own Little "Nevy" Ben, To Play With The Future May'Ress, And When He Got Raps, And Taps, And Slaps, Scratches, And Pinches, Snips, And Snaps, As If From A Tigress Or Bearess, They Told Him How Lords Would Court That Hand, And Always Gave Him To Understand, While He Rubb'D, Poor Soul, His Carroty Poll, That His Hair Has Been Pull'D By A Hairess. Lxxvi. Such Were The Lessons From Maid And Nurse, A Governess Help'D To Make Still Worse, Giving An Appetite So Perverse Fresh Diet Whereon To Batten - Beginning With A B C To Hold Like A Royal Playbill Printed In Gold On A Square Of Pearl-White Satin Lxxvii. The Books To Teach The Verbs And Nouns, And Those About Countries, Cities, And Towns, Instead Of Their Sober Drabs And Browns, Were In Crimson Silk, With Gilt Edges; - Her Butler, And Enfield, And Entick - In Short Her "Early Lessons" Of Every Sort, Look'D Like Souvenirs, Keepsakes, And Pledges. Lxxviii. Old Johnson Shone Out In As Fine Array As He Did One Night When He Went To The Play; Chambaud Like A Beau Of King Charles'S Day - Lindley Murray In Like Conditions - Each Weary, Unwelcome, Irksome Task, Appear'D In A Fancy Dress And A Mask; - If You Wish For Similar Copies, Ask For Howell And James'S Editions. Lxxix. Novels She Read To Amuse Her Mind, But Always The Affluent Match-Making Kind That Ends With Promessi Sposi, And A Father-In-Law So Wealthy And Grand, He Could Give Cheque-Mate To Coutts In The Strand; So, Along With A Ring And Posy, He Endows The Bride With Golconda Off Hand, And Gives The Groom Potosi. Lxxx. Plays She Perused - But She Liked The Best Those Comedy Gentlefolks Always Possess'D Of Fortunes So Truly Romantic - Of Money So Ready That Right Or Wrong It Always Is Ready To Go For A Song, Throwing It, Going It, Pitching It Strong - They Ought To Have Purses As Green And Long As The Cucumber Call'D The Gigantic. Lxxxi. Then Eastern Tales She Loved For The Sake Of The Purse Of Oriental Make, And The Thousand Pieces They Put In It - But Pastoral Scenes On Her Heart Fell Cold, For Nature With Her Had Lost Its Hold, No Field But The Field Of The Cloth Of Gold Would Ever Have Caught Her Foot In It. Lxxxii. What More? She Learnt To Sing, And Dance, To Sit On A Horse, Although He Should Prance, And To Speak A French Not Spoken In France Any More Than At Babel'S Building - And She Painted Shells, And Flowers, And Turks, But Her Great Delight Was In Fancy Works That Are Done With Gold Or Gilding. Lxxxiii. Gold! Still Gold! - The Bright And The Dead, With Golden Beads, And Gold Lace, And Gold Thread She Work'D In Gold, As If For Her Bread; The Metal Had So Undermined Her, Gold Ran In Her Thoughts And Fill'D Her Brain, She Was Golden-Headed As Peter'S Cane With Which He Walked Behind Her. Her Accident. Lxxxiv. The Horse That Carried Miss Kilmansegg, And A Better Nether Lifted Leg, Was A Very Rich Bay, Call'D Banker - A Horse Of A Breed And A Mettle So Rare, - By Bullion Out Of An Ingot Mare, - That For Action, The Best Of Figures, And Air, It Made Many Good Judges Hanker. Lxxxv. And When She Took A Ride In The Park, Equestrian Lord, Or Pedestrian Clerk, Was Thrown In An Amorous Fever, To See The Heiress How Well She Sat, With Her Groom Behind Her, Bob Or Nat, In Green, Half Smother'D With Gold, And A Hat With More Gold Lace Than Beaver. Lxxxvi. And Then When Banker Obtain'D A Pat, To See How He Arch'D His Neck At That! He Snorted With Pride And Pleasure! Like The Steed In The Fable So Lofty And Grand, Who Gave The Poor Ass To Understand That He Didn'T Carry A Bag Of Sand, But A Burden Of Golden Treasure. Lxxxvii. A Load Of Treasure? - Alas! Alas! Had Her Horse Been Fed Upon English Grass, And Shelter'D In Yorkshire Spinneys, Had He Scour'D The Sand With The Desert Ass, Or Where The American Whinnies - But A Hunter From Erin'S Turf And Gorse, A Regular Thoroughbred Irish Horse, Why, He Ran Away, As A Matter Of Course, With A Girl Worth Her Weight In Guineas! Lxxxviii. Mayhap 'Tis The Trick Of Such Pamper'D Nags To Shy At The Sight Of A Beggar In Rags, - But Away, Like The Bolt Of A Rabbit, - Away Went The Horse In The Madness Of Fright, And Away Went The Horsewoman Mocking The Sight - Was Yonder Blue Flash A Flash Of Blue Light, Or Only The Skirt Of Her Habit? Lxxxix. Away She Flies, With The Groom Behind, - It Looks Like A Race Of The Calmuck Kind, When Hymen Himself Is The Starter, And The Maid Rides First In The Fourfooted Strife, Riding, Striding, As If For Her Life, While The Lover Rides After To Catch Him A Wife, Although It's Catching A Tartar. Xc. But The Groom Has Lost His Glittering Hat! Though He Does Not Sigh And Pull Up For That - Alas! His Horse Is A Tit For Tat To Sell To A Very Low Bidder - His Wind Is Ruin'D, His Shoulder Is Sprung, Things, Though A Horse Be Handsome And Young, A Purchaser Will Consider. Xci. But Still Flies The Heiress Through Stones And Dust, Oh, For A Fall, If She Must, On The Gentle Lap Of Flora! But Still, Thank Heaven! She Clings To Her Seat - Away! Away! She Could Ride A Dead Heat With The Dead Who Ride So Fast And Fleet, In The Ballad Of Leonora! Xcii. Away She Gallops! - It's Awful Work! It's Faster Than Turpin'S Ride To York, On Bess That Notable Clipper! She Has Circled The Ring! - She Crosses The Park! Mazeppa, Although He Was Stripp'D So Stark, Mazeppa Couldn'T Outstrip Her! Xciii. The Fields Seem Running Away With The Folks! The Elms Are Having A Race For The Oaks At A Pace That All Jockeys Disparages! All, All Is Racing! The Serpentine Seems Rushing Past Like The "Arrowy Rhine," The Houses Have Got On A Railway Line, And Are Off Like The First-Class Carriages! Xciv. She'Ll Lose Her Life! She Is Losing Her Breath! A Cruel Chase, She Is Chasing Death, As Female Shriekings Forewarn Her: And Now - As Gratis As Blood Of Guelph - She Clears That Gate, Which Has Clear'D Itself Since Then, At Hyde Park Corner! Xcv. Alas! For The Hope Of The Kilmanseggs! For Her Head, Her Brains, Her Body, And Legs, Her Life'S Not Worth A Copper! Willy-Nilly, In Piccadilly, A Hundred Hearts Turn Sick And Chilly, A Hundred Voices Cry, "Stop Her!" And One Old Gentleman Stares And Stands, Shakes His Head And Lifts His Hands, And Says, "How Very Improper!" Xcvi. On And On! - What A Perilous Run! The Iron Rails Seem All Mingling In One, To Shut Out The Green Park Scenery! And Now The Cellar Its Dangers Reveals, She Shudders - She Shrieks - She'S Doom'D, She Feels, To Be Torn By Powers Of Horses And Wheels, Like A Spinner By Steam Machinery! Xcvii. Sick With Horror She Shuts Her Eyes, But The Very Stones Seem Uttering Cries, As They Did To That Persian Daughter, When She Climb'D Up The Steep Vociferous Hill, Her Little Silver Flagon To Fill With The Magical Golden Water! Xcviii. "Batter Her! Shatter Her! Throw And Scatter Her!" Shouts Each Stony-Hearted Chatterer! "Dash At The Heavy Dover! Spill Her! Kill Her! Tear And Tatter Her! Smash Her! Crash Her!" (The Stones Didn'T Flatter Her!) "Kick Her Brains Out! Let Her Blood Spatter Her! Roll On Her Over And Over!" Xcix. For So She Gather'D The Awful Sense Of The Street In Its Past Unmacadamized Tense, As The Wild Horse Overran It, - His Four Heels Making The Clatter Of Six, Like A Devil'S Tattoo, Play'D With Iron Sticks On A Kettle-Drum Of Granite! C. On! Still On! She'S Dazzled With Hints Of Oranges, Ribbons, And Color'D Prints, A Kaleidoscope Jumble Of Shapes And Tints, And Human Faces All Flashing, Bright And Brief As The Sparks From The Flints, That The Desperate Hoof Keeps Dashing! Ci. On And On! Still Frightfully Fast! Dover Street, Bond Street, All Are Past! But - Yes - No - Yes! - They'Re Down At Last! The Furies And Fates Have Found Them! Down They Go With Sparkle And Crash, Like A Bark That's Struck By The Lightning Flash - There'S A Shriek - And A Sob - And The Dense Dark Mob Like A Billow Closes Around Them! * * * * * Cii. "She Breathes!" "She Don'T!" "She'Ll Recover!" "She Won'T!" "She'S Stirring! She'S Living, By Nemesis!" Gold, Still Gold! On Counter And Shelf! Golden Dishes As Plenty As Delf; Miss Kilmansegg'S Coming Again To Herself On An Opulent Goldsmith'S Premises! Ciii. Gold! Fine Gold! - Both Yellow And Red, Beaten, And Molten - Polish'D, And Dead - To See The Gold With Profusion Spread In All Forms Of Its Manufacture! But What Avails Gold To Miss Kilmansegg, When The Femoral Bone Of Her Dexter Log Has Met With A Compound Fracture? Civ. Gold May Soothe Adversity'S Smart; Nay, Help To Bind Up A Broken Heart; But To Try It On Any Other Part Were As Certain A Disappointment, As If One Should Rub The Dish And Plate, Taken Out Of A Staffordshire Crate - In The Hope Of A Golden Service Of State - With Singleton'S "Golden Ointment." Cv. "As The Twig Is Bent, The Tree'S Inclined," Is An Adage Often Recall'D To Mind, Referring To Juvenile Bias: And Never So Well Is The Verity Seen, As When To The Weak, Warp'D Side We Lean, While Life'S Tempests And Hurricanes Try Us. Cvi. Even Thus With Miss K. And Her Broken Limb: By A Very, Very Remarkable Whim, She Show'D Her Early Tuition: While The Buds Of Character Came Into Blow With A Certain Tinge That Served To Show The Nursery Culture Long Ago, As The Graft Is Known By Fruition! Cvii. For The King'S Physician, Who Nursed The Case, His Verdict Gave With An Awful Face, And Three Others Concurr'D To Egg It; That The Patient To Give Old Death The Slip, Like The Pope, Instead Of A Personal Trip, Must Send Her Leg As A Legate. Cviii. The Limb Was Doom'D - It Couldn'T Be Saved! And Like Other People The Patient Behaved, Nay, Bravely That Cruel Parting Braved, Which Makes Some Persons So Falter, They Rather Would Part, Without A Groan, With The Flesh Of Their Flesh, And Bone Of Their Bone, They Obtain'D At St. George'S Altar. Cix. But When It Came To Fitting The Stump With A Proxy Limb - Then Flatly And Plump She Spoke, In The Spirit Olden; She Couldn'T - She Shouldn'T - She Wouldn't Have Wood! Nor A Leg Of Cork, If She Never Stood, And She Swore An Oath, Or Something As Good, The Proxy Limb Should Be Golden! Cx. A Wooden Leg! What, A Sort Of Peg, For Your Common Jockeys And Jennies! No, No, Her Mother Might Worry And Plague - Weep, Go Down On Her Knees, And Beg, But Nothing Would Move Miss Kilmansegg! She Could - She Would Have A Golden Leg, If It Cost Ten Thousand Guineas! Cxi. Wood Indeed, In Forest Or Park, With Its Sylvan Honors And Feudal Bark, Is An Aristocratic Article: But Split And Sawn, And Hack'D About Town, Serving All Needs Of Pauper Or Clown, Trod On! Stagger'D On! Wood Cut Down Is Vulgar - Fibre And Particle! Cxii. And Cork! - When The Noble Cork Tree Shades A Lovely Group Of Castilian Maids, 'Tis A Thing For A Song Or Sonnet! - But Cork, As It Stops The Bottle Of Gin, Or Bungs The Beer - The Small Beer - In, It Pierced Her Heart Like A Corking-Pin, To Think Of Standing Upon It! Cxiii. A Leg Of Gold - Solid Gold Throughout, Nothing Else, Whether Slim Or Stout, Should Ever Support Her, God Willing! She Must - She Could - She Would Have Her Whim, Her Father, She Turn'D A Deaf Ear To Him - He Might Kill Her - She Didn'T Mind Killing! He Was Welcome To Cut Off Her Other Limb - He Might Cut Her All Off With A Shilling! Cxiv. All Other Promised Gifts Were In Vain. Golden Girdle, Or Golden Chain, She Writhed With Impatience More Than Pain, And Utter'D "Pshaws!" And "Pishes!" But A Leg Of Gold As She Lay In Bed, It Danced Before Her - It Ran In Her Head! It Jump'D With Her Dearest Wishes! Cxv. "Gold - Gold - Gold! Oh, Let It Be Gold!" Asleep Or Awake That Tale She Told, And When She Grew Delirious: Till Her Parents Resolved To Grant Her Wish, If They Melted Down Plate, And Goblet, And Dish, The Case Was Getting So Serious. Cxvi. So A Leg Was Made In A Comely Mould, Of Gold, Fine Virgin Glittering Gold, As Solid As Man Could Make It - Solid In Foot, And Calf, And Shank, A Prodigious Sum Of Money It Sank; In Fact 'Twas A Branch Of The Family Bank, And No Easy Matter To Break It. Cxvii. All Sterling Metal - Not Half-And-Half, The Goldsmith'S Mark Was Stamp'D On The Calf - 'Twas Pure As From Mexican Barter! And To Make It More Costly, Just Over The Knee, Where Another Ligature Used To Be, Was A Circle Of Jewels, Worth Shillings To See, A New-Fangled Badge Of The Garter! Cxviii. 'Twas A Splendid, Brilliant, Beautiful Leg, Fit For The Court Of Scander-Beg, That Precious Leg Of Miss Kilmansegg! For, Thanks To Parental Bounty, Secure From Mortification'S Touch, She Stood On A Member That Cost As Much As A Member For All The County! Her Fame. Cxix. To Gratify Stern Ambition'S Whims, What Hundreds And Thousands Of Precious Limbs On A Field Of Battle We Scatter! Sever'D By Sword, Or Bullet, Or Saw, Off They Go, All Bleeding And Raw, - But The Public Seems To Get The Lock-Jaw, So Little Is Said On The Matter! Cxx. Legs, The Tightest That Ever Were Seen, The Tightest, The Lightest, That Danced On The Green, Cutting Capers To Sweet Kitty Clover; Shatter'D, Scatter'D, Cut, And Bowl'D Down, Off They Go, Worse Off For Renown, A Line In The Times, Or A Talk About Town, Than The Leg That A Fly Runs Over! Cxxi. But The Precious Leg Of Miss Kilmansegg, That Gowden, Goolden, Golden Leg, Was The Theme Of All Conversation! Had It Been A Pillar Of Church And State, Or A Prop To Support The Whole Dead Weight, It Could Not Have Furnished More Debate To The Heads And Tails Of The Nation! Cxxii. East And West, And North And South, Though Useless For Either Hunger Or Drouth, - The Leg Was In Everybody'S