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And above them all,

The dome of St. Paul,

With its Golden Cross and its Golden Ball,
Shone out as if newly burnish'd!

And lo! for Golden Hours and Joys,
Troops of glittering Golden Boys

Danced along with a jocund noise,

And their gilded emblems carried!
In short, 'twas the year's most Golden Day,
By mortals call'd the First of May,
When Miss Kilmansegg,

Of the Golden Leg,

With a Golden Ring was married!

And thousands of children, women, and men,
Counted the clock from eight till ten,
From St. James's sonorous steeple ;
For next to that interesting job,
The hanging of Jack, or Bill, or Bob,
There's nothing so draws a London mob
As the noosing of very rich people.

And a treat it was for a mob to behold
The Bridal Carriage that blazed with gold!
And the Footmen tall, and the Coachman bold,
In liveries so resplendent-

Coats you wonder'd to see in place,
They seem'd so rich with golden lace,
That they might have been independent.

Coats that made those menials proud
Gaze with scorn on the dingy crowd,
From their gilded elevations;

Not to forget that saucy lad
(Ostentation's favourite cad),

The Page, who look'd, so splendidly clad,
Like a Page of the "Wealth of Nations."

But the Coachman carried off the state,
With what was a Lancashire body of late
Turn'd into a Dresden Figure;

With a bridal Nosegay of early bloom,
About the size of a birchen broom,

And so huge a White Favour, had Gog been Groom
He need not have worn a bigger.

And then to see the Groom! the Count!
With Foreign Orders to such an amount,
And whiskers so wild-nay, bestial;
He seem'd to have borrow'd the shaggy hair
As well as the Stars of the Polar Bear,

To make him look celestial!

And then-Great Jove !-the struggle, the crush, The screams, the heaving, the awful rush,

The swearing, the tearing, and fighting,The hats and bonnets smash'd like an egg— To catch a glimpse of the Golden Leg,

Which, between the steps and Miss Kilmansegg, Was fully display'd in alighting!

From the Golden Ankle up to the Knee

There it was for the mob to see!

A shocking act had it chanced to be

A crooked leg or a skinny:

But although a magnificent veil she wore,
Such as never was seen before,

In case of blushes, she blush'd no more
Than George the First on a guinea!

Another step, and lo! she was launch'd!
All in white, as Brides are blanch'd,

With a wreath of most wonderful splendour---
Diamonds, and pearls, so rich in device,
That, according to calculation nice,
Her head was worth as royal a price
As the head of the Young Pretender.

Bravely she shone-and shone the more
As she sail'd through the crowd of squalid and
Thief, beggar, and tatterdemalion-
Led by the Count, with his sloe-black eyes
Bright with triumph, and some surprise,
Like Anson on making sure of his prize
The famous Mexican Galleon!

Anon came Lady K., with her face
Quite made to act with grace,
up

But she cut the performance shorter;
For instead of pacing stately and stiff,
At the stare of the vulgar she took a miff,
And ran, full speed, into Church, as if
To get married before her daughter.

But Sir Jacob walk'd more slowly, and bow'd
Right and left to the gaping crowd,

Wherever a glance was seizable;

For Sir Jacob thought he bow'd like a Guelph,

And therefore bow'd to imp and elf,

And would gladly have made a bow to himself,
Had such a bow been feasible.

poor

And last and not the least of the sight,
Six "Handsome Fortunes," all in white,
Came to help in the marriage rite,—
And rehearse their own hymeneals;
And then the bright procession to close,
They were followed by just as many Beaux
Quite fine enough for Ideals.

Glittering men, and splendid dames,
Thus they enter'd the porch of St. James',
Pursued by a thunder of laughter;

For the Beadle was forced to intervene,
For Jim the Crow, and his Mayday Queen,
With her gilded ladle, and Jack i' the Green,
Would fain have follow'd after!

Beadle-like he hush'd the shout;

But the temple was full "inside and out,"
And a buzz kept buzzing all round about
Like bees when the day is sunny-

A buzz universal that interfered

With the rite that ought to have been revered,
As if the couple already were smear'd
With Wedlock's treacle and honey!

Yet Wedlock's a very awful thing!
'Tis something like that feat in the ring
Which requires good nerve to do it—
When one of a "Grand Equestrian Troop"
Makes a jump at a gilded hoop,

Not certain at all

Of what may befall

After his getting through it!

But the Count he felt the nervous work
No more than any polygamous Turk,
Or bold piratical skipper,

Who, during his buccaneering search,

Would as soon engage

66 a hand" in church

As a hand on board his clipper!

And how did the Bride perform her part?
Like any Bride who is cold at heart,

Mere snow with the ice's glitter;

What but a life of winter for her!
Bright but chilly, alive without stir,
So splendidly comfortless,-just like a Fir
When the frost is severe and bitter.

Such were the future man and wife!
Whose bale or bliss to the end of life
A few short words were to settle-
Wilt thou have this woman?
I will-and then,

Wilt thou have this man?

I will, and Amen

And those Two were one Flesh, in the Angels' ken, Except one Leg-that was metal.

Then the names were sign'd-and kiss'd the kiss:
And the Bride, who came from her coach a Miss,
As a Countess walk'd to her carriage-
Whilst Hymen preen'd his plumes like a dove,
And Cupid flutter'd his wings above,
In the shape of a fly-as little a Love
As ever look'd in at a marriage!

Another crash-and away they dash'd,

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