Well, now I go along. La Menken fills her purse with gold--she sends Her pugilist away, tries once again And weds a humorist, an Orpheus Kerr-- And plays before the miners out in 'Frisco, And Sacramento, gathers in the eagles. She goes to Europe then--with husband? No! James Barkley is her fellow on the voyage. She lands in London, takes a gorgeous suite In London's grandest hostlery, entertains Charles Dickens, Prince Baerto and Charles Read, The Duke of Wellington and Swinburne, Sand And Jenny Lind; and has a liveried coachman; And for a crest a horse's head surmounting Four aces, if you please. And plays Mazeppa, And piles the money up. Then next is Paris. And there I saw her, 1866, When Louis Napoleon and the King of Greece, The Prince Imperial were in a box. She wandered to Vienna, there was ill, Came back to Paris, died, a stranger's grave In Pere la Chaise was given, afterwards Exhumed in Mont Parnasse was buried, got A little stone with these words carved upon it: "Thou Knowest" meaning God knew, while herself Knew nothing of herself. But when in Paris They sold her picture taken with her arms Around Dumas, and photographs made up Of postures ludicrous, obscene as well, Of her and great Dumas, I have them home. Can show you sometime. Well she loved Dumas, Inscribed a book of poems to Charles Dickens, By his permission, mark you--don't you see Your Elenor Murray here? This Elenor Murray A miniature imperfect of La Menken? She loved sensation, all her senses thrilled her; A delicate soul too weighted by the flesh; A coquette, quick of wit, intuitive, Kind, generous, unaffected, mystical, Teased by the divine in life, and melancholy, Of deep emotion sometimes. One has said She had a nature spiritual, religious Which warred upon the flesh and fell in battle; Just as your Elenor Murray joined the church, And did not keep the faith, if truth be told.