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. 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. 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. He had roll’d in money like pigs in mud, Till it seem’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. 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. 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. 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 Dorado.” Gold! and gold! and nothing but gold! The same auiferous 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. 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 vapour! So fine! so thin! the mind at a loss Could compare it to nothing except a cross Of cobweb with bank-note paper. 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.