HUMOROUS POEMS.

MISS KILMANSEGG AND HER PRECIOUS LEG.

A GOLDEN LEGEND.

"What is here?

Gold yellow, glittering, precious gold?"

TIMON OF ATHENS.

Per Pedigree.

To trace the Kilmansegg pedigree,
To the very roots 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 Nicholas.

It would n't require much verbal strain
To trace the Kill-man, perchance, to Cain;
But, waving all such digressions,
Suffice it, according to family lore,
A Patriarch Kilmansegg lived of yore,
Who was famed for his great possessions.

Tradition said he feathered his nest
Through an agricultural interest

In the golden age of farming;
When golden eggs were laid by the geese,
And Colchian sheep wore a golden fleece,

And golden pippins the sterling kind

Of Hesperus

now so hard to find

Made horticulture quite charming!

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 pasture and heath,
With herbage so rich from the ore beneath,
The very ewe's and lambkin's teeth
Were turned into gold by browsing.

He gave, without any extra thrift,
A flock of sheep for a birthday gift

at will

To each son of his loins, or daughter:
And his debts-if debts he had
He liquidated by giving each bill
A dip in Pactolian water.

'T was 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.

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 stopped with the carts and wagons.

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,
Gathered gold instead of honey.

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 revelled and rolled,
Himself and wife and sons so bold;

And his daughters sang to their harps of gold "O bella eta del' oro!"

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.

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.

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!

Her Birth.

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 :

Into this world we come like ships,

Launched 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.

What different lots our stars accord!

This babe to be hailed and wooed as a lord!
And that to be shunned like a leper!
One, to the world's wine, honey, and corn,
Another, like Colchester native, born
To its vinegar, only, and pepper.

One is littered 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."

Born of Fortunatus's kin,
Another comes tenderly ushered in

To a prospect all bright and burnished:

No tenant he for life's back slums

He comes to the world as a gentleman comes

To a lodging ready furnished.