[figure description] Page 155.[end figure description]

There she goes—the old belle—and thus we sum
her up: Nine gallons of inflated pannier, 176 yards
of muslin in trailing underskirts, $48 worth of wig, $36
worth of dangling smelling-bottles, fans, card-cases,
and straps; 196 yards of gros grain silk, some cotton,
one box of pearl powder; $72 worth of teeth on gutta
percha; six-button gloves, mammoth umbrella, copy of
Edmund Yates's book—and all hanging on the arm of
something intended to represent a man—a sort of amateur
gentleman.

Saxe says:


Hark to the music of her borrowed tone;
Observe the blush that purchase makes her own;
See the sweet smile that sheds its beaming rays,
False as the bosom where her diamonds blaze.
And sorrowfully my cousin Peleg wails this verse:


See how the changes of her walk reveal
The patent instep and the patent heel;
Her patent pannier rounds her form divine,
Its patent arch supports her patent spine,
Lends matchless symmetry and stylish gait,
And bears the label, “Patent—'68.”
A patent corset holds her flimsy form,
And patent dress-pads keep her bosom warm.
Behold the plaintive glance of patent eyes,
As she lifts her patent eyebrows in surprise.
She shakes her head—four pecks of patent hair
Fly like a hop-yard in the August air,

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And twenty grim ghosts whisper her aside,
“Dear Sylph! we wore that wig before we died.”
To whom respondeth, unabashed, the beauty,
Git out, you spooks! I guess I know my jute-y.”
How gnash her patent teeth with gutta percha ire,
And flash her patent eyes with belladonna fire!
As drops her patent chignon in a chair,
She jumps to pick it up—
But I forbear.

p627-166

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