XLIX

5 0 00

XLIX

“Ah, cursed Bellanaine!” “Don’t think of her,”

Rejoin’d the Mago, “but on Bertha muse;

For, by my choicest best barometer,

You shall not throttled be in marriage noose;

I’ve said it, Sire; you only have to choose

Bertha or Bellanaine.” So saying, he drew

From the left pocket of his threadbare hose,

A sampler hoarded slyly, good as new;

Holding it by his thumb and finger full in view.