“Ha, ha! pitty mamma!

Finks you’se foun’ me out?

Dess you tant imazhin

What dis dirl’s about.”

III.

“Huwwy up—fas’ you tan—shut ’oo eyes,

Sweetheart’s dot such a lovely s’prise!

Peep now, twick, mamma, ’fore he flies!”

Ope her waxen fingers

On a jewel rare: