Poor Mrs. T. could bear no more,
But fainted flat upon the floor.
Mamma-in-law, with anguish wild,
Seeks, all in vain, to rouse her child.
“Quick! Take this box of smelling-salts!
Don’t scold her, James, or you’ll repent it,
She’s a dear girl, with all her faults——”
“She is!” groaned Tottles (and he meant it).
“I was a donkey,” Tottles cried,
“To choose your daughter for my bride!