Lighter my purse, as onward, pacing slow,
I turned from right to left in idle quest,
Till on me flashed, fair as the sunset glow,
Mrs. Cornwallis West.
Strangely my eyes their wonted functions changed;
I saw her once again, white-veiled, white-furred,
As oft by deft photographers arranged,
A photographic bird
Prest to her lips 'mid counterfeited snow.
Full soon the fancy ceased. I heard a cry