Unto my dying day."
And so he pulled off her shoes, and whipped her till she bled (this repeated three days); and the third day he took her up, and put her into a rose-bush, where the rain rained, and the snow snowed, and the hail hailed, and the wind blew upon her all night. Quickly her tiny spirit crept out of her tiny body and hovered round the bed of her parents, where it sung in mournful voice for evermore—
"Dark, weary, and cold am I,
Little knoweth Gammie where am I."
Of the Humorous stories I have already given a specimen in Vol. v., p. 363.
Any notes of legends, or suggestions of any kind, forwarded to my address as below, will be thankfully received and acknowledged.
Vincent T. Sternberg.
15. Store Street, Bedford Square.