The pistol belonged to my brother--
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I'd like to restore it, but can't:= For, uncle, thy fingers are sticky, `And, if the sad truth be confessed, Thy heart is as false as the "dicky," `Which covers my sorrowful breast.= I've managed the needful to borrow, `My watch and my ring to redeem; I hope that the sight of my sorrow `May cause thee a horrible dream.= [Illustration: 032] 'Twere joy should I hear that the pistol `Had burst in thy villainous hand-- While smoking the "bird's eye" of Bristol, `My breast would dilate and expand.= I leave thee, for vain is resistance, `And little thou heedest my slang,
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