"Rise, Charles De Jones, rise, if you please; you don't look well upon
your knees. You say that I must be your bride; in all the whole blamed
countryside no other girl could fill your life with joy and sunshine,
as your wife. What can you offer--you who seek my hand? You draw ten
bucks a week. Shall I your Cheap John wigwam share, the daughter of a
millionaire, who early learned in wealth to bask? Shall I get down to
menial task? Go chase yourself! My hand shall go to one who has a
roll of dough!"
Thus spake Letitia Pinkham Brown, the fairest girl in all the town.
Her lover, crushed beneath the weight of blows from an unkindly fate,
rended his garments and his hair and turned away in dumb despair.