“What's in the paper?” Oh, it's dev'lish dull:
There's nothing happening at all — a lull
After the war-storm. Mr. Someone's wife
Killed by her lover with, I think, a knife.
A fire on Blank Street and some babies — one,
Two, three or four, I do n't remember, done
To quite a delicate and lovely brown.
A husband shot by woman of the town —
The same old story. Shipwreck somewhere south.
The crew, all saved — or lost. Uncommon drouth
Makes hundreds homeless up the River Mud —
Though, come to think, I guess it was a flood.
‘ T is feared some bank will burst — or else it wo n't
They always burst, I fancy — or they do n't;
Who cares a cent?— the banker pays his coin
And takes his chances: bullet in the groin —
But that's another item — suicide —
Fool lost his money ( serve him right ) and died.
Heigh-ho! there's noth — Jerusalem! what's this:
Tom Jones has failed! My God, what an abyss
Of ruin!— owes me seven hundred clear!
Was ever such a damned disastrous year!