SOMETHING IN THE PAPERS.

“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!