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 don’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.
’Tis feared some bank will burst⁠—or else it won’t;
They always burst, I fancy⁠—or they don’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!