A house with wings extended wide,
A racket-ground to play in,
Two porters' lodges there beside,
And porters always staying
To guard the inmates there within,
And keep them from the town;
From duns as free as saints from sin,
And sheriffs of renown.
To get white wash'd it is their plan,
'Tis such a cleansing thing--
Then out they come with blacker hands
Than when they first went in.

P.H.H.

* * * * *

The following lines are copied from a seat in Greenwich Park, written in
chalk; and from their style, they may be supposed to have been written
by one who meditated suicide:--

Oh! deaf to nature and to heav'n's command,
Against thyself to lift the murd'ring hand,
Oh! damn'd despair to shun the living light,
And plunge thy guilty soul to endless night.

Written also in the same hand:--Charlotte Rumpling, you did not use me
well, but I forgive you--God bless you.