The hazy nature of the plot; The box locks clicking; and the sound Which to the actors on the stage The prompter made, did all confound Her sense; but most she loathed the power Which could get acted such a play, When they would nothing have to say To pieces of the present hour. Then said she, "This is very dreary! This must not be," she said; "Sooner than feel again so weary, I'd go right home to bed." _The Man in the Moon_, Volume 2, 1848. * * * * * THE EXILED LONDONER. "Since I have been at this place I have lost as many as three copies of _The Times_ in a week, while _Punch_ was as regularly stolen as it was posted."--_Times_, January 10. With black _ennui_ the Exile sits, Watching the rain-drops as they fall; The bluebottle about him flits, That ate the peach on the garden wall. No _Times_ nor _Punch_, 'tis very strange; Unlifted is the iron latch; Of papers he's without the batch That gives his days their only change. At first he only said, "Oh deary! The post is late," he said; "Of waiting I am rather weary, I would my _Punch_ I'd read." About the middle of the day The postman's form its shadow cast, The door he sought with footsteps gay, The _Times_ and _Punch_ are here at last. Out with them; but 'tis very strange, The envelope is open torn-- 'Tis but the _Herald_ of the morn; His paper they have dared to change. He only said, "The _Herald_'s dreary, Dreary, indeed," he said; "It's very look has made me weary; It never can be read." Upon some stones--a hillock small, The Londoner in exile leapt, And over objects large and small A telescopic watch he kept; He saw the postman walk away, He gazed till it was nearly dark, Then only made this sad remark, "Nor _Times_ nor _Punch_ will come to-day." He only said, "'Tis very dreary They do not come," he said; "While I for want of them am weary, They're elsewhere being read." And even when the moon was low, And the shrill winds a game did play, Blowing the sign-boards to and fro, As if 'twould blow them right away; He'd with the spider, as it climbs, Hold converse--asking if 'twould tell Whether the postman dared to sell The weekly _Punch_ and daily _Times_. He only said, "'Tis very dreary, Dreary, indeed," he said; "Of life I'm almost getting weary, My _Times_ and _Punch_ unread."