Volume 62 — JOLLY WET.
Reading edition
Hooray! It rains, it pelts, it pours, At work I shall be free from bores, Who call and stay. The storm that roars, The wet, will keep them all in-doors. I've but to dread the Postman's knock, A sharp but momentary shock, I'll hope that it may bring no worse, Than some attempt upon my purse. Prospectus, Circular, or Puff, Into the fire just won't I stuff, And smile, as to myself I say, "That postage-stamp is thrown away!"