THE NEWSMONGER[289]
A Character
An insect lives among mankind
For what wise ends by fate designed
'Tis hard, 'tis very hard, to find.
In pain for all, but thanked by few
Not twice a year he gets his due—
Yet, patiently he struggles through.
Beneath some garret roof restrained
To one dull place forever chained
His word is, "little money gained."
The flowers that deck the summer field,
The bloom of spring, too long concealed,
To him no hour of pleasure yield.
His life is everlasting whim;
The seasons change—but scarce for him—
On sheets of news his eyes grow dim.
He life maintains on self-esteem,
He plans, contrives, and lives by—scheme—
And blots good paper—many a ream.