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