But that bill whose shreds went flying, or lay scattered on the floor
Now is settled ever more.
Odd Echoes from Oxford, by A. Merion, B.A.
(John Camden Hotten, London, 1872.)
The Shavin’.
(A piece of ravin’ à la Edgar A. Poe.)
One morning after sleeping I thought I heard a creeping,
As if some one were approaching close to my bedroom door:
Then a loud impatient tapping put an end unto my napping,
And I wondered who was rapping, rapping at my bedroom door,
So I timidly enquired who was at my bedroom door—