But yet the femme de chambre doubts.
She look'd so pensive when we met her—
Poor thing! and such a charming shawl!
Well! till we understand it better,
It's quite impossible to call.
Old Mr. Fund, the London banker,
Arrived to-day at Premium Court—
I would not, for the world, cast anchor
In such a horrid dangerous port—
Such dust and rubbish, lath and plaster,