As through the blue expanse he skims
    On joyous wings, the late
  Frank Hutchings overtakes Miss Sims,
    Both bound for Heaven's high gate.

  In life they loved and (God knows why
    A lover so should sue)
  He slew her, on the gallows high
    Died pious—and they flew.

  Her pinions were bedraggled, soiled
    And torn as by a gale,
  While his were bright—all freshly oiled
    The feathers of his tail.

  Her visage, too, was stained and worn
    And menacing and grim;
  His sweet and mild—you would have sworn
    That she had murdered him.

  When they'd arrived before the gate
    He said to her: "My dear,
  'Tis hard once more to separate,
    But you can't enter here.

  "For you, unluckily, were sent
    So quickly to the grave
  You had no notice to repent,
    Nor time your soul to save."

  "'Tis true," said she, "and I should wail
    In Hell even now, but I
  Have lingered round the county jail
    To see a Christian die."