And one of ’em said, “It’s an awful delight To be infinite deep into no end of night, Where the heavenly sunshine can’t manage to spring,— And, talking of that, I’ve a notion, by Jing! Let we ourselves mine out some coal lumps to-day To show to the folks,—which I think, by the way, Would be a poetical thing.” So they filled up their pockets, untried by a doubt, And in the hotel they unveiled ’em all out; But their glances grew strange as they turned o’er the weight, Till one of them shouted, “By thunder, it’s slate!” Yet the youngest among them had dealered in coal, And unto that traffic surrendered his soul, Since the Anno Eighteen Forty-eight. For all of man’s wisdom is only a dream, Which passeth away like a plate of ice-cream, And the best of experience fails, as we mark, If you go for to dig when you’re all in the dark; For there’s always a moral inside of a tale, And big things in little things always prevail As sure as there’s wood in the bark. CAREY, OF CARSON The night-mist dim and darkling, As o’er the roads we pass, Lies in the morning sparkling As dewdrops on the grass. E’en so the deeds of darkness, Which come like midnight dews, Appear as sparkling items Next morning in the news. Away in Carson City, Far in the Silver Land, There lives one Justice Carey, A man of head and hand; And as upon his table The Judge a-smoking sat There rowdied in a rougher Who wore a gallows hat. He looked upon the Justice, But Justice did not budge Until the younger warbled, “Say—don’t you know me, Judge?” “I think,” said Carey meekly, “Your face full well I know,— I sent you up for stealing A horse a year ago.” “Ay, that is just the hair-pin I am, and that’s my line; And here is twenty dollars I’ve brought to pay the fine.” “You owe no fine,” said Carey, “Your punishment is o’er.” “Not yet,” replied the rover; “I’ve come to have some more. “Fust-rate assault and batt’ry I’m goin’ to commit, And you’re the mournful victim That I intend to hit, And give you such a scrampin’ As never was, nohow; And so, to save the lawin’, I guess I’ll settle now.” Up rose the Court in splendour; “Young man, your start is fair, Sail in, my son, sail over, And we will call it square! Go in upon your chances,— Perhaps you may not miss; I like to see young heroes Ambitionin’ like this.” The young one at the older Went in with all his heft, And, like a flyin’ boulder, At once let out his left; The Court, in haste, ducked under Its head uncommon spry, Then lifted the intruder With a puncher in the eye,—