A regular right-hander; And like a cannon-ball, The young man, when percussioned Went over on the wall. In just about a second, The Court, with all its vim, Like squash-vines o’er a meadow, Went climbing over him. Yea, as the pumpkin clambers Above an Indian grave, Or as the Mississippi Inunders with its wave, And merrily slops over A town in happy sport, E’en so that man was clambered All over by the Court. And in about a minute That party was so raw, He would have seemed a stranger Unto his dearest squaw; Till he was soft and tender, This morsel once so tough, And then, in sad surrender, He moaned aloud, “Enough!” He rose; and Justice Carey Said to him ere he went, “I do not think the fightin’ You did was worth a cent. I charge for time two dollars, As lawyers should, ’tis plain; The balance of the twenty I give you back again. “I like to be obligin’ To folks with all my powers, So when you next want fightin’ Don’t come in office hours; I only make my charges For what’s in legal time,— Drop in, my son, this evenin’, And I’ll not charge a dime.” The young man took the guerdon, As he had ta’en the scars; Then took himself awayward To the ’Ginia City cars. ’Tis glorious when heroes Go in to right their wrongs; But if you’re only hair-pins, Oh, then beware of tongs! JOSEPHI IN BENICIA There was a man who spent his mortal life A-prisoning until there came a war; And with the war there came an enemy, And with the enemy came dynamite, And with the dynamite the engineers Histed that prison-house, and with it all That was therein. And when the man came down And lay a-dying, round the chaplain lit, And asked him “What of life?” and he replied, “To me this life has been a blasted cell.” And so he died like any other man, And thus it is things work among mankind.