If any ladies read these rhymes, Which in Edgar A. Poetry are called “runes,” They may just imagine what sort of times Mrs. Wyman had when she found the spoons! The Judge’s grief was full of merit, And his lady wasn’t inclined to flout it; But she quietly took the spoons to Sterret, And nothing more was said about it. A month went by, and _Fama_, the wench! Had not spread a whisper to urge remorse, And Judge Wyman sat on the legal bench, Trying a fellow for stealing a horse. The evidence was all due north. It froze the prisoner every minute, Till Judge Wyman called the culprit forth, And asked what “he had to say _agin_ it?” The prisoner looked at the planks of pine Of the little rural court-house ceiling, At all the jury in a line, Then answered, his only small card dealing, “Judge, I hev lots of honesty, But when I’m drunk I can’t control it; And as for this ’ere hoss—d’ye see?— I was drunk as blazes when I stole it.” Answered the Judge, “If this Court were a dunce, She would say, in law that is no excuse; For the Court held that opinion _once_, But of late her connection’s been gettin’ loose. One may be certain on law to-day, And find himself to-morrow dumb.— “But answer me one thing truly, and say Where’bouts it was you got your rum?” “I drank because I was invited, And got my rum at Sterret’s, d’ye see?” “Mr. Sheriff,” cried the Judge, excited, “This instant set that poor man free! The liquor that Sterret sells, by thunder! Would make a man do anything, And some time or other, I shouldn’t wonder If it made a saint on the gallows swing; It will run a man to perdition quicker Than it takes a fiddler to reel off tunes; _Why, this Court herself once got drunk on that liquor,_ _And stole the whole of old Sterret’s spoons_!” IN NEVADA Like an awful alligator Breathing fire and screeching hell-some, With a pack of hounds behind him, As if hunted by the devil, Came the smoking locomotive, Followed by the cars and tender, Down among the mountain gorges, Till it stopped before a village As the starry night came on. Just before a mountain village, Where there was a howling shindy Just around a bran-new gallows, With a roaring blazing bonfire Casting a red light upon it, While a crowd of roughest rowdies Shouted, “Cuss him! darn his vitals! Bust him! sink him! burn him! skin him!” Evidently much excited As the starry night came on.