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89
JUDGE WYMAN.
A RURAL YANKEE LEGEND.
Long ago, in the State of Maine,
There lived a Judge—a good old soul,
Rather well up in the “genial vein,”
And not by any means “down on” the bowl.
N.B.—By “bowl” I mean the “cup,”
And by “cup”—N.B.—I mean a glass,
Since neither bowls nor cups go up
At present when we our liquor pass.
(Although I recall—
'T is three years this Fall—
When travelling in the wilderness,
And things were all in an awful mess,
And our crockery, with a horrible crash,
Had gone its way to eternal smash
(It came, as the driver allowed, from racin'),
We drank champagne from a tin wash-basin.
Excuse the digression—non est crimen—
And return to our Judge, whose name was Wyman.)
The Judge oft drank in a hostelrie
Kept by a man whose name was Sterret,
Where he met with jolly company,
But where the whisky was void of merit.
The real Minie rifle brand,
That at forty rods kills out of hand.
There lived a Judge—a good old soul,
Rather well up in the “genial vein,”
And not by any means “down on” the bowl.
N.B.—By “bowl” I mean the “cup,”
And by “cup”—N.B.—I mean a glass,
Since neither bowls nor cups go up
At present when we our liquor pass.
(Although I recall—
'T is three years this Fall—
When travelling in the wilderness,
And things were all in an awful mess,
And our crockery, with a horrible crash,
Had gone its way to eternal smash
(It came, as the driver allowed, from racin'),
We drank champagne from a tin wash-basin.
Excuse the digression—non est crimen—
And return to our Judge, whose name was Wyman.)
90
Kept by a man whose name was Sterret,
Where he met with jolly company,
But where the whisky was void of merit.
The real Minie rifle brand,
That at forty rods kills out of hand.
Well, it came to pass that one night the Judge
At Sterret's, after a long, hot day,
Got so tight that he couldn't budge,
And found himself “well over the bay,”
With a “snake in his boot” and one in his hat,
Like a biled owl, or a monkey horned,
Tangle-legged, hawk-eyed, on a bat,
Peepy, skewered, and slewed, and corned.
Couldn't tell a skunk from a pint of Cologne,
Couldn't see the difference 'tween fips and cents.
And when he attempted to walk alone,
Simply made a Virginia fence;
Till liquor yielded at last to sleep,
And he sank into Dream River—four miles deep.
At Sterret's, after a long, hot day,
Got so tight that he couldn't budge,
And found himself “well over the bay,”
With a “snake in his boot” and one in his hat,
Like a biled owl, or a monkey horned,
Tangle-legged, hawk-eyed, on a bat,
Peepy, skewered, and slewed, and corned.
Couldn't tell a skunk from a pint of Cologne,
Couldn't see the difference 'tween fips and cents.
And when he attempted to walk alone,
Simply made a Virginia fence;
Till liquor yielded at last to sleep,
And he sank into Dream River—four miles deep.
Sanctus Ivus fuit Brito, advocatus sed non latro.
“Saint Ives the Briton first took a brief,
For, though a lawyer, he wasn't a thief.”
This is what the story declares,
Which says he listens to lawyers' prayers.
Likely enough! perhaps he may—
Whenever a lawyer tries to pray!
But another legend, old and quaint,
Assigns them a different kind of saint,
With a singular foot and peculiar hue,
Whose breath is tinged with a beautiful blue;
And this was rather the saint, I think,
Who inspired the young lawyers, twenty-four,
Who helped Judge Wyman to stow his drink,
And made them rejoice to hear him snore.
Who, save the devil, would not have wept
To see these graceless legal loons
Tricking the good old Judge as he slept,
And filling his pockets with Sterret's spoons?
With silver spoons; likewise for butter
A handsome ten-dollar silver knife;
Then put Judge Wyman on a shutter,
And carried him home to his loving wife.
“Saint Ives the Briton first took a brief,
For, though a lawyer, he wasn't a thief.”
This is what the story declares,
Which says he listens to lawyers' prayers.
91
Whenever a lawyer tries to pray!
But another legend, old and quaint,
Assigns them a different kind of saint,
With a singular foot and peculiar hue,
Whose breath is tinged with a beautiful blue;
And this was rather the saint, I think,
Who inspired the young lawyers, twenty-four,
Who helped Judge Wyman to stow his drink,
And made them rejoice to hear him snore.
Who, save the devil, would not have wept
To see these graceless legal loons
Tricking the good old Judge as he slept,
And filling his pockets with Sterret's spoons?
With silver spoons; likewise for butter
A handsome ten-dollar silver knife;
Then put Judge Wyman on a shutter,
And carried him home to his loving wife.
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?”
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.
92
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!”
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?”
93
“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!”
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