“‘Has he been sane iver since?’ says the lawyer.  ’Ye’d betther have a care how ye answer that question, me boy,’ says th’ pris’ner, carelessly jingling th’ loose change in his pocket.  ‘Sane?’ says th’ expert.  ’Well, I shud think he was.  Why, I can hardly imagine how he stayed feather-headed long enough to take th’ villan’s joolry.  Sane, says ye?  I don’t mean anny disrespect to th’ coort or th’ bar, but if ye gintlemen had half as much good brains in ye’er head as he has, ye’d not be wastin’ ye’er time here.  There ain’t a man in this counthry th’ akel iv this gr-reat man.  Talk about Dan’l Webster, he was an idyut compared with this joynt intelleck.  No, sir, he’s a fine, thoughtful, able, magnificent specimen iv man an’ has been iver since between twelve four an’ twelve four-an’-a-half on that fatal night.  An’ a good fellow at that.’

“‘What d’ye propose to do to stand this here testymony off?’ says th’ Judge.  ‘I propose,’ says th’ State’s attorney, ’to prove be some rale experts, men who have earned their repytations be testifyin’ eight ways fr’m th’ jack in a dozen criminal cases, that so far fr’m bein’ insane on this particklar night, this was th’ on’y time that he was perfeckly sane.’  ‘Oh, look here, Judge,’ says Bedalia Sassyfrass iv Th’ Daily Fluff, ‘this here has gone far enough.  Th’ man’s not guilty, an’ if ye don’t want a few remarks printed about ye, that’ll do ye no good, ye’ll let him off.’  ‘Don’t pay anny attintion to what she says, Fitzy,’ says another lady.  ’Her decayed newspa-aper has no more circulation thin a cucumber.  We expict ye to follow th’ insthructions printed in our vallyable journal this mornin’.’

“‘Sir,’ says a tall man, risin’ in his place, ‘I am th’ Riv’rend Thompson Jubb.’  ‘Not th’ notoryous shepherd iv that name?’ ‘Th’ same,’ says th’ Riv’rend Jubb.  ‘That lowly worker in th’ vineyard iv th’ Lord who astonished th’ wurruld be atin’ glass in th’ pulpit an’ havin’ th’ Bible tattooed on him.  I wish th’ privilege iv standin’ on me head an’ playin’ “A charge to keep I have” on the accorjeen with me feet.  ‘Granted,’ says th’ coort.  ‘I will now charge th’ jury as to th’ law an’ th’ fact:  I am all mixed up on th’ law; th’ fact is there’s a mob outside waitin’ to lynch ye if ye don’t do what it wants.  Th’ coort will now adjourn be th’ back dure.’  ‘Where’s th’ pris’ner?’ says th’ expert.  ‘He has gone to addhress a mothers’ meetin’,’ says th’ clerk.  ’Thin I must be goin’ too,’ says th’ expert.  An’ there ye ar-re.”

“I’m glad that fellow got me off”, said Mr. Hennessy, “but thim experts ar-re a bad lot.  What’s th’ difference between that kind iv tistymony an’ perjury?”

“Ye pay ye’er money an’ take ye’er choice”, said Mr. Dooley.

THE CALL OF THE WILD

“Well, sir,” said Mr. Dooley, “I see me frind Tiddy Rosenfelt has been doin’ a little lithry criticism, an’ th’ hospitals are full iv mangled authors.  Th’ next time wan iv thim nature authors goes out into th’ woods lookin’ f’r his prey he’ll go on crutches.”