that’s been expictin’ to sind a rush tillygram through young Cyanide sees his ohms an’ his volts mouldin’ an’ no wurrud comes fr’m th’ coort iv appeals but th’ murmur iv th’ chief justice discussin’ th’ nullification theery.  But wan day, th’ decision is wafted down.  ‘Th’ coort finds,’ it says, ‘that th’ vardict was conthry to th’ law an’ th’ ividince.  We seen this fr’m th’ first.  It’s as plain as th’ nose on ye’er face.  Th’ judge was prejudiced an’ th’ jury was ignorant.  Th’ ividince wasn’t sufficient to hang a cat.  We revarse th’ decision an’ ordher a new thrile that full justice may be done.  We cannot help remarkin’ at this time on th’ croolty iv subjectin’ this unforchnit man to all these years iv torture an’ imprisonment with a case again’ him which we see at a glance durin’ th’ Mexican war cud not shtand th’ test iv th’ law.’

“But whin th’ decision is carried to th’ pris’ner, th’ warden says ‘Who?’ ‘P.  Cyanide,’ says th’ clark iv th’ coort.  ‘He’s not here,’ says th’ warden.  ‘On consultin’ me books, I find a man iv that name left in th’ year sivinty-wan.’  ‘Did he escape?’ ’In a sinse.  He’s dead.’

“So, Hinnissy, I’d like to be a judge iv a high coort, dhreamin’ th’ happy hours away.  No hurry, no sthrivin’ afther immejet raysults, no sprintin’, no wan hollenin’ ’Dooley J. hurry up with that ne exeat,’ or ‘Dooley, hand down that opinyion befure th’ batthry gives out.’  ‘Tis th’ thrue life iv aise an’ gintlemanly comfort.  ‘Tis wait till th’ clouds rowl by; ’tis time was meant for slaves; ‘tis a long life an’ a happy wan.  Like th’ Shamrock II, th’ coort acts well in stays but can’t run befure th’ wind.  A jury is f’r hangin’ ivry man, but th’ high coort says:  ’Ye must die, but take ye’er time about it an’ go out th’ way ye like.’  If I wanted to keep me money so that me gran’childher might get it f’r their ol’ age, I’d appeal it to th’ supreme coort.  Oh, th’ fine judge I’d make, f’r I can sleep annywhere, an’ I’m niver impatient f’r annywan to get his jooes.”

“I don’t see,” said Mr. Hennessy, “why they have anny juries.  Why don’t they thry ivry man before th’ supreme coort an’ have done with it?”

“I have a betther way than that,” said Mr. Dooley.  “Ye see they’e wurrukin’ on time now.  I wondher if they wudden’t sthep livelier if they were paid be th’ piece.”

Sherlock Holmes

Dorsey an’ Dugan are havin’ throuble,” said Mr. Hennessy.

“What about?” asked Mr. Dooley.

“Dorsey,” said Mr. Hennessy, “says Dugan stole his dog.  They had a party at Dorsey’s an’ Dorsey heerd a noise in th’ back yard an’ wint out an’ see Dugan makin’ off with his bull tarryer.”

“Ye say he see him do it?”

“Yis, he see him do it.”

“Well,” said Mr. Dooley, “‘twud baffle th’ injinooty iv a Sherlock Holmes.”

“Who’s Sherlock Holmes?”