So, Parson Stebbins, you’ve relea… To say that here, and here, we pre… 'Tis a great thing an editor to sk… And hang his faulty pelt upon a na… (If over-eared, it has, at least,…

The Seraphs came to Christ, and s… The man, presumptuous and overbold… Who boasted that his mercy could e… Thine own, is dead and on his way… Gravely the Saviour asked: ‘What…

Unbeautiful is the Piute! Howe’er bedecked with bravery, His person is unsavory Of soap he’s destitute. He multiplies upon the earth

San Quentin was brilliant. Within… Of the noble pile with the frownin… (God knows they’ve enough to make… With a Governor trying to break t… Was a blaze of light. ‘Twas the n…

I died. As meekly in the earth I… With shriveled fingers reverently… The worm-uncivil engineer!-my clay Tunneled industriously, and the mo… My body could not dodge them, but…

I heard that Heaven was bright an… And politicians dwelt not there. ‘Twas said by knowing ones that th… Were in the Elsewhere-so to say. So, waking from my last long sleep…

The rimer quenches his unheeded fi… The sound surceases and the sense… Then the domestic dog, to east and… Expounds the passions burning in h… The rising moon o’er that enchante…

'T was a maiden lady (the newspape… Pious and prim and a bit gone-gray… She slept like an angel, holy and… Till ten o’ the clock in the shank… (When men and other wild animals p…

I saw the devil-he was working fre… A customs-house he builded by the… ‘Why do you this?’ The devil rais… 'Churches and courts I’ve built e…

O statesmen, what would you be at, With torches, flags and bands? You make me first throw up my hat, And then my hands.

Thy flesh to earth, thy soul to G… We gave, O gallant brother; And o’er thy grave the awkward squ… Fired into one another!

A cook adorned with paper cap, Or waiter with a tray, May be a worthy kind of chap In his way, But when we want one for Recorder…

Little’s the good to sit and griev… Because the serpent tempted Eve. Better to wipe your eyes and take A club and go out and kill a snake… What do you gain by cursing Nick

‘Tis Master Fitch, the editor; He takes an holiday. Now wherefore, venerable sir, So resolutely gay? He lifts his head, he laughs aloud…

Hangman’s hands laid in this tomb… Imp of Satan’s getting, whom an Ancient legend says that woman Never bore-he owed his birth To Sin herself. From Hell to Ear…