ivin shop, wen they burn sulfir and brimstone, I looked
down and behold, I seen a cort room, with a lot of lawyers and clurks
sittin round a table, and the judge in a pulpit wot over looked them.
The peepel all looked like Barnum's skellyton man, ony they didnt have
no skin over there bones, and there eyes was maid of fire balls and eech
of em had a long tail, like a snake. Purty soon the judge sed the court
was open for bisness, and the sargent at arms brot in a feller all
dressed up with a gold wach and big charm wot I reckernized as one of
our ded beet subskri-bers wot'd dide last weak.

The judge looked him all over in a com-plermenterry way, and ast him if
he'd alwus lived a onhest and uprite life.

"Yer onher," sed he, "I've given of my substanse to the poor; I've
luved my nay-bor as myself; I've surved for ten years as Warden of a
fashunubble church, and tride to the best of my knowlege and beleef to
do rite."

"Yer onher," sed the prosercutin turney, wot I reckernized as the
ex-religio-jurnalistick edittur of a defunckted alliance noosepaper,
"May I ast the prisner a questshun?"

"You may," sed Judge Satan, for it was his infurnissimo himself.

"Prisner at the bar," sed the turney, "Did you pay your subskripshun to
the _Buster_ 'fore you checked your baggage thru to Hay dies?"

"No, sir," sed the prisner, "I did not. I never thot it was perticklar,
cos editturs aint like other mortels, enyway, and I never knowd it was a
sin to beet em if you culd."

"Yes, sir, yer onher," said the prosercutin 'turney, "he confesses his
gilt, and I find, by lookin over the reckord, he ows the _Buster_ offis
for 8 years' subskripshun besides a hull string of free advertisin wot
the edittur giv him outer goodness of hart. Not only that, but I notis
in the day book that jest wun week 'fore he departed he ordered his
paper stopped, cos he was opposed to surportin', by his munny, a
Dem-mercratick candydate for Guvner. You see, yer onher, there is
nothing left for you but to pass sentense on the prisner."

"Prisner at the bar," sed the Judge, "this yere cort sentenses you to
hard laber shuvlin' flames at a tempyrature of 6,000 degrees, for 10,000
yares, durin' all wich time you will sing 'I want to be a angel, And
with the editturs stand!' Shurruf, conduct the prisner to furnace number
561, next to Gittoes."

Soon as he'd gone, a cullered gentleman was brot in, and in ansur to
there quest-shuns as to his morral standing he se