Blood drawed his knife, with accent bland,

    "I ax yer parding, Mister Phinn—

    Jest drap that whisky-skin."

    No man high-toneder could be found

    Than old Jedge Phinn the country round.

    Says he, "Young man, the tribe of Phinns

    Knows their own whisky-skins!"

    He went for his 'leven-inch bowie-knife:—

    "I tries to foller a Christian life;

    But I'll drap a slice of liver or two,

    My bloomin' shrub, with you."

    They carved in a way that all admired,

    Tell Blood drawed iron at last, and fired.

    It took Seth Bludso 'twixt the eyes,

    Which caused him great surprise.

    Then coats went off, and all went in;

    Shots and bad language swelled the din;

    The short, sharp bark of Derringers,

    Like bull-pups, cheered the furse.

    They piled the stiffs outside the door;

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