bill basher was a hooligan,

the terror of the town,

a reputation he possessed

for knocking people down;

on unprotected persons

of a sudden he would spring,

and hit them with his buckle-belt,

which hurt like anything.

one day ten stalwart constables

bill basher took in charge.

"we cannot such a man," said they,

"permit to roam at large;

he causes all the populace

to go about in fear;

we'd better take him to the court

of mr. justice dear."

to mr. justice dear they went—

a tender judge was he:

he was a great philanthropist

(spelt with a big, big "p").

his bump—phrenologists declared—

of kindness was immense;

altho' he somewhat lacked the bump

of common, common sense.

"dear, dear!" exclaimed the kindly judge

a-looking very wise,

"your conduct in arresting him

quite fills me with surprise.

poor fellow! don't you see the lit-

tle things which he has done

were doubtless but dictated

by a sense of harmless fun?

"we really mustn't be too hard

upon a man for that,

and i will not do more than just

inflict a fine. that's flat!

see how he stands within the dock,

as mild as any lamb.

no! sixpence fine. you are discharged.

good morning, william."

now strange to say, within a week,

bill basher had begun

to knock about a lot of other

people "just in fun."

he hit a young policeman

with a hammer on the head,

until the poor young fellow

was approximately dead.

"good gracious!" murmured justice dear,

"this really is too bad,

to hit policemen on the head

is not polite, my lad,

i must remand you for a week

to think what can be done,

and, in the meantime, please remain

in cell one twenty one."

then, justice dear, he pondered thus:

"bill basher ought to wed

some good and noble woman;

then he'd very soon be led

to see the error of his ways,

and give those errors o'er."

this scheme he thought upon again,

and liked it more and more.

a daughter had good justice dear,

whose name was angeline

(the lady's name is not pronounced

to rhyme with "line," but "leen"),

not beautiful, but dutiful

as ever she could be;

whatever her papa desired

she did obediently.

with her he talked the matter o'er,

and told her that he thought,

in the interests of humanity,

to marry bill she ought.

and, though she loved a barrister

named smith, her grief she hid

and, with a stifled sigh, prepared

to do as she was bid.

they got a special licence, and

together quickly went

to visit basher in his cell

and show their kind intent.

* * *

his answer it was to the point,

though couched in language queer,

these were the very words he used:

"wot? marry 'er? no fear!"

good justice dear was greatly shocked;

indeed, it was a blow

to find that such ingratitude

the hooligan should show.

so he gave to smith, the barrister,

his daughter for a wife,

while on bill he passed this sentence—

"penal servitude for life."