And the "Screw," exultant, murmured:
"Stackhouse will this case decide."
Morning dawned. The "cellar agent"
Bore the trembling wretch away
To a cellar, cold and gloomy,
Where the tools of torture lay.
Blows and shrieks alternate sounded,
And a voice from near the floor
Murmured: "Stackhouse! mercy! MERCY!!
P-l-e-a-s-e, sir; I will smoke no more!"
From the cellar, shorn and shaven,
Skulked the cowering "con." away;
And he smokes—but, Oh! how watchful
Is that victim, who can say?
All ye inmates, take the warning,
Gushing from a brother's heart:
He who smokes within these portals
For the dire offense may smart!
