We’re having lively times, just now, Dear Bess, in old La Porte, For that mysterious “Gunness case” Is going through the court. They found a jury for the case, Most fit in every way: For what they thought about it all They really could not say. We don’t know whether she’s alive, Or whether she is dead, Or whether, when she went away, She took along her head. But this we know—she left her teeth: They’re mostly made of gold, And every time we go to court We hear the story told. One preacher scolds us dreadfully Who go. Perhaps he’s right. But where a preacher goes ’twould seem That women surely
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