Judge — March 5, 1887 — page 6: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

BEFORE THE COALS. Before the coals, whose fitful light Falls soft athwart the shades of night, Where, mid the embers’ genial glow, Strange shapes and faces come and go— How pleasant is the hours’ flight ! How soothing to the heavy sight ‘The tints that fade from red to white ! How dreamy is the rest we know Before the coals ! . What heed I then the tempest’s migh, If all within be warm and bright? A book, a glass of wine or 80, A good cigar are all I trow, ~ One needs to set the world aright Before the coals. A. P. UNDERHILL. G. A LETTER TO PEL Perhaps Destructive fan Mlusion or Two ‘Anent Rural Journalism. You ask me, my dear Peleg, why I prefer the toil and bustle dent to the ill-paid and inglorious life of a reporter on a city daily to the quiet, ease, honor and emolument enjoyed by the editor and pro- prietor of a rural weekly pape Lend me thine ear, O Peleg! Lend me both. Once my ambition soared to the height which you point when you mention the rural weekly. I felt that as its editor the village postmastership was in the long list of rewards; that the agricultur ir was waiting for me to man- age it; that the fund for the celebration of the Fourth of July was awaiting a disburser, and that the people were anxious to look on me, “the orator of the day” (in seven-line pica type and red ink on the two-sheet poster which would also bear my imprint); that the ze schoolmaster would regard me as an oracle; that the dominie would doff his hat and the doctor consider it an honor to prescribe; and that among elemosynary editorial snaps as numberless as the sands of the sea the soda-water fountain would effervesce for me without money and without price as gleefully as it would for common people foi consideration, to say nothing of the prize pumpkin and the earliest artichoke in sev: encounties “laid on our table, You can s my esteemed friend, that there were no flies on me when I was younger. I purchased the Weekly Clarion from the widow of its founder, who died old and so full of honors that the village «fire de- partment turned out in uniform and towed the machine in his funeral _ proces- sion. Before I had arranged to toot the Clarion the first week 1 | | | oo] FORBEARANCE CEASES TO BE A VIRTUE. —_ Mr. Ksiont1y (who did not catch the fair one's name)—" 1 beg pardon, but how do you spell your name Fair oxt. Why, Mr. Kn way—J-o-n-c-8. would have given boot to swap places with my honored predecessor. 1 felt that I, too, would be lamented and sung if I could keep on a litte while and die in town; but what, O, Peleg! is honor when you advertiser refuses to trust you for cra ese On: less you throw in a forty-line reading notice descriptive of a fresh im What se distinction that flows from membership in the church mite society will satisfy when the deacon who passes the plate holds it under your nose until you assist in lading it, despi projection upon the tympanum of his ear of the word * Press”? By the way, Peleg, the label on the Clarion of this particular dea “1 Apr. 57." I write as of 1880. Regarding this word “ Press” the public staggers under a halluci nation as heavy as 250 pounds of coal in a basket without a handle. In common with others who have labored on the Press, I tial to a capital P in its connect But when you adopt the i a man needs only to be on a newspaper in order to procure acces ingress every where without supplementary rs or coin a blithesome freedom from subscription pa: pers, importuni nd tax, you stand on the brink a pre | dicament as em: | barrassing as that of the stuttering youth who treat: ed four girls voice of prunes? con m1 par xd depot oi a strange town before he discov: ered that he had left his money in the other troa sers. ‘As a rule, the who does man comicbooks.com