Bloomington herald. [volume] (Bloomington, I. T. [Iowa]) 1840-1849, 1841-03-19
From Graham's Magazine.
The .UajOr'S W'ellding.
A vERlTABLE GHOST STORY TOLD BY
xAra~ cxror-
MAJOR SHORT, ESQ


"AH! Mr.. Editor, glad to see you in this
cramped hole-no air, hot as furnace-egad,
I'm almost baked and as for smoking ones
you might as well dream of heaven in the paws
see-God bless the man that first invented to-
bacco. But hark'e, who was that tall, slim,
lcw-shouldered gentleman, with the long neck,
that sat In the bar-room corner, in a semi-an-
mated state, and hadn't spoke for half an
hour until he growled back your salutation %
Who! Jeremy-lhat was poet"
poet! heaven protect us from such mad
ness. Is he married g
"No-he swears HEN never wed any one
but poetess; and you know they're scarce
article in the market"
"Egad, thought he was bachelor, for
who ever heard of a married man writing po-
etry! Flummery, sir, Aummery--whipt cream
and sugar-away with your poetry! Give me
the real solid prose, your regular beefsteak,
with spice of wit to make it palaabe, boy.
Now there's Oliver Oldfelow, he used to be
married, bnt after that he came to his senses,
and-Lord love you he has'n written line
these twenty years."
you say is true, there ought to be law against
poets marrying"
'And what's the use of law, to stop what
one can't help! No man-et me tell you
ever got married in his senses. No, no, my
boy, they are crazy, Lewilched, non compos
mentis.' Did you ever meet girl that didn't
say she'd never get married, and why then,
should she do it if she didn't ge, possessed ?
Huf tho Moor victims aro mara IN ha piti.d fhon
blamed. It's not their fault. It's destiny, sir,
destiny. When ,hief's hour comes he's go,
to be hung-and when mans time is op he's
got to suffer matrimony. There's no escape.
Let him double like hare, turn to the right or
left, dive like duck, or pretend to be dead like
dormouse, he'll be sure to be found out at
every trick, and made Benedict of-even if
it's done by spirits-before he's aware of it,
Let LIE tell you story to prove my position y
Major Compton was hale, hearty old fell
low when knew him in the last war, though
believe govt and morning drains have long
since driven the nails in his coffin. He had
been gay chap when young-a soldier, a
beaux, bit Of fop, and then-egad, sir-a
poet of no little fashion. He could knock you
off sonnet on lady's charms sooner than old
Tom the blacksmith could knock off horse
shoe. But after while he fell in love, and
to cut shcrt my story--was married. All
many and many time have heard him tell
me how he felt it coming on him as if he was
bewitched; how he struggled against the NAL
ady but could no, prevail; and how he shud-
dered when he found himself writing poetry,
because, like the sight Of water in the hydro
phobia, he knew then that it was all over with
him. But this happened years before We met.
When knew him he was jelly, red-faced
widower, and had horror Of all poets, women,
and cold water-the last of which he used to
say made men eifeminate, in proof of which
he said all savages who used nothing else, like
the Tahitans, were towards. Betwix,y you and
], lie must have married Tartar.
Well-he'd been out one night a! supper,
and the bottle had passed around SO frequently
that every soul of the company, except the ma
ior, got under the table.-so after amusing
himselfby blacking their faces with burnt cork,