The Plymouth pilot. (Plymouth, Marshall County, Ind.) 1851-1852, 1851-10-01
MISERIES OF AN EDITOR.

MlSEkl ES Ot AN EDITOR.
Or Rccotleetions Of .hc Cradtowm Clar-
ion.
| The Editor has just returned from a tour.
During his absence drunken compos-
itor has been employed half day
ScEYE--Sanctum; the editor is discover.
ed, seated on his tripod, indicating d
political 'crusher'.
Editor, (reads,) who is Jeremiah
Jones? Nobody Where from? No
where Good for what? Nothing;-a
mere bus!-an earwig! whose only chance
Of heaven lies in the dead body of some
saint! (Speaks.) That's mysterious
enough, rather to mild. perhaps, but l can
highten the effect with exclama ton. -
What's the row?'
(The door is thrown violently open: a
stranger rushes in, bearing in one hand
a copy Of the Crabtown Clarion. and in
the other huge family umbrella, la
battering ram.)
Stranger. tlerociously, )--You're the
editor sir, eli?
Editor, (blandly. )--Somctimes. sir
Take sea-.
StrGager,-Im from Goshen--a re-
spectacle attorney, sir. Don't stir, sir;
Shaking the umbrella menacingly,) you
shall hear me through sir, and then draw
ing himself out an extra inch.) depend,
sir, depend confidently upon flogging.
I'm just married sir-not a fortnight
since-and on the happy day. (here the
umbrella quivered sympathetically.) ]
forwarded you notice of the same
Though had hitherto been above poetry,
thank heaven, | added in a moment of
weakness an humble verse of my own
composition, fitting. | thought, TO the oc-
casion. Here's correct version, sir
(repcats from memory:)
MARRIED-ln Goshen, Feb 2Sth, A.
Conkey, Esq, to Euphemia Virgins.
Love is union of two hearts,
That beats i'll softest melody,
Time with its ravages imports
No bitter fusion to its ecstacy.
Not much, still poetry, still rhyme
Next week got your paper, carried it TO
my Eupie mia; we opened it and turned
our eyes TO the marriage list. Blood
anC thunder. what did we see! An abu
siye, atrocious-but no, sir, am cool =
umbrella giving the lie in every rib,)
am cool, sir. Here's your internal sheet.
Hear what ii says, sir, and tremble.-
"Opens the paper and reads:)
MARRiED-At Goshen, Feb. 2Slh,
y. Donkey, Esq. TO Miss EupLemi Tia
PigSins.
Jove is onion Of two heads
That beet is soft and mellowy,
Time with its cabbages and carts,
No better feedin to an extra day.
What do you thing of that, sir? Ium-
breia raised. Donkey. eh? Ptggins is
! it? nv poetry. ELI! 1t has unnerv,
me-driven Inc mad | can take a walk
but that small boys, mere infants ring the
hideous chorus in my ear. Some scoun-
drcl has altered the name on my sign 10
suit your cursed orthography. Don't
apologize-l Won't listen 10 any thing -
My house, just painted, is just scrawlcd
over by horrid portraits and smblems;
and all owing to you. You're cornered
sir; don't move on your life. You, the
destroyer of my happiness, my Euphe-
mia
With that fond name, the last string
Of moderation snapped. He advanced a
step--strGck an attitude, and then the
editor, we had almost said. But no;
just as the family umbrella was midway
in the blow, the door opened. some Wis
itors entered. The injured man hesi'
tated. Here were witnesses. Visions
of an action for assault and battery
with big damages and cost, rose in hl'
| mind, and the umbrella dropped harmless