Weekly Trinity journal., 1857-10-17
An Editors Trial.
BT KATE NEVILLE.


How often we think when reading the news,
An editor could please if he choose
But such paper as this why. all must agree,
That a thing of less interest they never did see.
But, Sir Critic. reflect ere you make a noise on
That one mans meat is another mans poison
And lest you persist in your steady denials,
Wen give you few OF an editors trials,
First, pretty young lady, sprightly and fair,
With paper in hand waltzes up TO a chair,
And hastily glancing DER all that she saw
She thrust it aside with muttered pshaW"
Nomarrages here
j think it is queer
When there's ever so many,
They don't publish any.
Here's poetry And battles,
Sketches, And seges,
And tales, And law suits,
Without ending A pending;
But pic MICS or concerts, or parties for me,
Such trash on paper never did see.
Then nice young man. with cane and nous
tache.
Who certainly thinks he's cutting a dash,
Looks over the list of plays and sorees,
As if vanly trying his fancy TO please,
In theatres in races,
Circuses, And chases
Operas, In banquets,
Balls, And calls
And fually wonder what editors mean
BY printing paper not fit to be seen.
Sentimental young lady next picks up the paper,
And reads by the light Of dim burning taper,
And wonders if lines addressed to Miss Relic
Were not written TO her by some clever young
fellow
Who's pretty. and witty and learned and wise
But she stops in alarm at the dark hazel eyes,
For hers are blue,
What pity It's true
Aud now, Mr. Editor
IT'S all blamed on YOU,
What speeches, Aud lawing,
And sermons, And jawing,
And news, And clawing,
BY dispatch, To match
But no sketches or tales that / can sec
What kind of man must the editor be 3?
Next grave politician who with dignity glows,
Adjusts his gold spectacles over his nose,
Takes huge pinch OF snuff before he proceeds,
Then opens the paper and lcisurely reads
Of breaches, OF Senate,
And speeches, Of House,
And foreign, or Railways,
Reports, And courts,
And says as lie reads the last column OF war.
What strange kind Of people these editors are,
These rhymes and these love stories TO paint,
If twould do any good would give them a
hint.
Now prm old maid The paper cspics,
And holding it carefully off from her eyes,
And frequently muttering la : and 'du tell !
She manages some way toread very well
The marriages, The robbcrios,
Accidents, The murders,
Suicides, All in
Deaths, A breath.
And finishing, wonders what sort Of a bluudcr
The whole of the community is under,
To support paper whose print is so small,
She wonders how some people read ii at all
Next an angry contributor eager for fame,
Rusbes into the saEctum TO loudly compain--
"Im ruined sir, ruincd-my success sir, is o'er,
So many mistakes were necr heard OF before
Look here at this Sonnet Addressed to q Lady. 4.
You've made ii "A Bonnet aud Dress for Baby,
Don't talk ofmy writing and say it was that
You're an editor, sir, but no gent-tbat is fat
The farmer complains that his crop is neglected,
While So much time is spent in guessing who'll
be elected
The minister says il should be more sedate,
And not so much wasted in matters Of State:
And thousands of other complaints are made
known,
Which the oditor's back Las TO bear all alone
But the worst Of it is, that they all jou in say
ing
Such paper as thishe can print without paying.