Randolph County journal. [volume] (Winchester, Randolph County, Ind.) 1855-1862, 1861-04-04
From the Home Journal.
An Editors Trials.
BY KATE NEVILLE.


But such paper as this, why, all must agree,
That 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 den;als,
We'll give you n few or an editors trials
First, pretty young lady, sprightly and fair,
With paper in hand, waltzed up to a chair,
And hastily glancing Ger all that she saw,
She thrust it aside with muttered ''pshaw
No marriages here
think it queer,
When there's ever so many
They don't publish any.
Here's poetry, And battles,
Sketches, And sieges,
And tales, And law suits,
Without ending, A pending;
But no picnics or concerts, or parties for me,
Such trash upon paper | never did see
Then nice Young man with cane and moustache,
Who certainly thinks he is cutting dash,
Looks over the list of plays and soirees,
As if vainly trying his fancy to please,
In theaters, In races,
Circuses, Aud chases,
Operas, In banquets,
Balls. And calls,
And finally wonders what editors mean,
By printing paper not fit to be
Sentimental young lady next picks up the paper
And reads by the light of a burning taper
And wonders if Lines addressed to Miss Rollo
Were not written 10 her by some clever Young
fellow.
Who's pretty and witty, learned and wise;
But she stops in alarm at the "dark hazel eyes,
For hers are blue.
What pity It's true
And now, Mr.. Editor,
'Tis all blamed on YOU.
What speeches, And lawing,
What sermons, And iawing,
And news, And clawing,
By dispatch, To match;
But in the sketches or tales that | can see
What kind of man must the editor be-
Next grave politician who with dignity glows
Adjusts his gold spectacles over his nose,
Takes huge pinch of snuff before lie proceeds
Then leisurely opens the paper and esurely reads
OF brecches, OF Senate.
And speeches. OfHouse,
And foreign, OF railways,
Reports, And Courts
And saws as he reads the last column of war,
What strange kind OF people these editors are
These rhymes and these love stories to print,
lf'tWould do any good would give them hint
Now prime old maid the paper cspied,
And holding it carefully Off from her eyes,
And frequently mutterimg ala" and "du tel!'
She manages some way to read very well.
The marriages, The robbcries,
Accidents, The murders,
Suicides, All in
Deaths. breath;
And furnishing, wonders what sort of blunder
The whole of the community is under,
To support paper whose print is so small
She wonders how some people read IL at all
Next an angry contributor, eager for fame,
Rushes into the sanctum, to loudly complain
"I'm ruined, SIR ruined--my success, sir, is o'er
So many mistakes, were necr heard Of before;
Look here at this Sonnet Addressed to NJ,
Lady,
You've made il y Bonnet and Dress for .
Baby"
Don't talk of my writing and say it was that
You're an editor. sir. but no geni--that is Hat
The farmer complains that his crop il neglected
While so much time is spent in guessing Who i
he elected;
The minister says It should be more sedate,
And not so much wasted in matters of State;
And thousands of other complaints arc made
known,
Which the edisor's back has 20 bear all alone;
Bot the worst Of it is that they all join in saying
Such paper as this he can make without pay
ing.