The weekly Ottumwa courier. [volume] (Ottumwa, Iowa) 1857-1872, 1861-01-16

The Richmond Wig let off the follow

... Z
The Richmond Whig let off the following
which is a pretty correct reflex Of the life o
an editor. The writer, it is evident, has of
ten been bored by the thoughtess intrusion
of visitors at unreasonable hours
b. 1T does not require master hand tc
sketch with fidelity that poor and abused
class known as editors. As contemporary
remarks, he my be the Irresponsible" the
foreign" the ''literary," the 'local," Tho
"commerciar'--in either department he is
the subject Of laudation, abuse, trials, and
triumphs. He must have ready pen, re-
markable versatility of knowledge, correc,
Judgement, and considerable nerve. Ifyou
intrude upon him you discover him writing
reading, scissoring. He will talk, but his
pen does not stop; he hunts among news.
papers; he grows savage in ''leader' OF
learned in review" Politicians want to
buy him; needy artists ask his favorable
notice; inventors have models to show him.
He is addressed on more subjects than it
was ever intended single mind should
comprehend; and, while his journal is call
ed by some influential" ETC., there are 9th.
ers who bluntly pronounce it "scurrilous''
and "poor." Swimming upon floods of ex.
citement, battling, chatting, arguing, exalt-
ing friends and crushing foes, thinking,
working, is the sum and substance oc an edi-
tors career. At home, he writes with his
wife at his elbow and his child on his knee
in few hours, will startle the men who
now jostle and crowd him in his sanctum
he makes ready thunderbolts, nodded with a
pen, hut more powerful thar any ever hurled
from Jove. He delivers lectures; he is a
politician; he holds office; he is traveller
ne gives a verdict upon manuscripts which
are more precious than the apple of their eye
to aspiring authors; he pleads for the poor
he snubs the rich; he conciliates, he defies,
he arouses nations, he dethrones kings; he
he is the guardian of liberty, and omnipotent
Up in garrets, in out-of-the- way places
sometimes furnished like parlor, sometimes
worse than pig penis his sanctum sane.
torum, the "holy of holies." Are you par.
tial to frowns? Do you wish to hear a
growl? Disregard the notices of "Editor's
Room private" mo Admittance," and
enter the den; yol observe the contracting
brow; you do not know whether you are
saluted or insulted; your tongue pre-
poses to speak, and your legs incline you
to run away; a head lifts itself; worn per
and linked fingers point you to seat, which
it takes you an instant to reach, but ere you
have done so, the monster has his clutches Sc
deeply in an idea that he has forgotten your
existence. There you sit; you try to eoup,
the pyramids of newspapers, and wonder il
to be an editor it is necessary to be savage
You see books and maps; but you would as
soon medde with the cub of bear as any.
thing in which the wild animal before. you
has an interest. Delegations of devils
from the printing Office, come for "copy,''
and great many things are going on which
are strange to you. Other gentry come, in,
Who glance contemptuously at yourself
they seat themselves, and you hear nothing
but scratch, scratch, with gold pens, stee
pens and goose quills; they pull at their
whiskers; they clear their throats; they
look up at the ceiling they help each other
when their ideas run aground; they write
and re-write; they expunge and amend
they become cheerful if their productions
please them, and crusty if they do not
Now, remember that this mental toll mast
go on by day and night, when the head is
dizzy by sickness aud the heart weary with
sadness; that it entails study, research and
thought; that the themes are suggested and
discussed within the hour; and you will
understand why you are not wanted liz an
editors sanctum. Presently, however, he
will talk.to you; he viii cut short your long
speeches; he viii bring you at once to your
business; he will dispatch it, and you will
at once discover that necessity, if not incli-
nation, urges him to resume his pen. In
summer, when the flowers are so tempting
lat midnight, with the glare of artificial
light pouring upon him--there he is, toll.
ing slave. He writes Of your pleasures; he
adds to your joys. Do you ever think of his
exhausted brain, his fading life, his prema.
ture deathg Literature was, perhaps, pas
sion of his boyhood, and he has pursued
the phantom from year to year, finding, in
the qualification Of refined taste, some small
reward for his painful infatnation.