The Portland daily press. [volume] (Portland, Me.) 1862-1921, 1862-07-25
sHung be the Heavens with Black .,

We have little heart to write to-day. The
sky is murky, and gloom pervades us on every
hand. Our doom is declared. The "hand-
writing on the wall" has fixed the day of our
execution. Our head is to drop into the bas-
ket' at six o'clock this morning! Inexorable
fate has wlled it, and giant, before the swing
of whose mighty bludgeon great men tremble,
has announced it in form. No one can appeal
from this Cesar and live. He sentences and
but one cry succeeds-and that is. sBring out
your dead" The hearse follows the axe. as
surely as the harmless Catawba succeeds the
native wine.
The gentleman from Indiana" who COM
mands the battalion of editors as well as the
columns of that "gay and festive" sheet. the
Advertiser, issued neat card yesterday MORN
ing, at the bottom of a column, in the follow
/ ing words
Our respects to the Daily Press being crowded
out to-day viii appear Tomorrow
Modest adversary! So kindly and yet SO
thirsty for blood! No flourish. No gascon-
ade. HE lives in deeds, not words" So, like
the gentlest breeze of summer morning, he
whispers with his sweetest breath, ''our res
poets to the Daily Press" What winning
ways he has! And how happy are we made,
if we must be blotted out in this early SPRING
time of our existence, that our sympathetic
friend is to strike the blow
We well know what "our respects" mean,
when profiered us so daintily by this victori-
GUS veteran of thousand newspaper battle
fields. When he says, art thou in health, my
brother@ we know that his dagger will be
perforating our epigastrium in about three sec
onds. Some men riot in blood They are
never so comfortable as when the arterial fluid
is scattering its ruby jets on every hand. To
Judge of them by their exterior they seem to
be as harmless as puppy, and might faint at
the death of fly Our beloved brother, com
mander-in-chief of the Advertiser, is one of
these. But how deceptive are appearances!
Nothing suits him better, under the winning
aspect that he wears, than to play with the
heads of those miscreants who offend him. as
though they were the balls of bowlng-alley
He cries out, "Set 'em up and with ten
strike he bowls them down with single ball
When business in this line is dull at home, he
plans pleasant excursions abroad, that he may
roam over battle-felds, and play at shuttle
cock with feshess bones How fascinating
and gentle are such pursuits, and how they
tend 10 sweeten a naturally amiable temper!
Into such hands have We fallen! How hope
less is the chance for escape! We are to be
respected at six this morning If the day is
fair the funeral cortege will move at seven: if
it rain, it will be delayed. Let the clouds
weep, if they will, over our unearthed remains
Our eulogist will be our slayer. He harbors
no luminosity, and fufils but great public du-
ty. Like Brutus, "he loves not the Press less,
but the Advertiser more' We are in the way
of his great purposes, and as he strikes he
weeps.
We trust our friends will see the necessity
Of our exit, and not be hard on this learned
| pundit who deals the blow. We shall submit
with the best grace possible. All we ask is,
| that
'When You shall speak of us,
Speak of us as we are, nothing extenuate,
Nor set down aught in malice"