The Somerset herald. [volume] (Somerset, Pa.) 1870-1936, 1872-12-04

paper and said:
You disgracefui old reprobate
You unsympathetic and disgusting
vampire You hoary-headed old
gboal. What d'you mean by putting
such STUFF e this in your vile sheet
about my deceased SON. What
you mean by printing such awful
doggerel as this, you dcpraved and
dissoluic inksliBger-you imbeeile old
squill-driver you
oh ssry Bariholoaae= OH Il the woods.
ID oean-iisi n9le IN The groEnd.
sng.
AaTt the sra ilc-bazs iaa,tle arount:
,, ma, u tle Winter Shea the ss5~ AL the
Have coTered his IitIs bel.
Eiis brgther Artenszs can q ous With Jana
An1 visit tte Place With - lei.
-f'li teach you to TAX about ztra9-
die-buesl IN instruct you about
slashl III enlighseD valr insane cd
intellect On The subject 81 singing
wood-peckersl What do you know
about Jane and Artemas. YOU wretch
ed buceaneer, you despicable butcher
Of the English language Go out
with a sled. III carry you out in
hearse before I'm done with you, YOU
depi9rable old luBaiic, :"
At the end of every phrase the Wis
itor gave the editors head a fresh
knock against the table. When the
exercise was ended Mr. Brimmer ex-
planned and apologized in the hmm
bIest manner, promising At the same
tine to give his assailant chance 10
pommel Ott
The treachery Of this man, mur-
mured the poet, i.is dreadful Didn't
be desire NE to throw glamour Of
poesy over commonplace details ?
But for that ! should never have
thought Of abiding to wood-peckers
and bugs. and other children Of na-
ture. The man objects to the remarks
about the sled. Can the idiot know
that it was necessary to have rhyme
for bed ? Can be suppose that
/ could write poetry without rhymes ?
tbs man : Iunaticl he ought not
70 be at large :"
Hardly had the indignant and en-
ergetie father Of Bartholomew de-
parted when a man with red hair and
fer0cious glare in his ewes entered,
carving club and accompanied by
a sayagc-l0okiDg dog
4 want TO see the editor" be
shouted
4 ghas5ly pallor o., TsPread Brim-
mcr's face. and be said:
The editor IS not in.
well. when 5rN be be in. then Z"
Not for a week-for q month-f0r
vear-forever, He viii come in
never any more - screamed Brim-
mer. ale has gone to South AmeTi-
ca. with the intention 10 remain
there during the balance Of his life
He has departed He has fed If
vou want TO see him you had better
follow him 20 the equator. He viii
be glad to see vCu. ! would advise
you, as a friend, to take the next
b0at-t0 start at once"
That is unfortunate. said the
man with the golden locks ; Il called
for the purpose Of batteriag him up a
Tot with this cIub."
"He vii be sorry said Brimmer,
sarcastically. He win regret miss
ing you. | VIII write to him, and
mention that you dropped H."
Ny name is MeFadden.1 said the
man. L came 70 break the head Of
the man who wrote that obituary po-
etry about nv wife. If YOU don't
tell me who PeFpetrated the following
III break yours for you Where's
the man who wrote this ? Pay at
tentiOn:
--llrs. 1IcFslsen has e0ns from this life;
She has ieit al is s5rrows anieares:
SIZE caught the rhsum2ties in both q her legs
" hile scTubbiHg the cellar and stai-s-
They pat taTt-plasisrs On her in vain.
They hathed her With Whiskey and run;
Elt Thurs iay her spirit departed and len
Her body entirely numb
The slave who held the late Mrs
McFaddsn up TO the scorn of an IN
sympathetic world in that shocking
manner said the editor, 'is named
Remington Ott. He boards in blank
street, fourth door from the corner.
| would advise ven to call on him
and avenge Mrs. McFadden's 3 wrongs
with a judieious intermixture Of club
and dOg-bites"
And this" sighed the poet, out
side the door, Is the man who told
me to divert McFadden's. mind from
contemplation Of the horrors Of the
tomb. T. was this monster who
cOunseled me 70 make the sunshine
of McFadden's smiles burst through
the tempest Of McFadden's tears, If
that red-headed monster couldn't
smile over that Illusion to whiskey
and rum ; if those remarks about the
rheumatism in the legs could not d.
vert his mind from the horrors Of the
t0mh-was it niy fault. MeFadden
gTCwls! He knows No more about
poetry than a speckled mule knows
about the Shorter Cateehism.1
The poet determined TO leave be-
fore any further critisms were made
upon his performances. He jumped
down from bis chair and crept softly
toward the back staircase. Arriving
at the landing he suddenly encounter
ed Brimmer. who was moving of in
the same direction. The editor had
hardly time enough to utter a pro
fame ejaculation and to lift his hand
to strike the poet, when an old lady
in a poke bonnet and silver speetacles
suddenly emerged from the stairway
and pinned the editor TO the wall
with the ferrule Of her umbrella.
After grinding her teeth at him. for a
she a0ored him with her
weapon and seating herself upon his
PROSTATE form. she extracted a copy
Of the Horniag Glory from her bag,
and pointing to a certain stanza in
the obituary column, asked OFT TO
read It aloud. He did 50. II ran in
this fashion:
Little Alszanier's dead;
Jam him in a coffin;
Don't have a. god ehance
Fer a fgn'Tai often
Rash his body right arou11
To the cemetery.
Drop him in the sepuicbre
Win his Uncle Jerry
And the end of every line the in
dignant congueror punched the. fall
on Rrimmer's ribs with her umbrella