The interior journal. [volume] (Stanford, Ky.) 1872-1881, 1872-11-15

ing dog.
- want 10 see the editor" he shouted.
/ A phasdv pallor o'erpread Brimmers
face, and be said:
"Thc editor is not in"
"Wcll, when will he be inf"
"Not for wcck-a month"; year
forever lie will never como in any
morcw screamed Brimmor. ole hes
gone 10 South America, with the intcn-
Gon Of remaining there during the bal
lance OF hi- lie. lie has departod-he
has FED. II you want ~ see him you
had better follow him to the equator.
He will be glad to see you. Iwould adj
wise you, as friend, to take the next
boat and start at once
THAT is unfortunate" said the man
with the golden locks, II called for the
purpose Of battering him up lot with
/ this club
"le will be sorry" said Brimmer, sar-
castically: ale will regret missing you.
| will write to him, and mention that
/ you dropped in.'
"My uumeis McFadden, SAID the man,
81 came to break the head Of the man
who wrote that obituary poetry about
my wife. If you don't tell me who per-
/ pctrated the following, I'll break yours
for you! Where's the man who wrote
this? Pay attention:
"Mr4. NcFadden has gone from this life;
/ She ha. lcfi all IT, -OrrOw- and carc-i
She caught the rheumatism in both Of her legs
! While scrdbbiug tie Ccilara and Stair.
l They pa, mustard p.astor' upon her IN vain,
They bathcd her with whisky and RUM
| But Thuraday her spirit departed and left
Her body cutiTcly numb.'
The slave who held the late Mrs.
McFaddcn up to the scorn Of an un-
sympathetic world in that shocking man.
rcr.o slil the editor, sis named Reming-
ton OF. lie boards in Blank street,
fourth door from the corner. IwOuld
advise YOU TO call on him and avorge
Mr.. McFaiAen's wrongs with judici-
ous intormiNtur Of club and de- bites
And this" SIGHED The poet outside
the door, SIS the man who told me to d.
vert McFaddcu's mind from contempla-
tion 0f the horrors Of the tomb. II was
this monster who cou6sellci me 5UI','I.e
the sunshine Of McFaddcn's smiles burst
through the tempest Of McFadden's tears.
If that sorc-headed monster couldn't
smile over that alusion TO whisky and
rum; if those remarks about the rheu-
matism in her legs couldn't divert his
mind from the horrors Of the tomb, was
it ny fault; McFadden grovels! lie
knows no more about poetry than a
specklod mule knows about the Shorter
Catechism.
The poet determined to leave before
any further criticisms were made upon
his performances. He jumped down
from his chair and crept softly toward
the back staircase. Arriving at the land
ling. he suddenly encountered Brimmer,
who was moving of in the same direction.
The editor had hardly time enough TO
utter profane ejaculation and to liil his
hand TO strike thepoet, when an old lady
in Il poke bonnet and silver spectacles
suddenly emerged from the stairway and
pinned the editor 10 the wall with the
lerule of her umbrella. After grinding
her teeth at him for a moment, she floor
Ell him with her weapon, and seating
herself upon his PROSTATE form, she ex-
tractod copy Of Morning Glory from
her bag, and, pointing to a certain stanza
in the obituary asked OF to read
it aloud. He did So It run in this
fashion:
Little Alexander dead;
Jam him i1 q coffin;
n.Yft Ia... a. .a.,.,l % Yitaupa