Delaware state journal. [volume] (Wilmington, Del.) 1870-1883, 1872-11-30

ted the following I'll break yo,srs for you
Where's the man who wrote this I Pay
attention
MRS. McFadden has gone from this life.
She has left all its sorrows and cares;
She caught the rheumoiics in both Of her legs
- While eoerubhin the cellar and stairs.
Ihey put mustard plastcrs upon her In vain
Ilhey bathed her with whisky and rum:
Bnt Thursday her spirit departed and left
Her body entirely numb.
The slave who held the late Mrs. Nc.
tadden up to the scorn of an unsympa.
thetlc world In that shocking manner -
said the editor, sis named Remington ott.
He boards on Blank ftreeh fourth door
from the corner would advise you to
call on him and avenge Mrs. h"Faddon's
wrongs with judiclous intermixlure Of
club and dog bltes;"
"And this" sighed the poet, outside the
door, sis the man who told me TO divert
McFadden's mind from contemplation OF
the horrors Of the tomb. II was this inou-
ster who counseled me TO make the sun
shine Of McFadden's smiles burst through
the tempest of McFadden's tears Tfthat
red-headed monster couldn't smile over
that allusion TO whisky and rum II those
remarks about the rheumatism In her legs
could not divert his mind from the horrors
Of the tomh-was Il my fault McFadden
grovelsl He knows no more about poetry
than a specled mule docs about the
shorter Catechsm."
The poet determined TO leave before any
further criticisms were made upon his per-
tormances. He jumped down from his
chair aud crept softly toward the back
staircase. Arriving at the landing, he
suddenly encountered Brimmer, who was
moving of 10 the same direction. The
editor had hardly time enough to utter a
profane ejaculation and to lift his hand to
strike the poet, when an old lady in a poke
bonnet and silver speet lcies suddenly
emerged from the stairway and pinned the
editor to the wall with the ferule of her
umbrella Aftr grinding her teeth at
him for moment she 1oored him with
her weapon, aud, seating herself upon bis
PROSTATE form, she extracted copy Of
The Morirng Glory from her bag, and, ,
pointing to a.certain stauz4 In the obituary
coumn, asked OF to read 1t aloud. He
did 50. 1t ran in this fashion
Little Alexandcr's dead;
Jam him in a colin;
Don't have as good a chance
For fun'ral as often.
Rush his body right around
To the cemetery;
Drop him In the sepulchrc
With his uncle Jerry"
At the end of every line the indignant
oonqueror pnRched the fallen Brlmmel' 3
ribs with her umbrella, and exclaimed.
go you willinl D'you hear that, you
wre eh What d'you mean by wrltin, of
my grandson In that way! Take that,
you serplnti o you-you will nons wiper
you tryn' to break n lone widder's heart
with such acand'lus lies as them There,
you willln | kemnere to hammer Won
well with this here umbrel.er, you wicked
willin, you owdacious wiper, YOU Take
that, and that, you vile, indecent, dis
gnstin' wagab0ne When you know well
enough that Aleck never had no Uncle
Jerry, and lever had no uncle in no sepu'-
chrc anyhow, you vile wretch, you -
While she pounded the editor. the poet
grUptd his way DOM the stairs six steps
At lime, and emerged from the fro I
door with remarkable suldenne,s. His
journalistic career ended upon that day.
When Brlmmcr's employees dragged away
Alezandcr's grandparent, aud carried her
struggling aad screaming down to the
street the editor sent for carriage and
WAS taken home to bed, from whence he
arose a week later with an earnest deter
mination never to permit another line of
Obituary Poetry TO enter the columns of
Ths Morning Giofy.