The Columbian. [volume] (Bloomsburg, Pa.) 1866-1910, 1872-12-27
RTOOMSRJRG. Pa FRIDAY. DECEMBER 2, 1872
dissolute inkslinger-you imbecile old
quill.driver

dissolute inkslinger--you imbecile old
quill.driver
"oh bury Bartholomew out in the woods,
In beautiful hole in the ground,
Where the bumble.bees buzz and the wood-
peckers sing
And the straddle- bugs tumble around;
SO that in Winter when the snow and the
slush
Have covered his last little bed
His brother Artemas can go out with Jane
And visit the place with his sled"
"I'll teach you to talk about straddle-
bugs! I'll instruct you about slush
I'll enlighten your insane old intellect
on the subject of singing woodpeckers
What do you know of Jane and Arte.
mas, you wretched buccaneer, you des-
picable butcher ofthe English language?
Go out in the sled Ill carry you out in
a hearse before Pm done with you, you
deplorable lunatic !"i
AT the end of every phrase, the visi-
tor gavethe EDITORS head fresh knock
against the table. When the exercise
was ended, Mr.. Brimmer explained and
apologized in the humblest manner,
promising at the same time to give his
assailant chance to pummel OFT.
"The trcachery of the man." MUIR
INJURED the poet, sis dreadful. Didn't
he desire me to throw glamour ofpoe-
try over commonplace details? But for
that 1 should never have thought of al
luding to woodpeckers and bugs and
other children of nature. The man OBJ
jects to the remarks about the sled.--
Can't the idiot know that it was neces.
sary to have rhyme for bed p Can
he suppose that 1 could write poetry
without rhymes The man is a lunatic!
He ought not to be at larger'
Hardly had the indignant and ener.
getic parent of Bartholomew departed,
when man with red hair and feroci.
GUS glare in his eyes entered carrying a
club and accompanied by a savage look
ing dog.
II want to see the editor" he shout
ed.
A CHASTITY pallor o'erspread Brim-
mer's face, and he said:
"The editor is not in."
swell, when will he be in ?"
mot for a week-a month"; year
forever! He will never come in any
more!" screamed Brimmer. "He has
gone to South America, with the inten-
ton of remaining there during the bal
ance of his life. He has departed-he
has fled. If you want to see him you
had better follow him to the EQUATOR
He will be glad to see you. l would ad-
wise you, as friend, to take the next
boat and start at once"
"That is unfortunate, said the man
with the golden locks; ~ called for the
purpose of battering him up a lot with
this club"
"He will be sorry" said Brimmer,
sarcastically HE, will regret missing
you. / will write to him, and mention
that you dropped in."
"My name is 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 perpetrated the following, I'll
break yours for you ! Where's the man
who wrote this? Pay attentions:
"Mrs. McFadden has gone from this life
She has left all Its sorrows and cares;
She caught the rheumatism in both OF her legs
While scrubbiug the cellar and stairs.
They put mustard plasters upon her in vain
They bathed her with whislxey and rum;
Bat Thursday her spirit departed and left
Her body entirely numb"
"The slave who held the late Mrs.
McFadden up to the scorn of an un-
sympathetic world in that shocking
manner" said the editor, sis named
Remington OFT. He boards in Blank
street, fourth door from the corner. !
would advise you to call on him and
avenge Mrs. McFadden's wrongs with
ajudicious intcrmixture of club and dog
bites"
"And this" sighed the poet outside
the door, sis the man who told me tC
divert McF adden's mind from contem.
plation of the horrors of the tomb. II
was this monster who counselled me to
make the sunshine of McFadden'.
smiles burst through the tempest of Nc
Fadden's tears. If that headed
monster couldn't smile over that allu
sion to whiskey and rum if those re
| marks about the rheumatism in her legs
couldn't divert his mind from the hor
rors of the tomb, was it my fault? Nc
Fadden grovels! He knows no more
about poetry than speckled mule
knows about the Shorter Catechism."
The poet determined TO leave before
any further criticisms were made upor
his performances. He jumped down
from his chair md crept softly toward
the back staircase. Arriving at the
landing, he suddenly encountered
Brimmer, who was moving in the same
direction. The editor has hardly time
enough to utter profane ejaculation
and to lift his hand to strike the poet
when an old lady in poke bonnet and
silver spectacles suddenly emerged
from the stairway and pinned the edi
tor to the wall with the ferule of he
umbrella. After grinding her teeth a
him for moment she fioored him will
her weapon, and seating herself upol
his PROSTATE from, she extracted cop.
of the Morning Glory from her bag
and, pointing to certain stanza in tn
obituary column asked OFT to read i
aloud. He did so. 1t read in this fash
on:
| Little Alexander's dead;
| Jam him in his coffin;
| Don't have as good chance
| For funral often,
| Rush his body right around
To the cemetery;
| Drop him in the sepulchre
With his uncle jerry"
| At the end of every line the indignan
conqueror punched the fallen Brin
mer's ribs with her umbrella, and e,
/