The Republican journal., 1873-11-27

lile died.
The utterly atrocious character OF this
balderdash will appear when say that
William was twenty years old, that he
never had purple monkey on a stick, that
he never fooled with cats, and that he died
of liver complaint.
Infamous. utterly Infamous" groaned
the editor. as he cast his eyes over the
lines. And the wretch who did this still
lives. 1t is too much"'
And yet" whispered Ott to himself,
''he told me to Tighten the gloom and to
cheer the afflicted family with the re-
sources Of my art; and certainly thought
that idea about the monkey would have
that effect somehow 1t is ungratefnl!' =
AT this .juncture the sheriff entered, his
brow clothed with thunder He had q
copy Of The Morning Glory in his hand
He approached the editor. and pointed
to a death notice said Read that hor-
rible nockery Of my Woe, and tell me the
name of the writer, Sc that ! can chastise
him"
The edition read rs follows:
We have lost our little Hammer in very pain
iul manner,
And we have often asked, How can her suffer-
ingS be borne?
When her death was first reported her aunt
got up and snortcd
With the grief that She supported, for ii made
her feel forlorn.
She was such little scraph that her flther, who
is sheriff,
Really doesn't seem 10 care if ne never smiles in
life again.
She has gone, we hope, TO Heaven, al the early
age of seven,
(Funera starts off at cevcnl where she'll never
more have pain.
"As a consequence Of this intamy,I with
draw all the county advertising from Your
paper A man who could thus tritlc with
the feelings of parent is savage and a
scoundrel = As the sheriff went out.
Brimmer placed hi, head upon the table
| and groaned.
Really Mr.. OFT reflected, THAT per
son must be deranGed tried, in his case
to put myself i'll his place, and to write rs
| if | were one Of the family, according to
| Instructions The verses are beautiful
| That allusion to the grief of her aunt,
| particularly, seems 10 me 10 DC NerS itap-
| py. 1t expresses violent emotion with Il
! felcitous combination of sweetness and
force. These people have no souls no
appreciation OF the beautiful in art
While the poet mused, hurried steps
We're heard upon the stairs, and in a mo-
ment man with red hair and q terocious
! glare in his ewes entered carrying Il club
and accompanied by a sayage-looking
| dog.
I" want to see the cditor,' he shouted.
4 ghastly pallor oyer7prcad Brimmers
face, and he said:
The editor is not in.
We'll when will he be in, then =
"Not for a wcek-for month-ior n
year-for-evar lie will never come in
any more!' screamed Brmmcr He
has gone to South America with the in
{ tenton to remain there during the balance
Of his life. He has departed, He has fed.
If you want TO see him YOU had better fol-
low him to the equator He viii be glad
to see you. would advise you, q .
friend. to take the next boat-to start At
once.
''That i, unfortunate = -ail the man
with the golden locks II called for the
purpose Of battcring him mp with thi>
club y
.HIs ,Ils,;y Til r. s9rry, 9 sad Brmmrr ear
will write to him. and mention that Nnl
dropped in
'.Mv name is McF;,dden," said the lnan
Il came here to break the head oi the
man who Nrote that obituary poetry about
my wife. If You don't tell mc who perpc
trated the following I'll break youl's fol
YOU, Where's the man Whn wrote This
Pay attention.
Mrs McFaddcn has gone from this liit
She has left all it~ >orrnW> and cares;
She caught the rherlmatrS in both Of her h"-
While >crubbin5 the cellar and stairs.
They put mustard pla,ters upon her in yain
They bathed her with whiskey and rum
But Thursday her spirit departed, and let1
Her body entirely numb.
The slave who held the late Mrs Me
Faddcn up 10 the scorn of an unSympa
thetic world i'll that shocking manner,
said the editor, is named Remington Ott
He boards in Blank street fourth dool
from the corner | would advise You tC
call on him and avcngc Mrs. McF Fadden'
wrongs with a judicou, intcrmiAturc o
club and dog-bites'
And this, =" sighed the poet outside The
door, sis the man who told me to diver
McFaddcn's mind from contemplation o
the horrors of the tomb. 1t was this mon
ster who councilled me to make the sun
shine of McFaddcn's smiles burst through
the tempest Of McFadden'S Ii that red
headed monster couldn't smile over that
allusion to whskcy and rum; if those re-
marks about the rheumatism in her Leg
could not divert his mind from the horrors
of the tomb--was it my fault McFad-
den grovels! He knows no more about
poetry than u spcckled mule knows about
the Shorter Catcchisln.
The poet determined to leave before any
further criticisms We're made upon hi:
performances He jumped down from his
chair and crcpt softly toward the back
staircase Arriving at the landing, he
suddenly encountered Brimmer, who was
moving in the same direction. The cdi-
tor had hardly time enough to utter pro-
fame ejaculation and to lift his hand to
strike the poet, when an old lady in a
poke bonnet and silver spectacles sudden
" emerged from the stairway and pinned
the editor to the wall with the terale OF
her umbrella. After grinding her teeth at
him for moment she floored him with
her weapon, and seating herself upon his
PROSTATE form, she extracted q copy OF
The Morning Glory from her bag, and,
pointing to Il certain stanza in the obitu-
aly column asked OFT to read it alond He
did So 1t ran in this fashion:
Little Alcxander's dead
Jam him i'll q coffin;
Don't have good q chance
For q finral 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
conqueror punched the fallen Brimmer's
ribs with her umbrella, and exclaimed:
''Oh you willin! D'you hear that, YOU
wretch? What dyou mean by writin' OF
my grandson in that way? Take that
you serpint. o, you-you willinous wiper
YOU tryin' to break a lone widder's heart
with such scand'lus lies as them There,
you willin ! ! kummere to hammer you
well with this umbreller, you wicked viii
lin, YOU owdacious wiper, you! Take
that, and that you vile, indecent, disgust
in wagabone When you know that
Aleck never had no uncle in no sepulchre
anyhow, you vile wretch, you."
While she pounded the editor, the poet
groped his way down stairs six steps at s
time and emerged from the front door
with remarkable suddenness. His journal
istic career ended upon that day. When
Brimmer's employees dragged away Alex