The Democratic advocate. [volume] (Westminster, Md.) 1865-1972, 1873-03-29
this, you depraved and dissolate inkslinger
you imbecile old quill-driver you;

this, you depraved and dissolute inkslinger
you imbecile old quill-driver you
"oh bury Bartholomew out In the woods,
In beautiful hole In the ground.
Where the bumble-bees buzz and the woodpecken
And the sifaddle-buss tumble around;
SO that In winter, when the snow and the slush
. Have covered his last little bed.
His brother Artelnus can 20 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 III
enlighten your insane old intellect on the
subject Of singing woodpeckers What
do you know about Jane and Artemus, you
wretched buccaneer, you despicable butcher
Of the English language? Go out with
sled J Ill carry you out in hearse before
I'm done with you, you dcplorable old
lunatic p
At the end of every phrase the visitor
gave the editors head fresh knock
against the table. When the exercise was
ended Mr. Brimmer explained and apollo
gized in the humblest manner, promising
at the same time to give his assailant a
chance to pommel OFT.
"The treachery Of this man, murmured
the poet, sis dreadful Didn't he desire
me to throw glamour Of poesy over COM
mon-place details? But for that should
never have thought of alluding to wood
peckers and bugs, and other children of
Nature. The man objects to the remarks
about the sled. Can the idiot know that
it was necessary to have rhyme for "bcd?"
Can he suppose that | could write poetry
without rhymes? The man is lunatic
He ought not to be at large r
Hardly had the indignant and energetic
parent OF Bartholomew departed, when a
man with red hair and a ferocious glare in
his eyes entered, carrying club and ac-
companied with savage looking dog
II want to see the editor" he shouted.
A ghastly pallor overspread Brimmers
face and he said:
"The editor is not in.n
swell, when will he be in, then ?"
"Not for week--for month--for
year--forever He will never come in
any more !" screamed Brimmer. "He has
gone to South America with the intention
to remain there during the balance of his
life. He has departed, He has fed. If
you want to see him you must follow him
to the equator. He will be glad to see
you. would advise you, as friend, TO
take the next boat--to start at once"
"That is unfortunate |" said the man
with the golden locks; ~ called for the
purpose Of battering him up lot with this
club r.
HE will be sorry" said Brimmer, sar-
castically. "He will regret missing you.
| will write to him, and mention that you
dropped in
"My name is McFadden said the man.
II came to break the head of the man
who wrote that obituary poetry about my
wife. If you don't tell me who perpetra-
ted the following III break yours for you
Where's the man who wrote this? Pay
attention
Mr.. McFaddcn has gone from this life.
| She has leit all its s0frows and cares.
She caught the rhenmatlcs In both OF her legs
| While scrubbin the cellar and stairs
They bathed her with whisky and run: NJ
| But Thunday her spirit departed and len
Her body entirely numb.
The slave who held the late Mrs. Nc
Fadden up to the scorn of an unsympathe-
tic world in that shocking manner said
the editor, sis named Remington OFT. He
boards on Blank street, fourth door from
the corner. would advise you to call ON
him and ayenge Mrs. MeFadden's wrongs
with judicious intermixture Of club and
dog bites"
"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. Il was this mon
ster who oounseled me to make the sunshine
of McFadden's smiles burst through the
tempest of McFaddens tears If that
red-headed monster couldn't smile over
that allusion to whisky and rum If those
remarks about the rheumatism in her legs
could not divert his mind from the horrors
of the tomb--was it my fault? McFad-
den grovelsl He knows no more about
poetry than speckled mule does about the
shorter Catechism.'
The poet determined to leave before any
further criticisms we're made upon his per-
formances He jumped down from his
chair and crept softly toward the back
staircase. Arriving at the landing, he
suddenly encountered Brimmcr, who was
moving of in 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 poke.
bonnet and silver spectacles suddenly
emerged from the stairway and pinned the
editor to the wall with the ferule Of her
umbrella. After grinding her teeth at
him for moment she foored him with
her weapon, and, seating herself upon his
PROSTATE form, she extracted copy Of
The Morning Glory from her bag, and
pointing to a certain stanza in the obituary
column, asked OFT to read il aloud. He
did So II ran in this fashion:
Little Alexander's dead;
Jam him In a coffin
Il Don't have as good chance
For a fun'ral as often.
Rush his body right around
To the cemetery
Drop him in the sepuchre
With his uncle jerry
nv tnc thu vi every iiHe tue iuulRnan'
conqueror punched the fallen Brimmer',
ribs with her umbrella, and exclaimed
80 you willinl D'you hear that, you
wretch ? What d'you mean BY writin' Of
my grandson in that way? Take that
: youserpint O!you-you willinous wiper
you! tryin' to break a lone widder's hear
$ with such scand'lus lies as them There
, you willin | kenmore to hammer you
well with this here umbrel'er, you wicked
willin, you owdacious wiper, you Take
that, and that, you vile, indecent, DISCUS
tin wagabone When you know vel
! enough that Aleck never had no Uncl,
! Jerry, and never had no uncle in no sepul
, chre anyhow, you vile wretch, youl -
While she pounded the editor, the poe
groped his way down the stairs six step
: at a time, aud emerged from the from
door with remarkable snddenness. Hi
o.lt.t;,. .. 80, o,1nl ..x,.. &h.s I.,,