Helena weekly herald. [volume] (Helena, Mont.) 1867-1900, 1874-10-29

and so worthily filled o place in our MIDST.
But We earnestly hope the former. We ex-
tend our cordial congratulations to the happy
pair, as we'll as the congratulations of the
entire village We wish them all possible
happiness, or since verse alone can properly
convey the thoughts suggested by such an oc-
casiOn,
Nav no clouds of trouble come
To fash and thunder round their head ~;
May happiness attend their hum (hcfne.}
And round their pathway pleasant
light forever anu etcrnally shed.
'Isnt it beautiful" was the comment Of
Mrs. Podgcrs at the breakfast-table, as she
finished reading this account and gazcd over
her spectacles at Scribbleton, who was in Il
fever Of apprehension lest it should attract
the eye of one of his city editors and find Its
way into paragraph that would reveal the
whole affair 10 Miss Howard. Beautiful! he
felt decidedly more like walking down to that
newspaper office, and hauling out that editor
by the collar, and stutiing copies of that par
ticular issue of the paper down his throat till
the whole edition was exhausted, than admit
ting with Mrs. Podgers that it was beautiful.
But he didn't say so, nor make any other re-
sponse; and Mrs. Podgcrs continued.
"IIow elegantly it is expressed, and the
poetry is perfectly splendid! How nice it is
to see ones self so handsomely done up in
print, to be read with pleasure by ones friends
ana envy by ones enemies. I'm sorry the
editor of the Gazette wasn't invited, but really
l was so excited that l quite forgot him.
Why, what is this" as her eyes caught somc-
thing else in the paper; and she adjusted her
| spectacles to investigate ii. ''1f it isn't a
poem by DIR. Pilzansich: and for us, too:
| How delightful: just listen. And she read
follows:
Suggested by the ">arr age of Ebenezcr
Scribblcten, author, and Mrs Angcnu" r~a,<
ers, widow, which took place at the bride $
residence in this village yesterday evening
ByPctcr Pilzansich, NJ. d.
Oh the sailor roams the seas affair."
Where the dreadful whales and po,polscs are,
Perchance discovers cannibal lands,
Whose savayes roast him upon their sands;-
| The soldier marches to battle fields,
And so gallantly there his sword he wicids.
Till he dies at last in Drison-pen.
Or from bayoI ct jab in the abdomen
The author tolls from morn till night
And till nlorn again, for the worlds delight,
And starvcs the while mid garret dust,
Till he chokes to death on his frugal cru-t;-
Then glory-crOwned for the work he's done
With the fame he toiled for fairly won,
Discern at last tis btter-swect,
Till he throws himself ut wOmans feet:
i Oh woman, dear woman. but for yOu
What under the sun would we men do
There's no use of talking, we'd have to succumb,
And go up the spout in a delirium.
Language would fail US in the attempt tc
describe the rapture to which Mrs. POdger:
gave expression after reading these verses
But the reader may imagine it. Every ont
knows how he would feel under like circum
stances, and many of us have felt. For W.
arc compelled sometimes to so into the vicin
ity of newspaper-offices, and the locals ther
mark US for their legitimate prey. They nee
, us and shake hands with US possibly, or i
may be only catch glimpse of our rccedins
coat-tail around corner, or the hotel regis
ter betrays us, or the devil aids hem in ferret
> ing us out (if not, who does?) and straightway
= they announce to the world the qualification
: that the hand-shake, or the receding coat-tal
or the registered name, or the devil-communi
80 hoe riv o,,I
q are brought to the notice of thousands o.
readers. Or we pay visit of courtesy o.
friendship to the editor, and the next morn
! ing discover the visit chronicled in fatterins
language that transforms our simple conver
sational statements into items of information
/, of momentous importance to whole city
, Or possibly we place ourselves purposely il
the way of this editor and this gatherer of loca
, items, and court commendatory notice a
their hands, which their good nature induce!
them to give us. Then we expand with {
f sense of our greatness. Our worth has beer
o discovered at last. We have lived life o
cankerinp obscurity, conscious that we de
served celebrity, but deprived OF it by hare
, fortune or the worlds stupidity; but, bless
! the newspaper! it's over at last! 1t has found
. us out we are famous now AS we sit a
the hotsl-table reading the notice in the pape
. and eating our breakfast, we are conscious
that we are the cynosure of all eyes, Tn
r other guests, who are not famous, because
r their names are not in the paper, have thei
/. morning papers, too, and our name shines
D out SO brilliantly on the printed page that