The Fremont weekly journal. [volume] (Fremont, Sandusky County, Ohio) 1867-1877, 1874-03-20
THE JOURNAL.
From the Danbury News.
Up in a Balloon.
BY a. WALLACE BoYDES
A Danbury Ye,gs reporter one day

A Danbury Ne,os reporter one day
Concluded he'd take a trip up to the moon;
So he furnished himself with big balloon
And started off for the "milky way"
Bat, alas for the vanity
OF poor humanity,
Homes that are brightest soonest must die away;
Flower that are fairest,
Are also the rarest,
And visions of glory-how swiftly they fly away.
No sooner were the cords cut that bound
The balloon and its occupant fast to the ground,
Than up it few through the regions Of space,
CIeaving the air at a terrible pace;
Up, up, up, past the moon it sped,
And the man in the moon he nodded his head,
And bent on the luekless reporter frown, tI
At which all his hopes in a jiffy went down
Up, up, up, for a million miles more,
When all at once he espies a fair shore
Glittering with sands of gold and red
Glistening with rivers Of silver and gold
Arched with bright rainbows overhead,
While myriads of flowers the petals unfold.
Amazed he lands on this beautiful spot,
And dwonders what planet he's managed to drop in;
And thinks if the folks would as lieve as not,
IFS precisely the planet he'd like to stop in.
Bat while he's pondering the matter o'er,
An elderly man who has been taking nap
In frontof themassive, golden door
OF porphory castle, close by the shore,
Walks up and gives him q terrible hp
Across the head with a bunch OF keys,
That brings him trembling down ongiis knees.
''In mercy, for
He cries in desnair.
"Wherever am in the regions of air.
Here on my knees protest and swear
Twas untoward fate that brought me here;
And yet, If yOu please,
Sir Knight Of the keys,
I've no objection to stay year."
'ePray, who may you be?" said he of The keys
To the trembling reporter; '1d like, you please,
To know who you are, what you are, whence you
come;
Yoar name, occupation, birthplace and home.
Youn perceive we're particular up here in the sky,
For this is where good people come when they die
All others, as no doubt you already know,
When they have the misfortune to die, go below
"I'm a reporter, the poor devil said,
Quaking with fear from his heels TO his head.
''lNews was scarce in the world below,
And so / thought TO the moon I'd go,
And pick what items were lying round loose,
And send them down.to the Danbury Nelos."
The gentleman frowned when he heard this answer,
And, opening book which he held, said, 81 car, sir
Assure you you're lying, for here, you must know,
I've list of all callings in your world below;
For some of all sorts find their way to this sphere
And we write theirpursuits in the book have here
Here are merchants and butchers, and bankers and
bakers,
And tailOrs and sailors, and even shoemakers;
And curriers' and hatters and tinllers and teachers;
ship-chandlers and brewers, and one or two
preachers;
Poor devils Of debtors, and also rich creditors;
But can find neither reporters nor editors;
SO you viii please excuse me for having TO doubt
you,
And deciding to run this fine planet without ysu.
In vain the reporter protested and swore
That reporters were as thick as sands the shore,
Or the leaves on the trees when they first bud forth;
And avowed they were deemed the salt of the earth.
1t was no use talking; the gentleman rose,
Yawned once, gaped twice, then blew his nose,
Then turned on his heel,
And made half wheel,
Thus bringing the interview TO a close,
And walked away from the quill-driving chap,
To finish in peace his noon-day nap.
The reporter sighed pensive sigh,
And dropped a tear that was also pensive;
And groaned to think that the glorious sky
Although so boundless and extensive,
And altogether so pleasant place,
Was barred forever to his race.
He stood like the ''Peri at the Gate"
Just as sad and disconsolate,
And even forgot, amid sighs and grosns
To pocket few of the precious stones
That lined his pathway wherever he trod,
And answered in place Of the emerald sod.
Then in his balloon he straightway got,
And back TO the earth in a tBinking shot;
But never yet, by night or by day,
Has this wretched reporter been heard TO say
A single word
OF what he heard
When he was up in the milky way.
HUMOROUS.