Morning appeal. [volume] (Carson City, Nev.) 1877-1906, 1877-10-14

even funerals are blared and footed through
an endless tortuosity of brass. There art
more marksmen than guns; and burning
gunpowder sends up its pungent odors like
accommodated and heathenish incense
morning noon and night. Even yesterday a
company of raw MALTA came like profana-
ton among the rich hued leaves, assailing the
air with their noise Of drum and trumpet and
distressing ones nerves with an endless pop
ping of crude craftsmanship. Creedmoor has
begotten nuisances after its own kind and
the mild insanity of the baseball era is sue
ceeded by delirium of breech-loaders, long
ranges and Soldiers of Marathon. .... Does
anybody any more believe what he reads in
the newspapers (The MORNING APPEAL is
not news paper it is The Breakfasteer's
Companion). If anybody ever did believe
what the newspapers said, how shall they,
from this time henceforth. continue to be-
lieve? Look at the Pen and Scissors man of
the Enterprise. He says, without any sort of
hesitation or equivocation that this Notary is
going to write novel and then he misap-
propriates one of our unguarded parentheses
and introduces it as an opening chapter.
What ought to be done with pensman and
scissorist of that loose sort of constructions To
be sure this Querist "toyed in the amber
moonlight" with the whirnsey of a pos
sible Society Novel one of these
strange, breezy days, but he dis
distinctly disavowed any prospectus or
promise to that effect. If we could surprise
this romance-reading world with something
in the way of moral fiction (Which might or
might not mean gilt-edged, sugar coated lie), |
there is no knowing but we might be tempt
ed but for a man with a paste pot in one
hand and a pair of shears in the other, to say
that we are committed to the fabrication of
real, full-rigged novel. is too much. At all
events, if we do do such thing, old P. and
S. shall be served up to the delectation of this
wide-eyed world with all his mucilage upon
him and the implement of his trade fastened
to his thumb and finger. Has
anybody ever described scissorizer in a
novel, We wonder? Why not show him to
The reading public in his character of jour
1alistic Macbeth whose falchion is a pair of
shears; whose blasted heath is wild wilder
less of punctured exchanges whose secret,
black and midnight hags are the Devil him
elf, and who has deliberately and profess
ionally murdered sleep" We see him at t
lis stabbing work! He sits alone. Upon his t
'row squats haggard care-haggard but |
,reen-a green shade, in fact, shading rest q
ess and relentless eyes. Mark the harsh a
swish" of his shears they slash through t
he helpless paper of doomed exchanges r
lind the reckless handling of that ominous c
aste brush. See him demolish pet SEN |
ence and immortalize typographical error
r grammatical monstrosity. Oh but he
demon, a tyrant, doomsman and fame 6
laker. It is he who may launch ones little !,
hallop upon the tides and channels of Jour
alism, never to cease sailing on and on into
he shoreless ocean of newspaper life, as broad ::
christendom and as imperishable as the sea
self. We think we will dot him down for a
lace, this man who makes and mars mems q,
me and fortune and who slashes where he
i'll and pastes where his own sweet fancy
ads him.