Grant County herald. [volume] (Lancaster, Wis.) 1850-1968, 1877-08-09

A Professional Visit to an Obituary
Poet.

trouble we won't locate the paper,
hut call it the Sunday Uuion-with
the mysterious whisper Of
She's gonel'
who's gone?'asked the clerk.
| tMarier.'
sWho in thunders Marierf'
MY wife; she's gonel' @se
| sGone where? 81 &aE 81
| up above--died last night; want
you to put it in your next issue
what allied her2' 7
'Lockjaw. She lay for three weeks
and couldn't speak. Never had
such quiet time in the house before.
Just do the notice up fine, will you,
an I'll see that everything is fixed
up all right
Accordingly the clerk scribbled
away for moment, handed out what
he had written for inspection, and
curtly remarked:
Dollar thirty-five.'
The bereaved husband read it over
carefully, and finally gave sigh of
satisfaction.
That's all right, said he. handing
over the required specie; 'but | sup
pose you could put verse on the
end, couldn't you p
well, yes ruminated the clerk ;
Il guess so. What kind of verse do
you want ?
sSumthin' tender like and sorrow.
ful.'
How would this do p asked the
clerk, scratching his head with the
end of his penholder :
perfect female folks did consider her,
She's gone and left weepin widower I
That's kinder melancholy re-
Elected the stranger, but reckon it's
leetle-jest leetle--too personal.
Jest you try again. don't mind
putin up hansum for sumthin that
will rake folks heart-strings.'
The clerk gazed at the ceiling for
moment, and then suggested ::
The husband lost a wife,
The children ma.
Died on Friday night
From the lockjaw
'Yes,' broke out the mourner.
wiping his nose on black bordered
handkerchief, but don't own any
young 'uns L
'What do you think of this. then p
She always was contented,
At life she'd never carp,
Gone to be an angel,
And play on golden harp.
Don't believe that'Il suit. You see
Marier couldn't even play on plan.
ner, an / know harp would stump
her, sure. Poor womanl she had q
tender heart, though, and made the
most elegant biscuit you ever saw
Hanged if won't have to charge
you extral'growled the clerk. 4 amt
a Longfellow or Tennyson.'
Il know meekly replied the
'weepn' widdower' jest try once
more, won't you p +
So the clerk did try, and at last
ground out the following
On earth could not stay Marier,
So she died and went up higher
sSorter irreverent, amt it 2 anx-
iously asked Marier's relict.I reckon
| wouldn't grudge couple OF dollars
for bang-up verse.
Thus stimulated, the machine poet
became suddenly inspired, and ex.
uItingly produced
Cry for Marer,
Alas she is no more
Joined the singing seraphs
| Upon the other shore.
The afflicted one uneasily took a
chew of tobacco, and whispered
Beautiful ! But there's one thing
that spiles it. Marier hadn't any
more melody in her than an old
plough, AN its deliberit lynn to speak
of her as vocalist. None of them
other syrups (seraph) you alluded TO
could keep time with her,
WELL thoughtfully remarked the
discounted Wood, 'if this ain't all o.
K. you'll have to hire special post.
Pm played out ?
| Affections sore
Long time she bore
PHYSICIANS were ia vain
Lockjaw Ike tched her,
Death it fetched her.
Gone-to rise again.
Tell you what enthusiastically
exclaimed the widower, that's tip
top Here's your two dollars; you've
airnt them. A young man that makes
up SIGH affectin' lines as them has a
glorious futur' before him =
And squeezing the exhausted
poets hand, the elated speaker left
in search of pair of black kid gloves.