Yorkville enquirer. [volume] (Yorkville, S.C.) 1855-2006, 1877-05-03
Numaruus department.
WANTED A VERSE ON THE END.
BY AN EDITOR.

WANTED A VERSE ON THE END.
BY AN EDITOR.
He was a country-looking chap, with an
odd mixture of sorrow and resignation on his
lean countenance, and he dropped upon the
startled advertising clerk of the Bangton
Patriot with the mysterious whisper of:
"She's gone"
"Who's gomez" asked the clerk.
"Maria."
"Who in thunder is Maria p
"My wife; she's gone"
"Gone whereY
Cup above-died last night-want you to
put it in your next issue.'
"What allied her9"
"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, and 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:
"Doller thirty-6ve."
The bereaved husband read it over careful
ly, and finally gave sigh of satisfaction.
"That's all Night" said he, handing over
the required specie, "but I s'pose you could
put verse on the end, couldn't you ?"
swell, yes" ruminated the clerk, 81 guess
So What kind of verse do you want?
"Sumthin' tender-like and sorrowful."
Chow would this do?" asked the clerk,
scratching his head with the end of his PEN
holder. ... ...
ga perfect female folks did consider her,
She's gone and left a weepin' widower."
"That's kinder melancholy" reflected the
stranger, "but reckon its leetle-j Jest a lee
tle-too personal Just you try it again. l
don't mind putin up handsum for sumthin'
thatll rake folks heart-strings."
The clerk gazed at the ceiling for a moment
and then suggested:
''The husbands lost wife,
The children me,
Died on Friday night
From the lockjaw."
eyes," broke out the mourner, wiping his
nose with a black-bordered handkerchief,
"but you see don't own any young 'uns."
"What do you think of this, them"
"She always was contented;
At life she'd never carp.
Gone to be an angel
And play on golden harp"
"Don't believe that'lf suit. You see, Marian
couldn't even play on pianner, an | know
a harp would stump her, sure Poor woman
she had la tender heart, though, and made the
most elegant biscuit you ever saw"
"Hange if won't have to charge you ex-
tra," growled the clerk. 81 amt Longfel-
low or Tennyson."
81 know" neekly replied the "weepin' wild
ower." "Jest try once more, won't you ?"
So the clerk did try, and at last ground out
the following: .s
son earth could not stay Marier,
So she died and went up higher"
"Sorter irrevereut, arn't it?' anxiously
asked Maria's relict. ri reckon l wouldn't
grudge couple of dollars for bang-up
verse;"
Thus stimulated, the machine poet became
suddenly inspired, and exultingly produced
'Cry for Maria!
Alas! she is no more
Joined the singing seraphs
Upon the other Shore"
The afflicted one uneasily took chew of
tobacco, and whispered:
Beautiful but there's one thing that spiles
it. Mariar hadn't any more melody in her
than an old plough, an it's deliberit lyin' to
speak of her as a vocalist. None of them
other syrups (seraphs) you alluded to could
keep time with her."
"Well," thoughtfully remarked the discom-
fted clerk, eff this amt all o. K. you'll have
to hire a special poet I'm played out"
"Afliction sore
Long time she bore,
Physicians were in vain!
Lock jaw ketched 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 can make up sich affectin' lines as