The Kenosha telegraph. [volume] (Kenosha, Wis.) 1860-1888, 1878-08-08
THE EDITORS.
Those Happy, GuileIess, Peaceful. Gen;ap
Souls.
Genial
from the Burlington HawkeHe.1


Souls.
TFrom the Burlington Hawkeye.1
The editors of Indiana had grand re.
union at Lafayette, and I was constrained
to stop and join them, for verify were
they MOI going to open a key of nails
and cut a lemon. Happy, innocent,
gulleless men, those editors. How little
they know of the world and its sordid
cares how little they know of its wrang-
Ing strltes and its noisy ways: how lit
tie they see of its irredeemable and fiuc-
tuating currencies how snblimely. mag
nifcently seldom do they light upon the
combination of its safe lock. All. men
OF the busy, heartless, money-getting
world, editors have no money. We have
something better. We have calm, IN
moved and unmovable, sleeping consci-
ences, that you couldn't quicken with
a stroke of lightning. What priceless
treasure is such conscience. Journal
ism is the profession without jealousy.
L don't believe there is a profession in
the world SO free from jealousy as this.
Look at musical people. They are the
worst IN the lot. Music hath charms to
soothe savage, but it has no power to
tame the ferocity of people who play,
and sing, and teach it, An opera com
pany without black eye is an unheard
OF wonder. All throug the opera sea-
son the frightened air is full of the loud
wrangl1ngs OF warning tenor and soprano,
contralto and basso. Every mail brings
to our ears the crash of another foot-stool
Christine Nilsson has kicked over. And
church choir-why, [ never knew but
one choir that didn't have chronic row
on its hands dating back as far as the
tariff bill, and more complicated than the
Louisiana investigation. And that one
broke up the first Sunday. One of the
first indications of revival in the church
is when the soprano and alto get on
speaking terms with each other. And at
a musical festival, did you ever notice
how the chorus stood back and glared at
the solo? It is awful. But with us
there is none of that feeling.
We love each other. And when, in the
course OF our political duties as standard
bearers, we feel constrained to call an
esteemed contemporary "measureless
LIAR" he knows we mean business, and
1
tie trivial thing like that, he comes over
with club and mashes us, and that is
the end of it. We may have occasion to
denounce him, in the heat and passion
of the conflict, as a "moral hyena,
whose foul and fostering chops drip
gall and aqua FORTS, mocker and de-
stroyer of the truth, upon whose vicious
lips the dear, pure truth, if ever it could
spring from heart so blackened and
stained with crime, turns to ashes and
bitterness before 1t can be uttered"
We may feel it our duty to call an es-
teemed contemporary paltering slave
to ring of petty tyrants," can I'M
principled scoundrel, whose groveling
carcass, wallowing in the cesspool of
political corruption, STEPPED to his thiev-
ish eyes in abhorrent partisan infamy,
pursues it's nefarious traffic to the veSy
shadow of the hooking gallows it has
cheated too long" We get mad at
these things. Sometimes dreadful mad,
awful mad. But we get over it, espe-
cially if the other man is the biggest.
When the jealousy of Union Generals
was bringing disgrace and defeat on the
Union arms in Virginia, the newspaper
correspondents hung together and car
ried on the war and won victories and
slaughtered people by the column,
double-leaded BREWER. People love us
for this unselfshness. Our tranquil
lives imprint upon our faces the beauti-
full and tender expression which people
always remember so long after they
meet an editor, and which makes them
go home shuddering, to dream that very
night that they met man who had
starved to death, and had crawled out of
his grave to steal pretzel and couldn't
find his way back. We eat well, and
we don't care at whose expense; we,
dress well, we sleep well, and we drink
well. only tolerable. only tolerable.