Buchanan County bulletin. [volume] (Independence, Iowa) 1869-1891, 1878-08-16

Moetlng OF the Third District PUBLISH
ers' Association, at Independence, Aug.
10, 1878.
Mr.. President and Brothers of the Third District
EdttOTtdt Association.
hope you will pardon me for slight digres-
sion from the part assigned in the exercises Of
this hour. apologies are thread bare, and do
not propose to attempt to force one upon you to-
day; but an explanation seems, by the exigencies
of the occasion, to be demanded A query has
been revolving in my mind for the past two
months, and it is this:
Knowing, as our worthy President well does,
that the Third District is by no means devoid Of
the material Of which poets are made, he himself,
being the bright particular STAR in the editorial
pOeticai constellation, closely rivaled by brothers
Talmadge, Medary, Woodruff and others, he could
have no excuse for stepping entirely outside the
limit Of talent in that particular direction unless
it were for the accomplishment of one Of the fol-
lowing purposes: First, it may be to crafty some
diabolical feeling Of revenge for some real or i'm
aginary grievance Or it may be because am the
heavy weight Of the district and Brother Shannon
one Of the ligh. weights fspeaking physically, Of
course) and as the Code d,.elO is not recognized
in Iowa and he can take no under advantage of
me off, little dreaming that such gun is more
dangerous to the audience than to the person
handling it, especially when, in this case, the
gun is a smooth bore!
Had been assigned the duty of preaching ser
mon to the craft in the evening, although that
would have been slightly ont Of my line, should
have entered upon it gladly, knowing that
many Of them sadly need the presentation of the
truth!
But have decided that this to me, herculean
task was assigned in the belief that should fail
to respond, aud then the way would be open for
real poet, Of which we have several, to mmortalize
himself by an impromptu effort. To check Innate
this sharp practice. hereby submit my first and
last 'pOen" the first that ever was, and the last
that ever will be read to public audience.
AS remarked to brother Shannon, the season
is inappropriate for a "chunk'' OF spring poetry.
and the occasion not proptious for bringing out
thoughts that breathe, and words that burn in
love canto ito Elizabeth Jane" l therefore
found more difficulty in naming my bantling than
any newly made mother ever found in christening
her first born. But the. committee have helped me
out. by publishing it as an
OCCASIONAL POEM.
OccaSlOnally," Wnen pencil pu6herS meet,
In semi-annual cOnclave, each to greet,
1t has been customary for our chairman wise,
To part his hair, let slip the muse and poetize.
From plebeian men and things to upper crust
Our ponderOus form was not allowed repose.
Nor cen Judge Toman's Sunday clothes.
And Tom Medarys understanding" fair,
Has suffered with McClintock's unkempt hair
But never once did poets pen dispose,
OF Chairman Shannon's hawk bill nose
Perchance this plea our honored friend can make,
He spoiled story for relations sake!
Aud then, perhaps, he did not feel inclined
To tell his dOting wife that lore is blind.
In childhood's early morn, without sigh,
We cut the cherry tree, and cannot lie.
And therefore though "Life's NOontide," hastens
viii tell the truth ON Shannon, if we die!
And ape his fOunt Of wit, which never dries,
We leave this topic-ft for jokers powers,
To wiser heads ana wittier press than ours.
Brethren of the press--that countless horde
Who claim the pen is mghter than the sword,
land here. aside frankly must confess,s
In our chiyaric hands freely echo, yesD
We meet in Independence, bright and gay,
Although it is not Independence Day,
We are not independent all may know,
In politics we surely are inclined
To say we're Independent, thus to go it blind,
Before convention how ''stalwart'' we are,
We say to other pets than ours, beWdre!
After the deed is done, with few means,
We rally round the flag and 60 for Jones!
We check our preference with all our might.
And chokngy declare whatever is is right!
We "eat each other up" with fiendish guile,
and ulnya 4 hat oy,dt mil
And all again is tranquil and serene,
A Happy family as e'er was seen.
Our battles fought are harmless-nO blood runs,
We fight them all with Fabers-not with guns;
BY fighting thus, though we don't run away,
We know we'll live to fight another day.
Originality is what we prize;
We scorn an editor who does not rise
Above the level of the scissors thief;
All such dead-beats had ought to come to grief.
And yet upon our secret copy" hook
Is page on page Of some old musty book,
Or leader clipped from some far distant town
Is innocently published as our own.
Fabers cost money-editorials brdins
Scissors clip freely as autumnai rains;
Preachers and editors also, are found.
Exhuming matter from the cold, cold ground.
Stealing from great men who have ''gone be-
FORE"
The wit and wisdom from their published store,
IT'S thus We keep the ada2e ever nigh
That great and good men never, never die.
But mark you well, these charges do not lie
Against our editors-they rank too high.
But out in number four they sometimes do,
And maybe, also, down in number two!
But when it comes to morals, we are sure
The editor is always strictly pure.
Intemperance we heartily deplore
unless 1t is behind the bar-rOOm door,
Our worthy President of late declared
This spirit, Independence, he's not shared
Then may we initiate our worthy chief,
And let the Wapsie waters come to grief.
The Sabbath we are wont to strictly keep,
But do not through the key-hole slyly peep.
We lock the door to keep out the mob
To read our Bible, Or-lUOrk of a job!
Religiously. we're strictly orthodox
We've our own devil and our own hell box.
WhOe'er disputes our motives. low or high,
Will find his noble form knocked into pi.
To close this section, we will never fail
To point the moral that adorns this tale.
The craft, like other men, are not so pure
But they may grow in grace and still endure.
Perfection never yet has been attained.
And even editors sometimes are stained.
Bear well in mind the song we've ever sung:
The best Of children dtGdys die quite young.