Litchfield enquirer., 1879-07-10
0.l Value Received.

~ ~ss
 Anybody could tell what he had. Ever, man in the sanctum knew in a minute. Tn timid knock at the door gave him clear ava, at the start. No man or woman ever knock at a sanctum door unless he comes on that ia tai errand. Then he came inside and took of his hat and bowed around the room whel every man on the staff roared out, in terribl chorus, ''come in .f!" Then he asked for tn, editor, and when the underlngs, with fin minglng of truth and grammar, pointed tt the youngest and the newest man in the office and yelled, ''That's him .'' he walked up tt the young gentleman designated, and before he could unroll his manuscript we knew tht subject of it, and deep groan echoed around the room. a@e t- - b
 "Poetry, young man?' asked the editor.
 ''Yes, sir" said the poet, "a couple of trio lets and a sonnet on the marriage of my sister with an old college friend"
 ''Old college friend male or female, young man?" asked the editor severely.
 sfMale, sir" said the young man.
 Hes said s'sir" every time and every time he said it, all the young gentlemen of the staff save the young gentleman who personal ed the governor, snickered. He looked se were. r, -..-
 Anything more, young man?" he asked "Yes, sir," replied the infant Tennyson, ''s
  Love-"
 Glove been lost very long, young man p asked the journalist, very critically.
 "Well, it's immaterial, that is," stammered the young man, ''its indefinite -its-"s
 ''Ever advertised for it ?" asked the reporter who was writing puff for Slabs tombstones, but he was instantly drowned down.
 "Anything more?" asked the principal in- terlocutor, "anything more, young man?"
 ''Yes, sirP was the hopeful response, Ca threnody in memory of my departed brother. J ''Brother dead, young man, or only gone to Sagetown?"
 "Your Your own I brothera" g ~y.
 ''No, sir. I never had "a real brother; it's only imaginary"
 .Can't take this, then, young man," was the chilling reply. "Poetry, to find accep- tance with the Hawkeye, must be true. Have to reject this threnody, not because it is not very beautiful, but because it is not true. Now how much do you want for these others ?" And he fingered them over like man buying mink skins.
 The poet really didn't know. He had nev- CT published before; he had barely dared hope to have his verses published at all. A few copies of the paper containing them would, he "Oh, nc, P the editor broke in, "oh no, no sir, can't do that we don't do business that way; if poem or sketch is worth publishing, it is worth paying for. Would $16 satisfy youfor these?" The poet blushed to the floor with gratitude and the young journalist grandly wrote out an order and handed It to the poet.
 "Take that to the court house," he said, "and the auditors clerk will give you the money"
 The poet bowed and withdrew, and with great merriment the journalists burned his poems and resumed their work.
 That wasn't the funny part of it, however. The next day the simple-minded poet present. ed his order to the clerk designated. And It was so that the clerk owed the paper eighteen dollars for subscription and advertising and inc promptly cashed the order and turned it in when his bill was presented, and the manager just charged it to the salary account of the smart young journalist who signed the order and the happiest man and the maddest man in America are living in Burlington. One of them is happy, green, unsophisticated young machine poet, and the other is a wide awake, up-to.suuff, know the world, get up-and-dust young journalist, who is already a rival of Horace Greeley in some of the verbal depart ments of journalism. Burlington Haaoheye.