Daily globe. [volume] (St. Paul, Minn.) 1878-1884, 1880-05-16
NEWSPAPER REPORTING.

morning, with yellow frock on, and loop
to hang it up by; to attend horse trots and
higher-life camp-meetings, and pick the
obvious points of the best trotters and ex-
horters, must be most agreeable labor.
So, too, it would be sweet duty to write
the obituary of lager-beer seller, and
close by saying, eve will all assemble over
his beer FOR write one for an ice-merchant,
declaring that before his exit, the late la
mented broke out singing:
Eyes, we will gather at the river"
It might also be added, as tribute to
his business integrity, that his remains
were cared for his own crystal ice, which
has no superior in the market.
After writing few days, started off
into some grotesque sketches of the house
hold OF Hosea Jones, describing myself as
the bald-headed and unsophisticated sire Of
numerous family. Many rural readers
"took this all for corn Only one man felt
an affront. He had studied to be a
butcher, and was success. He was a
very healthy man. His knuckles were like
walrus teeth, worn down. He called upon
me early one morning. He was lobster
red-boiled in his own passions. He was
almost royal purple under his eyes, and the
fanges of his ears seemed to be on fire.
He looked like man who had walked of
on his ear so rapidly that he produced
hot box.
He rushed upon me, shouting:
"Now I've got ye, and I'll hammer the
pulp out of ye, you mean puppy. I'll put
tea-buscuit over your peppers. I'll learn
ye to speak disrespectable of me and my
darters, you
"Mr. JONES' faltered, "this is joke"
He came on, glazing and snorting.
thought how hard it was to be smashed out
Of existence in the glow of youth, with the
whole earth filed with greenness, fruit and
beauty.
"Pn get the file and see about it'll
shouted, as I fed. l think the red man is
after me yet. think he will sweep down
upon me some of these sunny days. 1 Of
ten dream of being in the shamble, near
his slaughter-house, and hear him order
the boy to bring the sledge-hammer.
Obituary writing has been my best hold.
I wrote one for the captain of Saybrook
schooner. was told of his death by hon.
est people. ] sketched him as he gaily
strolled down the golden streets, after
noon lunch of nectar and ambrosia, in a
way to make his family proud. 1 also add
ed, to be impartial, the customary musical
instrument. 1t was not harp, however.
No, slung him with bass viol. The
captain, when on earth, was an excellent
fiddler, and therefore, with an eye to his
progress in all things, I accredited him
with bass VOL. added a stanza OF po-
etry, as follows:
"While here below the bottle was his love,
So he should have base viol when above"
A week after, the captain called on me,
smoking brier-wood pipe. He was much
pleased.
whats to pay for that writing?' he
asked. "Me and my wife and the girls
took solid comfort with it. 1 want you to
use it when the right time comes.
charged the captain regular cemetery
lot prices. Six feet by two. one insertion.
Some time ago, the venerable widow
Wicks lost her son Phineas. Last Fall she
mad his remains removed to Connecticut
for final burial. She sent me a brief no.
tice for publication, with privilege of cor
rection. I was as follows:
HOME AT LAST.
We learn, with unfelt sorrow, that Mrs.
Mehitable Wicks has brought the remains
of Phineas home for determent. She viii
put two (2) stones over his grave, with
Phineas Wicks on one and P. W. on the
other. Mrs. W. has been to great expense
in these panicky times, but she trusts
that the public will appreciate her efforts
to make buckle and strap:meet.
I published it as follows:
P. w. WELL FIXED AT LAST.
Things come round right at last, if you
only lay low and keep dark. Witness the
case of Phineas Wicks. He died abroad,
but now his doting friend has frelghted his
remains to the Nutmeg State, which bears
the appropriate motto of Qui Srsstenet trans
tulet. She will set up two stones above
him-a headstone and a hindstone. On
one will be carved "Phiner," and on the
other "Finis,' which is Latin for Finny.
Mrs. W. has put out her stamps unspar-
ingly to do this, but she believes in Getting
the tail go with the hide
Seriously, one thing is sure. A news
paper man can never die. His name may
go out, but the light of his little candle
can never quite cease. What he writes in
hot haste may cool into an eternal carving.
His everyday paragraphs, like the lowly
hollyhocks, may flower beautifully in Sec