Alpena weekly argus. [volume] (Alpena, Mich.) 1871-1893, 1885-02-25
Burdette on Advertising.

/ Ou hhOh iOW INV ~ hNaSN ~ - -
it rained last Friday? Well, we were
running from Philadelphia to New
York, and by and by we run along
side a swamp. A creek had over
flowed its banks and swarmed all over
a whole township. That's why call
ed it swamp. A wide waste of
water spread all over all the land in
sight. In the midst of the flood a
sign board bravely lifted its head
above the muddy seas. Its chin was
barely in sight, the water was tapping
the lower line, but it was doing its
duty nobly, and this was what the
sign board said, in big, brave, black
letters; "No picnics allowed on these
grounds"
Now | have known men for all the
world just like that sign-board. They
had occasion at some time to say some
thing that was needed to be said right
at that time. For day and a sum-
mer they just filled the bill. They
were the right men in the right place,
called to say the right thing at the
right time. And then-they never
could say anything else.
And they kept right on saying it.
Day and night, summer and winter,
flood or drought, in season or out of
season they kept on saying it. Nobo-
dy was going to picnic in that swamp
yesterday. Nobody wanted to. No
body could. But every once in a
while you will find the man in the
swamp shouting, keep out keep
out" when the whole United States
army couldn't drive anybody in.
Having once said or done a good
thing, the man keeps OH at that one
thing, until by and by the people who
don't want to picnic on his premises
mock at him and laugh him to scorn.
The lonesome Jersey sign board,
standing chin deep in the food and
over head in the rain, warning people
not to have a picnic in flannel suits
and lawn dresses that afternoon
brought to my mind a long. dreary,
dismal November day / once passed
how l passed it, only a merciful
providence knows-in Chaplin, Ill.
Chaplin is a junction town. 1t rained
all that day. 1t got up about day
light to rain and kept on raining hard
er every hour. I had to wait all day
long for the train / wanted. In the
afternoon when my letters were an
swered and my newspaper work was
accomplished, l stood at the window
and looked dolefully on the flooded
landscape. The trees stood knee deep
in the water. Everything was soak
ed. Everything drip, drip, dripped.
Whatever could float, floated. What
couldn't float sank. Water, water
everywhere. In the clouds, in the
air, on the ground, drip, gurgle,
splash, deep and steam, swamp and
torrent. And right in all this uni
verse of moisture great big sign,
painted in white letters, black shaded,
on board fence, a sign so big that
you could read it half a mile away,
and it stared me in the face even when
1 shut my eyes and turned my back
to it: Bethesda Water at Hatch's.
Now, who the mischief wanted any
kind of water on day like that? 1t
made me so mad that tried to quit
looking at it. But l couldn't. If l
crawlcd under the bed, it was there !;
if l thrust my head into the fue, it
stared down the chimney. BY and
by, in utter despair, completely knock
ed out and exhausted, l yielded to my
face, went out in the rain, went right
straight to Hatch's and drank glass
of Bethesda water, and if there was
anything in the world l hated, it was
Bethesda water.
AS newspaper man could only
draw one moral from this: "Persis-
tent advertising will tell."-Brooklyn
Eagle.