The Republican journal. [volume] (Belfast, Me.) 1829-current, 1885-02-05
The Country Editor at Home.
BY CHARLES A. PILSBURY.

i
lead at the annual meeting of the Maine Pres
Association in Augusta, Jan. Beth, 1855.
The foreman locks the Office door.
The typos daily task is done,
The DEVILS time is all his own
Till the rise of the morrow's sun.
And not till then will click of type
Or the CHATTER of press be heard,
Or slumb'rous air of sanctum bare
By voice of bore be stirred.
The editor sits at his Preside
With the tools of his craft near by
Paper. pencil, scissors and paste
While pile of exchanges lie
Gas some exchanges do at times
When political strife runs high
Near at hand on his writing stand:
And the editor heaves sigh
AS he thinks of the space TO fill.
The locals and leaders to write,
The news to sean. scissor and Sift,
While the evening hours take flight
And the fire on the hearth burns low,
And the scribe grows weary and wan
The slave of toll by midnight oil
While his readers to sleep have gone.
He praises every worthy deed,
He stands up for bis State and town;
He compliments the crops of Smith,
And the stock of good farmer, Brown.
He notes The weight of the spring-pig.
That Thompson has just built an L.;
That wells are dry and winters nigh,
And that old hay is hard to sell.
He wishes JOY TO welded pair
He has had a bit of the cake
He eulogiZes those who'Ve gone,
Whichever direction they take.
A friend to all who need his aid,
The historian of his town,
From grave to gay he goes his way
Until he the pencil lays down.
His leaders-well. in scope and style
They may not rank among the best;
Plain, manly words, and That Is ALL
The writer cares not for The rest
No time has he for polished thought,
But simply does the best he can.
With Office cares and home affairs
He is IA very busy man.
The city editor looks with scorn
Upon his country brothers work,
And travesties hi> local news
With full many quip and Qulrk.
The egg upon our table laid
The big turnip, cabbage or beet,
Are standing jokes with city folks,
The witty paragraphcr'> meat.
Reading one evening by the fire.
The days work donV-the hour was lat
An unkind .iibe from city press
Move our scribe TO retaliate.
Taking Il daily for his guide
He scann'd it, columns up and down.
I he cable bits and loch hits
And all the gossip of the town.
And as he read he made brief notes
Or petty things and scandals rife
Aud then i'll crudely written verse
Framed a picture of city life.
The life of dukes and dudes aud beats;
De, Dis of crime: the Wall street panic;
And all that comes from out the >lum>
OF which we read in press satanic.
The cable news so very thin.
That's padded when il leaves the wire;
Mere gossip of the foreign courts,
Or tancits of Il fertile liar.
\ duke is laid up with the govt;
Anothrr'> wife has gone astray,
And 50. of course. there's divorce;
And some one ha, brought our a play.
50 runs the news from over sea
That i flashed along the cable
70 tie served W With sauce pquant
Al The city breakfa>i-lable.
With >pc tial>. too, from far and near,
That swiftly speed along the wire
70 tell their tales of fearful gales,
OF murders foul. 81 Hood and fire.
The local news in finest type
Fill mans IA solid column
With street atlray> and btei-house braWls
Things festive, tragic and solemn.
\ >lugging match has display heads
And Tie best place in the paper:
We read tl>ewher of Vanity Fair,
And the dear dudes latest caper,
The paper now tin scribe LAYS down.
He is weary OF fault finding;
That unhind llbe has spent il force,
No longer hi Judgment binding.
And Yet he really 1at> to see
More faults on his side than he other,
OF why sucn is he should always be
The butt Of his city brother.
The cat j. sIeeping on die rms.