Wheeling Sunday register. [volume] (Wheeling, W. Va.) 1882-1934, 1886-10-17
BILL NYE.
THE UNTRUrHFUL RISES BLANDLY TO SAY
That BE Is the Only Original Vsrias-h Proof Of
Which he Blows in the BOtls-Ths Bottle
EmiS a Shril, Empty Sound, and
William Doth Likewise 10 the
Fxtsnt Of q Column.
Chicago Ners.


My name is Veritas, / write for the pa
pers. / am quite IN old man, and have
written my kindly words of advice to the
press for many years. l am the friend of
the public and the guiding star of the
American newspaper. l point out the
proper course for a newly-elected member
Of Congress, and show the t~houghtless
editor the wants Of the people. write on
the subject of political economy. Also on
both sides of the paper. Sometimes write
on both sides of the question. When l do
so | write over the signature of Tax
payer" but my real name is Veritas.
l am the man who first suggested the
culyert at the Jim street crossing, so that
the water would run off toward the pound
after a rain. With my pen-ready and
trenchant also, as 1 may say have, in
my poor, weak way, suggested q great
many things which might otherwise have
remained for many years unsuggested.
/ am the man who annually calls for a
celebration of the Fourth of July in our
little town and asks for some young elocu-
ZIONIST to be selected by the committee,
whose duty it shall be to read the Decla-
ration of Independence in a.shrill voice, to
those who yearn to be thrilled through
and through with patriotism.
Did l not speak through the columns of
the press, in clarion tones, for a proper OBJ
servance of our nations great natal day in
large gothic extended caps, the nations
starry banner would remain furled and
the creased pig would continue to crouch
in his lair. With the aid of my genial CO.
workers, Taxpayer" 'Old Settler"
''Old Subscriber Constant Reader"
~. L. See," Fair Play" and "Mr. Pro
Homo Publico," l nave made the world a
far more desirable place in which to live
than it would have other wise have been.
My colabOrer Mr. Taxpayer, is an old
contributor to the paper, but he is not
really o taxpayer. He uses his signature
in order to conceal his identity, Just rs |
use the name Veritas. We have a great
deal OF fun over this at our regular reun-
ions, where we talk about all our affairs.
Old Settler is a young tenderioot who
came here last spring and tried to make a
livelihood by selling an indestructi-
BILE lamp chimney. Heidi well for several
weeks by going to the different residences
and throwing one of his glass chimneys OH
the floor with considerable force, to show
that it would not break. He did a good
business till one day he made a mistake.
Instead of getting hold of the exhibition
chimney, he picked out of the stock and
Lusted it beyond reguition. Since that he
has been writing articles in violet ink re-
latiye to old times, and publishing them
over the signature of Old Settler.
Old Subscriber is a friend of mine who
reads his paper in the hotel while waiting
Tor a gratuitous drink. Fair Play is a re.
tired monte man, and Pro Bono PublicO is
our genial and ubrane undertaken.
| am u very prolific writer, but all my
work is not yet printed. A venal and
corrupt press ut times hesitateS about Civ
ing currency to such fearless, earnest
truthe as | make use Of.
| am also the man who says brave things
in the columns of the papers when the
editor himself does not care to say them,
because he is afraid he will be killed. But
what recks Veritas, the bold and free?
Does he finch or quail? Not a finch; not
4 quail.
Boldly he filings aside his base fears, and
with bitter vituperation he aSsails those he
dislikeS, and attacks with reSounding
blows his own personal enemies. fearlessly
signing his name, YeritaS, to the article, so
that those who yeaIn to kill him may
know Just where he is.
What would the world do without Neri-
tas? In the hands ola horde of journalists
who have nothing to do but attend to their
business, left with no anonymous friend to
whom they can fly when mOmentOus occa-
Sions arise, when the sound advice and
better judgement of an outside friend is
needed, their condition would indeed be a
pitiable one. But he will never desert us.
He is eVer at hand, prompt to say, over
his nom de plume, what he might hesitate
to say under his right name, for fear that
he might 20 home with 4 battle of Gettys-
burg under each eye and q nose like a
volcanic eruption. He cheerfully attacks
everything and everybody, and then goes
away till the fight, the funeral and the
libel suit are over. Then he returns and
asSails the grim monster. Wrong. He
proposes; improvements, and the follow
ing week q bitter reply comes from Tax
payer. Pro Bono Publico, the retired
three card mOnteiSt, says: Let us have
the proposed improvements regardless OF
cost" Then the cynical L. l.. See who
is really the janitor OF the blind asylum
grumbleS about useless expense, and finally
draws out from the teemin5 brain OF Con-
slant Reader a long, flabby essay, written
on red-ruled leaves, cut out OF and old
meat-market ledger, written economically
on both sides with light-blue ink made OF
bluine and cold tea. This essay introduces
under the most trying of circumstances,
such crude yet original little gems as:
Mad some power the giltie gle us, etc.
He also says:
The wee Sms' hours ayont the twal.
His essay is not SO much the vehicle OF
thought rs it is the accommodation train for
fragments Of his old school declarations to
ride on.
But TO Veritas we owe mnch. l say this
because | know what l am talking about,
for am | not old Veritas himself? Haven't
been writing things for the papers ever
since papers were published? Am l not
the man who for years has been stranger
to lear lave ! not dSdlu dlu PSaai ia
the C1ngreSsmen, the capitalists, the cler-
rymcn, the voter and the philanthrophlSt
everything | could lay my tongue to, mt
then fought mosquitoes in the deep reeesseSs
of the swamp while the editor remained At
the office aud took the credit for writing
what | had given him for nothing? Has
not many a paper built up . name and a
libel suit upon what ! have written, and
vet | am almost unknown? When people
ask: Who is Veritas, and where does he
hve?-no one seems to know. He IS up
seven flights of stairs in a hot room that
smells of old clothes and neglected thoughts
Far from the ''madding thrOng, y as Con-
slant Reader has so truly said, l sit alone,
with no personal property but an over
worked costume, a strong love for truth n
IA shawl-strap fRll of suggestions to the
oyer-estimated man who edits the paper.
So l battle on, with only the meager
and flea-bitten reward of seeing my name
in print ''anon." as Constant Reader
would saw. All / have to fork over to pos