Lexington weekly intelligencer. (Lexington, Mo.) 1871-1887, 1886-01-02
Our Carrier Boys Address,
BY \. LONGFELLOW.


1 will tell you all secret, if you will stop to
hear,
And we'll know that secrets will capture
every ear;
The more profound and'sacred the faster 1t
will fly,
And each one who repeats it, the tale will
magnify.
It's printing Ice secret that have now
to tell,
1 may get murdered for it, but hope to do it
well;
Scores have tried to tell it, but no one e'er got
through;
YOU.
While working in the office, L caught up with
their Racket.
The foreman is not slow in warming up my
jacket;
The comps. impose upon me, it seems they
cant be civil,
They kick and cuff me every day, because l
am the devil"
1t may save some life, and bring to me some
glory;
But if die a martyr. let other boys take
care,
And avoid the printing -oflice, for death is
The editors a savage, the business man is
worse,
And every printer helps them to make my
life curse.
Pm to be initiated. but expect to quit the
place,
I'd rather starve or freeze to death, than go
through the race.
fell asleep one evening, while in the paper
room.
And when aroused at midnight thought my
time had come;
All hands were in the sanctum, single can
die burned
Most earnestly listened, and this Is what
learned.
Deep down below the cellar there is an awful
we'll,
A trap-door far above lt,-what a story could
they tell,
When one falls through the trap-door, the
water breaks the fall.
And browns the silly victim-he cannot even
call.
The student-doctors gather in the upper
office room
And fish out all the victims who thus have
met their doom.
They buy up all the bodies and get them out
of sight.
This is why their meetings are always held
at night.
rye seen the finest clock-work, the best
mechanic skill,
But for its easy working this trap-doOr fills
the bill;
II all newspapers have them. as I've heard
the printers say.
The world must be graveyard, though it
often looks so gay.
A candidate came in one day and stood upon
the tran
And then began a wOrdy speech on "Otfices
and pap;"
The trap was sprung beneath him. his speech
was at an end,
His bones in doctor-shOp-the doctor
was his friend.
The editor is wicked, the reason is quite
He's talked to death by people who have a
point to gain;
They carry OF MS papers, nd bother him for
news
And then abuse HIM roundly if he don't en-
dorse their views.
His life is dull and dreary--he always has to
The farmer sings so merrily while he agtates
the soil;
The editor is solemn, lie wears a chronic
trown,
And only smiles at random when a victim
hurres down.
One day a silly poet wrote up something on
the snow,
The trap door quickly dropped him to regions
far below;
| Another poet handed in Il windy song of
| spring,
| Then went below at double quick, and now
he cannot sing,
There's A., the little noodle, who ALWAYS
| writes of love,
And B the politician, who spts upon the
| stove.
've pondered on the subject and yet know
| not why
| They should escape destruction, when better
men must die.
The delinquent subscriber has his name cut
from the list,
Aud is fired through the trap, for he never
| will be missed.
He promises more dollars than he redeem,
with dimes,
1t will not pay 10 keep him in these mos,
| stringent times.
A stranger hustled in one day enduring men.
tai tolls,
His face was fall of pimples, nearly larg,
enough for boiS.
Said he, at looks like snow to- day" ii wa
his last remark:
His grave Is in the coal hoUse-he was burie,
after dark.
Next day dude contendcd, "We'ye had
little raiu:r
And then he doubled up and fell, his face ex
pressed his pain;
The doctors took him out that night hes bet
ter OFT. i hope;
His bones went into buttons, his flesh wen
| into soap,