The Monitor. [volume] (Woodstown, N.J.) 1884-1892, 1886-08-13
HOW rHE EDITOR BEADS TIE
PAPER.

The sensations Of an editor ON first glanc-
ing over his paper, and detecting errors in
it. are somewhat different from those cX-
perienced by the reader on making like
discoveries. The latter is either amused at
the blunder. or inccnscd at the careless
ness which causes it, and in both cases ar
rives at the conclusion that the trouble is
avoidable, and that the editor is TO blame
tor not avoiding it,. He never saw an editor
take his first glance over a copy of the
edition. Perhaps the edition is worked off
when this opportunity is afforded the
weary man. He has either trusted the
proofs to some one else, or read them him
self, but the feeling of dread is just as great
in the latter as in the former case. The
proof-rcader may not consult the copy, and
and 81 perpetuate the blunders of the com
positor; and perhaps the compositor may
neglect to undo the wrong he has done, al
though his attention is plainly called to it
on the proof.
When about to make the preparatory
ST wy ttit tltpi attS bpi toht u CisdI ~
his mouth and elevate his heels to the desk
as is the popular tradition. Dying men
don't do that way, you know, and OUT con
clusion is that an editor on examining his
paper feels very much like a man who is
about to pass into eternity. He reads along
carefully and slowly, like a man feeling his
way across a piece of doubtful ice. Sud
denly his face becomes distorted with an
awful pain. He doesn'tcry ont, he doesn't
rant, the anguish within him is so broad,
and deep, and intense, that he dares not
trust it to words. He just simply reaches
up and takes a handful of his own hair,
and tugs it until the tears come into his
eyes.
Then he picks MP the paper, which he
has taken the preeantion to kick across
the room ON discovering the error, and re-
sumes the %totturing search; for, after all,
it is hut a search for errors and agony, and
not an agreeable and instructive perusal.
Suddenly he groans-not al expectant
| groan like from one who hopes for help IL
reach him through it, but the groan Of one
who is beyond the reach of hope, who feels
that the warm sunshine, the kind glance OF
friendship, the beautiful flowers. and the
song of the birds are gone forever and for
ever from him. 1t is a sinothered groan,
accompanied by a kick out of the leg, as il
the party had, in that moment, taken al
eternal leave of all things earthly.
There is still another search, with aching
eyes and throbbing brain, and then the
paper is smashed down on the floor, and
the Infatuated man bounds up from his
and dances around like a mad man. He
doesn't call upon heaven and earth to wit.
ness what he is going to do, and to blight
him if he should not do it. He does not
dash into the composing room, and scorcl
the men with his wrath. Even this slight
relief is denied him. The paper is worked
off, and the scrutiny that would cheeIfully
attack a needle i'll a haystack would fall
paralyzed before a search for the author OF
the great wrong. He does not say any
thing at all-not a single intelligible word
escapes his aShen lips, as he holds his hair,
and Frances about the dingy solitude of
his room. And when he is done, he sits
down and groans, and afterwards puts on
his hat and PUSHES forth into the street,
PUSHES anywhere to get away from himself
and everything belonging to himself.