Wichita eagle., 1888-04-22
WHY DID NOT BECOME A JOUR-
NALIST.

o lne EulIor OI Ihe Edgie.
am going to adopt journalism as my
profession, said a bright young lady
friend to me the other day. l am going
to get government position in Wash
ington and become newspaper cores
pondent.
Well, my young miss, I thought, you
are flying pretty high. Perhaps you
may get your wings clipped, as l did.
Her remark reminded me of an incident
in my own experience, and how near |
came to becoming a journalist myself.
1t happened in this wise. l was So
iourning in the hub and saw an adver-
tisement for a woman to make herself
generally useful on an old established
newspaper. l answered it and received
reply telling me to call at room 4, No.
"a Milk street. This is quite an historic
street, being the birth place of Benja-
min Franklin. 1t is still devoted to lit
erature, newspapers and bookstores be-
ing numerous, the elegant building Of
the Post occupying the site of the
humble dwelling where the philosopher
first saw the light.
No. "a was large building, contain
ing several newspaper offices. There
was scientific journal, the Pilot or some
other Catholic organ, the Yankee Blade,
whether l should have to become a
scientist, turn Catholic, or bloom out as
humorist; had always heard that edi-
tors were very cross and very busy. and
with great fear and trepidation l sought
No. 4. The door stood invitingly open.
A large room with books, tables and
chairs but no occupant. Pretty soon a
gentleman came sauntering along down
the hall and, inviting me to enter,
escorted me through the large room to a
smaller one adjoining-the sanctum
sanctorum, / suppose. He was the edi-
tor, and one of the incest old gentlemen
l ever met. Gross? Not a bit of it.
Busy? No, indeed He acted as if time
was not of the slightest consequence in
the world. He talked; l sympathized
He warmed up to the subject; became
enthusiastic. In fact, we seemed to be
congenial spirits, and l expected
every minute when he would tell
me to take off my bonnet
and make myself at home in the Office.
As we talked he became confidential:
he told me all about the past history,
present success and future prospects of
his paper. All this time l was in blissful
ignorance of its very name. He was SO
jolly, inclined to the opinion that it
was the Blade" AT length l ventured
to ask its name. The Massachusetts,
Ploughman. Ye gods and little fishes.
What knew l of blushing beets and
festive raddishes, of gentle Jerseys and
pensiye Poland porkers, or is it hens?
But | remembered that Horace Greeley
was distinguished agriculturist and
took courage
After awhile, happened to mention
my husband" his countenance fell
instantly: ARE you married." he asked
l replied that was, unfortunately, be-
fore was old enough 10 know any bet
ter. Il might have known it, he said
vail the smart women get married
''Will that be any obiection:" l inquired
timidly. "A fatal one" was the reply.
"A married woman belongs to her hus-
band; want woman who will be
married to the Ploughman.'
he used TO be plough boy" | falt-
cred. He smiled and, shook his head.
Well. L said, If had known how he felt
about II twenty years sooner, 1t might
have been different, but of course |
could not think of getting divorce.
''Of course not, he said, dismiSsing the
idea with wave of the hand.
But my husband is away out west.
he won t be any bother | ventured 10
demonstrate. He will be coming here,
he viii be wanting you to come to him;
want woman who will domesticate
herself IN the offic. who will find hus-
band and children and home and friends
IN the paper"
suggested that as there were seventy
nve thousand single women In the state.
he ought to be able TO find one who
would be willing 10 marry the Plough
man, provided she could not DO any
better, and | mournfully took my de-
parture, the old gentleman following
me TO the door and expaiating all the
way on the merits of his paper and the
wonderful woman that was To be
welded to II. Wordsworth's phantom
of delight was nowhere compared with
his paragon.
Now. II any single woman wants to
become journalist, l beg leave 10
recommend NY friend. the editor on
Milk street, as being one OF the dearest,
most delightful old idiots II was ever nv
lot 10 behold lt Is my private opinion
that ne was hunting q wife and that the
advertisement for an assistant editor was
only rsise on his part At all events,
did not become q journalist and II Is not
tor me TO say how much Journalism has