Evening star. [volume] (Washington, D.C.) 1854-1972, 1889-01-02
VARIETY THE SPICE OF LIFE.
And the Versatile Nebraska Editors Ex-
istence is Highly Seasoned.
Prom the Lincoln Journal.


Prom the Lincoln Journal
"As we pen these lines" wrote the able edi-
tor, "our eyes are rivers of tears. and our soul
ID frsught with poignant woe. gentle, lu-
minous star that shone more lustrous than all
the stars about her, has died out. and is dead
forever. Gladys Swivelhurst-Gladys, the beau
tiful, the young, is dead"
At this juncture the foreman entered the
able editors room, and informed him that a
short item was necessary to fill the last col
umn on the second page, and the editor wrote
this:
1--WE must have money to carry on our bust
ness. Several hundreds of dollars due US,
and il they not forthcoming imme diately
the accounts will be placed in the hands of a
collector"
Having dashed this off, he continued the arti-
Gle about the dead one:
''Her life and death reminds me of the short
but beautiful existence of the flower; born I'M
der smiling skies, nourished by gentle breezes:
only 10 be cut off by the pitiless wind from the
north. 1t seems like an unhallowed dream
that Gladys is dead, but she is doubly dead, in
that she died SO young"
Here he was called to the telephone and was
instructed by the manager of the Brokesate
coal company, to write and print short read
ing notice for that corporation, and he at once
compiled this:
Every mans house should be his palace and
opalace would be very uncomfortable without
warmth. The prudent man will order his coal
from the Brokeslate coal company. This coal
10 free from dirt, dust and clinkers. 1t burns
freely and gives great heat. Purchasers will
always receive full weight and having used
this coal once will buy no other"
Then the death notice was continued
1T was in the morning of the wedding day.
the golden glow of the sunlight. streaming into
her chamber, seemed a promise of life of
happiness to come; but. ere the shadows of the
evening had fallen upon the brown EARTH the
deeper and colder shadows of death dimmed
those tender eyes. left the damp upon her
beautiful brow. and all was over"
Here messenger boy handed him note.
He read it, and taking another sheet of paper,
Don sent the following to the printers:
James Cobbleton tells a good joke ON Andy
Shellhorn. For several nights the latter had
been annoyed by cattle which broke into his
yard, causing general havoc. At last, enraged
beyond endurance, he bought gum and hear
ing the usual racket in the garden about mid
night. he opened the window of his room and
blazed away. In the morning he found that
he had shot one of his own cows, which had
broken from the stable and wandered into the
yard. The laugh is on Andy?"
He again resumed the obituary:
I'VE have watched this young girl grow from
childhood to young and glorious wOmanhood.
We have watched her when she went by like a
sunbeam, and marvelled at her beauty: and to-
day we see the bridal robes substituted by the
chnging cerements of death. and our tears
seem drops of blood ebbing from a crushed
and anguished heart"
When this was written a reporter entered
the room and handed him a marked copy of a
local contemporary, after reading which he
rapidly penned the following:
The scurrillous dish rag which is published
in an obscure alley of this town by a lop-eared
leper who spends his evenings trying to wash
the tar of his body with benZine saws that we
received $50 for supporting Gen. Strutover for
the Office of constable. 1t is scarcely worth
while for us to brand this as an infamous lie
which would make Ananias green with envy
were it not for the fact that there are people
who do not know the true character of the
moral and physical wreck making the charge
We do brand it as a lie. therefore. and as lie
We will cram il down the craven throat of the
degenerate coward who uttered it."
The obituary was then taken up again:
I'm this. the dark hour of our sorrow. we
have the sweet consolation of knowing that the
gentle Gladys, too lovely for the harsh blasts
and tempests of earth. Is now where the tear
never falls, where the sigh Is never heard,
where the footballs of death never echo on the
jasper streets. We can only hope in the uncer-
;ain future, when We too have crossed the
waters of the river of death. we can meet her
there-there where the chorus swells forever.
and snowy pinions fan the perfumed air."
Another telephone message. and the editor,
taking fresh slip of paper, scrubbed this:
Genial Tom Brighton is going about town
TODAY with broad smile. on account of a
handsome boy baby who has taken up his
abode in the house. Tom has the congratula-
tons of We editor"
Then he wrote the final sentences of the
death notice:
This is indeed sweet thought, vet we are
stricken with sorrow that in all the weary
years to come we can hear her voice no more.
But what avail words? We cannot speak the
thoughts that surge through our brain: the
tears fall from our eyes on the paper before
rs, and the pen drops from our hand. Peace.
eternal peace. to the ashes of her who is gone"
The days work was now done.
James" said the editor, YEARLY. to the re-
porter, let US go over TO Patsy Cardeys sa-
loon and shake for the drinks"