The Portland daily press., 1892-02-12

should enter upon career OF self-ann1hl-
lation at the beheSt OF any one. 1t is for
them, and for them alone, in dealing
with the social life about them, to decide
what their papers shall say. orWhat they
shall not say, upon any and every topic.
'sThere are lots of people whose hearts
bleed in an ANONYMOUS way. The open
effusion of this blood might result in dis
agreeable personal experience, OF even IN
financial loss, and rare indeed does this
kind of heart bleed to that extent.
Such people are perfectly willing to send
the editor forth to do battle upon all oc-
casions They assure him that their
best wishes will go with him, though
they do not care to be known personally
in the matter. If he should die, they
would gladly steal forth in an anonymous
way, on some dark night, to drop a salt
tear upon his grave; to beat their breasts
and sigh, in sincerity of soul, here lie
the ashes of what was once man.
''The devotion of such people knows
no bounds. In the generous fervor of
their souls they will gladly furnish tons
of ammunition if the editor will only go
to the front with it.
They Are Like ARENAS Ward
who, in the exuberance of his patriotic
zeal, was perfectly willing that all his
wife relations should be sent tothe war.
''There is another visitor to the sane
tum who appeals at all times to our
tenderest sym pathies, for whom we have
the warmest regard, but who, neverthe-
less, frequently causes us to pray for de-
liverance from our friends, and seriously
to debate the problem of whether OF not
life is really worth living. 1t is the man
who brings us dry bones and chestnuts
of interest to nobody but himself, not
because even he attaches any great i'm
portance to them, but solely to help
fill up 1t never occurs to this friend
that there is, in the evolution of the mat
ter that constitutes newspaper, any
such thing as natural selection or the
survival of the fittest. He looks upon a
newspaper as a big literary dump cart
upon whose capacious body the editor
shovels anything that will pass for read
ing matter. He imagines the scribe
working with a frantic zeal born of pure
desperation, always making the closest
kind of connections on publication day,
and always liable to send his paper to
his readers short of measure. Under such
circumstances the fill up friend feels
it his duty, as truly philanthropic citi-
zen, to give the editor a lift. He fakes
up two or three solid columns of general
cations and carries them to the sanctnm
He goes away with the air of man who
has laid up treasures in heaven, and is
fully persuaded that the sigh with which
the editor received his manuscript was
the joyous anthem of spirit freed from
| CARE
Mr.. Burleigh continued speaking of
the ethics of journalism and it's relation
to great social reforms.
Next in order was the
POEM OF THE DAY
by Mr.. Mark P. Pendleton, of the Bel
fast Age. The poem represented a
weary editor sitting in his sanctum, be-
fore whom appeared:
Distinguished. genial, white-haired, beard the
same;
Tipsily solemn.
The visitor thus discoursed:
..If you want subject, take this
My life. told in studied rhyme,
From the day OF untainted bliss,
| Past the gude-pOsts leading through time,
To the forward empty abyss.
81 began as an editor, too
A weekly not quite your size;
! know all about that cue
The politics, news and--lles?
The gossip, the list and the crew.
"'Tis hard place to keep your heads.
AS found after I'd lost mine.
My burning desires all fed
On fame-not water, but wine.
asked for the cake, not bread.
And bowed not before the shrine
OF the naughty bringer of ads;
Peradventure, some word of mine
Pricked one of my best paying's fadse
And then writing was not my line.
f.But the tiend in human disguise
Who most clouded my earthly sphere
Was he who would not take the PRIZE
Except at dollar year
Shocking me to disappearing cries.
"After all, though, stood it well,
Till politics took me in;
Seated me under its spell
With those who were in 1t to win
Those who stood it, and those who fell4
1T wanted to stand and stood
For Congress- that Mecca of men
Who don't know for them what's good
And who knowing get out again
Few there be of that hardwood.
by hayward decree Of fate
Whose object no one foresaW
passed through the Congress-gate
To the House where the jaw is law,
And there I've sat up to date.
81 soon caught the run of things,
Especially OF the deal;
/ found there were many strings
To pull for the private veal,
That to fly high you don't need wings.
'And played my cards with such skill,
And bluffed on an empty hand,
That had to father each bill
Which reused the ire of the land,
While the good bills had to kill.
81 was claSsed a Congressional craze,
Talked up and talked down at one time9
Called smart as the DEVIL whose ways
Twas said had outdone in crime,
Then called a fit leader to raise.
tBut, my boy there are always days,
With the statesman who has a job,
When a thought for the early ways
Comes back to his heart with throb
And a blush at the worlds dispraise.
"The triumphs are all to mean,
The baff1ings come too dear;
The past you have aye to screen
And the future thrills you with fear
Think well, as you tread this scene.
s'The rewards of your place are small
Your subs may be in arrears;
But he gains the triumph of all
Whose simple course never veers
And the judgments of time foreStall.
ssTo win a hioh name is good