Wheeling register. [volume] (Wheeling, W. Va.) 1878-1935, 1899-12-28
HOW I BECAME A REPORTER

/ always had, as Uncle Job Penny
backer used to say, "a sort O banker
in after" higher spear of usefulness
than | had ever known. | wanted to
mount to some height where | could
shine, and be an ornament to my
country as well as my own down-trod-
den sect, that years hence the rising
generation should pint to my epitaf
and say, There lies woman who won
greater fame than Jay Gould or Co.
lumbus."
This ambition fever chained me,
soul and body, and no wonder danced
for joy-no | didn't dance either, that
is just mere figure of speech, for |
am a strict member of the Squash
town Chapel Hard Shell Baptist" by
denomination-bu was filled with de-
light when one day in a perpetuated
mood l CHANGED to stumble across an
advertisement in The Squashtown Ga
zette, the only newspaper published in
Equashtown, Josiar Pitt, the editor.
married Mary Ann Hopkins, a fifth
cousin on my mas side.
Well, the advertisement read as fol-
lows: Wanted, in every town, a re-
bright, interesting and original and
have some literary qualities. Address
Wheeling Register Bldg, Wheeling,
w. Va
Oh, saints be praised! l cried, for l
felt my time had come at last; the po-
sition I had long craved was now up
to me. "The pen is mightier than the
sword" poets have sung, and l felt
that l could yield the pen in a man
ner than would both bring me fame
and fortune | had literary qualities,
certainly, the good old fashion kind,
handed down from my beloved ances-
tors. My great grand pa and also
grand uncle on pas side was famous
for their love letters. Grandpap wrote
one to grand ma whom he had never
seen, and it was SO much to the pint
that she accepted him on the spot. She
was Nancy Jane Gregory then, her pa
used to preach at Laurel Patch school
the third Sunday in every month; it
was the only metin' house for miles
around in them days.
l did not necessary have to take up
the pen to earn my daily bread, for |
owned little grocery store in Squash
town, but wanted to be a help to the
world; by my writing to make some
poor mortal better by having read my
poems. | felt as John was called to
preach the gospel, was chosen to
ease the sin-burdened world with my
sweet lays.
engaged William Henry Sproul
red-haired, cross-eyed boy of eighteen,
a son Of Sproul, the local physician, of
Squashtown, to clerk in my store; he
was as ugly as mud fence, but pow
erful sharp at figures. For | felt
could not write rhymes with my hands
smelling of cod fish, lamp oil, limberg
er cheese and tobacco. Then, too, /
wanted to devote all my time to liter
airy pursuits, for l had no household
duties to take my mind from my work.
as live with my brother Joel Bunker,
who follows that trade that dear old
Longfellow imortaliZed in his poem,
"The Village Blacksmith"
Like all true poets, I'm struck at
times with inspiration. | writ my first
poem of nine verses entitled, Lines to
Tabby Cat" at the hour of midnight.
I was awaken from my slumber by the
loud meows OF Julina, our old tabby
cat. VINO was engaged in scratch with
a neighbor cat of ours.
An inspiration at once struck me.
and | arose, and struck light, and
then wrote it down in full, and my
friends have all pronounced it gin
ooine poetry"
I'm glad to inform you have pass
ed the sentimental school girl age.
and / will be thirty-six my next birth
day. The editor may consider himself
lucky for securing so sensible and de-
ficient a correspondent / shall try
and make this column interesting. with
views from our little village.
Yours most sincerely,
E. NANCY BUNKER,
ssCouo ,b4ov.-n W Va