Year: 1873

ment middle-aged man dashed in alb
ruptly, and se;zing Brimmer's scattered
hair, bumped his PROSTATE head against
the table three or four times With con
siderable force. Having expended the
violence Of his emotion in this manner,
he held the editors head down with one
hand shaking it occasionally by way OF
emphasis, and with the other hand seized
the paper and said I:


You disgraceful old reprobate you
unsympathetic and disgusting vampire
you hoary headed old ghoul What
d'you mean by putting such stuff as this
in your vile sheet about my deceased
son? What d'you mean by printing
such awful doggerel as this, you deprav-
ed and dissolute inkslinger-you imbe-
cile old quill driver you;


"Oh bury Bartholomew out in the woods,


In a beautiful hole in the ground,


Where the bumble-bees buzz and tho Woodpeek-


And the straddle bugs tumble around


So that in winter when the snow and the slush


Have covered his last little bed,


His brother Artemas can go out with Jane


And visit the place with his sled"


"Pll teach you to talk about straddle
bugs! I'll instruct you about slush I'll
enlighten your insane old intellect on
the subject of singing woodpeckers! !
What do you know about Jane and Ar
temas, you wretehed buccaneer, you des-
picable butcher of the English language.
Go out with sled ! I'll carry you out
on a hearse before Pm done with you,
you deplorable lunatic


At the end of every phrase, the visitor
gave the editors head q fresh knock
against the table. When the exercises
were ended Mr.. Brimmer explained and
apologized in the humblest manner,
promising at the same time to give his
assailant chance to pummel OFT.


"The treachery Of the man murmur-
ed the poet, " is dreadful. Didn't he
desire me to throw a glamour of poetry
over the commonplace details But for
that | should never have thought of al
luding to woodpeckers and bugs and
other children of nature The man OBJ
jects to the remarks about the sled.
Don't the idiot know that it was neces-
sary to have rhyme for bed p Can
be suppose that can write poetry with
out rhymes The man is a lunatic. He
ought not to be at large


Hardly had the indignant and ener-
getic parent of Bartholomew departed,
when man with red hair and a fero-
cious glare in his eyes entered carrying
club and accompanied by savage
looking dog.


want to see the editor" he shouted.


A CHASTITY pallor o'erspread Brimmer, s
face, and he said


"The editor is not in"


"Well, when will he be in ?


Not for week--a month "a year
forever! He will never come in any
more screamed Brimmer. He has
gone to South America with the inten-
ton of remaining there during the bal
ance of his life. He has departed--he
has fed. If you want to see him you
had better follow him to the equator.
He viii be glad to see yon. / would ad-
wise you as a friend, to take the next
boat and start at once"


"That is unfortunate" said the man
with golden locks, called for the pur-
pose Of batteriDg him up lot with this
club"


He will sorry" said Brimmer sar-
castically. "He will regret missing you.
I will write to him and tell him that
you dropped in"


My name is McFadden,' said the
man, came to break the head of the
man who wrote the obituary poetry
about my wife. If you don't tell me
who perpetrated the following I'll break
yours for you'll Where's the man who
wrote this? Pay attention"


Mrs McFadden has gone from this life


She has left all her sorrows and cares


She caught the rheumtism in both of her legs


While scrubbing the cellar and stairs.


They put mustard plasterg upon her, in vain


They bathed her with whiskey and rum


But Thursday her spirit departed and left


Her body entirely numb"


"The slave who held the late Mrs.
McFadden up to the scorn of an unsym-
pathetic world in that shocking manner" /"
said the editor, " is named Remington
OFT. He boards in Blank street. Fourth
door from the corner. | would advise
you to call ON him and avenge Mrs. Nc
Fadden's wrongs with judicious mix
ture of club and dog bites"


"And this" sighs the poet outside
the door, is the man who told me to
divert Mr.. McFadden's mind from the
contemplation of the horrors of the tomb.
1t was this monster who counselled me
to make the sunshine of McFadden's S
smiles burst through the tempest of Nc
Fadden's tears. If that sore headed
monster couldn't smile over that allusion
to whiskey and rum; if those remarks
about rheumatism in her legs could not
divert his mind from the horrors of the
tomb was it my fault McFadden grow
eled. He knows no more about poetry
than a speckled mule knows about the
Shorter Catechism."


The poet determined to leave before
any further criticisms were made upon
his performances. He jumped down
from the chair and crept softly toward
the back staircase. He suddenly en-
eountered Brimmer, who was moving off
in the same direction. The editor had
hardly time to utter q profane ejacula-
tion and to lift his hand to strike the
poet, when an old lady in poke-bonnet
and silver spectacles suddenly emerged
from the stairway and pinned the editor
to the wall with the ferule of her um-
brella. After grinding her teeth at him
for a moment, she foored him with her
weapon, and seating herself upon his
PROSTATE form, she extracted copy of
the Nforninc GLORY from her bap and