A Scene in an Editor's Sanctum.

Cromwell Argus, Volume III, Issue 128, 23 April 1872, Page 7

A Scene in an Editor's Sanctum.

The Philadelphia Despatch perpetrates the following : " A week or two ago, one of our reporters had occasion to refer to a certain woman, whom we will call Hannah Smith, as a denizen of the Eleventh Ward. A day or two afterwards, a huge man entered the office with his brow clothed with thunder. In his hand he carried a fearful club, and at his side trotted a bull-dog whom hunger had evidently made desperate. With that quick appreciation of the situation which is creditable to the superior intelligence of educated men, the editor of this paper and the proprietors darted to the window, climbed outside and slipped down the lightning rod, and went across the street to watch the bloody fray through a spy-glass. With the fearlessness of conscious innocence, we sat still, merely inserting our legs in two sections of stove pipes, to guard against misapprehension of facts on the part of the bull-dog. The man with the club approached. " Are you the editor ?" he asked, spitting on his hand and grasping his club. We told him that the editor was out; that he had gone to the North Pole, with Captain Hall, and that he would not return before 1876, in time for the centennial celebration. "Are you the proprietor?" asked the man. We explained that we were not; that the proprietors were also out; that they had gone to South America for the purpose of investigating the curative powers of cundurango, and they expected to remain there for several years. " Well, whoever you are," exclaimed the warrior, "my name is Smith." We told him we were glad ; because, if there was one thing better than the possession of the name of Smith, it was the privilege of knowing a man of that name. " But, Smith," we said, "why this battle array? It is absurd for a man to put on the panoply of war and frisk into editors' sanctums fumbling a club, and accompanied by a disheartening bull-dog, simply because his namehappens to be Smith." He said he called in to burst the head of the man who had insulted his sister. "It is impossible, Smith, that such a thing could have been done by anyone in this office." "Is it ? but it was though ; and her name was published, too —Miss Smith—Miss Hannah Smith." " May Ave bo permitted to enquire, what was the precise affront offered to Hannah ?" "Well, you see," said Smith, "the blackguard said she was a denizen. And I want you to understand^'said Smith, becoming excited, and brandishing his club in a wild manner over our head, while the bulldog advanced and commenced to snuff up and down our stove pipes, " I want you to understand that she is a decent young woman with a good character and none of your denizons and such truck. The man who says she is a denizen is a blackguard and a thief, and I'll smash him over the nose if I get the chance. They may say what they please about me, but the man who abuses my sister has to suffer." And Smith struck the table in a violent manner with his club, while the bull-dog put his fore-legs on the back of our chair. We pacified Smith with a dictionary. We pointed out to that raging warrior that the Websterian I definition of the word "denizen" gives such a person an unoffensive character, and deprives the term of anything like reproach. Smith said he was satisfied, and shook hands, and kicked the bull-dog down stairs. The editor and proprietors, seeing that all was safe, immediately climbed the lightning rod, and soon appeared at the window, with the remark that they had returned from the North Pole and the cundurango somewhat unexpectedly, in order to surprise their relations. And now we suppose Smith will bo mad because wo have told this story about him, and he will be coining down to interview us again in war's ltiagnilicent stern array with a fresh bull-dog. But it will be in vain. We have rented an office in the top of the shot-tower, and have planted torpedoes and spring guns all the way up the stairs. We warn this incendiary Smith to beware.