THE EDITOR’S DREAM.

Globe, Volume XXII, Issue 1938, 11 May 1880, Page 3

THE EDITOR’S DREAM.

[“Figaro.”] Tho editor had supped upon oyster patties and lobster salad. In tho visions of the night upon his bed he dreamed that ho was dead and in another world. Ho approached a city before him and knocked for admittance, but no one answered his summons. Tho gate remained closed against him, Then he cried aloud for an entrance, but tho only response was scores of heads appearing above the wall on each side of the gate. At the sight of him tho owners of tho heads set up a dismal howl, and one of them cried', “ Why didn't you notice the big gooseberry I gave you?” At this horrible and most unexpected interrogation, the poor local turned in tho direction of tho voice to learn its owner, when another voice shrieked, “ Where’s that paragraph you were going to write about my Polytnorapeutio Pills ?” and close upon this was the awful demand, “ Why did you write a paragraph about old Tomlinson’s hens, and never speak of my ; now pigstye ?” Whatever answer he was going to frame to this appeal was out short by the astonishing query, “ What did you spell my name wrong in the programme for ?” The miserable man turned to flee, when ho was rooted to the ground by these terrible demands : “Why did you put my marriage among tho deaths?” Ho was on tho point of saying the foreman did it, when a shrill voice madly cried, “ Tou f-poilt the sale of my horse by publishing that runaway !” and another, “If I catch you alone, I’ll lick you for calling mo ‘ well known to tho police,’ whan it was only my fifteenth drunk and disorderly.” Another, “ Why didn’t you show up tho school system when I told you to ?” And this was followed by tho voice of a female hysterically proclaiming, “ This is the brute that botched my poetry and made mo ridiculous!” Whereupon hundreds of voices screamed, “ Where is my article ? Give mo back my manuscript!” And in tho midst tho poor wretch awoke, perspiring at every pore, and screaming for help.