THE EDITOR'S SANCTUM.

Poverty Bay Standard, Volume II, Issue 205, 16 September 1874, Page 2

THE EDITOR'S SANCTUM.

The Editor sat in his sanctum, his countenance furrowed with care, Ilis mind at the bottom of business, and feet at the top of a chair ; His chair-arm an elbow supporting, his right, hand up-holding his head. His eyes on his dusty old table, with different documents spread: There were thirty long pages from Howler, with under-lined capitals topped, And a short disquisit ion from Growler, requesting his newspaper stopped; There were lyrics from Gusher, the poet, concerning sweet tlow’rets and zephyrs, And a stray gem from Plodder, the farmer, describing a couple of heifers; There were billets from beautiful maidens, and bills from a grocer or two, And his best leader hitched to a letter, inquiring if he wrote it, or who ; There were raptures of praises from writers, of the weakly mellifluous school, And one of his rival's last papers, informing him he was a fool; There were several long resolutions, with names telling whom they were by, Canonising some harmless old brother, who had done nothing worse than to die ; There were traps on that table to catch him, and serpents to sting and to bite ; There were gift enterprises to sell him, and biters attempting to bite ; There were long staring “ ads ” from the city and with money never a one, Which added, “ Please give this insertion, and send in your bill when you've done There were letters from organisations—their meetings, their wants, and their laws— Which said, “ Can you print this announcement, for the good of our glorious cause ?” There were tickets inviting his presence, to festivals, parties, and shows, Wrapped in notes with “ Please give us a notice,” demurely slipped in at the close. In short, as his eye took the table, and ran o’er its ink-spattered trash, There was nothing it did not encounter, except perhaps it- was cash.