AN EDITOR IN HEAVEN.

Poverty Bay Standard, Volume III, Issue 214, 17 October 1874, Page 2

AN EDITOR IN HEAVEN.

Such is the caption of an article which has been going the rounds of the papers, and which appears to be something “ new under the sun.” Just as if editors were not in the habit of going to heaven. We’ll venture to say that a greater proportion of them go to the home of those who have performed their mission of mercy on earth than any other profession or calling that poor mortals fill. “An editor in heaven.” There’s nothing strange about that at all. It’s almost a moral as well as professional impossibility for them to go anywhere else. Once upon a time, after the demise of a member of the corps editorial, he presented himself at the gate of the “ Golden City,” and requested admission. The doorkeeper asked him what had been his occupation while on terra firms. ? He replied he vias an editor. Well, said the watchman, we have a crowd of your kind here now, and they all came in as “ dead-heads.” If you pay your passage you can come in, if not, you must place yourself under the control of a personage you ruled tyrauically down below, meaning the devil.

Not having the wherewith to go in, our brother of the quill and scissors posted off and presented himself at the entrance of Clootie’s dark domains. A very dark complexioned gentleman stood sentry, and asked in a gruff voice, “ Who comes ?”

A humble disciple of Faust was the calm reply. Then hold on, you can’t be admitted, exclaimed the gentleman in black, evincing considerable agitation, and fiercely scowling upon him. Why not ? demanded the typo, who began to get somewhat huffish, and looked round for a sheep’s foot with which to force an entrance.

Well, replied his sable majesty, we let one of your profession in here many years ago, and he kept up a continual row with bis former delinquent subscribers, and as we have more of that class of persons here than any other, we have passed a law prohibiting the admission of any editors only those who have advanced our interests iu their papers on earth, and even them we keep in a separate room by themselves. You have published many things operating against us, and always blamed the devil with everything that went wrong, so you can’t come in. We enforce this rule, without respect to persons, for our own peace and safety. Now travel. Casting a droll leer at the outside sentinel, our typographical friend started off again, determined to get in above. This time he took with him an odd file of his paper and presented it to the guardian of the Celestial City, requesting that it might be carefully examined, and they could see whether he was entitled to a free ticket. In due course of time the conductor came along and took him in, telling him that he had been a martyr to the cause of human improvement, and members of the “ art preservative ” who had abused the devil while below. He added that as they were punished enough by their being with the devil, all their future punishment is commuted. He further stated that not one delinquent newspaper subscriber could be found in heaven.