THE EDITOR'S GUESTS.

Temuka Leader, Issue 1169, 3 November 1883, Page 3

THE EDITOR'S GUESTS.

The Editor sat. in his sanctum, his countenance furrowed with care, His mind at the bottom of business, his feet at the top of a chair, His chair-arm an elbow supporting, his right hand upholding his head, His eyes on his dusty old table, with different documents spread ; There were thirty long pages from Howler, with underlined capitals topped, And a short disquisition from Growler, requesting his newspaper stopped ; There were lyrics from Gusher, the poet, concerning sweet flow'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, which inquired 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 loiters 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, excepting perhaps it was cash. The Editor dreamily pondered on several ponderous things, On different lines of action, and the pulling of different strings ; Upon Biime equivocal doings, and soma unequivocal duns ; On how few of his numerous patrons were quietly prompt-paying ones ; On friends who subscribed ' just to help him,' and wordy encouragement lent, And had given liim plenty of counsel, but never had paid him a cent ; On vinegar kindhearted people were feeding him every hour, Who saw not the work they were doing, but wondered that ' printers are sour:' On several intelligent townsmen, whose kindness was so without stint That thoy kept an eye out on his business and told him just what he should print; On men who had rendered him favors, a.nl never pushed forward their claims, So long as the paper wan crowded with ' locals' containing their names ; On various other small matters, sufficient his temper to roil; And finely contrived to be making the blood of an editor boil ; And so one may see that his feelings could hardly be said to be smooth, And he needed some pleasant occurrence his ruffled emotions to soothe : He had it; for lo ! on the threshold, a slow and reliable tread, And a farmer invaded the sanctum, and these are the words that he said:

« Geod mornin', air, Mr Printer : how is your body to-day 1 I'm glad you're to home ; for you fellers is al'ays a runnin' away. Your paper last week wa'nt so spicy nor sharp as the one the week before : But I s'pose when the campnign is opened you'll be whoopin' it up to 'etn more. That feller that's printing The Smasher is going for you perty smart; And our folks said this mornin' at breakfast they thought he was gettin' the start. Bat I hushed 'em right up in a minute. and said a good word for you ; I told 'em 1 b'lieved you was trying to do just as well as you knew ; And I told 'em that pome one was sayin' and whoever 'twas it is so, That you can't expect of no one man, ntr blame him for what he dcn't know. But, layin' aside pleasure for business, I've brought my little boy Jim ; And I thought I would see if you couldn't make an editor outen of him. "My family stock is increasing while other ■ folks seem to run short,

I've £,ot * right smart sort of a family -it's one of the old-fashioned sort: There's lohabod, Isaac and Israel, a-work-ing away on the farm — They do about as much a 8 one good boy, and make things tjo off like a charm. There's Moses and Aaron are sly ones, and slip like a couple of eels ; But they're tol'able steady in one thing—they always get round to their meals. There's Peter is busy inventin' (though what he invents I (i i't see), _ And Joseph is studyin' medicine—and both of 'em board in' with me. There's Abram and Albeit is married, each workin' my farm for myself. And Sam smashed his nose at a shootin", and ao heis laid en the shelf. The rest of the boys are all growin', 'cept this little runt, which is Jim, And I thought that perhaps I'd be makin' an editor outen o' him. I He aiot no great shakes for to labor, though I've labored with him a good deal. And give him some strappin' good arguments he couldnt help but to feel ; But he's built out of second growth timber and nothin' about him is big Exceptin' his appetite only, and there he's as good as a pig. { I keep him a-carryin' luncheons, and fillin' and bringin' the jugs, And take him among the pertatoes, and set him to pickin' the bugs ; And then there is things to be doin' ahelpin' the women indoors ; There's chsrnin' and washin' of dishes, and other descriptions of chores ; But he don't take to nothin' but victuals, and he'll never do much I'm afraid, So I thought it would be a good notion to larn him the editor's trade. His body's too small for a farmer, his judgment is rather too slim, But I thought we perhaps would be makin' an editor outen o' him ! l lt ain't much to get up a paper—it would'nt take him long for to learn ; He could feed the machine, I'm thinkin', with a good strapping fellow to turn. And things that was once hard in doin', is easy enough now to do ; Just keep your eye on your machinery, and crack your arrangements right through. I used for to wonder at readin', and where it was got up and how : But 'tis most of it made by machinery—l can see it, and plain enough now. And poetry, too, is constructed by machines o' different designs, Each one with a gauge and a chopper to see to the length of the lines ; And I hear a New York clairvoyant is runnin' one sleeker than grease, And a-rentin' her heaven-born productions at ii couple of dollars apiece ; An' since the whole trade has growed easy 'twould be easy enough, I've a whim, If you was agreed, to be makin' an editor outen o' Jim !

The Editor sat in his sanctum and looked the old man in the eye, Then glanced at the grinnirg young hopeful, and mournfully made his reply : 'ls your son a small unbound edition of Moaes and Solomon both ! Can he compass his spirit with meekness, and strangle a natural oath? Can ho leave all his wrongs to the future, and cany his heart in his cheek ? Can he do an hour's work in a minute, and live on a sixpence a week ? Can he courteously talk to an equal, and brow-beat an impudent dunce ? Can lie keep things in apple-pie order, and do half-a-dozen at once ? Can he press all the springs of knowledge, with quick and reliable touch. And be sure that he knows how much to know, and knows how to not know too much ? Does he kno'v how to spur up his virtues, and put a check-rein on his pride? Can he carry a gentleman's manners within a rhinoceros' hide ? Can he know all, and do all, and be all, with cheerfulness, courage and vim ? If so we perhaps can be makin' an editor outen of him.' The farmer stood curiously listening, while wonder his visage o'erspread ; And he said, ' Jim, I guess we'll be goin'; he'e probably out of his head.' But lo ! on the rickety stair-case, and another reliable tread, And entered another old farmer, and these are the words that he said : 'Good morning, sir, Mr Editoi, how is the folks to-day 1 I owe you for next year's paper; I thought I'd come in and pay, And Jones is agoin' to take it, and this is his money here; I shut down on lendin' it to him, and coaxed him to try it a year. And here is a few little items that happened last week in our town : I thought they'd look good for the paper, so 11 just jotted 'em down. And here is a basket of cherries my wife picked expressly for you ; And a small bunch of flowers from Jennie —she thought she must send sometbin' too. You're doin' the polities bully, as all of our family agree ; Jußtkeep your old goo3e-quill a-floppin', and give 'em a good one for me. And now you are chuck full of business, and I won't be takin' your time ; I've things of my own I must 'tend to — good day, sir, I b'lieve I will climb.' The Editor sat in his sanctum and brought down his fist with a thump : ' God bless that old farmer,'he muttered ' he's a regular Editor's trump.' And 'tis thus with eur noble profession, and thus it will ever be, still ; There are some who appreciate its labors, aDd some who perhaps never will. But in the great time that is coming, when loudly the trumpet shall sound, And they who have labored and rested. shall come from the quivering ground ; When they who have striven and suffered to teach and enoble the race, Shall march to the front of the column, each one in his God-given place, As they pass through the gates of the The City with proud and victorious tread, The editor, printer, and ' devil,' will travel not far from the head.