Short Line, our fitin' edit-her corndoctor. This paper is run on red-hot indypendant principels, in a spicey, sparklin' manher. In pollyticks our motto is: "Onhest men, regardless of partie, candy-dates with barr'ls xcepted."

   The above is the prospecktus of the journalistick venture in wich I have mbarked in the capacerty of typergraffickal devil. So now Mr. Diry, look out for the brakers.

   I've jest got my supper, so I guess I'll tell you 'bout my first day's xperience on the Dailey "Buster." I was down to the offis at 7 'clock, and the mannergin edittur, he detaled me to intervue, the old papers and dust, on the floor. By the ade of a broom, wot was so old, it was most bald-hedded, I suckceeded in completely ridden the floor of its surplus stock of litterature, and terbackhey balls, wot them printers spit out, wen they warnted to use there mouths, to consine sum feller, wot rote orful to Hallyfax, or sum other mild climat.

   I wunder if everybodie, wot them printers dam, goes to Hades, cos, if they do, and all printin' offisses is like ourn, I guess us fellers wont have much compenny in Heaven wen we get there. They all ap-pare to have a pertickler spite 'gainst a Mister Copy, cos I hearn him bein' dammed, more an a hundred times to-day. I guess the poor feller ain't got no sho a tall.

   I never seen the wurkins of a edithers sanktuary before. I useter wonder, how they rote all them long artickels wot everybodie sed show'd the grate geneyus of the edittur, but I never knowed till this mornin' bout the laber-savin' masheen, wot is maid of two peeces of steal, with sharp points on one end, and two rings on the other, wot slip over the editturs fingers. Wen he's got them on, he takes off his shoes and stockins, and waids inter a lot of old noosepapers, clippin' out littel bits here and there, and pastin' 'em on a sheet of wite paper. The masheen wurked splendid, and Mister Gilley sez its a sure anty-dote agin skribler's parallysis, wot all great riters is trubbelled with.

   Jest 'fore dinner the edit-her begun to get orful dry ritin a artickel hedded, "Pernisshus Pizen; or, Holesail Slaughter," caused by the adulterashun of beer with arsernic, so he sent me down to the barroom next door to get him a bottle of beer on thirty days time. I'd jest got back to the sanktum, and was takin' out the cork, wen the Metherdist minnysteer cum in to arrange 'bout a big prohibishun rally wot comes off next week. He looked orful suspishus at the bottle, till the edit-her told me to take that bottel of gasserline, to the 

 Prev. P 4/46 next