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that political opponents were all related to suspended criminals. I would make the Roarer something pure, noble and good; I would take Washington Irving for my model; it should be my mission to elevate the people.

Wal, I began. I wrote for my first number articles as elevating as Kentucky whisky. Every sentence was richly turned; every paragraph was as gentle as if from the pen of Goldsmith. There was a mutiny among the compositors; they were unaccustomed to such language, and it made them feel small. One man, after swearing till the atmosphere was blue, laid down his stick in despair, and went and got drunk. And the two apprentices fought over the meaning of a sentence in the back-yard. One of those boys is now a cripple for life.

It would have been better for me-a thousand times better-if I had stuck to the old lines of writing. people were accustomed to that.

The They looked for it, and

they didn't want any elevating-people never do.

The Clearville roughs liked to be abused, too, because it gave them prominence and importance. But my pure style didn't suit them, and, as it turned out, didn't suit me either.

The city marshal was the earliest visitor after the issue of my first number. He came to say that, as the chief executive officer of the town, he would not be responsible for the public peace if I persevered in that inflammatory style. I told him I wouldn't change it for him or anybody else. Then he said it would cause a riot, and he washed his hands of it, and he'd done his duty.

Next came the mayor, with two town-councilors.

"What in thunder do you think you mean, young man," his honor began, pointing to my last editorial, "by bringing everlasting disgrace on our town with such mush as that?"

He called it mush.

I asked him what was wrong in it.

"Wrong? It is all wrong. Of all the mean and miser

able twaddle-"

He called it miserable twaddle.

"Hold on, Mr. Mayor," I said; we must discuss this article in a different way. Which member of your august body does the heavy business ?”

"We all take a hand when it's serious," he replied; "but in ordinary cases it's generally understood that I do the municipal fighting myself."

"We'll consider this an ordinary case, Mr. Mayor," I said; and I went for that chief magistrate. He presently passed through the window-the fight had no details of interest-and then the town-councilors shook hands with me, congratulated me on my editorial, and walked out quiet through the door.

Nearly a dozen Egyptians dropped in during the afternoon to remonstrate. I disposed of them in as gentlemanlike a manner as possible. Toward evening I was growing a little tired, and thinking of shutting up for the day, when my foreman, whom the day's proceedings had made young again-such is the effect of joy-informed me that Mr. Huggins of the Scalper was coming down the street. A moment later Mr. Huggins entered. He was a mediumsized man, with sharp, piercing eyes and a well-bronzed face, active as a terrier and tough as a hickory-knot. I was sitting in the wreck of the office-desk, but I rose as he came in

"Don't stir," he said, pleasantly. "My name is Huggins; but I am not going to kill you to-day.”

I said I was much obliged to him.

"I see you've been receiving visitors," he went on, looking at the fragments of the chairs. "Ours, Mr. Beck, is an active and a responsible profession."

I said I thought it was.

"These people have been pressing their arguments home with unseemly haste," he said. "It is unkind to treat a

stranger thus. Now, as for me, I wouldn't draw on you for your first article, not to be made Governor of Illinois. It would be most unprofessional. Give a man a fair show, 1 say."

"Very good, Mr. Huggins."

"At the same time, Mr. Beck, I do think you've laid yourself open. You are reckless, not to say insulting. Take my case. You never saw me before, and you've had the weakness to speak of me as the gentlemanly editor of the Scalper."

"I'm sure, Mr. Huggins, if the term is offensive—”

"Offensive? Of course it is offensive. But as this is our first interview, I must not let my dander rise.”

"Let it rise by all means, and stay as high as it likes. We may find a way of bringing it down again."

"No, no,” he answered, smiling; "it would be unprofessional. Still, I must say that your sneaking, sniveling city way of speaking will not go down, and I have looked in to tell you that it must not be repeated."

"It shall not be repeated, Mr. Huggins. I shall never again make the mistake of calling you a gentleman."

He started up like a flash, and moved his hand to his breast-pocket.

"What do you mean by that ?"

I was just in time, as I sprung upon and seized him by both arms before he could draw his pistol.

"I mean this," I said: "you've waked up the wrong passenger this time, Mr. Huggins. You needn't wriggle. I've been chucking people through that window all day, and you shall end the lot. But first I want that shootingiron; it might go off by accident and hurt some one badly."

It was a long and mighty contract, for he was as supple as an eel and as wicked as a cat. But I got the best holt at last, relieved him of his pistol, and tossed him through the window.

"Jim," I said to the foreman, as I stretched myself in a

corner, panting and bleeding, "you can shut up. We shan't do any more business to-day."

I issued two more numbers of the Roarer on the same refined and gentlemanly principle, and I fought half the country. But all to no purpose. Neither fighting nor writing could reform those Egyptians.

Huggins shot me through the arm one evening as I was going home from the office. I shall carry his mark to the grave. Three nights later I was waited on by about thirty leading citizens, headed by the mayor. They said they thought Clearville wasn't agreeing with me, and they were come to remove me. I was removed on a plank, escorted by a torch-light procesh of the local fire-brigade. On the platform of the railway-station the mayor delivered a short address. He said, with tears, that the interests of party were above those of individuals, and that a change of residence was necessary for me. Then he put into my hands a purse with two hundred dollars, and we parted with every expression of mutual esteem.

That is how I came up out of the land of Egypt; and that is the whole history of my last connection with the press.

THE OLD WOMAN OF BERKELEY.

Read by J. M. Bellew.

The raven croaked as she sat at her meal,
And the old woman knew what he said;
And she grew pale at the raven's tale,
And sickened and went to her bed.

ROBERT SOUTHEY.

"Now fetch me my children, and fetch them with speed," The old woman of Berkeley said;

"The monk, my son, and my daughter, the nun,

Bid them hasten, or I shall be dead."

The monk, her son, and her daughter, the nun,

Their way to Berkeley went,

And they have brought, with pious thought,
The holy sacrament.

The old woman shriek'd as they enter'd her door,
"Twas fearful her shrieks to hear:
"Now take the sacrament away,

For mercy, my children dear!"

Her lip it trembled with agony,

The sweat ran down her brow:

"I have tortures in store for evermoreOh, spare me, my children, now!"

Away they sent the sacrament,

The fit it left her weak,

She look'd at her children with ghastly eyes,
And faintly struggled to speak.

"All kind of sin I have rioted in,
And the judgment now must be;
But I secured my children's souls-
Oh, pray, my children, for me!

I have suck'd the breath of sleeping babes,
The fiends have been my slaves,

I have 'nointed myself with infants' fat,
And feasted on rifled graves.

And the devil will fetch me now in fire,

My witchcrafts to atone,

And I who have rifled the dead man's grave

Shall never have rest in my own.

Bless, I entreat, my winding sheet,

My children, I beg of you!

And with holy water sprinkle my shroud,

And sprinkle my coffin, too.

And let me be chain'd in my coffin of stone,

And fasten it strong, I implore,

With iron bars, and with three chains

Chain it to the church floor.

And bless the chains and sprinkle them,

And let fifty priests stand round,

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