Editorial Wild Oats | Page 8

to be a "lesson" to us? And, above all, what
has the intoxicating "bowl" got to do with it, anyhow? It is not stated
that Schuyler drank, or that his wife drank, or that his mother-in-law
drank, or that the horse drank--wherefore, then, the reference to the
intoxicating bowl? It does seem to me that if Mr. Bloke had let the
intoxicating bowl alone himself, he never would have got into so much
trouble about this exasperating imaginary accident. I have read this
absurd item over and over again, with all its insinuating plausibility,
until my head swims, but I can make neither head nor tail of it. There
certainly seems to have been an accident of some kind or other, but it is
impossible to determine what the nature of it was, or who was the
sufferer by it. I do not like to do it, but I feel compelled to request that
the next time anything happens to one of Mr. Bloke's friends, he will
append such explanatory notes to his account of it as will enable me to
find out what sort of an accident it was and whom it happened to. I had
rather all his friends should die than that I should be driven to the verge
of lunacy again in trying to cipher out the meaning of another such
production as the above.
[Illustration: "I HAVE READ THIS ABSURD ITEM OVER"]

How I Edited an Agricultural Paper
I did not take temporary editorship of an agricultural paper without
misgivings. Neither would a landsman take command of a ship without
misgivings. But I was in circumstances that made the salary an object.
The regular editor of the paper was going off for a holiday, and I
accepted the terms he offered, and took his place.

The sensation of being at work again was luxurious, and I wrought all
the week with unflagging pleasure. We went to press, and I waited a
day with some solicitude to see whether my effort was going to attract
any notice. As I left the office, towards sundown, a group of men and
boys at the foot of the stairs dispersed with one impulse, and gave me
passageway, and I heard one or two of them say, "That's him!" I was
naturally pleased by this incident. The next morning I found a similar
group at the foot of the stairs, and scattering couples and individuals
standing here and there in the street, and over the way, watching me
with interest. The group separated and fell back as I approached, and I
heard a man say, "Look at his eye!" I pretended not to observe the
notice I was attracting, but secretly I was pleased with it, and was
purposing to write an account of it to my aunt. I went up the short flight
of stairs, and heard cheery voices and a ringing laugh as I drew near the
door, which I opened, and caught a glimpse of two young rural-looking
men, whose faces blanched and lengthened when they saw me, and
then they both plunged through the window with a great crash. I was
surprised.
In about half an hour an old gentleman, with a flowing beard and a fine
but rather austere face, entered, and sat down at my invitation. He
seemed to have something on his mind. He took off his hat and set it on
the floor, and got out of it a red silk handkerchief and a copy of our
paper.
He put the paper on his lap, and while he polished his spectacles with
his handkerchief, he said, "Are you the new editor?"
I said I was.
"Have you ever edited an agricultural paper before?"
"No," I said; "this is my first attempt."
"Very likely. Have you had any experience in agriculture practically?"
"No; I believe I have not."

"Some instinct told me so," said the old gentleman, putting on his
spectacles, and looking over them at me with asperity, while he folded
his paper into a convenient shape. "I wish to read you what must have
made me have that instinct. It was this editorial. Listen, and see if it
was you that wrote it:
"Turnips should never be pulled, it injures them. It is much better to
send a boy up and let him shake the tree."
"Now, what do you think of that--for I really suppose you wrote it?"
"Think of it? Why, I think it is good. I think it is sense. I have no doubt
that every year millions and millions of bushels of turnips are spoiled in
this township alone by being pulled in a half-ripe condition, when, if
they had sent a boy up to shake the tree--"
"Shake your grandmother! Turnips don't grow on trees!"
"Oh, they