A LITERARY QUESTION.

Daily Telegraph (Napier), Issue 3052, 7 April 1881, Page 4

A LITERARY QUESTION.

''jWhat seems to be the matter hero ?" inquired the city editor as he entered the local room and found two reporters rolling over each other on the floor. " Stop this! What's the trouble ?"

" He says my account of the funeral yesterday was all slush," panted one of the contestants, climbing to his feet. " It's twice as good as his account of the fire." " Tisn't either," objected the other. " I can write all around him with one hand, and lick him with the other. Look at his funeral business. He says : " The corpse stood in a neat casket, which looked as natural as life ; while the organ strains blended with a fine cross and anchor of tubersoses, presented to the deceased by his partners as a token of their esteem.' "

" Well, -wasn't it ?" demanded the funeral reporter. " See how he puts out his iire -. ' Engine No. 6 got the first stream on the Fire Fiend, who shot forth his starry tongne and rolled his eyes savagely as the crystal drops fell thick and swift on his red and yellow hide. At this juncture the hose burst, and but for the prompt arrival of N T o. 4 the monster would hare striled through the city, leaving a burning pathway of widows and orphans.' " " So he would," proclaimed the fire reporter. " When No. 4 arrived he had the bulge. But look at this for a funeral notice : ' The mourners were vailed, but not so keenly as to hide their sobs from the keen observer. A dim religious light prevailed, contrasting pleasantly with the discourse, -which was calculated to comfort those who were weary and heavy laden, of which there were six, all prominent citizens, who officiated as pall bearers.' That's what I called slush."

" What does he know about writing ?" demanded the funeral reporter. " Listen to his fire a minute : ' The flames burst out of a common kitchen stove, and, rejoicing in •■•heir freedom, poured with a wild roar of "hter into the adjoining room used by ' au fe- 'Meara as a tailor's shop. Up the • ? In orways they climbed, shrieking side of the v. towards the residing with fiendish Thompson, when they rooms of Mr Amos ~ hof fch ' were chocked by the gus*. , . ,f, " engines, and dropped affright*,. 1 floor into Antonelli's barber es\*? ilßnment below.' Call that sense ?' "Certainly!" defended the author. " That's what they did, and I wrote up the facts. Talk about writing ! Look at this : ' The respect in which the deceased was held was testified by the energy displayed by the mourners in their efforts to secure front seats. Long before the hour appointed the house was crowded, and hundreds were turned away. At the conclusion of the ceremony the preacher announced that all who desired to glance" at the features of the dead party would please step forward, and the scene that followed' beggars description, while the organ played a* sad , ana from Offenbach's oratorio of " Solomon."'' What does that mean ?"

"You just let it alone," defied the •funeral: reporter. "How's this? 'For hours the hissing water and the battling tfames wrestled for mastery. At length the wearied mass of furious fire, with one expiring effort reached its blazing arms towards the frowning zenith, and with a shudder of despair sank before its hereditary foe. Loss, 200dol; no insurance, . Call that reporting ? I don't."

" Don't, eh ?" demanded the fire reporter. And the city editor left them rolling on the floor again. There are some questions an umpire cannot decide. —' Brooklyn Eagle."