BOUND TO GET IN.

Daily Telegraph (Napier), Issue 3057, 13 April 1881, Page 4

BOUND TO GET IN.

(San Francisco Post),

He was a consumptive looking young man with hollow eyes, long hair, a chronic Byronic frown, and gloomy tinted finger nails, as it were. In fact, ho was so evidently a poet that the editor of this chaste

: "i.l scowled as he entered, and let off an joum- „_ tll afc the flying editor for internal 0.. , fi when he was most wanted, always being on. # . h(} win ft fcle and "I notice," said w . Qne conciliatory voice, that • ~. T y; . minent pioneer citizens, Mr Jiu. life fc per died this morning, and I thong mebbe you'd like a few appropriate veireferring to the sad event." " Nary verses " said the editor snapping his watch impatiently. " Wouldn't —cr —wouldn't care to throw the lambent glow of poesy around the mystery of the hereafter, then. Don't wish to gild the portals of the tomb with harmonious sympathy and hope, eh ? " " Not a gild," said the editor. "Of course, it—er—the contribution would be a gratuitous one," explained the sweet singer of 'Frisco earnestly. " Tbat is our schedule price for poetry, " said the pencil m'bbler, grimly. " I observe that the rain bas come afc last,' remarked the poet, after an awkward silence. Doesn't it strike you that a few graceful stanzas beginning— Hail! angel tear 3of pity shed Upon the thirsting earth. would form a leading attraction for your weekly edition ?" " 'Fraid not," ejaculated the abstracted shear-shover. " How would a little religious poetry go with your readers during the present revival?" suggested the discouraged young man. The editor shook his head. The visitor gave a despairing sigh. " Perhaps something more lively would better hit the popular taste. What would you say to a humorous incident, in verse, of the late campaign ?" " I should say' Good morning,'" returned the callous crusher of genius, significantly. " Very well, then," said the young man, in so heart-broken and sepulchral a tone tbat even the dramatic editor looked round. " Do you see this manuscript ?" and he pinned a paper to the lapel of his coat. "It is the last note of the dying swan —a poem entitled ' The Nightingale's Farewell to Earth,' by Tennyson Frigget. It will be found on my drifting corpse to-night. There are four copies—one for each of the dailies. lam bound to get in somehow. Farewell! farewell!" and, bursting into tears, the wretched youth hastily left the office and walked rapidly toward the bay.