Hunting trouble is too fashionable in this world.Contentment and jollity are not cultivated as they should be.There are too many prematurely-wrinkled long and melancholy faces among us.There is too much swearing, sweating and slashing, fuming, foaming and fretting around and about us all.
"A mad world, my masters."
People rush outdoors bareheaded and barefooted, as it were, and dash blindly into all sorts of dark alleys in quest of all sorts of Trouble, when, "Goodness knows," if they will only sit calmly and pleasantly by their firesides, Trouble will knock soon enough at their doors.
Hunting Trouble is bad business.If we ever are induced to descend from our present proud position to become a member of the Legislature, or ever accumulate sufficient muscle, impudence, and taste for bad liquor to go to Congress, we shall introduce "a william" for the suppression of Trouble-hunting.We know Miss Slinkins, who incessantly frets because Miss Slurkins is better harnessed than she is, won't like it; and we presume the Simpkinses, who worry so much because the Perkinses live in a freestone-fronted house whilst theirs is only plain brick, won't like it also.It is doubtful, too, whether our long-haired friends the Reformers (who think the machinery of the world is all out of joint, while we think it only needs a little greasing to run in first-rate style), will approve the measure.It is probable, indeed, that very many societies, of a reformatory (and inflammatory) character, would frown upon the measure.But the measure would be a good one nevertheless.
Never hunt Trouble.However dead a shot one may be, the gun he carries on such expeditions is sure to kick or go off half-cocked.
Trouble will come soon enough, and when he does come, receive him as pleasantly as possible.Like the tax-collector, he is a disagreeable chap to have in one's house, but the more amiably you greet him the sooner he will go away.
1.52.DARK DOINGS.
Four promising young men of this city attended a ball in the rural districts not long since.At a late hour they retired, leaving word with the clerk of the hotel to call them early in the morning, as they wanted to take the first train home.The clerk was an old friend of the "fellers," and he thought he would have a slight joke at their expense.So he burnt some cork, and, with a sponge, blacked the faces of his city friends after they had got soundly asleep.In the morning he called them about ten minutes before the train came along.Feller No.1 awoke and laughed boisterously at the sight which met his gaze.But he saw through it--the clerk had played his good joke on his three comrades, and of course he would keep mum.But it was a devilish good joke.Feller No.2 awoke, saw the three black men in the room, comprehended the joke, and laughed vociferously.But he would keep mum.Fellers No.3 and 4 awoke, and experienced the same pleasant feeling; and there was the beautiful spectacle of four nice young men laughing heartily one at another, each one supposing the "urban clerk" had spared him in his cork-daubing operations.They had only time to dress before the train arrived.They all got aboard, each thinking what a glorious joke it was to have his three companions go back to town with black faces.The idea was so rich that they all commenced laughing violently as soon as they got aboard the cars.The other passengers took to laughing also, and fun raged fast and furious, until the benevolent baggage-man, seeing how matters stood, brought a small pocket-glass and handed it around to the young men.They suddenly stopped laughing, rushed wildly for the baggage-car, washed their faces, and amused and instructed each other during the remainder of the trip with some eloquent flashes of silence.
1.53.REPORTERS.
The following paragraph is going the rounds:--"How many a great man is now basking in the sunshine of fame generously bestowed upon him by the prolific genius of some reporter! How many stupid orations have been made brilliant, how many wandering, pointless, objectless, speeches put in form and rendered at least readable, by the unknown reporter! How many a disheartened speaker, who was conscious the night before of a failure, before a thin, cold, spiritless audience, awakes delighted to learn that he has addressed an overwhelming assemblage of his enthusiastic, appreciating fellow-citizens, to find his speech sparkling with 'cheers,' breaking out into 'immense applause,' and concluding amidst 'the wildest excitement!'"There is considerable truth in the above, we are sorry to state.
Reporters are too apt to smooth over and give a fair face to the stupidity and bombast of political and other public humbugs.For this they are not only seldom thanked, but frequently are kicked.
Of course this sort of thing is wrong.A Reporter should be independent enough to meet the approaches of gentlemen of the Nincompoop persuasion with a flat rebuff.He should never gloss over a political humbug, whether he belongs to "our side" or not.
He is not thanked for doing it, and, furthermore, he loses the respect and confidence of his readers.There are many amiable gentlemen ornamenting the various walks of life, who are under the impression that for a dozen bad cigars or a few drinks of worse whisky they can purchase the "opinion" of almost any Reporter.It has been our pleasure on several occasions to disabuse those gentlemen of this impression.
