Has arrived, and-will remain only a short time. Call at once at HOTEL
WINDSOR, 119, 121 and 123 East State street, Room 19, third floor.
Please take elevator.
The greatest and most natural born, and highly celebrated, and
well-known all over the country, Clairvoyant, now traveling on the road,
and Wonder from the Pacific coast.
Seventh Daughter of the Seventh Daughter; born with veil and second
sight; every mystery revealed; if one you love is true or false; removes
trouble; settles lovers' quarrels; causes a speedy marriage with one you
Jove; valuable information to gentlemen on all business transactions;
how to make profitable investments for speedy riches; lucky numbers;
Egyptian talisman for the un lucky; cures mysterious and chronic
diseases. All who are sick or in trouble from any cause are invited to
call without delay.
I have always claimed that clairvoyance could be made a success if we
could find some one who was sufficiently natural born to grapple with
it. Now, Mrs. Edwards seems to know what is required. She was born
utterly without affectation. When she was born she just seemed to say to
those who happened to be present at the time, "Fellow citizens, you will
have to take me just as you find me. I cannot dissemble or appear to
be otherwise than what I am. I am the most natural born and highly
celebrated all over the country clairvoyant now traveling on the road,
and Wonder from the Pacific coast." She then let off a whoop that ripped
open the sable robes of night, after which she took a light lunch and
retired to her dressing-room.
Ex-Mayor Henry C. Robinson, of Hartford, Conn., if I am not mistaken,
suggested a school of journalism at least twelve years ago, but it did
not meet with immediate and practical indorsement. Now Cornell comes
forward and seems to be in earnest, and I am glad of it. The letters
received from day to day by editors, and written to them by men engaged
in other pursuits, practically admit and prove that there is not now in
existence an editor who knows enough to carry liver to a bear.
That is the reason why every means should be used to pull this
profession out of the mire of dense ignorance and place it upon the
high, dry soil which leads to genius and consanguinity.
The above paragraph I quote from a treatise on journalism which I wrote
just before I knew anything about it.
The life of the journalist is a hard one, and, although it is not
so trying as the life of the newspaper man, it is full of trials and
perplexities. If newspaper men and journalists did not stand by each
other I do not know what joy they would have. Kindness for each other,
gentleness and generosity, even in their rivalry, characterize the
conduct of a large number of them.
I shall never forget my first opportunity to do a kind act for a fellow
newspaper man, nor with what pleasure I availed myself of it, though
he was my rival, especially in the publication of large and spirited
equestrian handbills and posters. He also printed a rival paper and
assailed me most bitterly from time to time. His name was Lorenzo Dow
Pease, and we had carried on an acrimonious warfare for two years. He
had said that I was a reformed Prohibitionist and that I had left a
neglected wife in every State in the Union. I had stated that he would
give better satisfaction if he would wear his brains breaded. Then he
had said something else that was personal and it had gone on so for
some time. We devoted fifteen minutes each day to the management of our
respective papers, and the balance of the day to doing each other up in
a way to please our subscribers.
One evening Lorenzo Dow Pease came into my office and said he wanted to
see me personally. I said that would suit me exactly and that if he
had asked to see me in any other way I did not know how I could have
arranged it. He said he meant that he would like to see me by myself. I
therefore discharged the force, turned out the dog and we had the office
to ourselves. I could see that he was in trouble, for every little while
he would brush away a tear in an underhanded kind of way and swallow
a large, imaginary mass of something. I asked Lorenzo why he felt so
depressed, and he said: "William, I have came here for a favor." He
always said "I have came," for he was a self-made man and hadn't done a
very good job either. "I have came here for a favor. I wrote a reply to
your venomous attack of to-day and I expected to publish it to-morrow in
my paper, but, to tell you the truth, we are out of paper. At least, we
have a few bundles at the freight office, but they have taken to sending
it C. O. D., and I haven't the means just at hand to take it out. Now,
as a brother in the great and glorious order of journalism, would it be
too much for you to loan me a couple of bundles of paper to do me till I
get my pay for some equestrian bills struck off Friday and just as good
as the wheat?"
"How long would a couple of bundles last you?" I asked as I looked out
at the window and wondered if he would reveal his circulation.
"Five issues and a little over," he said, filling his pipe from a small
box on the desk.
"But you could cut off your exchanges and then it would last longer," I
remarked.
"Yes, but only for one additional issue. I am very anxious to appear
to-morrow, because my subscribers will be looking for a reply to what
you said about me this morning. You stated that I was 'a journalistic
bacteria looking for something to infect,' and while I did not come here
to get you to retract, I would like it as a favor if you would loan me
enough white paper to set myself straight before my subscribers."
"Well, why don't you go and tell them about it? It wouldn't take long,"
I said in a jocund way, slapping Lorenzo on the back. But he did not
laugh. I then told him that we only had paper enough to last us till
our next bill came, and so I could not possibly loan any, but that if he
would write a caustic reply to my editorial I would print it for him. He
caught me in his arms and then for a moment his head was pillowed on my
breast. Then he sat down and wrote the following card:
Editor of the Boomerang:
Will you allow me through your columns to state that in your issue
of yesterday you did me a great injustice by referring to me as a
journalistic bacteria looking for something to infect; also, as a lop
eared germ of contagion, and warning people to vaccinate in order
to prevent my spread? I denounce the whole article as a malicious
falsehood, and state that if you will only give me a chance I will fight
you on sight. All I ask is that you will wait till I can overtake you,
and I am able and willing to knock great chunks off the universe with
you. I do not ask any favors of an editor who misleads his subscribers
and intentionally misunderstands his correspondents; a man who advises
an anxious inquirer who wants to know "how to get a cheap baby buggy" to
leave the child at a cheap hotel; a man who assumes to wear brains,
but who really thinks with a fungus growth; a man the bleak and
barren exterior of whose head is only equalled by its bald and echoing
interior.
Lorenzo Dow Pease.
I looked it over, and as there didn't seem to be anything personal in
it, I told him I would print it for him with pleasure. He then asked
that I would, as a further favor, refrain from putting any advertising
marks on it and that I would make it follow pure reading matter, which
I did. I leaded the card and printed it with a simple word of
introduction, in which I said that I took pleasure in printing it,
inasmuch as Mr. Pease could not get his paper out of the express office
for a few days. It was a kindness to him and did not hurt my paper in
the end.
There are many reasons why the establishment of a department of
journalism at Cornell will be a good move, and I believe that while it
will not take the place of actual experience, it will serve to shorten
the apprenticeship of a young newspaper man and the fatigue of starting
the amateur in journalism will be divided between the managing editor
and the tutor. It will also give the aspiring sons of wealthy parents
a chance to toy with journalism without interfering with those who are
actually engaged in it.