THE YOUNG EDITOR.
The next number of the Centreville "Gazette" contained the following
notice from the pen of Mr. Anderson:--
"For the first time since our connection with the 'Gazette,' we
purpose taking a brief respite from our duties. The state of our
health renders a vacation desirable, and an opportune invitation from
a brother at the West has been accepted. Our absence may extend to
two or three months. In the interim we have committed the editorial
management to Mr. Harry Walton, who has been connected with the
paper, in a different capacity, for nearly three years. Though Mr.
Walton is a very young man, he has already acquired a reputation, as
contributor to papers of high standing in Boston, and we feel assured
that our subscribers will have no reason to complain of the temporary
change in the editorship."
"The old man has given you quite a handsome notice, Harry," said
Ferguson.
"I hope I shall deserve it," said Harry; "but I begin now to realize
that I am young to assume such responsible duties. It would have
seemed more appropriate for you to undertake them."
"I can't write well enough, Harry. I like to read, but I can't
produce. In regard to the business management I feel competent to
advise."
"I shall certainly be guided by your advice, Ferguson."
As it may interest the reader, we will raise the curtain and show our
young hero in the capacity of editor. The time is ten days after Mr.
Anderson's absence. Harry was accustomed to do his work as
compositor in the forenoon and the early part of the afternoon. From
three to five he occupied the editorial chair, read letters, wrote
paragraphs, and saw visitors. He had just seated himself, when a man
entered the office and looked about him inquisitively.
"I would like to see the editor," he said.
"I am the editor," said Harry, with dignity.
The visitor looked surprised.
"You are the youngest-looking editor I have met," he said. "Have you
filled the office long?"
"Not long," said Harry. "Can I do anything for you?"
"Yes, sir, you can. First let me introduce myself. I am Dr.
Theophilus Peabody."
"Will you be seated, Dr. Peabody?"
"You have probably heard of me before," said the visitor.
"I can't say that I have."
"I am surprised at that," said the doctor, rather disgusted to find
himself unknown. "You must have heard of Peabody's Unfailing
Panacea."
"I am afraid I have not."
"You are young," said Dr. Peabody, compassionately; "that accounts
for it. Peabody's Panacea, let me tell you, sir, is the great remedy
of the age. It has effected more cures, relieved more pain, soothed
more aching bosoms, and done more good, than any other medicine in
existence."
"It must be a satisfaction to you to have conferred such a blessing
on mankind," said Harry, inclined to laugh at the doctor's
magniloquent style.
"It is. I consider myself one of the benefactors of mankind; but,
sir, the medicine has not yet been fully introduced. There are
thousands, who groan on beds of pain, who are ignorant that for the
small sum of fifty cents they could be restored to health and
activity."
"That's a pity."
"It is a pity, Mr. ----"
"Walton."
"Mr. Walton,--I have called, sir, to ask you to co-operate with me in
making it known to the world, so far as your influence extends."
"Is your medicine a liquid?"
"No, sir; it is in the form of pills, twenty-four in a box. Let me
show you."
The doctor opened a wooden box, and displayed a collection of very
unwholesome-looking brown pills.
"Try one, sir; it won't do you any harm."
"Thank you; I would rather not. I don't like pills. What will they
cure?"
"What won't they cure? I've got a list of fifty-nine diseases in my
circular, all of which are relieved by Peabody's Panacea. They may
cure more; in fact, I've been told of a consumptive patient who was
considerably relieved by a single box. You won't try one?"
"I would rather not."
"Well, here is my circular, containing accounts of remarkable cures
performed. Permit me to present you a box."
"Thank you," said Harry, dubiously.
"You'll probably be sick before long," said the doctor, cheerfully,
"and then the pills will come handy."
"Doctor," said Ferguson, gravely, "I find my hair getting thin on top
of the head. Do you think the panacea would restore it?"
"Yes," said the doctor, unexpectedly. "I had a case, in Portsmouth,
of a gentleman whose head was as smooth as a billiard-ball. He took
the pills for another complaint, and was surprised, in the course of
three weeks, to find young hair sprouting all over the bald spot.
Can't I sell you half-a-dozen boxes? You may have half a dozen for
two dollars and a half."
Ferguson, who of course had been in jest, found it hard to forbear
laughing, especially when Harry joined the doctor in urging him to
purchase.
"Not to-day," he answered. "I can try Mr. Walton's box, and if it
helps me I can order some more."
"You may not be able to get it, then," said the doctor, persuasively.
"I may not be in Centreville."
"If the panacea is well known, I can surely get it without
difficulty."
"Not so cheap as I will sell it."
"I won't take any to-day," said Ferguson, decisively.
"You haven't told me what I can do for you," said Harry, who found
the doctor's call rather long.
"I would like you to insert my circular to your paper. It won't take
more than two columns."
"We shall be happy to insert it at regular advertising rates."
"I thought," said Dr. Peabody, disappointed, "that you might do it
gratuitously, as I had given you a box."
"We don't do business on such terms," said Harry. "I think I had
better return the box."
"No, keep it," said the doctor. "You will be willing to notice it,
doubtless."
Harry rapidly penned this paragraph, and read it aloud:--
"Dr. Theophilus Peabody has left with us a box of his Unfailing
Panacea, which he claims will cure a large variety of diseases."
"Couldn't you give a list of the diseases?" insinuated the doctor.
"There are fifty-nine, you said?"
"Yes, sir."
"Then I am afraid we must decline."
Harry resumed his writing, and the doctor took his leave, looking far
from satisfied.
"Here, Ferguson," said Harry, after the visitor had retired, "take
the pills, and much good may they do you. Better take one now for
the growth of your hair."
It was fortunate that Dr. Peabody did not hear the merriment that
followed, or he would have given up the editorial staff of the
Centreville "Gazette" as maliciously disposed to underrate his
favorite medicine.
"Who wouldn't be an editor?" said Harry.
"I notice," said Ferguson, "that pill-tenders and blacking
manufacturers are most liberal to the editorial profession. I only
wish jewellers and piano manufacturers were as free with their
manufactures. I would like a good gold watch, and I shall soon want
a piano for my daughter."
"You may depend upon it, Ferguson, when such gifts come in, that I
shall claim them as editorial perquisites."
"We won't quarrel about them till they come, Harry."
Our hero here opened a bulky communication.
"What is that?" asked Ferguson.
"An essay on 'The Immortality of the Soul,'--covers fifteen pages
foolscap. What shall I do with it?"
"Publish it in a supplement with Dr. Peabody's circular."
"I am not sure but the circular would be more interesting reading."
"From whom does the essay come?"
"It is signed 'L. S.'"
"Then it is by Lemuel Snodgrass, a retired schoolteacher, who fancies
himself a great writer."
"He'll be offended if I don't print it, won't he?"
"I'll tell you how to get over that. Say, in an editorial paragraph,
'We have received a thoughtful essay from 'L. S.', on 'The
Immortality of the Soul.' We regret that its length precludes our
publishing it in the 'Gazette.' We would suggest to the author to
print it in a pamphlet.' That suggestion will be regarded as
complimentary, and we may get the job of printing it."
"I see you are shrewd, Ferguson. I will follow your advice."