University of Virginia Library

INTERVIEW BETWEEN THE EDITOR AND PHŒNIX.

The Thomas Hunt had arrived, she lay at the wharf at
New Town, and a rumor had reached our ears that “the

“Judge” was on board. Public anxiety had been excited to
the highest pitch to witness the result of the meeting between
us. It had been stated publicly that “the Judge”
would whip us the moment he arrived; but though we
thought a conflict probable, we had never been very sanguine
as to its terminating in this manner. Coolly we gazed
from the window of the Office upon the New Town road; we
descried a cloud of dust in the distance; high above it waved
a whip lash, and we said, “the Judge” cometh, and “his
driving is like that of Jehu the son of Nimshi, for he driveth
furiously.”

Calmly we seated ourselves in the “arm chair,” and continued
our labors upon our magnificent Pictorial. Anon, a
step, a heavy step, was heard upon the stairs, and “the
Judge” stood before us.

“In shape and gesture proudly eminent, stood like a
tower:...... but his face deep scars of thunder had intrenched,
and care sat on his faded cheek; but under brows
of dauntless courage and considerate pride, waiting revenge.”

We rose, and with an unfaltering voice said: “Well,
Judge, how do you do?” He made no reply, but commenced
taking off his coat.

We removed ours, also our cravat.

The sixth and last round, is described by the pressman
and compositors, as having been fearfully scientific. We held

“the Judge” down over the Press by our nose (which we
had inserted between his teeth for that purpose), and while
our hair was employed in holding one of his hands, we held
the other in our left, and with the “sheep's foot” brandished
above our head, shouted to him, “say Waldo,” Never! he
gasped—
At this moment, we discovered that we had been laboring
under a “misunderstanding,” and through the amicable intervention
of the pressman, who thrust a roller between our
faces (which gave the whole affair a very different complexion),
the matter was finally settled on the most friendly
terms—“and without prejudice to the honor of either
party.” We write this while sitting without any clothing,
except our left stocking, and the rim of our hat encircling our
neck like a `ruff' of the Elizabethan era—that article of
dress having been knocked over our head at an early stage
of the proceedings, and the crown subsequently torn off,
while the Judge is sopping his eye with cold water, in the
next room, a small boy standing beside the sufferer with a
basin, and glancing with interest over the advertisements on
the second page of the San Diego Herald, a fair copy of
which was struck off upon the back of his shirt, at the time
we held him over the Press. Thus ends our description of
this long anticipated personal collision, of which the public
can believe precisely as much as they please; if they disbelieve
the whole of it, we shall not be at all offended, but
can simply quote as much to the point, what might have been
the commencement of our epitaph, had we fallen in the
conflict,

“Here Lies Phœnix.'