 | The collected works of Ambrose Bierce |  |
THE SUBDUED EDITOR
Pope-eater Pixley set in his den
A-chewin' upon his quid.
He fancied it Leo Thirteen, and then
He bit it intenser, he did.
A-chewin' upon his quid.
He fancied it Leo Thirteen, and then
He bit it intenser, he did.
The amber which overflew from the cud
Like rivers which burst out of bounds—
'Twas peculiar pleasant to think it blood
A-gushin' from Papal wounds.
Like rivers which burst out of bounds—
'Twas peculiar pleasant to think it blood
A-gushin' from Papal wounds.
A knockin' was heard uponto the door
Where some one a-waitin' was.
“Come in,” said the shedder of priestly gore,
Arrestin' to once his jaws.
Where some one a-waitin' was.
“Come in,” said the shedder of priestly gore,
Arrestin' to once his jaws.
The person which entered was curly of hair
And smilin' as ever you see;
His eyes was blue, and uncommon fair
Was his physiognomee.
And smilin' as ever you see;
His eyes was blue, and uncommon fair
Was his physiognomee.
135
And yet there was some'at remarkable grand—
And the editor says as he looks:
“Your Height” (it was Highness, you understand
That he meant, but he spoke like books)—
And the editor says as he looks:
“Your Height” (it was Highness, you understand
That he meant, but he spoke like books)—
“Your Height, I am in. I'm the editor man
Of this paper—which is to say,
I'm the owner, too, and it's always ran
In the independentest way!
Of this paper—which is to say,
I'm the owner, too, and it's always ran
In the independentest way!
“Not a dam galoot can interfere,
A-shapin' my course for me:
This paper's (and nothing can make it veer)
Pixleian in policee!”
A-shapin' my course for me:
This paper's (and nothing can make it veer)
Pixleian in policee!”
“It's little to me,” said the sunny youth,
“If journals is better or worse:
Where I am to home they won't keep, in truth,
The climate is that perverse.
“If journals is better or worse:
Where I am to home they won't keep, in truth,
The climate is that perverse.
“I've come, howsomever, your mind to light
With a more superior fire:
You'll have naught hencefor'ard to do but write,
While I sets by to inspire.
With a more superior fire:
You'll have naught hencefor'ard to do but write,
While I sets by to inspire.
“We'll make it hot all round, bedad!”
And his laughture was loud and free.
“The devil!” cried Pixley, surpassin' mad.
“Exactly, my friend—that's me.”
And his laughture was loud and free.
“The devil!” cried Pixley, surpassin' mad.
“Exactly, my friend—that's me.”
136
So he took a chair and a feather fan,
And he sets and sets and sets,
Inspirin' that humbled editor man,
Which sweats and sweats and sweats!
And he sets and sets and sets,
Inspirin' that humbled editor man,
Which sweats and sweats and sweats!
All unavailin' his struggles be,
And it's, O, a weepin' sight
To see a great editor, bold and free,
Reducted to sech a plight!
And it's, O, a weepin' sight
To see a great editor, bold and free,
Reducted to sech a plight!
| The collected works of Ambrose Bierce | |