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A Louisville journalist was excessively proud of his little boy. Turning
to the old black nurse, "Aunty," said he, stroking the little pate,
"this boy seems to have a journalistic head." "Oh," cried the untutored
old aunty, soothingly, "never you mind 'bout dat; dat'll come right in
time."


John R. McLean, owner of the Cincinnati _Enquirer_ and the Washington
_Post_, tells this story of the days when he was actively in charge of
the Cincinnati newspaper: An _Enquirer_ reporter was sent to a town in
southwestern Ohio to get the story of a woman evangelist who had been
greatly talked about. The reporter attended one of her meetings and
occupied a front seat. When those who wished to be saved were asked to
arise, he kept his seat and used his notebook. The evangelist
approached, and, taking him by the hand, said, "Come to Jesus."

"Madam," said the newspaper man, "I'm here solely on business--to report
your work."

"Brother," said she, "there is no business so important as God's."

"Well, may be not," said the reporter; "but you don't know John R.
McLean."


A newspaper man named Fling
Could make "copy" from any old thing.
But the copy he wrote
Of a five dollar note
Was so good he is now in Sing Sing.

--_Columbia Jester_.


"Come in," called the magazine editor.

"Sir, I have called to see about that article of mine that you bought
two years ago. My name is Pensnink--Percival Perrhyn Pensnink. My
composition was called 'The Behavior of Chipmunks in Thunderstorms,' and
I should like to know how much longer I must watch and wait before I
shall see it in print."

"I remember," the editor replied. "We are saving your little essay to
use at the time of your death. When public attention is drawn to an
author we like to have something of his on hand."


Hear, land o' cakes, and brither Scots,
Frae Maidenkirk to Johnny Groat's;
If there's a hole in a' your coats,
I rede you tent it:
A chiel's amang you taking notes,
And, faith, he'll prent it.

--_Burns_.


_See also_ Newspapers.





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