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      How I Edited an Agricultural Paper (Once)

      I did not take temporary editorship of an agricultural paper without misgivings. But I was in circumstances that made the salary an object. The regular editor of the paper was going off for a holiday, and I accepted the terms he offered, and took his place.

      The sensation of being at work again was luxurious, and I worked all the week with pleasure. We went to press, and I waited a day to see whether my effort was going to attract any notice. As I left the office in the evening, a group of men and boys at the foot of the stairs gave me passageway, and I heard one or two of them say: “That’s him!” I was naturally pleased by this incident. The next morning I found a similar group at the foot of the stairs, and couples and individuals standing here and there in the street, and over the way, watching me with interest. I heard one man say, “Look at his eye!” I pretended not to observe the attention I was attracting, but secretly I was pleased with it. I went up the stairs, and heard cheery voices and a laugh as I approached the door. I opened it and saw two young rural-looking men, whose faces went pale when they saw me, and then they both jumped through the window with a great crash. I was surprised.

      In about half an hour an old gentleman entered, and sat down at my invitation. He seemed to have something on his mind. He took off his hat and set it on the floor, and got out of it a red silk handkerchief and a copy of our paper.

      He put the paper on his lap and said, “Are you the new editor?”

      I said I was.

      “Have you ever edited an agricultural paper before?”

      “No,” I said; “this is my first attempt.”

      “I thought so. Have you had any experience in agriculture practically?”

      “No. I believe I have not.”

      “Some instinct told me so,” said the old gentleman, putting on his spectacles, and looking over them at me, while he folded his paper into a convenient shape. “I wish to read you what must have made me have that instinct. Listen, and see if it was you that wrote it: ‘Turnips should never be pulled, it injures them. It is much better to send a boy up and let him shake the tree.’ ”

      “Now, what do you think of that? – for I really suppose you wrote it?”

      “Think of it? Why, I think it is good. I have no doubt that every year millions and millions of turnips are spoiled in this township alone by being pulled in a half-ripe condition, when, if they had sent a boy to shake the tree… “

      “Shake your grandmother! Turnips don’t grow on trees!”

      “Oh, don’t they? Well, who said they did? The language was intended to be figurative. Anybody that knows anything will know that I meant that the boy should shake the vine.”

      Then this old person got up and tore his paper all into small pieces, and stamped on them, and broke several things with his cane, and said I did not know as much as a cow; and then went out, and, in short, acted in such a way that I felt that he was displeased about something. But not knowing what the trouble was, I could not be any help to him.

      Pretty soon after this a long creature, with thin locks hanging down to his shoulders, entered the office and halted, motionless, with finger on lip, and head and body bent in listening attitude. No sound was heard. Still he listened. No sound. Then he turned the key in the door, and tiptoed toward me. He was within long reaching distance of me, when he stopped. He scanned my face with interest for a while, drew a folded copy of our paper from his bosom, and said: