I have puzzled my brains to know what it all means, but I confess I
can't make it out. I fancy I know a boat when I see one, and of course
these ridiculous affairs can't be boats.
Be good enough to send me, by return, at least L100. It's a very
difficult and expensive thing to support the dignity of your paper in
this town. Whiskey is very dear, and a great deal goes a very short
way.
Yours sincerely,
THE MAN AT THE OAR.
_Henley-on-Thames, July 4_.
* * * * *
A COMMON COMPLAINT.
(_BY A DAILY VICTIM._)
[Illustration]
O Editors, who earn your daily bread
By giving us all kinds of information,
There's something that I fear ought to be said,
Which may--which will arouse your indignation;
For you may not be happy when it's more than hinted
Your news is such that we can't read it when it's printed.
Yet I would have you fully understand
The real reason why I choose to quarrel
With what you print--your columns are not banned
Because their contents are at all immoral
Yet if there _is_ a scandal, though a small amount of it,
You sometimes soil your pages with a long account of it.
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