THE WAIL OF A PROOF-READER.
Made During a Fearful "Spell" of Weather by One of 'Em.
With fingers weary and worn,
And nose quite puffy and red,
A Proof-reader sat in his old linen coat,
With a snorting "cold in 'is ead."
With handkerchief in his left,
And pen in his dexter paw,
The miserable man first blew his nose,
Then thus let loose his jaw:
Read, read, read,
With tears rolling down from my eyes,
Read, read, read,
Till I can't tell l's from i's.
Read, read, read,
In pain, confusion, and noise,
And bored by a voice of dolorous pitch
Belonging to "one of the boys."
Read, read, read,
In the story next to the roof:
Read, read, read,
Till my soul is lost in the proof.
It's oh to be a Hottentot
In the burning sand,
Where never an author sent a lot
Of manuscript the "devil" could not,
Nor the "reader" understand!
Read, read, read,
Till my weary spirits sink,
And mark, mark, mark,
While mind ebbs with the ink.
French, and Latin, and Greek!
Hebrew, Spanish, and Dutch!
Poring o'er all till my eyes grow weak,
And I seem to be, by Fancy's freak,
But a part of the pen I clutch.
Oh, but to "DELE" work!
To "transpose" toil for rest!
To "make up" life's remaining years
On smiling Nature's breast!
A "space" of time to join the "chase,"
Some "quoins" to see me through!
A good "fat take" of these I want,
But a few large "notes" MIGHT do.
Oh, for a brief respite
From toilsome pen and proof!
An "out," while I might calmly seek
A "double" who would share my roof;
The "sort" that could "correct" my "forme,"
And save me from life's many traps,
And round our "table" smiling "set"
Sweet "fat-faced" MINIONS in "SMALL CAPS!"
L. F. THOMAS.
The British and Colonial Stationer, May, 1884.