Democratic Sentinel, Volume 7, Number 27, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 3 August 1883 — No Fun Being President. [ARTICLE]

No Fun Being President.

It is notran enjoyable treat sometimes to be the editor of a paper, and mould public opinion at so much per mould, Mid get complimentary tickets to the sleight-of-hand performances, but with its care and worry, its heartaches and apprehensions, it is more oomforting on the whole than being President. When we were a boy, and sat in the front row among the pale-haired boys with checked gingham skirts at the Sun-day-school, imd the teaoher told us to live uprightly and learn a hundred verses of the Scriptures each week so that we could be President, we thought that unruffled, calm, and universal bation waited upon the man who sue cessfully roe© to be the executive of a great Nation. With years, and accumulated wisdom, howeter, we have olianged our mind. Now we ait at our desk and write burning words for the press that will live and keep warm long after we are turned to dust and ashes. We write heavy editorials on the pork outlook, and sadly compose exhaustive treatises on the chinch-bug, while men in other walks of life go put into the health-promoting mountains, and catch trout and wood ticks. Our lot is not, perhaps, a joyous one. We sweiter tnrough the long July days with our suspenders hanging in limp fystoons down over our chair, while we wflN the death-dealing pen, but we do not want to be President. Our salary is smaller, it is true, but when we get through our work in the middle of the night, and put on our plug hat and steal home through the allpervading darkness, we thank our stars, as we split the kindling and bed down the family mule, that on the morrow, Bl#* though we may be licked by the man we wrote up to-day, our official record can not be attacked. There is a nameless joy that settles down upon us as we retire to our simple couch on the floor, and pnll the cellar door over us to keep us warm* which the world can neither give nor take away. We plod along4l|pm day to day, slicing great wads of mental pabulum from our bulging intellect, never murmuring nor complaining when lawyers and physicians put on their broad brim chip hats and go out to the breezy canyoss and the shady glens to regain their health. We just plug along from day to day, eating a hard boiled egg from one hand while we a scathing criticism on the sic transit gloria cucumber with the other. * No, we do not crffVe the proud positron of President, nor do vre hanker to climb to an altitude, where forty or fifty millions of civilized people can distinctly see whether we eat custard pie with a knife or not. Once in a while, however, in the stillness of the night, we kick the covers off, and moan in our dreams as we imagine that we are President, and we wake with the cold, damp sweat (or perspiration, as the oase may be) standing out of every i pore, only to find that we are not Presi- j dent after all, by an overwhelming ma- j jority, and we get np and steal away to ; the rainwater barrel and take a drink, : and go back to a dreamless, snoreless sleep. —Laramie Boomerang.