I have heard people speak well of the editorials in our chief London rival, but they are not thought much of in Ballybun; they haven’t the flavour.  Our paper used to be strongly political, but the increase in the number of subscribers did not pay for the libel actions, and so of late we have been cultivating an open mind and advertisements.  It is true that even so it was impossible for Casey, our editor, to steer wholly clear of vexed political questions, but his latest manner was admirably statesmanlike.  He would summarise the opposing views of our eight or nine parties and then state boldly that he agreed with most of them, and as for the rest he would not shrink to declare, in the face of the world if necessary, that they were full of an intellectual Zeitgeist, unfortunately only too sporadic.  He would then sum up by drawing attention to the bargain sale of white goods at the Ballybun Emporium.  Everybody liked this, and the Ballybun Bon Marche would send in its advertisement for our next week’s issue.

The Binnacle has ceased publication, of course, before.  When the editor took his summer holiday or went to a friend’s wedding in the country he would often leave the bringing of it out to his staff.  The latter used normally to edit the sporting and fashionable columns and was called Flannagan, but had only one eye and was somewhat eccentric.  Flannagan couldn’t be bothered sometimes and sometimes he would go fishing.  Still, although the paper would not come out just when we expected, Flannagan might relent and bring it out two or three days later, and at all events he always told us the news whenever he met us in the street.

Thus we could not strictly say that we had no local newspaper.  But now, I fear, the case is altered, and The Binnacle has been killed solely by its own popularity.

It doesn’t do for an editor to be too popular.  People used to drop in on Casey at all hours of the day and lend a hand and smoke his tobacco and try to borrow money.  His sanctum became the fashionable lounge of the Ballybun elite.  A great gap was caused in the front of the paper amongst the best paying advertisements by Kelly’s trying to clean his pipe with part of the linotype machine.  Casey noticed this, and further attributed the matter to the Censor, whom he attacked vigorously in a leading article for trying to throttle the safety-valve of trade by inoculating the thin end of the wedge; he will do this again, he added, at his own peril.  He also told Kelly the same.

As our respected Member of Parliament is hanging tenaciously on to life, and we could not very well invite him to create a vacancy, we were at a loss how to mark our esteem for our popular editor in a practical manner.  Casey himself suggested a testimonial.  His friends, however, said that nothing sordid should ever enter into the feelings with which they regarded him, and decided finally on electing him to the second highest office a layman in our part can hope to hold.  He was elected Judge—­“unanimously,” as he put it, “by 29 to 3”—­and the race meeting came off last week.  We hate to hold it in war-time, but the breed of horses and bookies must be kept up.  Even the bed-ridden took a day off and trooped to it.