That day the editor ceased to edit.  His wife was a widow.

A country editor wrote:  “Brother, don’t stop your paper just because you don’t agree with the editor.  The last cabbage you sent us didn’t agree with us either, but we didn’t drop you from our subscription list on that account.”

The girl reporter accepted the editor’s invitation to dinner and when asked how she enjoyed it, said: 

“Oh, fine, but I’ll never go to dinner with an editor again.”

“Why not?”

“Well, the dinner was fine, but he blue-penciled about three-quarters of my order.”

You may know the trade classic about the exchange editor.  The new owner of the newspaper asked who that man was in the corner.  “The exchange editor,” he was informed.  “Well, fire him,” said he.  “All he seems to do is sit there and read all day.”

A little boy was given the stunt by his father to write an essay on editors and here is the result: 

“If an editor makes a mistake folks say he ought to be hung; but if a doctor makes a mistake he buries it and people dassent say nothing because doctors can read and write Latin.  When the editor makes a mistake there is lawsuits and a big fuss; but if a doctor makes one there is a funeral, cut flowers and perfek silence.  A doctor can use a word a yard long without anyone knowing what it means; but if the editor uses one he has to spell it.  If the doctor goes to see another man’s wife he charges for the visit but if the editor goes he gets a charge of buckshot.  When the doctor gets drunk it’s a case of being overcome by the heat and if he dies it’s from heart trouble; when an editor gets drunk it’s a case of too much booze and if he dies it’s the jim-jams.  Any college can make a doctor; an editor has to be born.”

Wanted, an editor, who can read, write and argue politics, and at the same time be religious, funny, scientific and historical at will, write to please everybody, know everything, without asking or being told, always having something good to say of everything and everybody else, live on wind and make more money than enemies.  For such a man, a good opening will be made in the “graveyard.”  He is too good to live.

Life in a newspaper office is one compliment after another.  “You look so funny when you think,” observed the blandishing Miss Harriette Underbill as she passed the given point known as our desk late yesterday afternoon.

COUNTRY EDITOR (to new assistant)—­“I shall expect you to write all the editorials, do the religious and sporting departments and turn out a joke column.”

ASSISTANT—­“What are you going to do?”

“Edit your copy.”

EDUCATION

Education—­the sum total of all the things we haven’t been taught.

WILLIE (doing his homework)—­“What is the distance to the nearest star, Auntie?”

“I’m sure I don’t know, Willie.”