"Appalin' sensation 'n Firs' Ward. Shend four, five reporters my house at onesh. I'm goin' back now. Had _twins_ my housh when lef' home. Goin' back to shee 'f any more 'rived. Come back 'n let you know if find any. Sho long, gen'lemen. Keep two columns on front page open 'till get back." Later on three or four young gentlemen drop in. They speak low, and are courteous and conciliatory. They are well-dressed, carry canes and seem to have been out enjoying themselves. One or two of them have torn coats and disarranged ties. One has a handkerchief bound over his eye. They confer deferentially with the city editor, and certain words and phrases, half-caught, tell the tale of their mission: "Unfortunate affair--police--best families--publicity--not seriously hurt--upper circles too much wine--keep out names--heated argument--very sorry--friends again." Comes the hot lunch man with his basket filled with weirnerwurst and mustard, ham sandwiches, boiled eggs, cold chicken. The staff is too busy, and he lugs his basket upstairs where the printers are at work. A boy brings in a special telegram. The night editor opens and reads it, and then springs to his feet. He grasps a handful of his hair and kicks his chair ten feet away. "---- ---- ---- ---- ---- ----" he yells. "Listen to this." It is a special by wire from a country correspondent. This is what it says: "Spring has opened here. The birds are singing merrily in the trees and the peach trees are in full bloom. The weather has moderated considerably and the farmers are hopeful. The fruit crop will be assured unless we should have a cold snap sufficient to injure the buds." "---- ---- ---- ---- ---- ----" remarks the night editor again, and then, his vocabulary failing to express his feelings, he bites his cigar in two and sits down again. A man in a seedy frock coat and a big walking cane saunters in and draws a chair close to the night editor's desk. "When I was with Lee in the Valley of Virginia--" he begins. "I am sorry you are not with him now," says the night editor. The visitor sighs, borrows a cigar and a match, and drifts out to see if he can get the ear of someone of a more indulgent temper. Between 1 and 2 o'clock the city editor and his assistants are through their work, the railroad man turns in "30" and they troop away, leaving the night editor to remain until the last. In the composing room the printers have been working away since 7 o'clock on their keyboards like so many Paderewskis. They quit about 3:30 a.m. As the night editor leaves, another army has begun its march. These are the people who rise at 2 or 3 o'clock in the morning. The mailing clerks are preparing the papers for the out-of-town mails; the newsboys are crowding around for their papers, and abroad in the land are audible the first faint sounds of the coming day.