"The atrocious character of this libel will appear when I say that my son was twenty years old, and that he died of liver complaint." "Infamous!--utterly infamous!" groaned the editor as he cast his eyes over the lines. "And the wretch who did this still remains unpunished! It is too much!" "And yet," whispered Slimmer to the foreman, "he told me to lighten the gloom and to cheer the afflicted family with the resources of my art; and I certainly thought, that idea about the monkey would have that effect, somehow. Bangs is ungrateful!" Just then there was a knock at the door, and a woman entered, crying. "Are you the editor?" she inquired of Colonel Bangs. Bangs said he was. [Illustration] "W-w-well!" she said, in a voice broken by sobs, "wh-what d'you mean by publishing this kind of poetry about m-my child? M-my name is Sm-Smith; and wh-when I looked this m-morning for the notice of Johnny's d-death in your paper, I saw this scandalous verse: "'Four doctors tackled Johnny Smith-- They blistered and they bled him; With squills and anti-bilious pills And ipecac, they fed him. They stirred him up with calomel, And tried to move his liver; But all in vain--his little soul Was wafted o'er The River.' "It's false! false! and mean! Johnny only had _one_ doctor. And they d-didn't bl-bleed him and b-blister him. It's a wicked falsehood, and you're a hard-hearted brute f-f-for printing it!" "Madam, I shall go crazy!" exclaimed Bangs. "This is not my work. It is the work of a villain whom I will slay with my own hand as soon as he comes in. Madam, the miserable outcast shall die!" "Strange! strange!" said Slimmer. "And this man told me to combine elevating sentiment with practical information. If the information concerning the squills and ipecac. is not practical, I have misunderstood the use of that word. And if young Smith didn't have four doctors, it was an outrage. He ought to have had them, and they ought to have excited his liver. Thus it is that human life is sacrificed to carelessness." At this juncture the sheriff entered, his brow clothed with thunder. He had a copy of _The Morning Argus_ in his hand. He approached the editor, and pointing to a death-notice, said, "Read that outrageous burlesque, and tell me the name of the writer, so that I can chastise him." The editor read as follows: "We have lost our little Hanner in a very painful manner, And we often asked, How can her harsh sufferings be borne? When her death was first reported, her aunt got up and snorted With the grief that she supported, for it made her feel forlorn. "She was such a little seraph that her father, who is sheriff, Really doesn't seem to care if he ne'er smiles in life again. She has gone, we hope, to heaven, at the early age of seven (Funeral starts off at eleven), where she'll nevermore have pain."