m it exceedingly disagreeable
to be either shot, or horsewhipped. I am not built for action, but love
to sail in quiet waters; cordially eschewing gales, waves, water-spouts,
sea-serpents, earthquakes, tornadoes, and all such matters, both on sea
and land. My antipathy to a horsewhip is an inheritance from boyhood. It
carried me across Caesar's bridge, and through Virgil and Horace. I am
indebted to it for a tolerable understanding of grammar, arithmetic,
geography, and other occult sciences. It enlightened me not a little
upon many algebraic processes, which, to speak truth, presented,
otherwise, but slender claims to my consideration. It disciplined me
into a uniform propriety of manners, and instilled into my bosom early
rudiments of wisdom, and principles of virtue. In my maturer years, the
contingencies of life have thrust me rather abruptly, if not
reluctantly, into the editorial fraternity (heaven bless them, I mean
them no disrespect), and in the same candor which distinguishes my
former acknowledgments, I confess that visions of this instrument have
occasionally obtruded themselves somewhat forcibly upon my fancy, in the
paroxysms of an article, dampening the glow of composition, and causing
certain qualifying interlineations and prudent erasures, prompted by the
representations of memory or the whispers of prudence. The reader must
not fancy, from the form of my expression, that I have ever been
horsewhipped. I have hitherto escaped, (for which Heaven be praised!)
although my horizon has been darkened by many a cloudy threat, and
thundering denunciation.

Nose-pulling is another disagreeable branch of the editorial business.
To have any part of one pulled is annoying; but there is a dignity about
the nose impatient even of observation or remark: while the act of
taking hold of it with the thumb and finger is worse than murder, and
can only be washed out with blood. Kicking, cuffing, being turned out of
doors, being abused in the papers, &c., are bad, but these are mere
minor considerations. Indeed, many of my brother editors rather pique
themselves upon some of them, as a soldier does on the scars obtained in
fighting the battles of his country; they fancy that, thereby, they are
invested with claims upon their party, and suffer indefinite dreams of
political eminence to be awakened in their bosoms. I have seen a fellow
draw his hat fiercely down over his brow, and strut about, with
insufferable importance, on