There were no more Shakespeares to work up.
There was nothing in past history, or in the world's future possibilities, to make an editorial out of, suitable to that community; so there was but one theme left.

That theme was Mr.Laird, proprietor of the Virginia "Union." _His_ editor had gone off to San Francisco too, and Laird was trying his hand at editing.

I woke up Mr.Laird with some courtesies of the kind that were fashionable among newspaper editors in that region, and he came back at me the next day in a most vitriolic way.

He was hurt by something I had said about him--some little thing--I don't remember what it was now--probably called him a horse-thief, or one of those little phrases customarily used to describe another editor.

They were no doubt just, and accurate, but Laird was a very sensitive creature, and he didn't like it.