The weekly Ottumwa courier. [volume] (Ottumwa, Iowa) 1857-1872, 1859-12-08

Once In autumn, wet anu ureary, sat tnlS
writer, weak and weary, pondering DER a
memorandum book of items used before
book of scrawling head notes, rather; items
taking days to gather them in hot and sultry
weather, using up much time and leather
pondered we those items Ger. While we
conn'd them slowly rocking, Through our
mind queer ideas fiocking,) came quick and
nervous Notwithstanding at the sanctum
door. "Sure that must be Jinks," we NUT
tered-"Jinks that's knocking at our door;
Jinks, the everlasting bore"
All, how well do we remind us, in the
walls which then confined us, the exchanges
lay behind us, and before us, and around us,
all scattered Ger the floor. Thought we,
"Jinks wants to borrow some newspaper till
tomorrow. and twill be relief from sorrow
to get rid of Jinks, the bore, by opening wide
the door" Still the visitor kept Knocking
knocking louder than before. And the SC IT.
tered piles of papers cut some rather curious
capers, being lifted by the breezes coming
through another door; and we wished (the
wish evil, for one deemed always civil,) that
Jinks was at the ID, to stay there ever
more; there to fud his level-Jinks, the
nerve-unstringing bore.
Bracing up our patience firmer, then, with
out another murmur "Mr. Jinks," said we,
''your pardon, your forgiveness we impore.
But the fact is we were reading of some GU
rious proceeding, and thus it was, unheedng
your loud knocking there before -" here we
opened wide the door. But phancy, now,
our pheelinks-for it wasn't Jinks, the bore
-Jinks, nameless evermore But the form
that stood before us caused trembling to
come DER us, and our memory quickly bore
us back again to days of yore-days when
items were in plenty, and where'er this wr-
ter went he picked up items by the score
Twas the form of our devil, in an attitude
uncivil; and he thrust his head within the
door, with 'the foreman's out O copy, sir
and he says he wants some more" Yes, like
Alexander, wanted more.
Now this local had already walked about
till nearly dead-he had sauntered through
the city till his feet were very walking
through the street called Market, and the by
ways running off into the portions of the
city, both public and obscure; had examined
store and cellar, and had questioned every
feller whom be met, from door to door, if
anything was stirring-any accident occur
ing-not published heretofore; and had met
with no success; he would rather kinder
guess he felt little wicked at that ugly little
bore, with the message from the foreman
that he wanted something more" "Now
it's time you were departing, you scamp ~
cried we upstarting; ''get you back into the
otiice-ofice where you were before; or the
words that you have spoken will get your
bones all broken" (and we seized cudgel,
oaken, that was lying on the foor,) at Ike
your hands out Of your pockets and leave the
sanctum door, tell the foreman there's no
copy, you ugly little bore" Quoth the devil,
"send him more
AMI our devil, never sitting, still is fitting,
still is fitting back and forth upon the land
ing just outside our sanctum door. Tears
adown his cheeks are streaming-strang
light from his eyes are beaming-and his
voice is heard still screaming, "Sir, the fore
man wants some more" And our soul,
pierced with that screaming, is awakened
from its dreaming, and has lost the peaceful
feeling had before, for the fancy will come
DER US, that each readers face before us
bears the horrid words, ''we want little
more" Words on their foreheads glaring.
''your funny column needs some more"