The weekly north Iowa times. [volume] (McGregor, Iowa) 1857-1867, 1859-11-02
MISCELLANEOUS.
More Copy.

wore COPY.
Once in August, wet and dreary, sat this
writer, weak and weary, pondcring DER a
memorandum book of items used before
book of scrawling head notes, rather items
taking days to gather them in hot and sui
try weather, using up much time and leath-
er,) pondered we those items DER. While
we cOnned them slowly rocking, Through
our mind queer ideas flocking) came q quick
and nervous knocking-knocking at the
sanctum door. 'Sure, that must be Jinks,"
we muttered, "Jinks, that's knocking at
our door; Jinks, the everlasting bore"
All, well do we remind us, in the walls
which then confined us, the Exchanges"
lay behind US, and before us, all scattered
DER the floor. Thought we "Jinks wants
to borrow some newspapers 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 scattered piles Of papers cut
some rather curious capers, being lifted by
the breezes coming through another door !;
and we wished (the wish was evil, for one
deemed always civil that Jinks was at the
ID, to stay there evermore; there to find
his level-Jinks, the nerve-unstringing bore!
Bracing up our patience tirmer, then with
out another murmur, "Mr. Jinks," said we,
'your pardon, your forgiveness we implore
But the fact is we were reading of some Gu.
rious proceeding, and thus it was, unheed-
ing your loud knocking there before"
Here We opened wide the door, But phan-
cy, now, our pheelinks-for it wasn't Jinks
the bore-Jihks, nameless etermOre!
But the form that stood before us, caused a
trembling to come o 'er us, and memoryquick-
ly bore us back again to days Of yore days
when ''items' were in plenty, and where'er
this writer went he picked up interesting
items by the score. Twas the form of our
devil" in an attitude uncivil; and he
thrust his head within the open door, with
THE fOreman's out O copy, sir-and says
der, wanted more!
Now, this ''local' had already walked
about till nearly dead--he had sauntered
through the city till his feet were very sore
walked through the street called Dauphin,
and the byways running off into the portions
Of the city both public and obscure; had
examined store and cellar, and had ques-
toned every ''feller" whom he met, from
door to door, if anything was stirring ANY
accident occurring-not published hereto
fore; and had met with no success; he
would rather kinder guess he felt little
wicked at that ugly little bore, with his mes
sage from the foreman that he wanted some
thing more.
Snow, its time you were departing, you
scampr' cried We, upstarting; "gct you
back into the office-office 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 floor) take your hands out Of your
pockets, and leave the sanctum door, tell
the foreman there's no copy, you ugly little
bore" Quoth our devil, ''send him more"
And our devil never sitting, still is fit
ting, still is fitting, back and forth upon the
landing just outside our sanctum door,
Tears down his cheeks are streaming
strange light from his eyes is beaming-
and his voice is heard, still screaming, "Sir,
the foreman wants some morer' And our
soul, pierced with that screaming, is awak-
ened from its dreaming, and has lost the
peaceful feeling had before; for the fancy
will come Ger us, that each readers face be-
fore US, bears the horrid words-''we want
little more!' Words, on their forehead
glaring, ''your funny column needs little
more "-Ihe Printer.