The Union and journal. [volume] (Biddeford, Me.) 1858-1882, 1860-03-02
"MoRE COPY"

number of the Printer and recommend its
pcrusal to our readers. 1t gives q graphic
description Of the "hard up" condition into
which local editors are sometimes placed,
and Is at tho same time nearly rs we'll writ
teu as Poe's Raven" the style Of which 1t
initiates. The sixth stanza, especially, ad-
mirably delineatcs tho desperate eIertions
sometimes made by local to hunt up some
thing interesting to his readers; and ifany
one cannot forgive us when the local column
is not filed with items, after reading this,
we pity him or her who isso hard-hearted.
Read:
Once in August, wet and dreary, sat this
writer, weak and weary, pondering o'era
memorandum book ofitcms used before, book
of scrawlng head notes, rather items, TAX
ing days to gather them in hot and sultry
weather, using up much time and leather
pondering we these items Ger. wv hiic we
conn'd them. slowly rocking, (through our
mind queer ideas hoocking) came quick
and nervous Notwithstanding ut tho
sanctum door "Sure that must be Jinks'
we muttcrcd-"Jinks," that's knocking ut
our door Jinks, tho everlasting bore"
"Ah, we'll do We remind us, in the walls
that then confined us, the exchanges lay
behind us and before us, and around us. oil
scattered DER the floor. Thought we, "Jinks
wants to borrow some newspapers tilt NOR,
row and twill bc relief from sorrow to get rid
of Jinks, the bore, by opening wide the door,
still this visitor kept knockins-knccking
louder than before.
And the scattered piles Of papers cut some
rather curious capers, being lifted by the
breczes coming through another door; and
we wished (thc wish was evil, tor one deemed
always civiD that Jinks was at the d., to
stay there eyermore there to find his level
Jinks, the nerve-unstringing bore .,
Bracing up our patience iirmer, then with
out another murmer, "Mr. Jinks," said we,
"your pardon, your forgiveness. But the
fact is wc were reading of some curious pro-
ceedings, and thus it was, unheedng your
loud knocking there before" Here we
opcned wide the door. But phancy, now,
our pheelnks-for it wasn't Jinks. the bore
l-Jinks, nameless evermore!
But the form that stood before US, caused
trembling to come DER us, mcm'ry quickly
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 scorc.-,Twas the form of our
"deyil,h in an attitude .unciyil and he
thurst his head within the open door, ''The
foreman's out of copy! strand says he
wants some more !" Yes, like Alexander,
wanted more
Now, this local had already walked about
till nearly dead-hc had sauntered through
the city till his feet were very sore-walked
through the street called Dauphin, and the
by-ways running of into tho portion OF the
city both public and obscure ; had examined
store and cellar, and had questioned, every
felcr whom he met, from door to door, u
anything was stirring-any accident occur.
ring. not published heretofore; and had met
with no success; no would rather kinder
guess we felt q little wickcda ut the ugly little
bore, with his message from the foreman that
he wanted something more.
"Now, it's timo you were departing, you
scamp :" cried We upstarting, "get 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 n
cudgel oaken that was lying on the aoorl
stake your hands out Of your pockets, and
leave the sanctum door; tell the foreman
there's no copy you ugly littlc BORE
Quoth our devil, send him more.
And our devil, never sitting, still lifting
still is fitting back and forth upon the land
ing Just outside our sanctum door. Tear
adown his cheeks are strcaming-strange
light from his eyes isbcaming-and his voice
is heard, still screaming "Sir, the foreman,
wants some more!' And our soul pierced
by that screaming, Is awakened from Its
dreaming, and has lost the peaceful feeling
had before for the funny will come DER u'
that each reader face before us, bears the
horrid words-"we want u little moro !"
Words, on their forchcads glaring, your iun'
ny column necds."a little more"