The Plymouth weekly Democrat. (Plymouth, Ind.) 1860-1869, 1860-01-26
Copy"


The following article we clip from the
last number of the Printer" and recon-
mend its persuai to'our readers. 1t gives
graphic description of the hard up con-
dition into which local editor are sometimes
placed, and,is at the same time nearly as
well written as Poe's Raven the style |
admirably delineates the desperate exertions
sometimes made by local to hurt up
something interesting to his readers; and
if any one cannot forgive US when the
local column is not filled with terms, after
reading this we pity him or her who is so
hardhearted. Read:
Once in August, wet and dreary, sat
this winter, weak and weary, pondering
Ger memorandum book of items used be-
fore-book ofssrawling head notes, rather.
items, taking days to gather them in hot
and suitry weather, (usiug up much
time and leather) pondered we these items
DER. While we counted them. slowly rock
ing, Through our mind queer ideas flock
ing come to 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 everlast
ing BORE.
All, well do we remind us, 10 the walls
which then, confined us, the exchanges
lay behind us, and before us, and around
US, all scattered DER the floor. Thought
we 'Jinks wants to borrow some newspapers
till tomorrow, and twill be a relief from
sorrow to get 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 (ths wish was evil.
for one deemed always eivil) that Jinks
was at the ID, to stay there evermore;
there to find his level--Jnks, the nerve un-
stringing beforel
Bracing up our patience frmer. then
without an other murmur. Mr.. J,nks,
said we, your pardon, your forgiveness we
implore. But the fact is we were reading
of some curious proceeding, and thus it
was, unheeding your lond knocking there
before Here we opened wide the door.
But phancy, now, our pheelinksfor it
wasn't Jinks, the bore--Jnks, nameless
evermore
But the form that stood before US, caus-
ed trembling to come Ger US, and mem
'ry quickly bore us back again to days of
yore-days when items" where in plenty
and where'er this writer went he picke
up interesting items by the score. Two
the form Of oar devil, in attitude uncivil
and he thrust his head within the open door
with"The foreman's omo, copyi strand
says he wants some morel" Yes, like Alex
aDder. wanted more!"
Now. this" local" had already walked
about till nearly dead--ho had sauntered
through the city till his feet were very
sore--walked through the street called
Dauphin, and the by-ways running off into
the portions of the city both public and OBJ
scure; had examined store and cellar, and
had questioned evrey" fellcr' whom lie met
from door to door, il anything WAS stirring
any accident occurring-not published
heretofore; and had met with no success;
he would rather kinder guess he felt little
wicked at the ugly little bore, with his
message from the foreman that ne wanted
something more
Now it's time you We're deparating, you
scamp!' cried We. upsiarting, 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 he
seized 'cudgel, broken. that was lying on
the foor) take your hands out of your
pockets, and leave the sanctum door; tell
the foreman there's no copy, you 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 morep And
our soul, pierced with that screaming. is
awakened from its dreaming. and has lost
the peaceful feeling had before, for the fun
ny will come DER us, that each readers
face before US, bears the horrid words
I'VE want little more!' Words, on their
foreheads glaring your funny column
needs little more