Daily national Democrat., 1861-04-07
"MOre Copy.''

The following is prose mate to the beau
tiful poem by Edgar Allan Poe, entitled the
Raven" one of the finest pieces in the En-
gIish language:
Once in August, wet and dreary, sat this
writer, weak and weary, wandering DER a
memorahddn book of items ued before
(houk of scrawling headnotes, rather, items
taken days together, then in hot and suitry
weather, using up much time and leather,)
pondering We those items Ger. While we
conn'd them, slowly rocking, (through our
mind queer ideas focking) came quick and
nervous Notwithstanding 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 u.s. in the walls
which then confined us, exchanges" Law be-
hind us, and before us, and around us. all
scattered DER the floor. Thought we "Jinks
wants to borrow sone newspapers till to-
wand twill be relief from sorrow " to get
rid of Jinks, the bore, 10y opening wide the
door" still the visitor kept knocking knock
mig 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 NlSIlCu NlIIc NlSil WAS CNll, lOT Que utetlpu
always ciyiD that Jinks was at the ID, to
stay there evermore there to find lis level
Jinks the never unstringing borei
Backing up our patience, frmer, then with
out another murmur, "Slr Jirks," said We
your pardon, your forgiveness we implore
But the fact is we were reading of some curi-
Gus proceeding, and thus it was, unheeded,
your loud knocking there before
Here we opened wide the door. But fancy
now, our pheeinks-for it wasn't Jinks, he
bore-Jinks nameless evermore.
But the form that stood before us. caused n
trembling TO come Ger us, and menry quick
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 10y the score Twas the form of our
"devil' in aa attitude uncivil; and he thrust
his head within the open door with The tore
mans out of copy sir-nnd 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 sore-walked
through the street called Dauphen, and toy
byways running off into the portion OF the
city both public and obscure, had exa mined
store and cellar, and had questioned every
"feller' whom he met, from door to door, il
anything was stirring-uny accident occur
ring-not published heretofore; and had met
with no success he would rather kinder
guess he felt IA little wicked at that ugly little
bore, with his 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 offce-oilice where you were before;
or the words that you have spoken will get
your bones 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" Qnoth our devil
send him more"
And our devil, never sitting, still is fitting
back and forth upon the landing Just outside
the sanctum door, Tears adown his cheeks
are streaming-strange light from his eyes
is beaming-and his voice is heard, still
screaming, Sir, the foreman wants some
more" And our soul pierced with that
screaming is awakened from its dreaming, and
has lost the peace it had before, for the fancy
will come DER US that each reader face be-
fore US bears the horrid words-"we want
little morel' Words on their foreheads glar.
ing, "your funny columns want little morel"
Tile Printer.