The Rock Island Argus. (Rock Island, Ill.) 1877-1885, 1881-08-26
Tha Editorial Dask.

CODiG udfG uE6fu lOI centuries 01
the museum which is contained in a
boys pockets. and the wild and daz-
cling array of curiosities from the four
quarters of the globe, which are con-
cealed in the recesses of young lady,
portmonaie, but is has remained for
the heaven-born genius who pens these
lines to write up the editors desk.
For the sake of convenience, we will
take our own desk and dissect it.
The desk on which we are writing is
a fiat black walnut angement, with
drawers on the left down to the floor,
and pigeon holes on the right, leaving
a square aperture between. through
which we run our legs, allowing them
to protrude about yard beyond the
desk, and to daily with the letter-press
on the other side. While writing a
deep and particularly choice and all
wool editorial, we scratch one foot
against the other and dig our toes into
the carpet.
We state this simply to enlighten the
average reader on one of the peculiar
phases of genius.
On the top of the desk are the Free
Press. Hawkeye, Oil City Derrick, and
some other exchanges, with their vitals
cut out Near by are the iron scissors,
with wabbly blades, that have done the
damage.
There is also a glass inkstand, with
some coagulated ink and dead flies in
it, match box with no matches in it,
four crippled and disabled pens, pile
of neglected and moss-covered bills
with the editors name at the head, and
apparently sent by anonymous parties,
as there is no signature at the bottom.
iS hn
end of the stem chewed up, and show
ing what an inspired grip the editor
holds it by when he writes a poem on
THE Cold, Dead Memories of the
Busted PAST
On top of all these, some blank pa
per and manuscript are corded about
nine feet high.
In the first drawer are some envel-
opes, an unanswered letter from Queen
Victoria, and package of Old Judge
smoking tobacco.
In the second drawer there are a lot
of letter heads, some bill heads. poem
on ''ToWser' S Excursion on the Flume,"
and pair of kids once white as the
beautiful snow, but now considerably
damaged.
Then there is faded spray of mig
nonette, or catnip, or something of that
character, bit of pale blue ribbon that
fell from her hair in the cherished long
ago, and near it q forgotten 500 gold
piece, an annual pass over the Panama
canal, defunct meal ticket and a Glove.
In the third drawer is letter from
Roscoe Conkling acknowledging the
receipt of the last speech we wrote for
him, and promising US that he would
quit chewing tobacco next fall. Then
there are a lot of expired passes over
various eastern roads, an old deck of
cards that we secured at great cost in
tending to write a caustic article on the
vice of High Low Jack and the Game.
In the pigeon-holes are letters from
Eli Perkins and MI. Childs, and poem
on ssThe Sore-Eyed Pollywog's Sorrow
ful End by Henry Ward Beecher, but
having been written on both sides, it
was laid aside.
Then there are also, an assortment
of fly hooks, some silk line, and a
leather-covered Etruscan jar, with the
almost forgotten fragrance inside, of
ratt1esnake antidote and cramp dis
couraeer. Then there is leather book
with another assortment of hooks, one
still baited with the dried mummy of a
grasshopper.
Beside these there are two stubs of
lead pencils, cigar-holder, a we'll
worn Bible. and confidential postal
card from George Washington, asking
if it would be advisable to cross theDel-
aware on the ice in August.
In little box, snugly imbedded in
jewelers. cotton, is bent and disfig-
ured suspender button, rusted with in
Vulnerable tear drops and grimy with
time and disuse. 1t is all that is mortal
of the man who asked: as this hot
enough for you?" Nye's Boone
rama.