EDITOR'S WALLET.

Otago Witness, Issue 1935, 26 March 1891, Page 37

EDITOR'S WALLET.

The Editor's Bore.

Once in autumn, wet and dreary, sat this writer, weak and weary, pondering o'er a. memorandum book of items used before (book of scrawling head-notes rather ; items taking days to gather them, in hot and sultry weather, taking up both time and leather) — pondered we those items o'er.

While we conned them, slowly rocking (through our mind queer notions flocking), came a 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."

Ah, how well we do remind us, in the walls which then confined us, the papers that lay behind us, and before us, and around us, all scattered o'er the floor.

Thought we, " Jinks he wants to borrow some old papers for to-morrow, 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 madly cut some curious capers, being lifted by a breeze coming through another door ; and we wished (the wish was evil for one deemed always civil) that Jinks was at the devil, there to stay and find his level — Jinks, the nerve-unstringing bore I Bracing up our patience firmer, then, without another murmur, "Mr Jinks," said we, " your pardon, your forgiveness we implore.

11 But the fact is, we were reading of some curious proceeding, and thus it was, unheeding your loud knocking there before " here we opened wide the door. But fancy now our feelings —for it wasn t Jinks the bore — Jinks, nameless evermore.

But the form that stood before us caused a trembling to come o'er us, and memory 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 3core. 'Twas the form of him our " devil," in an attitude uncivil; and he thrust his head within the open door, with, " The printer's out of copy, sir, and says he wants some more." Yes, like Alexander, wanted more !

Now, this writer had already walked about till nearly dead ; he had sauntered through the city till his feet were very sore — walked through the street called Nassau, and by-ways running off into the portions of the town both public and obscure ; had examined store and cellar, and had questioned every " feller " whom he met, from door to door, if anything was stirring — any accident occurring — not published heretofore — and had met with no success ; and he would rather guess, he felt a little wicked at that ugly little bore with the message from the printer that he wanted " something more."

" Now, 'tis time you were departing, you sad scamp ! " cried we, upstarting ; " get you back into the printing office where you were before, or the words you have spoken will soon get your bones all broken " (and we seized a cudgel oaken, that was lying on the floor); "take your hands out of your pockets and leave the sanctum door; tell the printer there's no copy, you ugly little bore ! " Quoth the devil, " Send him more ! "

And our devil, never sitting, still is flitting, still is flitting to and fro upon the landing just outside the sanctum door. Tears adown his cheeks are streaming — strange light from his eyes beaming— and his voice is heard still screaming, " Sir, the printer wants some more 1 "