"The foreman's _out o' copy_, sir--he 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--and walked through the street called Market, and the byways running off into the portions of the city, 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 he had met with no success; he would rather guess he felt a little wicked at that ugly little bore, with the 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 your office--office where you were before--or the words that you have spoken will 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 foreman 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, back and forth upon the landing, just outside the sanctum door. Tears adown his cheeks are streaming--strange light from his eye is beaming--and his voice is heard, still crying, "Sir, the foreman wants some more." And our soul pierced with the screaming, is awakened from its dreaming, and has lost the peaceful feeling; for the fancy will come o'er us, that each reader's face before us, hears the horrid words--"We want a little more!"--Words on their foreheads glaring, "Your 'funny' column needs a little more!" POPPING CORN.--616. And there they sat a-popping corn, John Stiles and Susan Cutter; John Stiles as stout as any ox, And Susan fat as butter. And there they sat and shelled the corn, And raked and stirred the fire, And talked of different kinds of ears, And hitched their chairs up nigher. Then Susan she the popper shook, Then John he shook the popper, Till both their faces grew as red As saucepans made of copper. And then they shelled and popped and ate, And kinks of fun a-poking, And he haw-hawed at her remarks, And she laughed at his joking. And still they popped, and still they ate (John's mouth was like a hopper), And stirred the fire and sparkled salt, And shook and shook the popper. The clock struck nine, the clock struck ten, And still the corn kept popping: It struck eleven, and then struck twelve, And still no signs of stopping. And John he ate, and Sue she thought-- The corn did pop and patter, Till John cried out: "The corn's a fire! Why, Susan, what's the matter?"