a handsome premium, had secured above
10,000 new shares at a cost of about half their upset value. A
colleague openly accused him of this disgraceful traffic at a general
meeting of the directors, and declared that he had not words to
express his disgust at one who, for the sake of his own personal
profit, could condescend to depreciate the property of his
constituents. The accused retorted, and the meeting growing stormy and
abusive, ended late at night with closed doors.

A few days after, affairs again began to take a turn upwards. The
failure of the engine was declared to be an erroneous and altogether
unfounded report. It was boldly asserted, that the small model-engine
of one inch to the foot, had actually crushed several masses of Scotch
granite, and eliminated seven or eight ounces of pure metal; and these
specimens were exhibited under a glass-case in the office of the
company, in proof of their triumphant success. Now the shares rose
again as rapidly as they had lately fallen, and honourable gentlemen
who had held on, had an opportunity of turning themselves round. It is
to be supposed that some of them at least did that to their
satisfaction; at anyrate, the respectable and responsible concocters
of the Long Range Excavator Rock-Crushing and Gold-Winning Company
very soon began to turn their backs upon the public altogether. By
degrees, the whole body of directors, trustees, counsel and agents,
dwindled down to a solitary clerk paring his nails in a deserted
office. Shares at a discount of 60, 70, 80, 90 per cent. attested the
decline of the speculation. Honourable gentlemen were reported to have
gone upon their travels. The office was at first 'temporarily closed,'
and then let to the new company for Bridging the Dardanelles on the
Tubular Principle. The engine of the Long Range Excavators, according
to the last report, had foundered--but whether in the brain of
Crushcliff, the engineer, or on the Scilly Rocks, we could not clearly
make out. The only one of the original promoters who has latterly
condescended to gratify the gaze of the public, is the Baron
Badlihoff, who, a few days ago, made his appearance on the
monkey-board of an omnibus, whence he was suddenly escorted by
policeman B. 1001, to the presence of a magistrate, who
unsympathisingly transferred him to Clerkenwell Jail, for certain
paltry threepenny defalcations, due to a lapse of memory which our
shameful code persists in regarding as worthy