ty, a deputation of Wall Street
brokers and smashers called and invited me to make a speech afore the
members of their church, whose _Sin_-agog is situated in Brod Street.

Thinks I, if I can make these infatuated worshippers of the Golden Calf,
Mammon, see the error of their ways and take a back track, me thunk my
chances for the White House would be full as flatterin' as Sisters
WOODHUL, GEORGIANA FRANCIS TRAIN, or any other woman, in '72.

Layin' off my duster, and adjustin' my specturcals, at the appinted
hour, I slung the follerin' extemperaneous remarks at 'em:

My infatuated friends and Goverment Bondmen:

As an ex-statesman which has served his country for 4 years as Gustise
of the Peece, raisin' said offis to a hire standard than usual, to say
nothin' about raisin' an interestin' family of eleven morril an hily
intellectooal children, I rise and git up, ontramelled by any politikle
alliances, to say: that when you fellers git on a mussy fit, like the
old woman who undertook to pick her chickens by runnin' them through a
patent hash cutter, you make the feathers fly, and leave your victims in
a hily clawed up stait.

Perfesser ARKIMIDEES, of Oxford, (and here allow me to stait, so as to
avoid newspaper contraryversy, as in the case of DISRALLY'S novel
Lothere, _I have no refference to_ T. GOLDWIN SMITH _whatsomever_, as I
believe ARKIMIDEES is now dead,) said he could raise the hul earth with
a top section of a rale fence, if he could only find something tangible
to rest his timber on.

My friends, that man had never heerd of Wall Street, and I'de bet all
the money I can borrer on it.

With such a prop as this ere little territory, where games of chance are
"entered into accordin' to the act of Congress," to cote from a familiar
passage in every printed copy of PUNCHINELLO, the Perfesser could have
raised this little hemisfeer quicker than any of you chaps can gobble up
a greenhorn.

And, sirs, I'me sorry to be obliged to speak plain, it would be a darned
site more to your credit if you'd try and raise the earth, instead of
daily usin' Wall Street as a base of operations to raise H----,
well--excuse me, the futer asilum for retired brokers.

How do you manage, when you want to make a steak?

You run up stocks and produce a crysis.

Outsiders rush in lickety smash, and invest all the money they can rake
and scrape, in these inflated stocks. Suddenly you prick the bubble,
when, alas! besides the cry-s