ing to anticipation, the stock fell. Every few days the operator
called to ask the broker what success. The stock still declined. The
operator was so terribly excited that the broker asked him what was
the matter. He replied: "To tell you the truth, I borrowed that five
hundred dollars that I lost, and, in anticipation of what I was sure I
was going to get by the operation, I made a very large subscription to
the Missionary Society."

The nation has become so accustomed to frauds that no astonishment is
excited thereby. The public conscience has for many years been utterly
debauched by what were called fancy stocks, morus multicaulis, Western
city enterprises, and New England developments.

If a man find on his farm something as large as the head of a pin,
that, in a strong sunlight, sparkles a little, a gold company is
formed; books are opened; working capital declared; a select number
go in on the "ground floor;" and the estates of widows and orphans
are swept into the vortex. Very little discredit is connected with any
such transaction, if it is only on a large scale. We cannot bear small
and insignificant dishonesties, but take off our hats and bow almost
to the ground in the presence of the man who has made one hundred
thousand dollars by one swindle. A woman was arrested in the streets
of one of our cities for selling molasses candy on Sunday. She was
tried, condemned, and imprisoned. Coming out of prison, she went into
the same business and sold molasses candy on Sunday. Again she was
arrested, condemned, and imprisoned. On coming out--showing the total
depravity of a woman's heart--she again went into the same business,
and sold molasses candy on Sunday. Whereupon the police, the mayor and
the public sentiment of the city rose up and declared that, though
the heavens fell, no woman should be allowed to sell molasses candy on
Sunday. Yet the law puts its hands behind its back, and walks up and
down in the presence of a thousand abominations and dares not whisper.

There are scores of men to-day on the streets, whose costly family
wardrobes, whose rosewood furniture, whose splendid turn-outs, whose
stately mansions, are made out of the distresses of sewing-women,
whose money they gathered up in a stock swindle. There is human sweat
in the golden tankards. There is human blood in the crimson plush.
There are the bones of unrequited toil in the pearly keys of the
piano. There is the curse of an incensed God hoveri