Come rest on this buzzum,
Oh! butiful broker,
With your arms clinchin' tite,
This innercent choker.

I'le stand it from thee,
If you'll never go near,
The Bulls and the Bears,
When HIRAM is here.

(This impromtu poetikism, Mr. PUNCHINELLO, kicked up quite a little
breeze, in the midst of which the pretty brokers blushed and looked so
bewitchin' like, that it was enuff to make a feller throw stuns at K.
VANDERBILT if the pretty Dears only wanted him to.)

I agin resoomed:

My infatuated friends; afore I wind up, let me give you a few partin'
words of advice.

Give up this 'ere gamblin' bizziness. When you run up gold it hits the
hul mercantile body of this nation a wipe in the stummuck. A good many
little cubs, as well as a few ole Bears, have been gobbled up by your
confounded efforts at runnin' up gold, while you grin and chuckle like
the laffin' hyena, when ransackin' Navy Yards and whisky distilleries.
But, if you insist on goin' ahead and earnin' your daily peck by
smashin' things and layin' out the onsofisticated, all I have got to say
is, that next time you've got a _sure thing_ to make a speck, by
telegrafin' me at Skeensboro, I won't mind comin' down and takin' a hand