mines to ask such a question." He admitted, however, that he
himself had made some £50 000 out of them. "This," he said,
"is not profit; it is the realisation of property."]

Take a patch of land in Africa and multiply by ten,
Then extract a ton of metal from an ounce or two of sand;
Write a roseate prospectus with a magnifying pen,
Making deserts flow with honey in a rich and smiling land.

Take some crumbs of truth, and spread them with a covering of bosh,
And conceal them in a pie-crust labelled "Promises to pay";
Hide away all dirty linen, or remove it home to wash,
And then begin the process which the wise ones call "Convey."

Next collect a band of brothers, all inspired by one desire.
To subserve the public interest, single-hearted men and true;
Stuff with shares, and thus permit them in your kindness to acquire,
At a price, the vendor's property,--the vendor being you.

Then, since _you_ must make a profit, call the public to your aid;
Let them give you all their money, which they think they only lend:
And of course you mustn't tell them, till the fools have safely paid,
Mines were made for sinking money, not for raising dividend.

And the clergy bring their savings, the widows bring their store,
And they push to reach your presence, and they jostle and they fall,
And at last they pile their money in a heap before your door;
And, just to make them happy, you accept and keep it all.

So you make your mine by begging--(modern miners never dig),--