When he lays down his wallet among a lot of other calf skins, like a great sponge in a puddle of water, it sucks every square inch of legal tender, which is in suckin’ distance.

For a regler 40 hoss power suction, K. VANDERBILT is your man.  I ones thought I could never take a locker to this ’ere honest old heart, but as I cast my gaze over this audience, and observe among the Bulls and Bears, a cuple of Dears, I will retract that, payin’ in the follerin’ Jew de spree: 

     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 in, if my pocketin’ a few hundred thousands will be the means of betterin’ your morrils, by my sharin’ your burden.  In concloosion, feller citizens, feelin’ in rather a poetical mood to-day, I will close with the follerin’ tribute to Wall Street and its inhabitants: 

    “Imperious SEIZER, dead, and turned to cla,
    Mite stop a hole to keep the wind away;”
    Onless from Wall Street, was blowin’ raw. 
    The tempestous breezes, from a broker’s flaw.

Amid tumultous cheers, and a general rushin’ to DELMONICO’S, where Wall Street waters her stock, (of lickers,) I sot down.

Ewers, without a dowt,

HIRAM GREEN, Esq.,

Lait Gustise of the Peece.

* * * * *

Stage By-play.

A sporting paper gives the following item: 

“Two nines, composed of members of BOOTH’S, WALLACK’S and the Olympic theatrical companies, played an interesting game of base-ball at the Union base-ball grounds, last week.”

Imagine Sir HARCOURT COURTLEY batting splendidly to DIEDRICK VAN BEEKMAN’S pitching; or picture Major DE BOOTS waiting patiently on the short stop for a chance to put Captain ABSOLUTE out on his second base.  The experience of these gentlemen before the footlights may have made them light-footed, but from mere force of habit they are all pretty sure to be caught out in the “flies.”