PLEACEMAN X.

The night was stormy and dark,

The town was shut up in sleep:

Only those were abroad who were out on a lark,

Or those who'd no beds to keep.

I pass'd through the lonely street,

The wind did sing and blow;

I could hear the policeman's feet

Clapping to and fro.

There stood a potato-man

In the midst of all the wet;

He stood with his‘ tato-can

In the lonely Hay-market.

Two gents of dismal mien,

And dank and greasy rags,

Came out of a shop for gin,

Swaggering over the flags:

Swaggering over the stones,

These shabby bucks did walk;

And I went and followed those seedy ones,

And listened to their talk.

Was I sober or awake?

Could I believe my ears?

Those dismal beggars spake

Of nothing but railroad shares.

I wondered more and more:

Says one — “Good friend of mine,

How many shares have you wrote for,

In the Diddlesex Junction line?”

“I wrote for twenty,” says Jim,

“But they would n't give me one;”

His comrade straight rebuked him

For the folly he had done:

“O Jim, you are unawares

Of the ways of this bad town;

I always write for five hundred shares,

And THEN they put me down.”

“And yet you got no shares,”

Says Jim, “for all your boast;”

“I WOULD have wrote,” says Jack, “but where

Was the penny to pay the post?”

“I lost, for I could n't pay

That first instalment up;

But here's‘ taters smoking hot — I say,

Let's stop, my boy, and sup.”

And at this simple feast

The while they did regale,

I drew each ragged capitalist

Down on my left thumbnail.

Their talk did me perplex,

All night I tumbled and tost,

And thought of railroad specs,

And how money was won and lost.

“Bless railroads everywhere,”

I said, “and the world's advance;

Bless every railroad share

In Italy, Ireland, France;

For never a beggar need now despair,

And every rogue has a chance.”