Alas! no. We would like to do so, of course;
but our sense of truth revolts against the enunciation of such a
taradiddle.
Soon after daylight has been fully turned on, it is the wont of
PUNCHINELLO to descend from his perch on the church, (rhyme,) and roam
waywardly and invisibly among the denizens who occupy the dens of The
Street. He knows all the ins and outs of the place, and has long been
disgustingly familiar with its ups and downs. Gently has he dabbled in
stocks, and no modern operator is half so conversant an he is with the
juggles of the Stock Exchange. PUNCHINELLO, though as fresh and frisky,
in mind and body, as a kid on a June morning, is older than he chooses
to let every body know. Bless you all, readers dear! he was by when the
Tulip Mania was hatched, (mixed figure,) and it was he who punctured the
great South Sea Bubble, and sent it on a burst. Ha! ha! he-e-e!--how he
laughs when he recurs to those days of the long, long ago, with their
miserable little swindles, no better than farthing candles, (allowable
rhyme,) and their puny dodges devised for flagellating LUCIFER round a
stump.
Just think of a lot of fellows pretending to play at Tulipmaniacs
bolting Bubble-and-squeak, and not a jockey among them all had ever
heard of "puts" and "calls.
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