[Dark Saint Alaick]

Well, then, there lived Monsieur Poopoo ever since he came from "dear, delightful Paris,"
as he was wont to call the city of his nativity--there he took in the pennies for his
kickshaws--there he laid aside five thousand dollars against a rainy day--there he was as
happy as a lark--and there, in all human probability, he would have been to this very day,
a respected and substantial citizen, had he been willing to "let well alone." But Monsieur
Poopoo had heard strange stories about the prodigious rise in real estate; and, having
understood that most of his neighbors had become suddenly rich by speculating in lots,
he instantly grew dissatisfied with his own lot, forthwith determined to shut up shop, turn
everything into cash, and set about making money in right-down earnest. No sooner said
than done; and our quondam storekeeper a few days afterward attended an extensive sale
of real estate, at the Merchants' Exchange.
There was the auctioneer, with his beautiful and inviting lithographic maps--all the lots as
smooth and square and enticingly laid out as possible--and there were the speculators--
and there, in the midst of them, stood Monsieur Poopoo.
"Here they are, gentlemen," said he of the hammer, "the most valuable lots ever offered
for sale. Give me a bid for them!"
"One hundred each," said a bystander.
"One hundred!" said the auctioneer, "scarcely enough to pay for the maps. One hundred--
going--and fifty--gone! Mr. H., they are yours. A noble purchase. You'll sell those same
lots in less than a fortnight for fifty thousand dollars profit!"