"A political speech from the General! Gentlemen, hats off, and give your attention to Mr. General O'Brodereque's remarks!" resounds from several voices. Mr. O'Brodereque is somewhat overcome, his friends compliment him so: he stands, hesitating, as if he had lost the opening part of his speech, like a statue on a molasses-cask. At length he speaks. "If it was a great political question, gentlemen, I'd get the twist of the thing,--I'd pitch into it, big! These little things always trouble public men more than the important intricacies of government do. You see, they are not comesurate,--that's it!" says Mr. Brodereque, looking wondrously wise the while. After bowing, smiling, and acknowledging the compliments of his generous customers with prodigious grace, he merely announces to his friends--with eloquence that defies imitation, and turns rhetoric into a discordant exposition of his own important self--that, not having examined the constitution for more nor three Sundays, they must, upon the honour of a gentleman, excuse his political speech. "But, gents," he says, "you all know how I trys to please ye in the way of raffles and such things, and how I throws in the belly and stomach fixins. Now, brighten up, ye men of taste"--Mr. Brodereque laughs satisfactorily as he surveys his crowd--"I'm going to do the thing up brown for ye,--to give ye a chance for a bit of bright property what ye don't get every day; can't scare up such property only once in a while. It'll make ye old fellers wink, some"--Mr. O'Brodereque winks at several aged gentlemen, whose grey hair is figurative in the crowd--"think about being young again. And, my friends below thirty-my young friends--ah, ye rascals! I thought I'd play the tune on the right string!"--he laughs, and puts his finger to his mouth quizzically--"I likes to suit ye, and please ye: own her up, now,-- don't I?" "Hurrah! for Brod,--Brod's a trump!" again resounds from a dozen voices. They all agree to the remark that nobody can touch the great Mr. O'Brodereque in getting up a nice bit of fun, amusing young men with more money than mind, and being in the favour of aristocratic gentlemen who think nothing of staking a couple of prime niggers on a point of faro. Mr. O'Brodereque has been interrupted; he begs his friends will, for a moment, cease their compliments and allow him to proceed. "Gentlemen!" he continues, "the gal's what ye don't get every day; and she's as choice as she's young; and she's as handsome as she's young; and for this delicious young crittur throws are only five dollars a piece." The sentimental southern gentleman has no reference to the throes of anguish that are piercing the wounded soul of the woman.