You bloated stockmonger there, with your hands in your pockets and your eye on the mean chance, what care you how much capital is represented by certificates issued? "That's played out," you say? You know it is, you slimy salamander, and so does PUNCHINELLO. You know that by the use of convertible bonds capital can be increased or diminished _ad infinitum_. Loan your millions to Erie, to save it from destruction or the Sheriff, (synonymous terms,) and you will derive sweet consolation from the consciousness of your power to add or diminish at will. Look at the "Great Waterer." When he chose to "snake away" Erie from its friends, and make it tributary to New-York Central, the printing-press was at work--a fact which he did not discover until he had paid out ten millions. Then the foreigners purchased ream after ream of certificates to control Erie, and to-day their stock is declared not worth a row of pins, owing to the piles of money swallowed by the afflictive suits on the stamped certificates. Observe SNIGGER and SNAGGER, too; mark the goings and comings of these partners in business and iniquity. How regularly they have kept swearing that their business never paid, and yet their dividends always increased when they wished to distribute their stock. And here is one who--more audacious, far, than King CANUTE of old--would control even the ocean. This man starts a Pacific Mail with a capital of ten millions, increases the amount to twenty millions, and swears it is worth thirty. Then he "puts his foot in it" and shows the knave in his deal, (dealings--jocular,) by selling the stock at thirty-five. This from PUNCHINELLO, as he looks over The Street--and through it--from his lofty pinnacle. Don't strain your precious eyes and necks in fruitless endeavors to discover him there, since he can make himself invisible at will. But listen, ye men of The Street, with all your ears, (Erie,) and you will hear a solemn chant like unto that of the _muezzin_ from the minaret. 'Tis the voice of PUNCHINELLO wafting sonorously from his tower the instructive moral-- "Whoe'er sells stocks as isn't his'n, Must pay up or go to pris'n." * * * * * A New Conglomerate Pavement.