bales, drays, and horses; the Jews screamed and shut their doors as they saw us coming; there was a shower of many-bladed knives, German silver pencils, and impracticable pistols as the show-cases flew wildly in the air. It was a dreadful scene. I am not a fleshy man—that is, not particularly fleshy— but an old villain with a bald head and spectacles punched me in the abdomen; I lost my breath, closed my eyes, and remembered nothing further. On recovering my faculties, I found myself jammed up flat against a sugar-box, like a hoe-cake, with my head protruding over the top in the most uncomfortable manner, and apparently the weight of the whole crowd (amounting by this time to some six thousand) pressed against me, keeping me inextricably in my position. Here for an instant I caught a glimpse of a Stockton boat just leaving the wharf;—then everything was obscured by a sudden shower of something white, and then burst from the mob a deep and melancholy howl, prolonged, terrific, hideous. I wrenched myself violently from the sugarbox, and confronted a seedy-looking individual with a battered hat; in his hand he held a crumpled paper, and on his countenance sat the gloom of despair. "In the name of heaven," I gasped, "what is this?” "He has escaped," he replied, with a deep groan. "What has he done?" said I; "who is the crim

inal?" "Done," said he of the seedy garments, turning moodily away, "nothing-it is the new Collector!!! He's off to Stockton." The crowd dispersed; slowly and sadly they all walked off. I looked over the side of the wharf. I am not given to exaggeration. You will believe me when I tell you that the sea was white with letters that had been thrown by that crowd; for miles it was white with them, and far out in the stream, her wheels filled with letter-paper, her shafts clogged with dissolving wafers, lay the Stockton boat. On her upper deck,

in a frenzied agony, danced the Pilot, his hand grasping his shattered jaw. An office-seeker had thrown a letter attached to a stone, which had dislodged four of his front teeth! As I gazed, the steamer's wheels

began to move. At her after-cabin window appeared a nose above a small mustache, a thumb and fingers twinkled for an instant in the sunlight, and she was gone. I walked up the wharf, and gazed ruefully on my torn clothing and shattered boots, which had suffered much in this struggle of democracy. "Thank God! oh, Squibob," said I, " that you are a fool, or what amounts to the same thing in these times--a Whig-and have no offices to dispense, and none to seek for. Verily, the aphorism of Scripture is erroneous. It should read, It is equally cursed to give as to receive."

I repaired to my own room at the Oriental. Passing the chamber of the Collector, I espied within the chambermaid, an interesting colored person named Nancy. Now I used to have an unworthy prejudice against the colored race; but since reading that delightful and truthful work, Uncle Stowe's Log, my sympathies are with them, and I have rather encouraged a Platonic attachment for Nancy, which had been engendered between us by numerous acts of civility on my part and amiability on hers. So I naturally stopped to speak to her. She stood up to her middle in unopened letters. There must have been on the floor of that room eighteen thousand unopened letters. The monthly mail from the East would be nothing to it. "Mr. Squibob," said Nancy,

with a sweet smile, " is you got airy shovel?" "No, Nancy," said I;" why do you want a shovel?" "To clar out dese yere letters," said she; "de Collecker said I muss frow dem all away; he don't want no such trash about him." A thought struck me. I hastened to my room, seized a slop-pail, returned and filled it with letters, opened them, read them, and selected a few, which strike me as peculiarly deserving. If the Collector reads the Herald-and I know he "does nothing else"-these must attract his attention, and the object of the writers will be attained. Here they are. Of course, I suppress the dates and signatures; the authors will doubtless be recognized by their peculiar styles; and the time and place at which they were written is quite immaterial.

NO. I

will be per

MY DEAR FRIEND: I presume you fectly surrounded this morning, as usual, by a crowd of heartless office-seekers; I therefore take this method of addressing you. I thank God, I want no office for myself or others. You have known me for years, and have never known me to do a mean or dishonorable action. I saw W up at Stockton the other day, and he is very anxious that I should be appointed Inspector of Steamboats. He said that

I needed it and deserved it, and that he hoped you would give it to me; but I told him I was no officeseeker I should never ask you for any office. office. He said he would write to you about it. Please write to me as soon as you receive this, care of Parry & Batten.

Your affectionate friend.

P. S.-My friend John Smith, who you know is a true Pierce & King man, is anxious to get the appointment of Weigher and Gauger of Macaroni. He is an excellent fellow, and a true friend of yours. I hope, whether you can spare an Inspectorship for me or not, you will give Smith a chance.

NO. II

MY DEAR SIR: Allow me to congratulate you on your success in obtaining your wishes. I have called twice to see you, but have not been able to find you in. You were kind enough to assure me, before leaving for Washington, that I might depend upon your friendship. I think it very improbable that I shall be renominated. The water-front Extension project has not been received with that favor that I expected, and what with Roman and the Whigs and that d-d Herald, I feel very doubtful. You will oblige me by retaining in your possession,