In this dilemma, the curs of the Morrison, perceiving that although they had paid the debt to Nicholas, contracted under the old direction, _they had, in another shape, just doubled it under the new_—that each of them had served _his own_ purpose, and that not one of them owned a dollar in the Morrison or the U. S. B. they all resigned their seats, and scampered away to their dens; where, it is to be hoped, that, for the benefit of the coming generation, they will live and die in a good old age. And may God them assoil, the stockholders and creditors of the Morrison never will. As I approach the conclusion of this chapter, my tale grows sadder, and still more sad. All created beings and things, which have beginning, must also have an end. Death lays his unpitying hand alike on man, and every monument of his greatness. A TOUCH OF THE PATHETIC. We wonder at the duration of our own existence; that the term of our lives should witness the pride of a powerful state; the successful opposer of the conqueror of armies, and the controller of millions, to dwell only in memory. Yet the sad tale has met our ear, that the U. S. B. of P. is no more.—That pillar of the currency that some thought was based on a rock of ages—that nursing mother, who would fain have gathered the whole nation, as a hen gathereth her brood under her wings—that giant of ubiquity, that dwelt in every town and city, a very mastodon in power, and a mastiff in watchfulness—deserted by his friends, persecuted by his enemies, and cheated by all—expired at Philadelphia on the 5th of Feb. A. D. 1841, after one long and piteous howl of 20 days and 6 hours, in the 5th year of his age. The power of sympathy is one of the remarkable properties of life, throughout all animate and inanimate creation; and it is a circumstance worthy of note, that, at the moment of his expiring, every inferior cur, from New York to New Orleans, gave one loud and piercing yell, and laid himself down in his den. Throughout the land, old men bowed themselves in sorrow, widows wailed in secret, children began to cry for bread, girls in their teens shed salt tears, lest the fall of stocks should loose them their sweethearts, and a thousand and one ancient virgins retired in privacy to count their rosaries; not with catholic piety and reverence, but to see how much remained in the stocking. A SHOW OF REASON. My readers will be surprised, that I should apply the incongruous and unmusical name of bull dog to the U. S. B.; but I must beg them to recollect that I am in Wall-street, that this is Wall-street language, and that no other would be understood here. And as this was the name under which we first made his acquaintance, for the sake of consistency, I must carry out the figure. And to redeem my promise, it only remains that I should give some account of his disease.