Now, gentlemen, all of you are philosophers, and most zealous philanthropists, and have for years been roaring, at the top of your voice, to the Oi Polloi rats, that the old crazy edifice of society, in which they live, is no longer fit for human dwelling, and is imminently dangerous. The rats have taken you at your word, and are rushing headlong, with the haste and panic of a "sauve que peut," into every hole that promises shelter--into "any port in a storm." Some join the Rappists and Shakers, thousands find a temporary shelter in Mr. Greely's Fourierite Phalansteries; many more follow Mr. Andrews to Trialville, to villages in the far West, or to Modern Times; and a select few to the saloons of Free Love; and hundreds of thousands find shelter with Brigham Young, in Utah; whilst others, still more frightened, go to consult the Spiritual Telegraph, that raps hourly at the doors of heaven and of hell, or quietly put on their ascension robes to accompany Parson Miller in his upward flight. But the greater number are waiting (very impatiently) for Mr. Andrews to establish his New and Better World, or for Mr. Garrison and Mr. Goodell to inaugurate their Millenium. Why, Gentlemen! none of these worse than Cassandra vaticinations--why none of this panic, terror, confusion and flight, in Slave Society? Are we suffering, and yet contented? Is our house tumbling about our heads, and we sitting in conscious security amidst the impending ruin? No! No! Our edifice is one that never did fall, and never will fall; for Nature's plastic hand reared it, supports it, and will forever sustain it. Have we not shewn, in this single chapter, that the North has as much to apprehend from abolition as the South, and that it is time for conservatives every where to unite in efforts to suppress and extinguish it? We add hereto a letter we addressed to the public as to "Our Trip to the North," and our reply to a Mr. Hogeboom, a New York abolitionist. Also, our letters to Garrison and Greely. We do this to shew that we intend not to mislead, misrepresent or deceive. In truth, the leading Abolitionists are our pets and favorites. We have an inveterate and perverse penchant of finding out good qualities in bad fellows. Robespierre and Milton's Satan are our particular friends. MY TRIP TO THE NORTH. _To the Editors of the Enquirer_: