During the first part of my sojourn in the metropolis I made the acquaintance of a portly personage from the "Providence Plantations," who invited me to visit his home, and take a look at little "Rhody." As I had been hustled round pretty constantly for several weeks, I had become fairly tired of New York, although it is a town of considerable consequence. Wanted to see the world; so started for the seven-by-nine State of Rhode Island. In the course of a thorough exploration of that delightful though diminutive state, which occupied me about five hours, I discovered that they shingle the houses all over outside and in, and put the windows in the roof; they make their rail fences out of cobble stones; the ducks roost on the fence, and hatch their young ones in the tops of the cherry trees; the men look so much alike, their wives often kiss the wrong individual, (Damphool says it's a way women have the world over). Went to the city of Providence, where all the men make jewelry, and all the women believe in spirit rappings; where they've got a bridge wider than it is long, and Macadamized on both sides; where all the plaster busts of great men have grey wigs on; where they light the gas in the middle of the afternoon; where they drive five horses tandem; where the apples grow as big as washtubs, and the oysters obtain the enormous size of three-cent pieces. Went into the woods after chestnuts; couldn't find any, but discovered a magnificent tree in the distance--rejoiced exceedingly thereat--started for it--three quarters of a mile away; went ahead over stones, ditches, fences, snakes, briers, and stone walls, until at last I reached it, and found it was an elm, no chestnuts on it--got very mad; walked round the state a couple of times, and took the first train for home. Glad to see the old place again, and also pleased to perceive that something of unusual importance seemed to occupy the attention of the usually-hard-at-work-but-on-Sunday-loafing-about-the-streets-waiting-for -a-fire-or-a-row-to-turn-up population of the city. Saw a big crowd in the Park--inquired about it, and was told the usual Street Screeching was going on--wanted to see the fun--got a good place on a fat Irishman's toes. Enter Gabriel--tin horn--hole in his pantaloons--(Bull Dogge says that if Angels have wings they are also provided with tails--hence this last item); thought it extremely probable. Gabriel mounted one end of the City Hall steps, and after a preliminary overture on his horn, and a slight skirmish among the faithful, resulting in four black eyes, a damaged nose, and a broken leg, the religious services commenced--(Damphool was entirely carried away by his sympathies for this last martyr, but soon discovered that the fractured member was "purely vegetable," as the patent medicine men say, and the injury was speedily repaired by means of a few shingle nails and a piece of clapboard).