Wal, I picked myself up as well as I could, and I went down to the Express office like a streak of chalk. I found the tall editor a setting there counting up some 'lection figgers, and he looked eenamost tuckered out. Sez I, "Mister Editor, look a here," and with that I showed him where they'd bust out the back of my coat a flinging me down stairs, and how that plaguy hog had kivered my new cassimere trousers all over with mud. Sez he, and he couldn't help from larfing, "don't mind it, Mr. Slick; I've got wuss usage than that many a time." "Yis," sez I, as wrothy as all natur, "but I guess you haint been pitched head for'ard into the gutter with that tarnal hog." "Wal," sez he, a trying to keep from larfin all he could, "try it again, Mr. Slick, you'll get used to these things by-am-by." "I'll be darned to darnation if I du, and that's the eend on't!" sez I, a doubling up my fist. "If I can't find nothing but politics to write about, I'll go back to Weathersfield about the quickest, I can tell you that." Wal, the long and the short on it was, I got back to the sloop and turned in awfully womblecropped, and as sore all over as a bile. I can't go out to-day, so I have writ this letter. From your loving son, JONATHAN SLICK. * * * * * LETTER V. A Little of Jonathan's Private Love Affairs. TO THE EDITORS OF THE EXPRESS: Wal, you see I'm as good as my word. I hadn't hardly read t'other letter through, afore I sot right down and begun this right off the reel. By the living jingo! how it makes the blood bile and tingle in a fellow's heart to see his writing printed, and to hear people a talking about it. I wish you could a seen my office the morning arter that fust letter cum out. I thought my neck would'v got the cramp, I had to bow so much to the folks that cum in to give me advice about my letters. One feller got awful wrathy about what I writ about politics, but I jest told him to mind his own bisness, for I guessed my eye teeth was cut if I did cum from the country. He begun to git a leetle imperdent, so I got up and showed him the door; and when he wouldn't go peaceably, I jest give him a specimen of Weathersfield sole-leather, but it's no use writing about such varmint. Now you know who I be, you won't think it very odd when I tell you how awful womblecropt I felt to think what a chance the old folks gave Samuel to see the world, while they kept me tied down to the onion beds as tight as marm Jones used to be to that leetle squalling youngen of hern, that was so cross that its teeth couldn't cut straight, but stuck out catecorning all round its gums.