being a mystery to me, I retired to bed thinking of my first night's adventure in our modern Babylon, and awoke early in the morning to regret that delay in the pursuit of my mission might cause grievous injury to the nation." Again, we bridled old Battle, and proceeded slowly on, the sun being intense enough to dissolve both our brains, and the major cutting short the thread of his story by saying we would dine with Mrs. Trotbridge, whose house we ought to reach by high noon. "However, it was neither here nor there," the major resumed; "I knew that no military man of any distinction could escape the formalities and ceremonies it was necessary to go through before being regularly enstated into the good graces of New York society, and so gave myself up to the policy of making the best of it. I got up, and after making divers inquiries of waiters found straying along the confused labyrinth of passages, got down stairs. My first business was to search in all the morning papers for the man of the lost treasure in my possession; I read them all only to be disappointed. Nor had the companion of my adventure remembered to have my arrival, with becoming comments, put in all the papers, as he had pledged his honor to do, having, as he said, an unlimited control over them. I carefully consulted the columns of the Herald. And though I discovered in the editor a love for sharpening up his battle-axe, and making splinters of his fellows at least twice a week, not a gleam of light was thrown upon the man whose loss I felt it in my heart would be his ruin. I contemplated the wants and anxieties of those who sought to make them known therein, and smiled at the curious manner in which a thousand ambitious individuals expressed their readiness to supply the wants of others. I turned to the Tribune. But neither in the gravely-spun philosophy of its editorials, nor among the pearls of its advertisement columns, could I find a word to relieve my anxiety. The sages who are supposed by the knowing ones to jot things down in that very consistent inconsistent journal, had likewise forgotten to mention my name; which apparent neglect much discomposed my mind. I was, however, somewhat relieved by a friend, who informed me that it was in their true spirit. One of the waiters told me with an air of great wisdom, that the Tribune never took up military men except to set them down with bruises. This waiter was a gifted Irishman, and a great politician. During a sweet little touch of a rebellion, or a famine (which are about the same) in his country, he had read the Tribune twice a day to his wife, Biddy Regan, who expressed herself delighted at the forked lightning style it then kept up in defense of the rights of her fifty first cousins.