On the day I left York, government despatches had just arrived, which announced the dismissal of our two Crown Officers, the Attorney and Solicitor General, owing, it is supposed, to too great freedom in debate in our House of Assembly—the ferment it excited was almost ludicrous—“_delenda est Carthago_” was emphatically pronounced. The Whig Ministry must be annihilated. The province, though hardly prepared for such a measure, must at once be severed—such despotism could not be endured. I acted, as I generally do on such occasions, as pacificator, and smilingly quoted the well known lines of old Dr. Byron, in the conclusion of his _Bedlamite_— “Kill your enemies’, kill a fool’s head of your own, They’ll die of themselves, if you let them alone.” It is whispered also that our excellent and deserving governor (Sir John Colborne) has not escaped censure; this I am truly grieved to hear, for his services cannot be too highly estimated, and our province is indebted to him beyond all expression. I fear, however, that his removal is not very remote; he is too pious, and too tame a politician, to give satisfaction to the administration at home; but my contracting limits oblige me hastily to conclude, and to assure yourself and Miss Ford how truly I remain, Yours, gratefully, GEORGE MORTIMER. P.S. June 6, New York. Yesterday the dear party arrived all in health and safety. Never did I feel more truly thankful. TO THE REV. THOMAS MORTIMER. Rochester, State of New York, May 2, 1833.