There was a veteran political chap from Albany called upon me last Sunday night. A sage and aged chap of infinite vest, who wears the broad-brimmed hat of reticent respectability, and nestles in much shirt-collar like a centuried owl. Having taken a pinch of snuff after the dirty manner of a Gentleman of the Old School, he merely paused to take a hasty glance at the plan for the next Senatorial election in his note book, and then says he: "I'm grievously dis'pointed, yea, piteously vexed, to see the partisan spirit raging so furiously in State elections, at a time when an expiring country calls upon all her sons, irrespective of party, to join hands in the great work of saving her. Why cannot these turbulent denouncers of each other be like me, who recognize no division of party in this national crisis? I would have a union of all men to vote for the one great ticket of my choice; and even the democrat I would recognize as a fellow being in such a case." I suspected this grievous old chap to be a hypocrite, my boy, and I managed to let Humboldt free from his cage for the purpose of testing him. As the aged chap commenced to get warm, Humboldt began to make raids round his sagacious head, and with divers slaps in the air, the aged chap waxed spirited, and says he; "Pshoo! pshoo!--As I was saying, we should all strive to conciliate our political adversaries--pshoo! and endeavor to promote a spirit of unity even with the most disaffected peace men--pshoo, you beast!--and not act like Greeley and Wendell Phillips, and Beecher--confound it, pshoo!--and other infernal fanatics; who, by their indiscreet, imprudent--curse it, pshoo!--and infernal, God-forsaken niggerism, are wounding the tenderest feelings--thunder and lightning, pshoo!--and rousing the hellish passions of really good democrats, who thereby make capital from their sadly mistaken--blazes and blue lightning, pshoo!--and devilish craziness, which is unfortunately confusing--good heavens, pshoo, pshoo!--and damning their own party, and knocking thunder out of the gubernatorial canvass; besides--besides--" Here this aged chap made a flying leap at Humboldt, missed his aim, and then dashed madly from the room. Depend upon it, my boy, a musquito is a great test of human nature. The little chap operates like an outside conscience, and brings the real thing to the surface. Why does not the Mackerel Brigade advance? This, my boy, is the question of the hour. For what do our heroes wait? Is it for india-rubbers, or umbrellas, or fine-tooth combs? No! be not deceived: it is for none of these.