From the Salmagundi.
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l

 The night of which we speak, was dis. tingushed by that condition of he aimos- phere, of which it Is difficult 10 express one's self respectfully, much as we may be inclined to applaud the doings of nature.- It was dark, damp, foggy, and dfisly; the air hung about the wayiarer in warm, un- healthy folds, and extracted the starch from his shirt collar and the bosom of his dicky, with as much rapdily as it sofiened the elasticity of his spirits, and melted the su- gar of self complacency from his mind. It was, in fact, detestable night night in November. The very walls, inside of the house wept dewy drops, and the bannisters distilled liquids any thing but beneficial to white gloves. The street lamps emitted ghastly white glare, and were so hemmed in with vapory wreaths, that their brightest ef- forts could not carry a ray of light three feet from the burner. Every thing wore des- bonding aspect. X biting north-easter would have been profitable, and snow storm delightful. The pigs tails were out of curl, and the tail of the fiercest night TO- wing bulldog no longer waved banner of wrath and defiance, soaring punier crea- lures into holes and corners, but hung down, drooping and dejected, an emblem of fallen spirits. When the ornamentals of the brute creation were thus below par, il IS not surprising that mep, who have cares on their shoulders, and raggedness in their trousers, should be more melancholy than son more bracipg occasions. Every one has felt that they are so--at least every one who is himself subject 10 the 'sslsiey infu- sence," and has had troubles enough to tear his clothes, and teach hun that the staple of this mundane existence is not exclusively made up offun.

 Peter Brash is q man of this class, and he was exposed to the night air at the time spoken oi, either because, unlike the young CT Brutus, he had no Poriia to tell him that such exposure IS not physical" and that he would act wisely to gointo he house and ,<leposite himself in bed; .or because, al- shpugh aware of the miasmaiic dangers by which he was surrounded, he had neither house nor bed. We, for our own part, in- cline to the last opinion. But be that as il may, Mir. Peter Brush was in the street, as melancholy as an unhraced drum, "a giDed cat, or Il lugged bear"

 He was in dilapidated condition-out at elbows, cut at knees, out oi pockets, out of spirits, and out in the street--an 'seut and outer.n in every respect. He sat upon the curbstonc, leaning his head upon his hand, his elbow being placed upon stepping stone. Mir. Brush had for some time been silent, absorbed in deep thought, which hc relieved at intervals by spitting through his l teeth, forlornly into the gutter. At length, l h4e3a'fiing h4e3a a deep sigh, he spoke

 "Thcy used to tell me-put not your trust ipb princes--and haven't. None of eaa aA@nwsnted to borrow nothing of me, Rnsqb aesetlsee any of them to borrow no- thing of them. Princes! pooh! put mt your rust in politicianers. them's my sentiments. There shHst*p mediums about that. Hav-

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