I cant stop to tell you much about the sights I see there, but you must come and see 'em without fail. I dont know but they 've nigh upon scared me out of a year's growth; they showed us first a little feller they called a fidler. I dont know what he was made of, but he acted jest as though he was alive. He was n't more than a foot long, and he sot down in a chair as pretty as a little man. And somebody played some music to him and that sot him all of a didder, and he made his little fiddle-stick fly so I did n't know but he would shake his arm off. Then they brought out a little doll-baby; a sweet looking little creature, dressed up as neat as a pink. And they brought it along up to us, and as true as you are alive it spoke right out and said ma-ma. I could n't hardly believe my own ears at first, but it said ma-ma again, and pa-pa, more than twenty times.

Then they sot a couple of little fellers up on a rope, and they went to hopping and jumping and dancing about, and whirling over and over round the rope, till I thought they would fall and break their necks more than fifty times. The prettiest one would sit up so straight, and turn his head round and look at us, and hold his hands out to us, that I told ant Sally I knew he was alive and I'd go and take the dear little creature down before he fell and killed himself. But she held on to me and declared I should n't go, for he had n't any more life in him than an ax handle; but I cant hardly believe it now.

Then they said they would show us the Congregation of Moskow. And presently I begun to hear a racket and drums and fifes agoing, and bells a dinging, and by and by they pulled away some great curtains, that hung clear across the Hall, and there was a sight that beat all I ever see before. I jumped and was going to run for the door at first, for I thought Portland was all afire; but ant Sally held on to me till I got pacified a little, and then I sot down.

And, there, I must say it was the grandest sight that ever I did see. A thousand buildings and meeting houses all in a light flame, and the fire and smoke rolling up to the clouds, and thousands and thousands of soldiers marching and riding through the streets, and the drums and the fifes and the bugles and the bells and the guns; O Sally, you must come and see it, if you have to come afoot and alone as the gal went to be married. The man says in the papers he aint agoing to keep it here only till next Friday night; but I'll coax him as hard as I can to stay till next week, so you can have a chance to see it. In haste your loving Cousin, NABBY DOWNING.

LETTER LXX.

In which Major Downing concludes it is best to put some of his poetry into his book.

Washington, Oct. 20, 1833.

To the Editor of the Portland Courier, away down east in the State of Maine.

MY DEAR OLD FRIEND, I am glad you have got Mr Lilly, Wait, and Company, in Boston to print my book, for they say they print about the prettiest books there is agoing now days, and as many of 'em too as most any body. I shall go on to Boston in a few days, so as to see to it, and have it well done. I've been a thinking it might help the matter along some towards my getting in to be President, if you would look up that are piece of poetry that I writ for you three or four years ago about Sam Patch, and put it into the book. I dont know as many of the Presidents have wrote much poetry; but they say Quincy Adams has considerable, and

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it's helped him along a good deal. And as I dont war to leave any stone unturned that would be likely to hel me in, I think its best to put that in the book.

I remain your loving friend,

MAJOR JACK DOWNING,

MAJOR DOWNING'S BIOGRAPHY OF SAM PATCH, THE JUMPER.

NOTE, BY THE EDITOR. There are some striking parallels between the race run by the renowned Sam Patch, of jumping memory, who figured in this jumping world in the year, (anno Domini) one thousand eight hundred and twenty-nine, and the no less renowned Major Jack Downing, who is figuring away 'in the full tide of successful experiment' at this present era. We think it fortunate for the memory of the jumping hero, as well as for the world, that his wonderful achievements have been recorded by so illustrious a genius and accomplished writer as Major Downing. It is fitting that their memory should go down to posterity together. They were both humble in their origin, and both were aspiring and lofty in their ambition. Neither of them however ever stooped to run after popularity, for popularity always run after them. Sam commenced with taking small jumps, and Jack commenced with reaching after small offices. Sam's ambition soon led him to leap from high bridges and factory walls, and Jack began anon to think of a Governor's chair and a seat in the Cabinet at Washington. Sam at length would stop nothing short of jumping down the falls of Gennesee and Niagara, and Jack has fixed his eye upon the lofty mark and is pressing forward with full vigor for the Presidency of the United States. Sam's last jump was a fatal one, and we sincerely hope the parallel may not be carried out, but that the Major may yet see many good days, and continue to serve his country as faithfully as he has hitherto done.

But we must explain how Major Downing came to be the biographer of Sam Patch.

While Mr Downing (we say Mr, because it was before he received any office) was attending upon the Legislature of Maine in 1830, one day when the wheels of government were clogged and some of the Senators had run away and there was nothing doing, Mr Downing came into our room, and sat down and looked over a file of newspapers. He soon got upon the achievements of Sam Patch, whose career had a short time before closed, and he read his history through. Mr Downing's head was full of the matter. He never read any thing before that filled him with such intense interest. He had got upon the track of a kindred spirit, and he was all animation. He went home with us and spent the night; but he could talk of nothing and think of nothing but Sam Patch. He had got his story by heart, and he was talking it over in his sleep all night. In the morning he rose pale and nervous. Says he, I believe that story of Sam Patch has been ground over in my head more than forty times to-night, and its got so now it comes through my head in lines all about the same length, jest like rolls out of a carding machine; and if you'll give me some paper and pen and ink, I'll put it down.' We furnished him accordingly, and he sat down and wrote the following splendid piece of biography, which we published in the Courier at the time and now insert in the volume of his life and writings.