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We cheerfully find place for the following, dated from 'Willard's,
Washington, D.C., April 2d:'

'DEAR CONTINENTAL: I know that the CONTINENTAL publishes nothing but
original articles, and therefore beg you, at the request of your large
and highly respectable Washington constituency, to find a shelf for the
following, which is original with Bill H. Polk _and_ the Louisville
_Dem'docrat_:'

THE EXPERIENCES OF GEORGE N. SANDERS--HOW HE LEFT NASHVILLE, AND
HOW HE HOPES TO GET TO RICHMOND.

'There is no one better known in the country as a scholar, a
politician, and a wit, than Wm. H. Polk, of Tennessee. He has a
plantation some forty miles from Nashville, lives comfortably, has
a joke for every one, and is, withal, a resolute man in his
opinions. He was the opponent of the evanescent Harris, who has
disappeared mysteriously, and voted for by the cooeperationists in
the election for Governor of that State. About a month ago notice
came to him that he must leave the State: a notice which, however,
he did not obey. His description of the terror of the rebels on
the taking of Nashville is said to be supremely rich. Among other
incidents, is one of peculiar interest to us Kentuckians,
concerning the fate of the late Provisional Government.

'Colonel Polk, a few days before the arrival of our army at
Nashville, and, indeed, before he heard of the fall of Fort
Donelson, in going down the road from his farm, descried a fat,
ragged, bushy-headed, tangled-mustached, dilapidated-looking
creature, (something like an Italian organ-grinder in distress,)
so disguised in mud as to be scarcely recognizable. What was his
surprise, on a nearer approach, to see that it was the redoubtable
George N. Sanders.

'George had met the enemy, and he was theirs--not in person, but
in feeling. His heart was lost, his breeches were ragged, and his
boots showed a set of fat, gouty toes protruding from them. The
better part of him was gone, and gone a good distance.

''In the name of God, George, is that you?' said the
ex-Congressman.

''Me!' said the immortal George; 'I wish it wasn't; I wish I was
any thing but me. But what is the news here? is there any one
running? They are all running back there,' (pointing over his
shoulder with his thumb.)

''No,' said Mr. Polk; 'not that I know of.