, you
have only to stroll along, with the mill on your back, until you see
tanbark in the street, and a knocker wrapped up in buckskin. Then you
stop and grind; looking as if you meant to stop and grind till doomsday.
Presently a window opens, and somebody pitches you a sixpence, with a
request to "Hush up and go on," etc. I am aware that some grinders have
actually afforded to "go on" for this sum; but for my part, I found the
necessary outlay of capital too great to permit of my "going on" under a
shilling.

At this occupation I did a good deal; but, somehow, I was not quite
satisfied, and so finally abandoned it. The truth is, I labored under
the disadvantage of having no monkey--and American streets are so muddy,
and a Democratic rabble is so obstrusive, and so full of demnition
mischievous little boys.

I was now out of employment for some months, but at length succeeded, by
dint of great interest, in procuring a situation in the Sham-Post.
The duties, here, are simple, and not altogether unprofitable. For
example:--very early in the morning I had to make up my packet of sham
letters. Upon the inside of each of these I had to scrawl a few lines on
any subject which occurred to me as sufficiently mysterious--signing
all the epistles Tom Dobson, or Bobby Tompkins, or anything in that way.
Having folded and sealed all, and stamped them with sham postmarks--New
Orleans, Bengal, Botany Bay, or any other place a great way off--I set
out, forthwith, upon my daily route, as if in a very great hurry. I
always called at the big houses to deliver the letters, and receive
the postage. Nobody hesitates at paying for a letter--especially for a
double one--people are such fools--and it was no trouble to get round
a corner before there was time to open the epistles. The worst of
this profession was, that I had to walk so much and so fast; and
so frequently to vary my route. Besides, I had serious scruples of
conscience. I can't bear to hear innocent individuals abused--and the
way the whole town took to cursing Tom Dobson and Bobby Tompkins was
really awful to hear. I washed my hands of the matter in disgust.

My eighth and last speculation has been in the Cat-Growing way. I have
found that a most pleasant and lucrative business, and, really, no
trouble at all. The country, it is well known, has become infested with
cats--so much so of late, that a petition for relief, most numerously
and respectably signed, was brought before