If men who fill high places live by teaching others to gratify their appetites and pleasures alone, instead of setting a commendable example for a higher state of existence, by whom can we expect that justice and moral worth shall be respected?

Connected with the city constabulary are two men whose duty it is to keep a sharp lookout for all vessels arriving, and see that all negroes or colored seamen are committed to prison.  One is a South Carolinian, by the name of Dusenberry, and the other an Irishman, by the name of Dunn.  These two men, although their office is despicable in the eyes of many, assume more authority over a certain class of persons, who are unacquainted with the laws, than the mayor himself.  The former is a man of dark, heavy features, with an assassin-like countenance, more inclined to look at you distrustfully than to meet you with an open gaze.  He is rather tall and athletic, but never has been known to do any thing that would give him credit for bravery.  Several times he has been on the brink of losing his office for giving too much latitude to his craving for perquisites; yet, by some unaccountable means, he manages to hold on.  The other is a robust son of the Emerald Isle, with a broad, florid face, low forehead, short crispy hair very red, and knotted over his forehead.  His dress is usually very slovenly and dirty, his shirt-collar bespotted with tobacco-juice, and tied with an old striped bandana handkerchief.  This, taken with a very wide mouth, flat nose, vicious eye, and a countenance as hard as ever came from Tipperary, and a lame leg, which causes him to limp as he walks, gives our man Dunn the incarnate appearance of a fit body-grabber.  A few words will suffice for his character.  He is known to the official department, of which the magistrates are a constituent part, as a notorious—­l; and his better-half, who, by-the-way, is what is called a free-trader, meaning, to save the rascality of a husband, sells liquor by small portions, to suit the Murphys and the O’Neals.  But, as it pleases our Mr. Dunn, he very often becomes a more than profitable customer, and may be found snoring out the penalty in some sequestered place, too frequently for his own character.  Between the hours of ten and twelve in the morning, Dunn, if not too much incapacitated, may be seen limping his way down Broad street, to watch vessels arriving and departing, carrying a limp-cane in one hand, and a large covered whip in the other.  We were struck with the appearance of the latter, because it was similar to those carried in the hands of a rough, menial class of men in Macon, Georgia, who called themselves marshals, under a misapplication of the term.  Their office was to keep the negro population “straight,” and do the whipping when called upon, at fifty cents a head.  They also did the whipping at the jails, and frequently made from five to six dollars a day at this alone; for it is not considered fashionable for a gentleman