Contrary to all precedents of the past, the coming of Congress has had little or no effect on the matrimonial market, although it is confidently believed that Charley O’Neill is holding a vast amount of “stock.” Notwithstanding the danger and difficulties of carrying this weight, he has decided to enact the role of the immortal Don Quixote, and has already planted the banner of his famous predecessor on the soil of the capital of the New World. But lest Philadelphia take umbrage at this unnatural exploit, as it looks like spurning the city of his beloved soul, he wishes it understood that had he fixed Philadelphia as a starting-point he would have been confined by the meshes of the Camerons, whereas Washington, being the centre of civilization, offers facilities that cannot be breached until the farthest limit of the whole country is reached. As matters now stand, there isn’t a maid or widow at the capital whose heart is not pit-a-pat, and even married women are providing against a morning of storm which might close in perpetual sunshine. Already the first celebrated battle has been fought, and contrary to the usage of ancient chivalry. But as this is a different age, and bottom side the globe as to Spain, it must not be expected that ancient rules will be followed. When Charley O’Neill attacked the windmills the other day in the House it was found that he had hit Sam Randall in disguise. When he learned that he had got the wrong pig by the ear, he soon scattered his forces and comforted himself by thinking, if he had not destroyed a windmill of which Philadelphia would be well glad to be rid, the skirmish at least had been fought in the “Cave of the Winds,” and if not up to the standard of “knight errantry,” had sufficient of the Quixotic flavor to answer every modern purpose. For the present he has decided to save the expense of a “Squire,” unless Congress will make an appropriation. Besides, Sancho Panza would be in the way if he were the true metal of the Spanish sort. But to remove this difficulty a private secretary has been found who will open his tender missives; escort distressed damsels to the theatre; gorge himself at “society lunches,” and sigh like a “lying trooper” when the proper parties are around. Charley O’Neill wants Philadelphia to know that most of his mischief is performed by proxy, and when he returns he will be none the worse for wear. On account of the slippery pavements he will not be provided with a “Rosinante,” but not to disappoint his constituents he has determined to get upon his “high horse” on the floor of Congress whenever a pestiferous Democrat shows his hand. A magnificent belle of the “West End” has offered him a plume for his hat, but he disdains such marks of frivolity and declares that he will appear only in the simple armor of an American citizen. This consists of a clean white shirt, a neat broad-cloth coat--which under no circumstances can be “swallow-tail”--Wanamaker pantaloons and patent-leathers.