General Hancock was there, the handsomest man a woman’s eyes ever rested upon in the military service. No matter about his record in New Orleans; no matter about the dubious reasons that brought him to Washington. Queen Bess, one of the greatest women that ever lived, would have made him prime minister at once, and if Andrew Johnson wishes to emulate this illustrious woman, and add glory to his declining reign, none but a Senate lost to the most exquisite emotions will interfere. Towering a whole head and shoulders above foreign ministers and all others in the room, one’s eyes must be raised to view the stars on his shoulders, just as they are lifted to the flaming star that rests upon the strap of Perseus, proving him to be one of the greatest generals in the heavens. Heretofore a President’s levee has been a fair sample of different layers of society; this last one has been the exception. There were the President’s few confidential advisers, and those allied to him through interest who remained in the room with him, dividing and sharing the honor which they must feel is slipping away. Secretary Seward received by the side of Mrs. Patterson. General Hancock held his reception a short distance from the President; whilst the policeman on duty and Marshal Gooding, who has to perform the task of introduction, looked as if they wished the farce was over. The East Room seemed an immense bee-hive, swarming with black-coated honeybees, and if the truth must certainly be told, the queens were as scarce as in any other well-behaved, respectable hive. At precisely 11 o’clock the Marine Band tied up their shining horns and scattered in the darkness, the guests vanished, and the Executive Mansion was left to its uneasy dreams. OLIVIA. MARY CLEMMER AMES. TRIBUTE TO THE TALENTED CORRESPONDENT OF THE NEW YORK INDEPENDENT. WASHINGTON, _March 31, 1868_.