"'It's one of them doctor's flyers as I'd rather ride in it than in Queen Victory's bang-up, A, No. 1, stage-coach. It's a scrouger.' "He kinder stuck a minute, and then says he: "'What'll ye take for it, hoss?' "I made out as though I didn't keer, and says I: "'It was sent to me by a cousin up in York, and I don't keer to sell; but yer may take it for $250.' "He turned green about the gills at that, and says he: "'Say $100, and I'll take it with my eyes shut.' "'It's yourn,' says I. 'Give us the rags.' "He smelt a bug that time; but it was too late; so he forked out the rale stuff, and then went to look at the two-wheeler. "'Thunder!' says he, blinkin' at the seat. 'I've seen that afore, or my name isn't what my father's wus!' "'Better 'blieve it,' says I; 'that's your four-wheeler shaved down to the very latest York-fashion.' "Then he _did_ cuss; but twarn't no use. The trade was a trade, and all the boys larfed till their tongues hung out. I treated all round, and as I left 'em, says I: "'Uncle Johnny, when ye want to trade agin, jist pick out a grindstun that isn't too hard for yer blade.'" At the conclusion of this tale of real life I returned to the city, my boy; impressed with the conviction that the purpose of the sun's rising in the East is to give the New Englanders the first chance to monopolize the supply, should daylight ever be a sailable article. Yours, admiringly, ORPHEUS C. KERR. LETTER XXXV. GIVING PRACTICAL ILLUSTRATION OF MODERN PATRIOTISM, AND CELEBRATING THE ADVANCE OF THE MACKEREL BRIGADE TO MANASSAS, ETC. WASHINGTON, D.C., March 14th, 1862. Patriotism, my boy, is a very beautiful thing. The surgeon of a Western regiment has analyzed a very nice case of it, and says that it is peculiar to this hemisphere. He says that it first breaks out in the mouth, and from thence extends to the heart causing the latter to swell. He says that it goes on raging until it reaches the pocket, when it suddenly disappears, leaving the patient very Constitutional and conservative. "Bless me!" says the surgeon, intently regarding a spoon with a tumbler round it, "if a genuine American ever dies of patriotism it will be because the Tax Bill hasn't been applied soon enough." I believe him, my boy! On Monday morning, just as the sun was rising, like a big gold watch "put up" at some celestial Simpson's, the sentinels of Fort Corcoran were seized with horrible tremblings at a sight calculated to make perpendicular hair fashionable. As far as the eye could reach on every side of the Capital, the ground was black with an approaching multitude, each man of which wore large spectacles, and carried a serious carpet-bag and a bottle-green umbrella. "Be jabers!" says one of the sentinels, whose imperfect English frequently causes him to be taken for the Duc de Chartres, "it's the whole Southern Confederacy coming to boord with us."