In an instant I was blinded with a cloud of dust, through which came the wild tramp and fierce hurrahs of Company 3, Regiment 5, Mackerel Brigade. The appeal to their finer feelings had carried them by storm, and they charged like the double-extract of a compound avalanche. I was listening to their cheers as they drove the demoralized foe before them, when a political chap came riding post-haste from Paris, and says he: "How many voters have fallen?" Before I could answer him, my boy, the triumphant Mackerels came pouring in, just in time to meet the General of the Mackerel Brigade, who had just rode up from a village in the rear, with an umbrella over his head to keep off the sun. "My children," says the general, kindly, as their shouts fell upon his ears, "you have sustained me nobly this day, and we will enjoy the thanks of our grateful country together. I thank you, my children." Here the political chap threw up his hat, and says he: "Hurroar for the Union! My fellow-beings," says the political chap, glowingly, "I announce the idolized General of the Mackerel Brigade for President of the United States in 1865." "Ah!" says Villiam--he would have said more, but at that moment his horse's legs became entangled in something, and both horse and rider went to grass. I looked, my boy, and behold, it was my frescoed dog Bologna, who had run against the geometrical steed of the warrior in pursuit of an army biscuit. I whistled, my boy, and the docile quadruped shrunk toward me with criminal aspect. And so, the unblest cause of treason has received a decisive blow. The end approaches; but I can't say which end, my boy--I can't say which end. Yours, martially, ORPHEUS C. KERR. LETTER L. REMARKING UPON A PECULIARITY OF VIRGINIA, AND DESCRIBING COMMODORE HEAD'S GREAT NAVAL EXPLOIT ON DUCK LAKE, ETC. WASHINGTON, D.C., June 15th, 1862. Early in the week I trotted to the other side of the river on my gothic steed Pegasus, and having lent that architectural pride of the stud to a thoughtful individual, who wished to make a sketch of his facade, I took a branch railroad for a circuitous passage to Paris, intending to make one stoppage on the way. The locomotive was about two-saucepan power, my boy, and wheezed like a New York Alderman at a free lunch. First we stopped at a town composed of one house, and that was a depot. "What place is this?" says I to my fellow passenger, who was the conductor, and was reading the _Tribune_, and was swearing to himself. "It's Mulligan's Court-House, the Capital of Sally Ann County," says he, and again took out the bill I had paid my fare with to see if it was good.