Another week has fled swiftly by, my boy, on those wings which poets and other long-haired creatures suppose to be eternally flapping through the imaginary atmosphere of time; yet the high old battle so long expected has not got any further than "heavy firing near the Chain Bridge," which takes place every afternoon punctually at three o'clock--just in time for the evening papers. I have been thinking, my boy, that if this heavy firing in the vicinity of Chain Bridge lasts a few years longer, it will finally become a nuisance to the First Families living in that vicinity. But sometimes what is thought to be heavy firing is not that exactly; the other day, a series of loud explosions were heard on Arlington Heights, and twenty-four reporters immediately telegraphed to twenty-four papers that five hundred thousand rebels had attacked our lines with two thousand rifled cannon, and had been repulsed with a loss of fourteen thousand killed. Federal loss--one killed, and two committed suicide. But when General McClellan came to inquire into the cause of the explosions, this report was somewhat modified: "What was that firing for?" he asked an orderly, who had just come over the river. "If you please, sir," responded the sagacious animal, "there was no firing at all. It was Villiam Brown, of Regiment 5, Mackerel Brigade, which has a horrible cold, and sneezes in that way." Villiam has since been ordered to telegraph to the War Department whenever he sneezes, so that no more of these harrowing mistakes may be made. Last night, my boy, an old rooster from Cattaraugus, who wants a one-horse post-office, and thinks I've got some influence with Abe the Venerable, brought six big Dutchmen to serenade me; and, as soon I opened the window to damn them, he called unanimously for a speech. At this time, my boy, an immense crowd, consisting of two policemen and a hackman, were drawn to the spot, and greeted me with great applause. Feeling that their intentions were honorable, I could not bear to disappoint my fellow-citizens, and so I was constrained to make the following SPEECH. _Men of America_:--It is with feelings akin to emotion that I regard this vast assemblage of Nature's noblemen, and reflect that it comes to do honor to me, who have only performed my duty. Gentlemen, my heart is full; as the poet says: "The night shall be filled with burglars, And the chaps that infest the day Shall pack up their duds like peddlers, And carry the spoons away."