It's ye I'd like to see, Biddy, A shparkin' here wid me And then, avourneen, hear ye say, "Acushla--Pat--machree!" "Och, Biddy darlint," then says I, Says you, "get out of that;" Says I, "me arrum mates your waist," Says you, "be daycent, Pat." And how's the pigs and ducks, Biddy? It's them I think of, shure, That looked so innocent and shwate Upon the parlor flure; I'm shure ye're aisy with the pig That's fat as he can be, And fade him wid the best, because I'm towld he looks like me. Whin I come home again, Biddy, A sargent tried and thrue, It's joost a daycent house I'll build And rint it chape to you. We'll have a parlor, bedroom, hall, A duck-pond nately done, With kitchen, pig-pen, praty-patch, And garret--all in one But, murther! there's a baste, Biddy, That's crapin' round a tree, And well I know the crature's there To have a shot at me. Now, Misther Rebel, say yere prayers, And howld yer dirthy paw, Here goes!--be jabers, Biddy dear, I've broke his oogly jaw! I was talking some moments ago with a Regimental Surgeon, who has more patients on a monument than Shakspere ever dreamed about, and says he: "In consequence of the great number of troops now about this city, all the oxygen in the atmosphere is exhausted, and we are very warm. Had all these troops been sent to McClellan two weeks ago," says he, using his lancet to pick a dead fly out of his tumbler, "we might be able to keep cool now. There is a terrible responsibility on somebody's shoulders." That's very true, my boy, and it's very warm. There was a panic this morning in financial circles, owing to the frantic conduct of a gambling chap from the Senate, who has been saving up money to bet on the fall of Richmond, and was trying to put it out at interest. "I'll take seven per cent. for it the first year," says he, anxiously, "and leave it standing until national strategy comes to a head." A broker took it for five years, my boy, with the privilege of extending the time after each fresh victory. Speaking of victories, my boy, I was present at the recent series of triumphs by the Mackerel Brigade, on the left shore of Duck Lake, and witnessed a succession of feats calculated to culminate either in the fall of Richmond or the fall of the year. From the head-quarters in the city of Paris to the brink of Duck Lake, the Mackerels were drawn up in gorgeous line of battle, their bayonets resembling somewhat an uncombed head of steel hair, and their noses looking like a wavy strip of summer sunset. By their last great stragetical manoeuvre, they had lured the Southern Confederacy to court its own destruction by flanking them at both ends of the line, and they were only waiting for the master-mind to give them the signal. Samyule Sa-mith advanced from this place in the staff as I rode up, and says he: