It is a noble and beautiful thing to remember, or note, my boy, that the true and real Home,--the shrine of parental Love and Honor, and of childhood's Innocence and fearless trust,--is ever held sanctified by an unseen angel-circle, into which a few men can bring even so much of the scheming outer world as its cares; that its name, long, perhaps, after it has ceased to be, lives for our voices only in that plaintive medium tone, which, like the master-string of an instrument responding to a passionate touch, sums up, by its very cadence, all the noblest music of a life. It is this state of things in Washington that greatly confuses the stranger, and causes him to make strange and horrible mistakes as to personal identities. On Monday afternoon, as I stood musing in front of Willard's, after a dispassionate conversation with the Conservative Kentucky Chap as to the probability of Kentucky's consenting to the setting apart of the first of January as New-Year's day, I overheard a conversation between a middle-aged chap of much vest pattern from the rural districts, and one of the Provost Marshal's disguised detectives. The rural chap chewed a wisp of straw which he had been using as a toothpick, and says he: "That gentleman in a broad-brim hat, going along on the other side of the street, is a prominent New York politician,--is he not?" The detective involuntarily rattled a pair of miniature handcuffs which were hanging from his watch-chain, and says he: "Ha! ha! truly! That's a queer mistake. Why, that's Nandy Brick, the incendiary and negro-killer." Not at all discouraged by this failure at guessing, my boy, the rural chap glanced knowingly at another passer-by, and says he: "Well, this here other one who just went by is the French Minister, I believe?" "Really!" says the detective, with a slight cough, "Really, you're wrong again, for that's 'Policy Loo,' the notorious Mexican murderer and thief." The rural chap bit his right thumb-nail irritatedly, and says he: "At any rate, I know who yonder tall, gentlemanly person in the black gloves is. It's a famous leader of fashions from Fifth Avenue." The detective opened his eyes widely at this, and says he: "Why, there you miss it again. I think I ought to know 'Slippery Jim,' who got that fat contract to supply the army with caps, and made half of them of shoddy." The chap from the rural districts seemed very much ashamed of himself, my boy, for doing such a wrong to our admirable and refined Best Society; but he was bound to try it once more, and so says he, shortly: "Perhaps you'll tell me that fleshy individual in a black silk vest, coming this way, an't the British Minister?" "Wrong again, by thunder!" says the detective; "for all the world knows that respectable cove to be 'Neutral John,' the celebrated rebel-spy and blockade-runner."