Deferring for the present all account of the Mackerel strategy now coming slowly to a head and on foot, let me relate a little incident illustrative of the delicious loyalty of the taper women of America, and the intolerable baseness of the repulsive object called man: There is in this city an intensely common-place masculine from Pequog, who has, for a wife, a small, plump member of that imperishable sex whose eyes remind me of wild cherries and milk. There never was a nicer little woman, my boy, and she can knit scarlet dogs, play "Norma," make charlotte russe, and do other things equally well calculated to confer immeasurable happiness upon a husband of limited means. Ever since the well-known Southern Confederacy first respectfully requested to be let alone with Sumter, she has been eager to fulfil woman's part in the war, and does not wake up the Pequogian more than twice of a night to talk about it. 'Twas at one o'clock on the morning of Tuesday last that she roused up the partner of her joys and sorrows, and says she: "Peter, I do wish you'd tell me what I can do, as a woman, for my country." "Go to sleep," says Peter, fiendishly. "No, but what _can_ I do? Why wont you tell me what is really woman's part in the war?" "Now, see here," says Peter, sternly. "I'm having so many nights, with the nap all worn off, over this business, that I can't stand it any longer. Just wait till tomorrow evening, and I'll think over the matter and tell you what really _is_ woman's part in the war." So they both went to sleep, my boy, and all next day that little woman wondered, as she hummed pleasantly over her work, whether her lord would advise her to go out as a Florence Nightingale, or turn teacher of intelligent contrabands. Night came, and the Pequogian returned from his grocery store, and silently took a seat before the fire in the dining-room. The little woman looked up at him from the ottoman on which she was cosily sitting, and says she: "Well, dear?" Slowly and solemnly did that Pequog husband draw off one boot. Deliberately did he take off a stocking and hold it aloft. "Martha Jane!" says he, gravely, "'tis a sock your eyes behold, and there is a hole in the heel thereof. You are a wife; duty calls you to mend your husband's stockings; and _this_--THIS--is Woman's Part in the Wore!" Let us draw a veil, my boy, over the heart-rending scene that followed; only hinting that hartshorn and burnt feathers are believed to be useful on such occasions, and produce an odor at once wholesome and exasperating. Yours, sympathetically, ORPHEUS C. KERR. LETTER CVI. WHEREIN WILL BE FOUND CERTAIN PROFOUND REMARKS UPON THE VARIATIONS OF GOLD, ETC., AND A WHOLESOME LITTLE TALE ILLUSTRATIVE OF THAT FAMOUS POPULAR ABSTRACTION, THE SOUTHERN TREASURY NOTE. WASHINGTON, D.C., March 22, 1865.