Wild were the cheers that rent the air at this intelligence, and right quickly were our national troops marching into the bar-room of captured Paris, to the inspiring strains of "Drops of Brandy," from the night-key bugle of the Mackerel band. Our distracted banner, too, was just being raised triumphantly upon the roof, when there suddenly emerged, from the shadow of the rear-guard, Miss P. Hen, leaning trustfully upon the arm of the Conservative Kentucky Chap! "Now," says she, vivaciously, "is the very moment for the President to save our bleeding and bankrupt people, by paying four hundred millions of dollars to the sunny South for her losses in this war, and offering her such terms as may induce her to make that peace which is absolutely necessary to close the most accurate History of the War now sold to subscribers only." Pause, my boy, ere you execrate the venerable Miss P. Hen; for there is more than one fidgety old lady tendering advice to the Government at this crisis; and the sisterhood is not without members who wear your own style of costume. Yours, carefully, ORPHEUS C. KERR. LETTER CIX. WHICH ENDETH THE THIRD VOLUME OF THIS INEXPRESSIBLY VERACIOUS HISTORY OF THE WAR; AND SHOWETH HOW A GREAT REPUBLIC FINALLY OVERCAME ITS SURPASSINGLY MENDACIOUS FOES, AND HOW IT EVINCES ITS UNSPEAKABLE GRATITUDE TO PROVIDENCE FOR SUCH A VICTORY. WASHINGTON, D.C., April 11th, 1865. Look, my boy, upon the east wall of my luxurious presence-chamber, and mark how I have maliciously pasted thereon a map of besotted Europe; with all its capitals, rivers, mountains, and inland puddles laid down with an accuracy and multitudinosity to forever enlighten and utterly confound every sniffing little schoolboy-geographer in the land. What a shapeless chunk of inferior dirt is Europe! How like a minute and feeble skiptail does it appear, when compared with our own gigantic straddlebug of a country! Yet has the skiptail ventured to interfere offensively in the private affairs of the straddlebug; and the interference, and the private affairs, and the possible upshot of the whole matter, remind me forcibly of a spirited little event which once occurred in the Sixth Ward.