Was it indeed a majestic Eagle, my boy, stooping from his clouded heights to sanctify the terrible naval scene? I guess not, my boy,--I guess not; for we presently ascertained that, when the careless Mackerel crew rammed home that last charge, he heedlessly left Rear-Admiral Head's brown gingham umbrella sticking in the gun, and it was the flight of the umbrella we had witnessed. An umbrella, my boy, and a horse, may be said to have some relations. We put one up when it rains, and we rein the other up when we "put." Yours, good-naturedly, ORPHEUS C. KERR. LETTER LXXXIII. REFERRING TO WASHINGTON CITY AND THE PRESIDENT'S MESSAGE, AND GIVING THE SOUTHERN CONFEDERACY'S VERY REASONABLE PEACE PROPOSITION. WASHINGTON, D.C., Jan. 28th, 1863. The city of Washington, my boy, without her Congress, is like a maiden without her plighted young man. She surveys herself in the mirror of the Potomac, and says she: "Where's my Congress, without whom I am like a gas bracket deserted by its old flame?" Alas! all flesh is gas, my boy, and some of our congressmen are very fleshy. Their presence it is that makes Washington a light for the world, and many of them who once rode high horses have alighted. At the present moment our distracted country is enveloped in darkest night, and the day seems so far off that many Mackerels despair of ever seeing payday, even. At such a time what a blessing is that Congress which burns to illumine us after the manner of an elaborate chandelier! It passes away to leave everything dark; it returns, and behold all is darkey. I was in my room at my hotel, when Congress commenced to arrive, conversing with Captain Bob Shorty; and, as a seedy-looking, middle-aged chap passed by on the opposite side of the street, the captain looked out of the window, and says he: "That's one of the new legislators, my Pythias." "How can you tell a new Solon from an old one?" says I, curiously. "Why," says Captain Bob Shorty, profoundly, "an old congressman never wears a tall hat. An old congressman," says Captain Bob Shorty, sagely, "always wears a soft hat, so that it wont be injured by being knocked over his eyes." I pondered deeply over this idea, my boy, and it seemed to me that a soft hat must be the real Cap of Liberty. Passing over the organization of Senate and House, which suggested thoughts of ancient Rome about the time she was saved by geese, I shall proceed to notice the Message which our honest Abe fired into Congress from his intellectual breastworks during the week.