I was conversing affably with a few official Mackerels about several mutual friends of ours, who had been born, were married, and had expired of decrepitude during the celebrated national sieges of Vicksburg and Charleston, when a civilian chap named Mr. P. Greene came into camp from New York, with the intention of proceeding immediately to the ruins of Richmond. He was a chap of much spreading dignity, my boy, with a carpet-bag, an umbrella, and a walking-cane. "Having read," says he, "in all the excellent morning journals, that Richmond is being hastily evacuated by the starving Confederacy, I have determined to precede the military in that direction. Possibly," says he, impressively, "I may be able to find a suitable place in the deserted city for the residence of my family during the summer." Captain Villiam Brown listened attentively, and says he: "Is your intelligence official, or founded on fact?" The civilian chap drew himself up with much dignity, and says he: "I find it in all the morning journals." Certainly this was conclusive, my boy; and yet our supine military men were willing to let this unadorned civilian chap be the first to enter the evacuated capital of the stricken Confederacy. Facing toward that ill-fated place, he moved off, his carpet-bag in his left hand, his umbrella In his right, and his cane under one arm, a perfect impersonation of the spirit of American Progress. By slow and dignified degrees he grew smaller in the distance, until finally he was out of sight. It was some six hours after this, my boy, that we were conversing as before, when there suddenly appeared, coming toward us from the direction of the capital of the Confederacy, the figure of a man running. Rapidly it drew nearer, when I discovered it to be Mr. P. Greene, in a horrible condition of dishevelment, his umbrella, cane, and carpet-bag gone, his hair standing on end, his coat-tails projective in the breeze, and his lower limbs making the best time on record. Onward he came, like the wind, and before we could stop him, he had gone by us, dashed frantically through the camp, and was tearing along like mad toward Washington. "Ah!" says Villiam, philosophically, "he derived his information from the daily prints of the United States of America, and has seen the elephant. The moral," says Villiam, placidly, "is very obvious,--put not your trust in print, sirs." If it be indeed true, that there is "more pleasure in anticipation than in reality," the war-news we find in our excellent morning journals should give us more pleasure than one poor pen can express. Yours, credulously, ORPHEUS C. KERR. LETTER XCI. CONTAINING THE VENERABLE GAMMON'S REPORT OF THE MANNER IN WHICH THE WAR HAS CONDUCTED ITSELF UP TO THIS TIME; AND THE MOST SURPRISING EPITAPH OF A VICTIM OF STRATEGY. WASHINGTON, D.C., April 12th, 1863.