to the
shore!

Captain Bob Shorty commenced to quake, and says he:

"It's a Confederate insect!"

"No," says Villiam, lowering his smoked glass, and speaking in a solemn
whisper, "It's the distracted bird of our country, floating spectrally
on the battle-smoke. Ah!" says Villiam, abstractedly uncorking my
canteen, "our distracted bird is no inseck."

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,