much as usual, I reckon.

_Cor_. What, sir, do you think of Chicago?

_Ad_. Ah! go way.

_Cor_. (_oblivious of hint_.) Where do you buy your pantaloon stuff, Mr.
Secretary?

_Ad_. (_sharply_.) Where the woodbine twineth.

_Cor_. Admiral, have you any children?

_Ad_. (_loudly_.) ROBESON!

_Cor_. My dear sir, you surprise me! Is he your son?

_Ad_. (_to assistant_.) ROBESON! Did you see MIKE HAINES?

_Cor_. One moment. Admiral! Let me ask of you, in which, if any, of our
New-York companies is your life insured; and do you wear the patent
perforated buckskin?--

Here the interview terminated. Your correspondent suddenly discovered
that he would have barely time to catch the N. Y. Express, and he took
leave with a renewed respect for the spirit of our Navy and its head.

SNIQUE.

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