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Mayor Monroe and his Correspondence.

Cassius. — I may do that I shall be sorry for.

Brutus. — You have done that you should be sorry for.

Secession literature is rich in specimens of bombastic eloquence, of wild, stage-struck appeals, of strong and bitter hate expressed in anything but chaste English, and of self-righteous assumptions of the superior virtue, bravery and excellence of southern character, invariably following upon the heels of a rebel defeat — but it has furnished nothing more extravagantly ridiculous than the indignant grandiloquence of Mayor Monroe of New Orleans, in reply to Commodore Farragut's demand for the surrender of the city. This modern Dogberry evidently imagined that he was inditing matter for posterity, and looks to a speedy apothesis on secession altars as the certain reward of so much virtue and patriotism.

For more than a year past Mayor Monroe has been pursuing the delightful and patriotic vocation of sending men from that "temple of Justice" where he indited his epistle to the work-house, for terms ranging from six weeks to six months, for the outrageous crime of not being traitors to the United States Government. This mild and humane mode of treatment has been elegantly termed by his organs committing them to the "Asylum for the amelioration of the condition of benighted Lincolnites." Is it strange then that his virtuous soul should be harrowed to its profoundest depths when required to surrender the control of the city into the hands of those who will be almost certain to reverse all this pleasant and happy order of things?

From Com. Farragut's note it would appear that defenseless women and children had been fired upon in the streets of New Orleans, by the Southern chivalry who were there for the purpose of protecting them from the outrages of "Lincoln hirelings," for expressing their joy at the sight of that flag which they had beheld, if at all, only by stealth for more than twelve months past. The air of injured innocence with which his excellency talks of a "gallant people, sensitive to all that can in the least affect their dignity and self-respect," and begs that their "susceptibilities" may be respected is peculiarly refreshing when it is remembered what a wail went up from the whole South, one year ago, for the tragical events in St. Louis. On the whole, Gen. Lovell's army being well out of the way, and all chances of a hostile collision on this account removed, the Mayor seems to think he may be as insolent as he chooses, and that what would be regarded with contempt by his captors as the ravings of impotency, will be set down as the most heroic bravery by his traitor compatriots.

But where were all those bands of heroic men who were determined to die sooner than that the Lincolnites should reach the city? Where those brave women, who had laid down the needle and the distaff, abjured the piano and the study of the latest fashions, in order that they might accustom their tender hands to the harsh implements of war; and who were going to dispute every inch of the way from the Gulf to the city? We do not see that a single man died, or woman either, unless some perished for rejoicing at sight of the "old flag."

As Mayor Monroe plainly intimates that he — or rather the "sensitive" and "susceptible" people of New Orleans — may, like Cassius in the play, do something terrible, it would have been but proper that Com. Faragut should have assumed the deed as already done, and forced him where he might have furnished, not only "security for the future," but "indemnity for the past."