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From Charleston.
[special correspondence of the Dispatch.]

Charleston, March 7, 1861.
The weather to-day is cool, bright and bracing and the activity in business for ten days past has subsided somewhat. Every one seems quiet and good humored, and all the military preparations are being pressed forward with great activity.

There are many Virginians here, some on business, and others as volunteers, and, for I know, laying other plans for the future. Dr. Maddux, of your city, is here, and has with him the skeletons of two of the martyrs that that wicked man Wise, of your State, had hung at Harper's Ferry. Don't you reckon that when Wise gets his ‘"Minute Men"’ over into the Republican ranks that they will pay him off in his own ‘"sass?"’ Dr. Maddux will have an honorable place, I hope, in the army, and before very long, unless I am mightily deceived, your State will furnish the cause of freedom, or the cause of invasion, a few thousands of the best of her sons.

The project which I hinted at yesterday of an invading army, I find is now the order of the day, and that the battle ground will be changed from South Carolina to another locality not ten thousand miles from you, is in judgment a fixed fact. If I were to predict, that in sixty days the city of Washington would be razed so that a plough-share should be run over the place where now Lincoln nervously rests, and that magnificent monument of former greatness, the Capitol, would be blown sky-high. I might not in such a prediction be a false prophet. I, like many a Southern man, have a few cents invested in another monument begun years ago to the memory of George Washington, which monument, if left to Black Republican keeping, I hope to see rent in twain from top to bottom. Some of your submission readers may call this vandalism. It matters not with me what they call it; that monument will never be allowed to stand on Black Republican soil, and you may take that as another prediction. If you will look to the Courier of the date of the th inst., you will see my invading plot ed at there. ‘"The Southern heart is "’ now, and that fire will not be easily drenched, nor will it be. I fear, unless it be drenched in blood.

The Inaugural has made millions of friends to our cause. I am glad to see the tone of some of your heretofore Union-saving men changed, and some show a desire to turn. I notice Mr. Cox, of Chesterfield, has seen a of the ‘"peep of day,"’ and Mr. Goggin beginning to feel that he is in danger. One more inaugural or a pronunciamento from the would be despot, and the South is a unit, except perhaps, Tennessee, who is ‘"joined to "’ But I really cannot see what new lights are derived from Lincoln's Inaugural.--his own party do not seem to understand him. Some say he is for war, others for peace — no two men seem to view it alike. I have read it over and over again, and, for the life of me, I cannot make it out. It is very much like a I have lately seen, of a huge face. Which held in one position puts on the most angry scowl, and turned over it splits its jaws with laughter. Sailors plying the Chesateake used to have certain points, which they called ‘"Point Look Out."’ ‘"Point Look In,"’ ‘"Point No Point,"’ and ‘"Point Again"’--so with the inaugural.

We heavy cannonading seaward this morning, at about sunrise — the city was agog. It turned out that the ‘"Crusader"’ was expected last night, and the guns were ‘"shotted,"’ and this morning they were unshotted.

The floating battery is now ready for mounting and they wait for two heavy guns of the Daighren order. The front of the battery is about four feet thick, made so by four thicknesses of Palmetto logs and the planking and iron. If they can ever get it securely anchored, Anderson may vent his rage and it will all bebortive. Anderson has not a mortar in his prison at all, and if he throws shells it will be out of a Columbiad, and they are said to be entirely unsuited to that work. Fort Sumter is the hollow tree, Anderson is the old buck hare--we will smoke him out.

What is Mr. Wise doing? Tell him, if you please — tell him secretly, whisper it close to his ear, don't let anybody hear it, by any means — that our people are inquiring daily what can he be about, and tell him, (so that the Republicans can't hear it,) that we will meet him on the common battle-field before long, in that modern Sodom and Gomorrah, when fire shall rain on that devoted city.

Of representative men, Bishop Lynch is the representative of the one caste of the Catholic Church in this city, and Father O'Niel the other. Bishop Lynch officiates at St. John's and St. Finbin's Church, on Broad street.--This is the most costly building in the city; the order of architecture is mixed, and I may say, rather unique. Bishop L. is a native of this State, about fifty years old, six feet high, stout and very erect; dresses in the usual costume of that Church, is neat without pedantry, has a fine, bland, benevolent face, and is in all respects a highly polished gentleman.--He is a fine speaker, remarkably fluent and impressive; never engages in religious controversies, and is highly respected by every one who knows him. The only impropriety that the Bishop is known to be guilty of is that he is a great snuff-taker. He preaches to the elite of his persuasion; hence, I say, he if the representative of a caste. He is in person almost an exact copy of the late Joseph Tate, for many years Mayor of your city, both as to form, feature, carriage, spectacles and snuff.

Virginius.

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