When the government shall have triumphed in this great struggle,—­when the South, with its obsolete theories of the supremacy of capital over labor, shall have yielded to the great advancing truth of the age,—­when free labor, rendered freer and nobler than ever, shall rule all powerful from ocean to ocean, then we shall see this great American republic restored to its original strength and beauty, progressing in the path laid down by our Revolutionary forefathers, and stripped of the cruel impediments which have clogged its course for years, proving to the world the great assertion of all time, that man is capable of self-government.  It is this which lies before us,—­neither a gloomy ‘conservative’ prospect of old-fashioned unchangeability, and still less the gorgeous but preposterous dreams of Fourierite or other socialist; but simply the healthy future of a hard-working country, in which every impediment shall be removed from free labor and its every right respected.  And to bring this to pass there is but one first step required.  Push on the war, support the Administration, triumph at any risk or cost, and then make of this America one great free land.  Freedom! In hoc signo vinces.

* * * * *

THE BLACK FLAG.

  You wish that slavers once again
    May freely darken every sea,
  Nor think that honor takes a stain
    From what the world calls piracy;
  And now your press in thunder tones
    Calls for the Black Flag in each street—­
  O, add to it a skull and bones,
    And let the banner be complete.

* * * * *

THE ACTRESS WIFE.

[CONCLUDED.]

After a few moments he arose, and, staggering towards me, grasped my hand and shook it violently, stuttering out, ’Evelyn Afton is an angel—­that is, your wife, I mean, would have made a greater actress than Mrs. Siddons.  Sefton’s a rascal—­d——­d rascal.  You see, Mr. Bell, I’m not what I was once.  The cursed liquor—­that’s what made me this.  John Foster once held his head as high as anybody.  Want, sir, absolute want, brought me from my “high estate”—­id est, liquor.  Cursed liquor made me poor, and poverty made me mean.’  He continued for some time in a broken strain, interrupted by hiccoughs and sobs, exhibiting in his demeanor the remains of former brilliancy, but now everything impaired—­voice, manner, eyesight and intellect—­by excessive indulgence.

The result of my conference was learning that Foster had been the agent of Sefton in a conspiracy against my wife.  Foster had of late years made a precarious livelihood by occasional engagement on the stages, and a few weeks since had strayed to this city.  Being well known to Sefton, the latter had promised him ample provision if he would feign illness, induce my wife to visit him from motives of charity, and subsequently, when called upon for testimony, allege that her visits were the renewal of an old licentious intimacy.  To these disgraceful propositions Foster’s degradation acceded, though in his better moments he contemned his employer and himself.