. But why make her visits so
secret? That is easily explained;--she does not wish to be connected
publicly with any unhappy sequences of her former histrionic career. I
will have an interview with Foster before proceeding further.'

I visited him that night, pushing into the house immediately after the
black female servant who opened the door, lest I should be refused
admittance. I found Foster in a half-intoxicated condition, seated
comfortably at a table, with a pipe in his hand, and liquor before him.

'I am Mr. Bell,' said I, 'and had learned from my wife of your destitute
condition, which I came to relieve. But you appear in excellent
circumstances.'

Through his intoxication there was an evidence of confusion, as he
stammered out,--

'Yes, sir; much obliged to you. Take a seat--a seat. Good spell now.
Doctor prescribes a little comfort, you know, old boy!'

'A very kind doctor, I should judge, Mr. Foster, and I am glad to find
you in such a good condition. Suppose I take a glass with you?'

'Certainly. Very happy--happy. Your health, sir.'

'I hope, sir,' I said, 'that you will soon recover, after the attentions
of my wife and Mr. Sefton.'

'Sefton!' he exclaimed. 'Rascal! D--d rascal! sir.' He continued
murmuring in his throat, 'Rascal! D--d rascal!'

'I'll take another glass,' said I. 'The liquor is very good--very good,
sir. Who furnishes it?'

'Liquor! Yes--very good! Sefton--yes, Sefton sent it. Rascal! D--d
rascal!' (in a murmur, as before.)

'Now, Foster,' said I, 'I am rich. There is a purse,--and pretty well
filled. I will give it to you, and others like it, if you will tell me
why Sefton is a rascal, and how you happen to be connected with him.'

His eyes glistened with greediness, as I anticipated. He grasped the
purse and thrust it into his pocket, then immediately pulled it out,
tossed it on the table, leaned his head down on his arms and began to
sob, all in the most maudlin manner.

TO BE CONTINUED.

A SONG OF FREEDOM.

Not now, my tongue, to legends old,
Or tender lays of sunny clime;
A sterner tale must now be told,
Deep thoughts must burn in warlike rhyme;
For Freedom, with a mighty throe,
Rouses from sleep to active life,
And loud her clarion trumpets blow,
To summon _men_ to join the strife.

The seed, which long ago was sown
By free New England's rock-bound rills,
At length, in noble vigor grown,
Casts branches o'er the Southern hills.