Hail! Union Army, true and brave, And dauntless Navy on the wave. Holy the cause where Freedom leads, Sacred the field where patriot bleeds; Victory shall crown your spotless fame, Nations and ages bless your name. Flag of our Union! float unfurled, Thy stars shall light a ransomed world. A FANCY SKETCH. I am a banker, and I need hardly say I am in comfortable circumstances. Some of my friends, of whom I have a good many, are pleased to call me rich, and I shall not take it upon myself to dispute their word. Until I was twenty-five, I travelled, waltzed, and saw the best foreign society; from twenty-five to thirty I devoted myself to literature and the art of dining; I am now entered upon the serious business of life, which consists in increasing one's estate. At forty I shall marry, and as this epoch is nine years distant, I trust none of the fair readers of this journal will trouble themselves to address me notes which I really cannot answer, and which it would give me pain to throw in the fire. Some persons think it beneath a gentleman to write for the magazines or papers. This is a low and vulgar idea. The great wits of the world have found their best friends in the journals; there were some who never learned to write,--who ever hears of them now? I write anonymously of course, and I amuse myself by listening to the remarks that society makes upon my productions. Society talks about them a great deal, and I divide attention with the last novelist, whether an unknown young lady of the South, or a drumhead writer of romances. People say, 'That was a brilliant article of so and so's in the last ----, wasn't it?' You will often hear this remark. I am that gentleman--I wrote that article--it was brilliant, and, though I say it, I am capable of producing others fully equal to it.