I could not refrain from a sentiment of profound gloom, as I listened to these sombre predictions. It seemed incredible that they could be well founded, but I had more than once had an opportunity to remark the extraordinary prescience of the remarkable man with whom I conversed. “You draw a black picture of the future,” I said. “And the South seems moving to and fro, on the crust of a volcano.” “No metaphor could be more just.” “And what will be the result of the war?” “That is easy to reply to. Political slavery, negro suffrage, and the bayonet, until the new leaven works.” “The new leaven?” “The conviction that democratic government is a failure.” “And then--?” “An emperor, or dictator--call him what you will. The main fact is, that he will rule the country by the bayonet--North and South impartially.” Mr. X----- lit a fresh cigar. “Things are going on straight to that,” he said. “The future is perfectly plain to me, for I read it in the light of history. These events are going to follow step by step. Lee is brave--no man is braver; a great leader. I think him one of the first captains of the world. But in spite of his courage and skill--in spite of the heroism of his army--in spite of the high character and pure motives of the president--we are going to fail. Then the rest will follow--negro suffrage and the bayonet. Then the third era will begin--the disgust of the white man at the equality of the negro; his distrust of a government which makes such a farce possible; consequent revulsion against democracy; a tendency toward monarchy; a king, emperor or dictator, who will restore order out of the chaos of misrule and madness. England is rushing toward a democracy, America is hastening to become an empire. For my own part I think I prefer the imperial to the popular idea--Imperator to Demos. It is a matter of taste, however.” And Mr. X----- turned his head, calling out, calmly, “Come in!” The door opened and a stranger glided into the apartment. He was clad in a blue Federal uniform, half-concealed by a brown linen overall. His face was almost covered by a red beard; his lips by a mustache of the same color; and his eyes disappeared behind huge green goggles. “Come in,” repeated Mr. X-----, who seemed to recognize the intruder; “what news?” The personage glanced quickly at me. “Speak before him,” said Mr. X-----, “he is a friend.” “I am very well acquainted with Colonel Surry,” said the other, smiling, “and have the honor to number him, I hope, among my own friends.” With which words, the new-comer quietly removed his red beard, took off his green spectacles, and I saw before me no less a personage than Mr. Nighthawk! IX. “SEND ME A COPY.--IN CANADA!” Nothing was more surprising in this singular man than these sudden appearances at places and times when you least expected him.