The arch-fiend Winder died in equal tranquility, murmuring some cheerful hope as to his soul's future.

Not one of the ghosts of his hunger-slain hovered around to embitter his dying moments, as he had theirs.

Jefferson Davis "still lives, a prosperous gentleman," the idol of a large circle of adherents, the recipient of real estate favors from elderly females of morbid sympathies, and a man whose mouth is full of plaints of his wrongs, and misappreciation.

The rest of the leading conspirators have either departed this life in the odor of sanctity, surrounded by sorrowing friends, or are gliding serenely down the mellow autumnal vale of a benign old age.
Only Wirz--small, insignificant, miserable Wirz, the underling, the tool, the servile, brainless, little fetcher-and-carrier of these men, was punished--was hanged, and upon the narrow shoulders of this pitiful scapegoat was packed the entire sin of Jefferson Davis and his crew.
What a farce! A petty little Captain made to expiate the crimes of Generals, Cabinet Officers, and a President.

How absurd! But I do not ask for vengeance.