have received hints that the programme for the journey to Washington has been changed. Mr. Lincoln cannot slip away without taking them into his confidence. He has not been quite sure that it will be manly to go through Baltimore in the night. No hospitalities have been extended to him by the Governor of Maryland or the authorities of Baltimore, but will people not look upon him as a coward? He lays the matter before his friends.

"Well, Mr. Lincoln, what is your judgment?" Mr. Davis asks.

"I have thought this matter over considerably since I went over the ground with Mr. Pinkerton. The appearance of Mr. Frederick Seward

with information from another source confirms my belief in Mr. Pinkerton's statements. Therefore, unless there are some other reasons than the fear of ridicule, I am disposed to carry out Mr. Judd's plan.” "That settles it," said Mr. Davis.

"So be it," says Colonel Sumner, brave and true soldier. "It is against my judgment, but I have undertaken to go to Washington with Mr. Lincoln, and I shall do it." He does not comprehend the malignity of the desperadoes who are looking forward to the coming noon as the hour when they will rid the world of the man whom they hate.

The hands of the clock in the hotel office steal on to 5.45. The gentlemen at dinner are munching the nuts and raisins, and sipping their coffee. Mr. Nicolay enters, and whispers to Mr. Lincoln, who leaves the room, followed by the Governor, Mr. Judd, and others. He retires to his chamber, changes his clothing, and descends the stairs.

"He is going to the Governor's," the whisper that runs through the crowd as they see Governor Curtin and Mr. Lincoln arm in arm.

A carriage is waiting at the door. Mr. Lincoln, Governor Curtin, and Lamon enter. Colonel Sumner is just stepping in when Mr. Judd touches his shoulder. He turns to see what is wanted; the driver starts his horses, and the vehicle whirls down the street--not to the Governor's house, but to the railroad station, where an engineer and fireman are waiting in the cab of an engine. It is a light train: a baggage car and one passenger car-a special to take the superintendent of the railroad and a few friends to Philadelphia. The track has been cleared, and the engineer can make quick time.

It is a midwinter night, and the twilight is fading from the sky, but the darkness does not prevent a lineman of the telegraph from climbing a pole just outside of Harrisburg, and attaching a fine copper wire to the line, and carrying it to the ground. Possibly the man might wonder what sort of an experiment Mr. Westervelt, who had come up from Philadelphia, was carrying on; but when it was done, the operatives in Harrisburg and Baltimore might finger their telegraph keys by the hour, but would not be able to send a message between the two cities.

In Philadelphia, Mrs. Warne, employed by Mr. Pinkerton, has engaged two berths in the sleeping-car ostensibly for herself and invalid brother, and the porter has hung a curtain so they can be separated from the other passengers on their trip to Washington.

"You will hold your train till I give you a package which Mr. Felton wishes you to take," the instructions of Mr. Kinney, superintendent of the railroad between Philadelphia and Washington, to the

conductor of the midnight train. A carriage rolls up to the station in Philadelphia. A tall man steps out-the invalid brother for whom the lady has engaged the birth. She is delighted to see him. He enters the sleeping-car, followed by three other gentlemen-Judd, Lamon, and Pinkerton. The superintendent hands a package to the conductor, who lifts his hand-the signal for starting. The engineer pulls the throttle, and the train speeds away.

Neither conductor, porter, nor any one else has any inkling that Abraham Lincoln and the invalid brother of the lady are one and the same. Possibly the engineer wonders why men are standing by the bridges with lanterns as the train thunders across them, but Mr. Pinkerton knows that everything is as it should be.

1861.

The train from Philadelphia at an early hour rolls into the Washington station. A gentleman standing behind one of the pillars of Feb. 23, the building is looking eagerly at the passengers as they step from the cars, and is about to turn away, disappointed, when he sees a tall man wearing a soft felt hat, with a muffler round his neck, step from the sleeping car, accompanied by two gentlemen.

"The tall man looks like an Illinois farmer-as if he had come to Washington to get a patent for his farm," the thought of the man by the pillar.

"How are you, Lincoln ?" the greeting. Lamon and Judd are startled.

"Oh, this is only Washburne," says Lincoln, introducing Mr. Washburne to his two companions.

A carriage whirls them to Willard's Hotel. Mr. Seward comes, and the two men who had been rivals for the nomination at Chicago grasp each other's hands.

“Faith, it is you, then, who have brought us the new Prisident,' the greeting of the smiling porter to Mr. Washburne. (1)

While Mr. Lincoln is eating his breakfast in Washington, the conspirators in Baltimore, who had so carefully planned his assassination, are comprehending that he has escaped them.

Long ago, a poet far away in Oriental lands, wrote these comforting and assuring words concerning God's guardianship of his children:

"For He shall give His angels charge over thee to keep thee in all thy ways."

NOTES TO CHAPTER XII.

(1) J. G. Holland, “Life of Abraham Lincoln,” p. 236.

(*) "Presbyterian Review," vol. xiii., No. 4.

(') Correspondence in possession of the Author.

(*) William H. Herndon, “Lincoln,” p. 481 (edition 1889).

(*) Ibid., p. 482.

(*) Ibid., p. 483.

(') Document in possession of the Author.

(") L. E. Chittenden, "Recollections of Abraham Lincoln,” p. 37.

(*) S. M. Felton to William Schoules in "Massachusetts in the War."

(10) Allen Pinkerton, "Story of a Detective."

(1) E. B. Washburne, "Reminiscences of Lincoln,” p. 34.

(*) Ibid., p. 39.