public affairs was concerned, but in one particular it was quite pathetic. Lincoln, it will be remembered, was born in Kentucky, and in this speech he referred to his native State, remarking that he had never before made. an address so near his early home. And it is a singular fact that in all his public career he never appeared as a public speaker in Kentucky.

When I was in Washington I used to see him looking through a spyglass out of a window in the White House at the Confederate flag which was kept flying from the hotel at Alexandria, where young Ellsworth was killed at the outbreak of the War. He seemed to study this flag through his spyglass; it seemed to have for him a kind of baneful fascination.

Once I saw him in the White House yard when a Wisconsin regiment was marching along. The special thing that attracted my attention was that, as they were passing along, he shed tears.

When he was in Cincinnati, and made the speech to which I referred a moment ago, some of the younger Republicans called at his rooms at the Burnett House. They sent downstairs for a box of cigars and a bottle of whisky. In some way they neglected the matter, and the whisky was charged to Mr. Lincoln in his hotel bill. This displeased him very much. There was considerable correspondence between him and the young Republicans about the matter. I saw some of his letters, and I can only say that I have a general impression that they were well written and strictly to the point. The fact was that he did not know anything about the liquor, and the parties referred to had had it all to themselves. When Lincoln became President, the recollection of this incident was anything but pleasant to the Republican gen

tlemen who were connected with it. They were good enough fellows personally, but, as members of the reigning political party, knowing that the experience had been exceedingly unpleasant to Mr. Lincoln, they doubtless many a time wished that the incident had never occurred, and hoped for the time when other and more important matters would crowd it out of Mr. Lincoln's recollection.

It is a curious fact that my correspondent during the Springfield Convention in 1860 was Henry Villard, afterward the wealthy railroad man. I employed him for ten years, and he was a very good newspaper man. His letters from Springfield were exceptionally good and indicated pretty plainly Mr. Lincoln's views. He sent me a manuscript editorial that Mr. Lincoln had written for the Springfield Journal after he was elected President. It had been strongly contended by some that Lincoln should take into his Cabinet some men who were not Republicans. This letter was written in Lincoln's quaint style, and, in a hypothetical way, showed that he could only take for his Cabinet advisers those who affiliated with the Republican Party.

BROOKLYN, N. Y.

HOW LINCOLN WAS WARNED OF THE BAL

TIMORE ASSASSINATION PLOT.

HOW HE ENTERED WASHINGTON.

BY FREDERICK W. SEWARD,

AUTHOR OF THE "LIFE OF WM. H. SEWARD."

THE most important and interesting recollection I have of President Lincoln is in regard to the warning I carried to him of the plot to assassinate him in Baltimore. The story of this event is reproduced from my Life of Secretary Seward.

I was in the gallery of the Senate Chamber shortly after noon one Thursday, in February, 1861, when one of the pages touched my elbow, and told me that Senator Seward wished to see me immediately. Going down, I met him in the lobby. He handed me a letter he had just written to Mr. Lincoln, enclosing a note from General Scott. He said:

"Whether this story is well founded or not, Mr. Lincoln ought to know of it at once. But I know of no reason to doubt it. General Scott is impressed with the belief that the danger is real. Colonel Stone has facilities for knowing, and is not apt to exaggerate. I want you to go by the first train. Find Mr. Lincoln wherever he is. Let no one else know your errand. I have written him that I think he should change his arrangements,

and pass through Baltimore at a different hour. I know it may occasion some embarrassment, and, perhaps, some ill-natured talk. Nevertheless, I would strongly advise him to do it."

The train, a tedious one, brought me into Philadelphia about ten o'clock at night. I had learned from the newspapers and the conversation of my fellow-passengers that the party of the President-elect would spend the night at the Continental Hotel, where he would be serenaded.

Arriving at the hotel I found Chestnut Street crowded with people, gay with lights, and echoing with music and hurrahs. Within, the halls and stairways were packed, and the brilliantly lighted parlors were filled with ladies and gentlemen who had come to "pay their respects." A buzz of animated conversation pervaded the throng, and, in its centre, presentations to the President-elect appeared to be going on. Clearly, this was no time for the delivery of a confidential message. I turned into a room near the head of the stairway, which had been pointed out as that of Mr. Robert Lincoln. He was surrounded by a group of young friends. On my introducing myself, he met and greeted me with courteous warmth, and then called to Col. Ward H. Lamon, who was passing, and introduced us to each other. Colonel Lamon, taking me by the arm, proposed at once to go back into the parlor to present me to Mr. Lincoln. On my telling him that I wanted my interview to be as private and to attract as little attention as possible, the Colonel laughed and said:

"Then I think I had better take you to his bedroom. If you don't mind waiting there, you'll be sure to meet him, for he has got to go there some time to-night; and

it is the only place I know of where he will be likely to be alone."

This was the very opportunity I desired. Thanking the Colonel, I sat and waited for an hour or more in the quiet room that was in such contrast with the bustle outside. Presently Colonel Lamon called me, and we met Mr. Lincoln, who was coming down the hall. I had never before seen him; but the campaign portraits had made his face quite familiar. I could not but notice how accurately they had copied his features, and how totally they had omitted his careworn look, and his pleasant, kindly smile. After a few words of friendly greeting, with inquiries about my father and matters in Washington, he sat down by the table under the gaslight to peruse the letter I had brought. Although its contents were of a somewhat startling nature, he made no exclamation, and I saw no sign of surprise in his face. After reading it carefully through, he again held it to the light and deliberately read it through a second time. Then, after musing a moment, he looked up and asked:

"Did you hear anything about the way this information was obtained? Do you know anything about how they got it?"

No; I had known nothing in regard to it till that morning, when called down by my father from the Senate gallery.

“Your father and General Scott do not say who they think are concerned in it. Do you think they know?"

On that point, too, I could give no additional information, further than my impression that my father's knowledge of it was limited to what had been communicated to him by Colonel Stone, in whose statements he had implicit confidence.