much or one word too little would ruin my prospects with him forever. Of course he is on the alert-he 'snuffs danger afar off. " He is a man of prudence and sagacity; has had much experience; has been approached by all kinds of men, and it cannot be expected that he will unbosom himself to strangers. Such a man only confides in tried friends, and keeps them between him and danger. I expected nothing from him but the benefit of his acquaintance. I expected, if successful, to be able to "bank" on his acquittance. To enjoy his acquaintance and to be ale to refer to him to prove myself a sound "butternut" will certainly afford me great advantage.

My letter of introduction stated that I desired an "interview. " But why should I desire an interview with him? What business here? What am I stopping for at Dayton for days, at this particular time, and desiring an interview with a man whom half the nation would annihilate? with a man who is defying Government, and who knows-well knows-that the Government has her agents on his track. Such I presumed would be his appreciation of me. Still I was not without hope, and between 4 and 5 p. m. to-day I called at his residence, Numbers 323 North First street, between Ludlow and Wilkinson streets. It is a neat, unostentatious, lead-colored brick, with metallic portico, and small, tastefully ornamented lawn in front. I rang the door bell, but all was closed in front, and as I stood waiting to be received I was amusing myself with the appearance of the door of this traitor's house. "The Government's agents have been here before" were my reflections. That door tells a tale. It has not been repaired and is to remain, I presume (this is what they design, as Mrs. V. said), as a monument to one who suffered martyrdom for the right of free speech and personal liberty. It is much hacked and battered and also much shivered and cracked. In vain I rang the bell, and disappointed, I sought my hotel.

About 8 p. m. I called again. All was quiet as the grave. Other houses were illuminated, but this one was dark yet. Mrs. V. answered the bell and conducted me to the parlor. I gave my letter to her expecting that he would not appear unless satisfied with me first. I found a number of men in the parlor busily engaged in low conversation, but it was impossible to see them. They left before the gas was lit. V. retired from the room to peruse my letter, and was absent over a quarter of an hour. He was scrutinizing it closely. He returned, lit up the parlor, shook me cordially by the hands, and sat down for conversation. I told him with great blandness that when a man became so renowned as he was that he became public property; that, like thousands of others, I had called on him merely out of curiosity. Our conversation, as I designed it should be on my part, unless introduced by him, was on generalities and his past affairs rather than of present or future. My first point was to satisfy him that I was from Missouri. Consequently I threw Missouri politicians into the conversation. We dwelt on Henderson, Parlor, Blair, and others. He gave me his route through the South and told me that before he left Cincinnati in 1863 he had engaged rooms at the Clifton House, Canada, and arrived there twelve days sooner than he had expected to. He spoke in bitter yet cautious terms of the Administration, and preferred Fremont to Lincoln as a choice of evils. His wife was present as well as his son, a body ten years old. Mrs. V. said she had spent much of her time with him in Canada. She said she had been deceived so often by the military and others that she did not believe that he was in the State, when notified from Hamilton, until she saw him. He seemed to be in fine spirits and much inflated with his success. He