ilding
with much pretension to beauty, built in the classical style, of a
yellow stone, with sold white blinds in the high windows and mighty
columns capped at the gently slanting roof. But on top of it was reared
a crude wooden dome, like a clay head on a marble statue.

"That there," said the stranger, "is whar we watches for the County
Delegations when they come in to a meetin'." And with this remark,
pointing with a stubby thumb up a well-worn stair, he departed before
Stephen could thank him. Stephen paused under the awning, of which there
were many shading the brick pavement, to regard the straggling line of
stores and houses which surrounded and did homage to the yellow pile.
The brick house in which Mr. Lincoln's office was had decorations above
the windows. Mounting the stair, Stephen found a room bare enough, save
for a few chairs and law books, and not a soul in attendance. After
sitting awhile by the window, mopping his brow with a handkerchief, he
went out on the landing to make inquiries. There he met another citizen
in shirt sleeves, like unto the first, in the very act of sweeping his
beard out of the way of a dexterous expectoration.

"Wal, young man," said he, "who be you lookin' for here?"

"For Mr. Lincoln," said Stephen.

At this the gentleman sat down on the dirty top step; and gave vent to
quiet but annoying laughter.

"I reckon you come to the wrong place."

"I was told this was his office," said Stephen, with some heat.

"Whar be you from?" said the citizen, with interest.

"I don't see what that has to do with it," answered our friend.

"Wal," said the citizen, critically, "if you was from Philadelphy or
Boston, you might stand acquitted."

Stephen was on the point of claiming Boston, but wisely hesitated.

"I'm from St. Louis, with a message for Mr. Lincoln," he replied.

"Ye talk like y e was from down East," said the citizens who seemed in
the humor for conversation. "I reckon old Abe's' too busy to see you.
Say, young man, did you ever hear of Stephen Arnold Douglas, alias the
Little Giant, alias the Idol of our State, sir?"

This was too much for Stephen, who left the citizen without the
compliment of a farewell. Continuing around the square, inquiring for
Mr. Lincoln's house, he presently got beyond the stores and burning
pavements on to a plank walk, under great shade trees, and past old
brick mansions set well back from the street. At length he paused in
front of a wooden