Now, I hated to go back. I knew well that all those estimable fellow-citizens of mine on the other side were watching the scene, and that they would be sure to hold me in lighter estimation if I had to retire. I put a bold face on the matter and whipped out my card-case. "There are two batteries of foot artillery in there, I'm told, and among their officers is a gentleman whom I used to know in New York and would like to see. Can you send this to him?" I hastily scrawled "Late N. Y. 7th Regt." under my name. The detective took the card; whistled to a boy who stood near; the youngster seized it and was off like a shot; while my detective and I walked slowly towards the building. Before we reached the stone steps, a fine-looking fellow in the fatigue uniform of the United States artillery came out and looked inquiringly around. I stepped forward at once and introduced myself; was most courteously greeted and invited to walk in; the police official smilingly nodded "All right now," and, guided by the lieutenant, I entered the mysterious portals of the besieged halls of government. It was an extraordinary sight that met my eyes. Grouped inside the vestibule, where they could not be seen from Canal Street, or indeed from any point on Dryades except directly in front, were some fifty Metropolitan police in complete uniform and the equipments of infantry soldiers; belts, cartridge-boxes, bayonet-scabbards, and all. Their officers, with drawn swords and wearing shoulder-straps like those of the regular service, were gathered in front. Stacks of Winchester rifles stood close by, many of the men having their muskets still in their hands. All the lower hall and the staircases were crowded with these improvised troops, some white, some colored, there being white men in the rank and file, and colored men among the officers. All were very quiet, orderly, and apparently well disciplined. Some of those who were seated on the stairway rose rather slowly to make way for us, and a colored officer in the shoulder-straps of a captain spoke in a quick, sharp tone to them; and, black and white, they sprang to their feet and respectfully drew aside. At the head of the stairs were sentries and an officer of the guard, all in police uniform, and they saluted my artillery guide with all the precision of regulars. "Would you like to look in at your Legislature?" asked he, with a mischievous grin. I assented. The officer of the guard opened a door, and we found ourselves in an inner hall or vestibule. Here we came upon a dozen colored men surrounding a low wooden counter or table covered with pies, cakes, sandwiches, and fruit. Behind the counter sat an old negress in vehement expostulation. "It's no use talkin', gen'lemen, you's just wastin' yo' time. Las' year I done trus' de gen'lemen of de Senate an' Representives, an' dey ain't paid me yit."