"I beg you now, that you will join me in drinking the health of another man whom we all love to honor,--the man who, when elected President of the United States, was compelled to reach the seat of government without an escort, but a man who now could travel _all_ over our country with millions of hands and hearts to sustain him. I give you the good, the great, the honest man, Abraham Lincoln." How little we dreamed, as the cheers, twice repeated, went around, that at that self-same hour the honored President lay prostrate and dying in the National Capital from the bullet of an assassin. "Thus grief ever treads upon the heels of pleasure"-- "And all alike await the inevitable hour; The paths of glory lead but to the grave." Having now remained at the hotel over an hour, we went out to look after our colored coachman, only to find, as we might have expected, that he had given us the slip. But we took possession of another carriage that fortunately came up, and, in answer to the sable inquiry, "Am Colonel Fuller ready for de ball?" we kindly informed our colored friend that if he would take us to the ball, the Colonel would undoubtedly be ready by the time he returned. Thus assured, he started off with us over a very dark and rough road, through the burnt district, till we stopped at length before a fine old mansion on East Bay street, brilliantly illuminated, from which sounds of music and festivity proceeded. Here, we were told, was the scene of another grand ball, given by the Confederates in honor of the fall of Sumter, just four years before. Some of the same negroes who served at the first ball, as _slaves_, now attended the second as _free and independent_ waiters. I purchased of one of them for a nominal sum quite a collection of Confederate currency, a Palmetto brass button, and a quaint Pompeiian lamp, which are still preserved as mementoes of the occasion. We were told "dat Massa Middleton used to own de place," but, as the darkeys sing: "He saw a smoke way down de ribber, Where de Lincum gunboats lay, He took his hat, an' lef' berry sudden, An' I 'specs he's run'd away!" So the fine estate, with its broad verandas, and elegant mirrors and paintings on the walls, all became, including the darkeys, "contraband of war."