hesitated in a course of duty so plain, and yet so distasteful would have been criminal, cowardly, and unworthy of an American citizen. The advantage gained was followed up unremittingly, by day and by night, for many weary months, regardless of all professional duties and personal considerations. It was at the outset found highly necessary, if not indispensable, to have the concurrence of one good, loyal man of marked qualification--one who was discreet, who had experience upon police duties, who was prompt, energetic, persevering, patient, fearless, and withal a strictly honest man, a citizen whose reputation was above reproach; that man was found; he was Robert Alexander. After brief consideration, Mr. Alexander gave to the writer his hearty and earnest concurrence. Nothing was left undone by him that could further the hazardous undertaking, and personal gratitude for his ready acquiescence, which we tender to him, will meet with a ready response in the hearts of all good citizens. It is now Thursday evening in July 1864. We will now ask the reader to go again with us up those long, tedious flights of stairs to the outer rooms of the "temple" of the Sons of Liberty in Chicago. We left the room before with the remembrance of only a hole six inches in diameter for a full sized Copperhead to crawl through, but we shall have better success this time. Advancing to the aforesaid door, and giving three distinct raps, the slide, which we find covers the hole from the inside, is moved up, and a live, full-grown Copperhead peers through the orifice. "We whisper the word "Peace," or "Peoria," or whatever the monthly pass-word is, and the door is open, and we find ourselves within the vestibule of the temple, surrounded by a little group going through the preliminary exercises of initiation. We see the candidate and sponsors, with hands uplifted, and listen to the very poor reading of an officer, from the ritual, and giving the new comer his first dose of States' sovereignty and secession. This is so mystified and clouded with high-sounding words that the poor devil nods at every time the reader stops for breath, or to expectorate tobacco juice, and the ceremony is concluded, and the candidate, respectable for the good clothes which he wears this night as a rarity, follows his conductor to another door, where he hopes for admission, the only impression on the candidate being, that his right arm is weary from being elevated so long, and that he is coming rapidly into good fellowship with men of high judicial standing, who propose to give Abolitionists and Lincoln particular "hell under the shirt tail." Again they knock and are challenged by an inside guardian, who lectures the newly fledged Son, who having nodded sufficiently, is conducted to the Ancient Brother in the West, so that the _Son_, reversing the order of nature, begins rising in the West. The "Ancient Brother" is a better reader, for here we find _brains_ for the first time, as it is the