[7] Four days after the date of this letter, ABRAHAM LINCOLN--the wise, the just, the merciful--fell beneath the dastard blow of an ignoble assassin! All that is beautiful and good in the world must mourn his irreparable loss; and I need not say how consoling it is to me in this dark hour to feel, that, in all my extravagances of nonsense, I have never penned one word concerning the Martyr-President that was not inspired by a sentiment of actual affection for his genial and guileless character. Thank God! his eternally-infamous murderer came of a line not native to my country! O. C. K. Here Miss P. Hen got to the front and brought down her umbrella with awful violence upon the bare head of the speaker, and says she: "I'm the Republican party myself!" "I beg your pardon, miss," says the Baltimore citizen, hotly, "but _I'm_ the Republican party!" "You're both impostors!" roared the Chicago chap, scientifically squaring-off; "for I'M the Republican party!" Crash goes the platform; down tumble the banners. Fists are plunging wildly in all directions, while such howls and screams arise from the tempest as though pandemonium were let loose to run a gamut of diabolical sounds. Seated upon a barrel a short distance off, I was taking a deep interest, through my bit of smoked glass, in this scene of exciting National Thanksgiving, when a strange ringing noise, or lively bellow, and a sharp crash very unexpectedly sounded above the din, and, on looking up, I beheld the Conservative Kentucky chap joyously dancing upon the roof of Paris, with a huge dinner-bell in his right hand, and a smoking three-pounder beside him. "Hooray!" shouted the Conservative Kentucky chap, blissfully standing on one leg. "Go in! That's the style! Sic 'em! Sic 'em! Hit 'em again, boys. Hem!" says the Conservative chap, with delirious enthusiasm; "this here sort of thing in the enemy's camp is just the ticket for our National Democratic Organization, of which I am the large Kentucky branch!" Turn away your eyes, my boy, from such scenes as these, and look with me along that hill-side yonder, where the gentle sun casts his tenderest beams upon the new spring grass. You see there are irregular mounds scattered all the way up the slope,--hundreds,--hundreds! Beneath them sleep the brave, the beautiful, the wept of the patriot home. Their loyal blood, poured in a fervid river to the twilight ocean of Eternity, has washed a pollution from our Flag, a blot from our escutcheon; and, oh! that it had also borne hence upon its purifying current that unholy, shifting beacon of political discord, which ever lures our Ship of State toward the breakers. Yours, reverently, ORPHEUS C. KERR. _JUST PUBLISHED_, A VOLUME OF POEMS BY ORPHEUS C. KERR, ENTITLED, THE PALACE BEAUTIFUL, AND OTHER POEMS. 12MO, CLOTH BOUND, WITH PORTRAIT PRICE $1.50.