[Illustration: 
  Per steamer.
  [Three postage stamps.]
  Hon. STEPHEN J. FIELD,
  Washington, D.C.]

It bore the stamp of the San Francisco post-office upon the address.  My name had evidently been cut from the California Reports, but the words “Washington, D.C.,” and “Per steamer,” had been taken from a newspaper.  The slips were pasted on the package.  On the opposite side were the words in print: 

[Illustration: 
  From
  GEO. H. JOHNSON’S
  Pioneer Gallery,
  645 and 649 Clay street,
  SAN FRANCISCO.]

As I took up the package I remarked that this must come from Rulofson;—­no, I immediately added, Rulofson has nothing to do with the Pioneer Gallery.  It then occurred to me that it might be a present for my wife, recollecting at the moment that the mail came by the steamer which sailed from San Francisco about Christmas time.  It may be, I said to myself, a Christmas present for my wife.  I will open it just far enough to see, and, if it be intended for her, I will close it and forward it to New York, where she was at the time.  I accordingly tore off the covering and raised the lid just far enough to enable me to look inside.  I was at once struck with the black appearance of the inside.  “What is this, Lake?” I said, addressing myself to my friend.  Judge Lake looked over my shoulder into the box, as I held it in my hand, and at once exclaimed, “It is a torpedo.  Don’t open it.”  I was startled by the suggestion, for the idea of a torpedo was the last thing in the world to occur to me.  I immediately laid the package on the sill of the window, where it was subjected to a careful inspection by us both, so far as it could be made with the lid only an eighth of an inch open.

Soon afterwards Judge Lake took the package to the Capitol, which was directly opposite to my rooms, and to the office of the Clerk of the Supreme Court, and showed it to Mr. Broom, one of the deputies.  They dipped the package into water and left it to soak for some minutes.  They then took it into the carriage way under the steps leading to the Senate Chamber, and shielding themselves behind one of the columns threw the box against the wall.  The blow broke the hinge of the lid and exposed the contents.  A murderous contrivance it was;—­a veritable infernal machine!  Twelve cartridges such as are used in a common pistol, about an inch in length, lay imbedded in a paste of some kind, covered with fulminating powder, and so connected with a bunch of friction matches, a strip of sand-paper, and a piece of linen attached to the lid, that on opening the box the matches would be ignited and the whole exploded.  The package was sent to the War Department, and the following report was returned, giving a detailed description of the machine: 

    WASHINGTON ARSENAL, Jan. 16, 1866.

    Gen. A.B.  Dyer, Chief of Ordnance, Washington, D.C.