THE POETS DREAM, Silence hath mysteries which we dream not of; What is it but the memory of sound ? Beep iu its chambers, hidden far away © Know each song a separate place hatb found Beem you the musicdead? It echoes down The thought-hedged ways where listen- ing memory treads, Pure sil e is one web of many songs, Like soe fabrle woven of many threads, 8 S14 The stars in Make rythmic music for the universe. We say the flowers grow silently. They :% of love and beauty where they Spring, The beauty of the summer quiet night I3 haunted yet by tender whispering Of music that hath been and taken flight. aie thine the finer sense that hears iio all unheard by other ears: t in dreams, while others sleep. sal | The sunlight's flooding gold, the shadows deg Ps Are songs in minor and in major keys. us of duller ears welodies thy spirit hears : il nature the deep undertone that is hers and thine alone ; r us all that nature sings ; now the flutter of swift wings ce rich in song. & poet! sin The voicele Catel fro OF mn Interpre En si the sile 2h a te Wakes th WiliCH sHALL IT BE? She the stood there poppies and among the cornflowers, mo- she always was, with an attempt at fichu, the would-be fashionable poke- with her surroundings. There was a strange ile, half deprecating, half defiant, on her handsome, gypsv-like face as I approached her, which, com- ined with ber immobility, made me think something unusual must have occurred. For Katie Goldie and I were great friends, in spite of the difference in our positions: she being Farmer Goldie's only Jd iter and I the only child of the rector of the same little sea-bounded village. We bad grown up from baby- ood, knit together by the similarity of our circumistances—Dboth the same age, Si 8 But here the simi- Our characters were as as were our positions. Kate equally devoted. ty ceased different 5 all 1 r farmer than her father; full of irits, and with a fair idea of lents; while I, small delicate, dreamy anid romantic, and addicted to quiet employments, let her take the lead in everything we did in common. ker own fo meet me, and it was her unusual €ranquillity that surprised me, I knew she had been out of spirits for many months back, and no wonder, Times at me in that eurious fashion? 3 the matter? I cried, as I approached **Nothis matter; thinki: and I ant your a Florence,” “It ant.”’ still f #aTs v AV s fogeth +] ic.” Gladly I 2 with curios I was but i 1g very import- o8. you to stand acstriet hi HOeLaNn will tell you all about Ar sented, for I was burning : put her arms with- She 1d hed straightic xing bluntin me. “You see, Miss Florence,” she be- ‘they both wants” —— “Want,” I corrected. 88, ‘wants’? to marry me, and Ldon’t know which to take. it when you came up.” “But who are ‘they’?” I asked, ‘they’ Jim Taylor and Walter Butler, for if sou “No,” sadly, “not Walter Butler; it's Jim Taylor and David Wardour," “But, Kate, you puzzle me. thought.”” m a low tone, *‘I always fan- cied that I was Walter" “I was not speaking of myself, but of them--Jim Taylor and David Wardour wWh shall it be?” I withdrew my arm ina transport of righteous indignation. “I don’t understand you,” I cried: “why should it be either, when you care for Walter?” It was her turn to be indignant now; she turned round on me fiercely. “Walter, Walter,” she said, “why do ¥ou keep on talking of him? Ahi» with something that sounded almost fike a sob, “how stupid you are!” “Then you had better not ask my advice,” 1 answered, highly offended, but she did not heed me. “Miss Florence,” she continued, *“what I wants to know is this; Which da the richest of the two and which is the kindest-bearted. Mr. Bowles has known them both ever so long: have you heard him say?" But I was too indignant to answer RB Ber question. “Kate,” 1said loftily, “I am ashamed ef you. I never thought that you would look on matrimony in this wpirit. It’s quite shocking, Which the richest, indeed! Onl it is horrible, BL ought to be no question of money, ply of which you—you-love the best, : never thought you would be so world- “Miss Florence, you are a goose,’ 8 Kate's unmannerly rejoinder, as 6 walked away from me toward her i home, leaving me still with an pression of conscicns virtue depicted my countenance. ’ During the days that ensued T saw pthing of Kate, and by degrees it iawned on me that we two old friends ere indulging in the folly of a quarrel, . was, however, sincerely disgusted th her, and my disgust was ineressed hen, a few days after I met her In the : field, my father announced to me aat he had beard in the village that she was engaged to be married to Jim Taylor, i ‘You must go this afternoon and congratulate her, Flo,” he continued, quite unaware that Kate and I were not on speaking terms. But this state | of things could not continue, so I took {his advice and went down to Haw- | thorne Farm in the afternoon to offer my congratulations and tacitly ery Pax! { I found Kate looking ill, with dark | the blushing bride-elect. my congratulations very calmly, { ‘He is here,” she said; ‘i will call { him, **Jim, come here and speak to { Miss Florence, He is shelling peas for { me," | him u<eful—I can’t abide idle fellows,’ I began to feel rather sorry for Jim. i He came in, however, anything but | sorry for himself, radiant and blushing i a3 any girl; but as he was eminently uncomfortable in my presence, Kate { soon dismissed him to the peas again, and resumed her conversation. She was far | more talkative than usual, being asa | rule rather silent. i “Yes,” she continued, “‘we | IDATTY very soon, So as to be well set- | tied before harvest; for you know, Miss | Florence, we are going to live here and { manage the farm, Father 1s getting { old, and he worries himself to death | defiantly. { Oh, yes, it is all very nice,” I an- i swered | am surd Jim is a good fellow,” I added ! more warmly; **he looks it.” “Oh, he is very well;'’ then Florence; he is a right-down good far- “Iam very glad to hear it,’ I an- swered, and very shorly after took my leave. There was a constraint about thing but satisfactory, and I was pleased —almost for the first time in my life— to leave sweet Hawthorne Farm, where I had always been so happy. There according to the season of then everything about the place had { been bright and prosperous; now spoke of want of money. True, it was as tidy as, under the circumstances, it “3 wie © : stricken tidiness compared to the old it was tobe hoped Jim's capital might restore. As 1 walked through the village street toward home whom should I en- counter but Walter Butler. He was pockets, whistling loudly and looking ' anything but the love-sick swain, his countenance repelled me, and invol- I contrasted with straightforward, ingenuous face, i idle be looked too! | again have left his place, had seen him he had been keeper to Mr. Groves, about three miles inland, “Good evening, Walter,” 1 said. “Good evening, miss,” **Are you come home for a holiday?” I continued, “I've left Mr, Groves,” somewi at dellantly. “lyn SOITY hat.” afraid you are stone.’ “1 am not a Ian ie iv How he answered for t I replied. *‘] rather a rolling ain 1 . a place ponded, n: “So Kate I won- that old father won't make mud ie iN ckon he i place, as has had nothing put into i wth | many years past.’ This Is his ni ng, Walter,” these answered, on. | Taylor were made man and wife in the little village church. To i Kale looked beautiful. Her white dress and bonnet became her bet- ter than ber ordinarily rather smart { attire, and her unusual pallor was an improvemen her, went straight home Farin and began the to to yusiness of life at | lacking in romance. i about the village, pickis shillings at haymaking, { ete. ete. ig up a few ard haunting Hawthorne | Farm as soon as ever Mr. and Mrs { Taylor were settled there, He would { stroll ip to the house and handsome face at the k where Kate would be busy with her is | walk boldly in and offer to help her { ployed. On some pretext or other he | Was never long absent, and soon my | father began to look grave about it, and not up to much good and that the vil- lage people were beginning to talk. see Kate, and always found her busy aod industrious, but with a haggard, worried look in her eye that ought not to have been there, for her affairs were looking up—the harvest was a good one, Jim worked like two men, fences were repaired, more hands wete taken on. new machinery bought, and altogether | Hawthorne Farm began to wear a faint resemblance to its former self. Old Mr. Goldie, too, was perfectly happy Jim was su attentive and respectful son-in-law, and it seemed to me that, except that her husband was too soft, as she once said to me, Kate had noth. ng to complain of, ne afternoon when I strolled u there I found, to my annoyance, Wal- ter Butler, with a pipe in his mouth, Sitting in the best parlor, while Kate sat in the window mending. I at once evinced my displeasure by saying, with marked coldness: “1 will not stay, Kate, as I see you are gocupied,’’ and I was about to with- draw when she flung down her work and came after me, **0, Miss Florence, do stay-do stay!” There was a ring of entreaty in her volce that struck me, and I turned round again, “1 ean’t stay,” I answered, *1f Wal. ter Butler is sitting here smoking.” “Ie shan’t sit there—he shall ” “I thought you could not alnde lazy Wl fellows, Kate?” I continued, somewhat maliciously. flushing, them!” | zled me and made me at once go back with her. ging on the pretty chintz-covered sofa, brave, for she said to him: ‘Now just go about your business, Walter and take your nasty pipe out of this room when Miss Florence is com- | ing into it,” | He rose sulkily enough. i ! “Good-by, Kate,” he said patroni- zingly, made a surly salute, and was | about to leave the room, when Jim came in—fair, red-faced debonair, as usual, Not so debonair, though, that he could | not shoot a glance of anger and con- { tempt at Walter Butler, { “What be you a-doing here?” he | asked, and then turned, after greeting me, to Kate. {| “My dear,” he said gently: *‘I wants my tea early to-day.” i | was more than ever struck i and by his innate good breeding. 1 | gan to think that Kate bad married well, Her manner toward him larly variable. | the next warm; it was contemptuous, vet | at times respectful—altogether a riddle, “What a good husband you have, | to return to his work, “Yeas” " much of a man, | contempt. she added with some “When you marry, Miss i you." of you. | that you, who are | cared to be looked after 50 much.’ **You are not married. You do not Miss Florence, understand.” and with this, for me rather humiliating remark, the conversation ceased. It was a few weeks after this 50 I could not tory a manner that he and Kate been the happlest of couples ever since. {| moment of expansion, following imme- diately after the event. It seemed that one day when Walter {| was lounging about her while she was | busy in her In very qu at an hour when he was usually out in IK ; etl {in his hand. He walked up to Walter, **Now,” said be, quite calmly,” I wants to know what business you | ways have here, prowling about my wife? If ever I catch you in this here garden or —holding up the whip—*about your shoulders; so now you better be gone,” Walter stared in amazement at the | quiet fair-haired man. “You oaf, you," | he said, | **An caf, am i take this,” and with the whip. With a cry of mage Walter tried to spring on him, but Jim kept his head and eluded him, “Don't try that, will get the worst of it." 3 ’ ti he raised whip mens I?" said Jim; “then st 1 the “Rate, of authori heard there | How could sh ition f ¥ through beating s Fe eyeing ‘each other, and then lithe and active Jim had seized Waller round the waist and thrown him the ground. There was a cry of joy, or pride, and Kate ran up to her husband, **Oh, Jim! I am so glad, so glad!" to {did not answer, for Walter, with | evil white face, had risen to his feet, | and finding his despi much for hin was preparing to beat an undignified retreat, He shook his fist with fary, at them too much for him, speechless from time to time to repeat the gesture, But Kate and her husband had entered ithe house, he quite calm and | again, a fact * not a little. “Did you say you were glad, Kitty?” i he asked incredulously. i “Oh! sc glad, Jim, I have been so | miserable, He would come here day { after day and reproach me with having { behaved badly to him, and say that | | had given my promise to marry him, {S01 had, cooled off, became quite distant like, and never came near me, Then I grew sore and angry, and when he went away to Mr. Groves’ without ever a word to me, 1 vowed I would Lave nothing more to say to him. It was just about that time that poor father lost so muck mo- to marry you, I thought as how you were rich and.—u" “Yes, yes, I know all abovt that, Kitty; you never lud from me why you married me. But why did you never tell me how Walter persecuted you? 1 would soon have sent him about his business. I thought,” rather sadly and hesitatingly, “that you liked him to come,” “And 1 thought,’ with downcast eyes, ‘that you were not-—not man enough, Jim, and I was angry that you did not show more spirit, and I said to myself ‘you were but a poor thing.’ But now,” with a glow of pri e, “1 know differently, and oh! I am so glad he is gone. He is a bad one, he is," Jim drew her to him and kissed her. “He is a bad "un, Kate, and do you know why he became 80 cool and dis- tant to you after asking you to marry him? Because he found out that affairs here were in a bad way and that he would have uncommonly little money, instead of a great deal; as ho had fan- cied, Don’t you thik you are well rid of him for a husband?” “1 do Jim, indeed I do—and, Jim, I have always beer a good wife to you, although I did marry you because you { were rich and would let father live with {us, but now’—in a whisper—* you know-—yes. vou Know" “What, Kitty? Say it aloud,”? “Why, you know that 1 love you." That is word for word as Kate told the story to me, She Is a4 comely mat- ron now, with half a dozen children about her. 1 am still Miss Florence, { not having yet found the man equal to looking afler me, — i ; i “Tink of Dose Tings.” ——————— ‘Der clothing peesness,”” he repiied as he wiped his face with a red banda. na and sat down on a'%$2 trunk at the door, ‘*vhas vhat you might call played | oudt. It vhas hard scratching to make a tollar.”? “But people time.” *Oxactly, but peoples haf changed a good deal. Some folks vhes all for style, and dey go to a tailor to get a fit, Od. der peoples puy ready-made clothing, | but 50 many of us vhas in der peeness dot it vhas hard sledding. Eafery man { who comes into my blace oxpects to beat me down. Eafery man look der goots all oafer for cotton, and it vhas hard to deceive him.” “What do you ask for | suit??? “Vell, my first price on dot suit vhas $14. After I talk for 10 minutes I. drop | to $12, wear clothes all the the Wiki il {at which I put my hand on my heart und assure him dot 1 lose ofer tres tol- lar,” “But if he doesn’t take it?” “Vhel, I go oudt und my vhife sells it to him for $9 as a great favor. vas no more profit in tweed suits, had to pay $4 in Rochester,” “1 suppose you make up on tranks { and satchels,” “Make oop! Vhy man, it vhas dot part of der peesness vhat ruins mel Leok here! Here vhas a trunk mit a | patent lock und all conveniences dot | ask $4 for. If1 doan' get so much, I { drop to $3, { vhill look aroundt a leedle, I tell him to take it along for §2, but it vhas sooch a loss my children cry all night long.” “They must nearly thas,” “Viell, I haf an uncle who makes der woodwork, a brudder who puts on {de lock, a sister who papers der und my fade: und by sweeping oudt ) wilt wots it COL YOu ide, screws on der hinges, ny own store 1 i ta Cena, Do you ever leave a customer go out without buying?” “Vheil, I doan’ remember of sox calamity. If I can’t sell him my vh comes in und tries it. [ffshe can’t se | him, her sister comes in und speaks like an angel. Sometimesa man vhas)s 38 glee], - He knows dot we baf to sacrifice, pe cause our stock vhas too large, und he hangs off and peats aroundt, until I finally close der bargain, | him dot I leaf for der county house to- murrow,”” “And you 1086 “Vhell, suit cost Rochester!” “I guess you'll pull “lbope so. You to save hot rent, embezzie from me, save gas, My rent I vhas a good te f und br wr $b x 3 GO% ne $e. i083 $ to WRT “And that suit cost you “Seven dollars in Rochester; you pay $14 fare to Roches lose two days und vhas out y { bill, how much do you make, eb | must tink of dose tings.” but if ew His Gast, He Kn Recently as a tramp entered a yard the owner of the place came around the corner of the house. The recogni- tion was mutual, and the owner ob | served: “No use coming in here,” “Why? “Because we have nothing for tramps, Better be off with! vou.” ‘You can take it that way,” “Then you are liable to the law. The fifteenth Michigan reports, page { 221, makes a threat of bodily injury a { punishable offense, It is also held by | the Supreme Court in Baker vs. Gray | that a threat could always be construed as a breach of the peace.’ | “There's too many loafers of your { shape around,’ | a8 applying opprobrious epithets or cir- | culating stories calculated to injure one's character, pages 23, 24 and 25, Black vs, Taliman.” “You come in kere and I'M give you { all the Jaw you want.” “An assault may consist of bodily injury or simply words, If John Doe inveighs against Richard Roe in anger, uttering covert threats of bodily injury and leading Richard to suspect and fear bodily harm, that is an assault. See Michigan Statates, pages 1 Land 12; also Supreme Court decision in case of Faire banks va, Shadwell,” “Well, I warn you to keep ont.” “Certainly, Any person entering upon the property of another when forbidden 80 to do 1s guilty of trespass, Thirteenth Michigan, case of Jones vs, Braintree,” The owner of the place looked at the tramp for a moment and then disap. peared in the back yard. The stranger started after him for awhile, and then started slowly up the street with the observation: “Any person going about from place to place without occupation or means of subsistence, or any person asking for food or alms upon the streets or public highways shall be considered a vagrant, That’s me. See sixteenth Michigan, page 02. Also; decision in case of De- trott va, Warner, Judgment of lower court sustained, and plaintiff remand- ed back to the workhouse, Charity 1s a universal duty, Also decision in Fine Veuthers, “Take the year right through,’ said afternoon, “and you'll find by observa- than they are worn in any other city of { the size in the world,” “How's that’ asked the reporter. cool, even temperature of this peninsu- la, which permits sealskins and winter. fashioned hats to be worn during the greater part of the year,” “But the dealers in fancy feathers don’t complain on this account?’ “Not they. It's a very good busi- months of the year, when people are {well supplied or have gone into the country with their flower and ribbon { trimmed straw bats, A good deal of my trade 38 with ladies who have old feathers to dye or curl or cut up into tips,» “What isa tip?” “A tip is one of those short, bobbing | featliers so stylish just now. Last year | the fashionable craze was over w | birds’ wings and heads for hats i | turbans, but this year it’s tips.” i "Are they mostly cut from ostrich | feathers?” | ‘Well, that is the supposition; but, bless you, we don’t séll more than half the number of real ostrich feathers that andl | up a nice long ostrich plume into tips, { and the very short ostrich feathers are { rarely of good texture and fibre—that is, | the African kind are not. Many of the { East India importations of this sort are ¥ good, however bat they come very i high. So all kinds of feathers are fixed { up in imitation of those of the ostrich. | There's the risea, or American ostrich: the adjutant, peacock, pheasant, eagles The kind used here toa extent, especially in imitating ostrich tips is the South American vul- { ture. 1 will show hose { imitations and will see how uished from { and others, i great An some of 1 they may the real article,’ were then made be- variet of feathers, and the difference between genuine and counterfeit point it was shown | how an “‘ostrich”’ plume of great length | might be made by piecing the soft short feathers of the vulture mework \ of whalebone, stiff cloth or other n LA iA $5 you 3 ati be disting { Comparisons t tween different dl out, a fy Ol & i738 faut ’ dete mpo- redulity witnout dire being by a glance at 1} he feather, which will disc} framework. The feathers of co ed together in this mas uried and i } plume y d from the ostricl and wiry nature comparison je | inside of t ith I M0 £ | Be nel of is the difference in imitation and was asked, trich feathers run from § real LiL), 1 VEAL OB up to &> §2 ations you want at 10 cents u each. { mata $4 or §5 apiece.’ “Are not the lon great extent?” “Oh, ves: tl As there § 2 » i 4 I " plumes worn ey always will be, too ung bandsomer on a hat ostrich plume.” ved befor is I 3s ¥ HOG SRG hers d fog t 3 ARE yf m.oolor is al ladies, and thisis a mare thi h-pluci ch feathers i A this.” ng some long the colors were mixed, | pepper and salt, over the downy plumes, “Here is rarity,” ] covered a lovely hich would have 1 ie a fash. young lady wild with envy if she had seen it on a rival belle’s hat, | “Then they come in grays and some- times in snowy whites, but the latte: | are rare,” sad the dealer, They said the feather white (ist ‘ £ wi alll Js ii i ther, eV.) . HOTA Bpontagneous Bara Burning. so It is noticeable that a larger number barns is mentioned by Some of the fires are undoubtedly caused by lightning, electric fluid, Dut there are barn fires which cannot be attributed to light. ning, to lighting of matches, to light i from lanterns, nor to the invasions of | careless tramps, It may be that the | spontaneous combustion of hay is as | possible as the spontaneous firing of | cotton waste, All fibrous material, | when moist, and compressed, and de- { fended from the cooling influences of | the outward air, is subjected to a heat- { Ing similar to that of fermentation and tin some instances the degree of heat is suficient to cause actual, visible ecom- bustion. In the case of recently ‘cured’ hay this danger is as great as, in simi. | lar circursstances, other materials may | be. Frequently the grass is cut in the | early morning, while wet with dew; is turned twies during the day, and gath- | ered and nacked in the *mow” or the “bay” before nightfall, with perhaps a sparse gprinkling of salt, Such a com. preseed mass of fibrous, moist matter will heat. How far the heat will go to- ward generating a combustion may be inferred from a foolish trick which the writer witnessed several years ago. A darge meadow of hay bad been cu, | cured and « ooked, previous to removal, A shower threatening, the cocks were covered with caps of canvas and | the night, While getting the hs . nextday, one of the workmen dropped | an unlighted match from his pocket into | acock of bay, and in a few minutes it was ablaze, Itafterward was ascertain- ed that he had spoken of the warmth of { the hay as he lifted 1t on his fork, when a4 companion remarked that it might be hot enough to light a match, on which he puta match nto a rick, and before they had passed on five minutes the rick rsant w nentand an Perinat hat for weeks the barn is : opened in the morning if heal that § «, but which ilsice tem- barn heat the moist T spontaneous he cure fo "$y +} oh i seem to be the thorough of the hay bx ¥ all our herbs an { our vegetables without injurin peculiar and individual qualities, There i8 no reason why hay or other fodder ma- terial stored in large masses should ne be rendered equally fuences § 1 07T@ i8 i BOT their viel LS, Le or ® # . of heat } “The City ¥ ficance for there is ons of which I refer to He- ' ane prelens Ae. passed away over 1 two were erected years ag ‘he i | shaft sixty-six feel high, of red granite | covered with hierogivphics: The metal on the pyramidum on the top has | passed away, and the successive | dations of the Nile have piled a good | many feet of mud about the monn. over inun- of | were explained, ally different from the modes of color ing stoaw or dress goods. A feather ‘may be colored a bundred different, i shades beginning with a light one, and will wear for ten or twelve years if | properly cared for, | “Where do the Ban Francisco feather | dealers get their supplies of the ostrich | article?’’ the reporter inquired. | “Chiefly from New York. | to import them from France, but for some reason or other we find that we can get the same feather in New York | for $4 that we would have to pay 25 | francs for ju Paris. Besides theres an | enormous customs duty to be paid.” I *Do you get many feathers from Aus. | tralia?” “No; only a few, bat they are of good quality.” “How do the feathers of the ostriches | hatched in this country compare with | the foreign importations?” “Very favorably, those that 1 have | seen, There 15 no reason why the os- ! trich shonld not thrive in our southern leountles. Iam well acquainted with | the ostrich-growing industry, having { once owned an ostrich farm near Cal- i cutta. One thing I have noticed about ostrich growing in this country whieh I don’t like is the failure to secure good stock to start with, The man who se. leets from the best birds and those varie- ties having the finest plumage will be the man who makes the most money out of the business, In ostrich raising. as in everything else, a person must start right in order to succeed,” “What are the going colors in feath- ers just now?’ “Gold-brown and bright and dark garnet,” Eleolrie Towers, These towers are now being found fault with by vessel captains who come plain that the reflection of the lights is 80 great on the river that they are blinded by it and cannot see the lights of vessels noving about the } or, This too is especially so on hazy nights, Some captains say they have bamly escaped collisions by not being able co discover the lights on ng vessels, Other captains claim that the electrics troubled them in discerning the light. houses 1 the mouth of the river, { At Heliopolis was also the finest | Egyptian ter with one exception {in the Old Testament days, a temple { dedicated to tne sun employing a staff {of priests, menials, custodians, and | attaches which 1s said to have number. | &d 5c iess than 12.913, The Pharaohs { were especially proad of their title as . i “Tord of H { le io Nearer the modern village are (he trees and well of the Virgin, “he Virgin's tree is a decayed sycamore planted in 1672, allegedly upon the site of a previous tree, in the hollosr trunk {of which Mary had concealed herself tand the divine child. Not satisfied ! with well enough, the people in the | vicinity spoil the whole tradition by | also averring that a spider spun his | web across the opening so as to effect. | nally screen the fugitive. 1 did not learn whether the spider and his web | are still preserved there or not, The | present tree was presented to the Em- | press Eugnie by the Khedive at the { inauguration of the Suez Canal Its | also stated on pretty good authority the balsam shrub, the balm of | which the Queen of Sheba presented ito King Soloman, once throve in the | vicinity of Heliopolis, The plant has | long siuce ceased to grow hereabouts. | Cleopatra attempted to introduce them, | but without success. ————— that Ola Sehuyler Mansion. CL The sale of the old Schuyler mansion in Albany will attract the attention of historic students and antiquaries, It was built in 1760 by the wife of General Philip Schuyler, and was a marvel of grandeur in its early days, Its walls echoed the voices of the most notable heroes of Revolutionary times, Franke lin, Lafayette, Aaron Burr, De Ro- chambeau were among its most famous gussts, Here General Durgoyne was held a prisoner after hia surrender at Saratoga, here Alexander Hamilton and, a generation later, President Fillmore, were married. Tere, in 1781, a des- rate effort was made by Tories and ndians to rapture General Schuyler, and the brave old hero, gathering his family in an Spies room, stood si resolutely wnbil relief came, But t inexorabie tide of business and popula~ tion Bas at last swept over the old mane sion. It will soon exist only in history.
Significant historical Pennsylvania newspapers