“*— , _ . _c:-L\— : K” ' ’ _ . \". <9 _. ‘ ‘1‘ ‘. A 26” ! A - ’. '-}m_- “ WHEN MYRA DIED.” BY JOHN GOSSIP. “ Hold me a little longer , Before the shadows fall.’ bank of silver the flush-faced sun sets low, lVévehhiilrédu; the sweet green hillsides the ruddy farm- s o ' ‘ boy g To give the cows their call. Shrill from between each pair of hills The plaint of early whippowfi to valor or possess ourselves of this fortress in a few minutes. And, inasmuch as it is a des— perate attempt, which none but the bravest of men dare undertake, I do not urge it on any one contrary to. his will. You that will un- dertake, voluntarily, poise your firelocks.” Every musket or rifle was brought to a poise. Immediately Allen placed himself at the head of the center column, and the whole body started on a run up the hight where the great fortress now rested in the deepest re- Is heard; . pose Not a word was spoken The gate was the ee in fro s ' ‘ , gggfigfififigflflies, ai’id Frog theg bogs hreached. It was closed, but the w1cket was The air is stirred. he marsh the kildees skim, $33: inn some farm-yard limb; And while so sw1ftly winging, What mockery of singing! Ah! if to-night their song were sad, As song of wandering Galahad. Who could wonder? ore is no sign upon the skies Tibf au ht but life and happiness; For vai s are 8 read across the eyes To shut out eath’s deep mysteries, And blind them to their near distress. Yet this were best—ay, this were best, Since it is Christ the Lord‘s behest. it is rowing chiller, . Ed the hgmeward-drivmg miller Down the road Swingsilfiis g5)? h a sense 0 co arm gilt“ ’tis time he reached the farm. In that farmer’s dingy kitchen Sit two souls. “ all alone ;" Her little face is pressed to his— His arm is ’round her thrown; And both are Godt‘ls togetggr, *Anq‘eacl: the*o a: s 0* * * g * ther told me of it, H?n13(her voice was like a knell. “ Hold me a little longer— Yes, more I heard her tell; Said she: “There! that was all she spoke Before the shadows fell!” The Men of ’76. ETHAN ALLEN, The Green Mountain Patriot. BY DB. LOUIS LEGRAND. ETHAN ALLEN was one of the “men of the times ”—a plain, hard-working, roughly-edu- cated farmer, transformed by the exigency of the situation into a leader of turbulent spirits. Several years before the Revolution, Allen and the “Green Mountain Boys” had more than a local fame. The socalled “ War of the New Hampshire Grants” was aroused by the attempt of New York to extend its colonial and political authority over all the territory —-theretofore under the, jurisdiction of New Hampshire—up to the west bank of the Con— necticut river, north of the Massachusetts line. It brought forth such spirits as Ethan Allen and Seth Warner, who, acting as direc— tors and leaders in the resistance to the New York “ royal” officers and processes, were outlawed and banned and a price put upon their bodies. But no power existed to enforce open, guarded by a single sentry. His surprise was complete. He snapped his gun and then ran up the covered way, followed by Allen and all his men, who, as they formed in a hol— low square on the parade, sent up a wild Indian whoop—the first. alarm the startled garrison had of an enemy’s presence. The single sen- try on guard before the quarters thrust his bayonet into one of the men, only to be strick- en by Allen a stunning blow on the head—not to kill but to disarm him. Then, led by the boy Nathan, up a flight of steps to the com- mandant‘s room, Allen thundered at the door, calling to Captain Delaplace: “ Come out and surrender, or I will sacrifice the whole garrison.” Having been aroused by the hubbub below, the captain was then on his feet, with his clothes in his hand. Opening the door at once, he was met by a rough demand for his imme- diate surrender. “By what authority?” he demanded. “In the name of the Great Jehovah and the Continental Congress!” was the astounding re- ply, while Allen swung aloft his sword, threat- eningly. Delaplace had no alternative; he said, “I surrender,” and forthwith ordered the garrison to parade without arms, but not until Allen’s men had commenced making prisoners. One captain, one lieutenant, and forty-eight men constituted the garrison. The fort inventoried one hundred and twenty cannon, besides a fine store of small arms, ammunition, etc. Warner having soon arrived with his scouts —-—the real “ Green Mountain Boys”-——was dis- patched to secure the works and garrison at Crown Point, which he did the next day, add- ing eleven men and sixty-one good cannon to their “ inventory.” Then Arnold and Allen settled their differences by a kind of joint com- their capture; most of the inhabitants of the region in dispute sympathized with and sup- ported the leader of the “ Boys,” who rallied at his call, and his personal liberty was in but small danger. His so—called “lawless acts ” continued up to the moment when all “royal” commissions and officers wera repudiated. The name of Ethan Allen was so well known in Connecticut (where he was born, A. D. 1739), that when the blood of Lexington called for reprisal, and a few daring spirits prOposed to at once wrest from Great Britain the fort- ress of Ticonderoga, in order to pave the way for a conquest of the Canadas, the projectors very naturally turned to Ethan Allen and his Green Mountain Boys. Allen was a “ patriot,” through and through. He had for a considerable time been an out- spoken ” liberty man ;” he not only had talked for liberty but had written pamphlets, address ed to his fellow-citizens, in which he inculcated many of the sentiments afterward embodied in the immortal Declaration of Independence, respecting the rights of man to “ life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness.” Hence the Re- volution found in him a zealous supporter—- not one who believed in, or who wanted any “ reconciliation ” with king and ministry; and the mere suggestion to seize the king’s Igreat fortress on Lake Champlain—wrested from the French after so much suffering and bloodshed —-was just the “overt act ’bwhich he believed would make reconciliation impossible. The secrecy of this movement against Ticon— deroga was well preserved. We are told that only eight days after the Lexington and Con- cord massacre, several members of the Connec~ ticut Provincial Ammbly on their individual responsibility borrowed one thousand dollars from the Province treasury, to defray the ex- pense of a committee to proceed to the fron- tier towns and organize an expedition for the seizure of the fortress—this seizure having been suggested to them, a month before, by Samuel Adams, of Boston, and Dr. Joseph Warren. The blood spilled at Lexington hastened the project. The committee of or- ganization started from Connecticut with six— teen men. At Pittsfleld, Mass, they were joined by Col. J as. Easton and others, and pro ceeded on to Bennington, on Lake Champlain, there to find in Ethan Allen the willing leader of the daring adventure. The expedition was quickly organized and rendezvoused at Castle- ton, where an election by the recruits made Allen first, Easton second, and Seth Warner third in command of a force not numbering two hundred men, wholly without cannon, and armed most unfittingly for an assault on a powerful fortification. Divisions having been sent off to scour the lake for boats, the main body moved down to Orwell, opposite Ticonderoga. There Benedict Arnold came riding in, armed with a colonel’s commission from the Massachusetts Commit- tee of Safety, and bearing orders from it and Sam Adams to take charge of the expedition. But neither Allen nor his men cared for the commission or order; they welcomed Arnold as a recruit, and as such he embarked in the adventure. The divisions having failed to come in with the boats, Allen dared not wait longer, if he crossed under cover of the darkness; so, using what transport they had, the crossing com- menced—Allen, Arnold, and their guide to the fort (a lad named Nathan Beman), in the first boat. But when daylight was near at hand only eighty-three men were over. To wait for the rest was to hazard discovery. It was assault or retreat with the force at hand. Ad- dressing the men, Allen said: “ Friends and fellow soldiers: you have, for a number of years past, been a scourge and ter- ror to arbitrary power. Your valor has been famed abroad and acknowledged, as appears by the advice and orders to me from the Gen- eral Assembly of Connecticut, to surprise and take the garrison now before us. I now pro- pose to advance before you, and in person to conduct you through the wicket-gate, for we must, this morning, either quit our pretensions mand, by which a descent on St. John was made, and all British domination on the lake was at an end, until the failure of the expedi- tions against Canada, that winter and the next spring, not only lost the northern provinces to the cause of the Revolution, but once more opened the path for British invasion by the easy way of Lake Champlain. Allen’s exploit of course made a great sensa- tion from Maine to Georgia. It was not only a daring stroke with important military re- sults, but, politically, it most seriously affected the cause. A vast body of the people still hoped and worked for reconciliation with the king and ministry, but this act seemed, at a blow, to make reconciliation impossible. It was not “in defense of our rights” but ag- gressive and offensive; it meant war; it gave the “patriots” much of the needed material of war, and served to inspire the people with confidence in their own courage and ability to cope with their powerful master. Allen reported in person to Philadelphia and was accorded the honor of a public recep- tion on the floor of the Continental Congress, and on his return a similar honor was accord- ed by the Massachusetts Assembly. “In the name of the Continental Congress and the Great Jehovah !” was the password to ovation everywhere. The idea of a conquest of Canada was one of the first military necessities of the Revo— lution. Congress therefore organized an ex- pedition that fall to proceed against Mon- treal and Quebec—Generals Schuyler and Montgomery in command. This expedition Allen was invited to join as a volunteer, and did 80, taking upon himself the important and dangerous service of “agent” to press on in advance and reconcile the people to the inva- sion, which he was to reassure the inhabitants was for their liberation. He was, in fact, a spy, and, as such, made two tours. The last, by way of the river Sorrel, then along the St. Lawrence, was, not by Montgomery’s advice, turned into an expedition for the capture of Montreal. Allen, with one hundred and ten men, (eighty of whom were Canadians,) was to cross the St. Lawrence north of the city, and Major Brown, with two hundred men, was to cross to the southern side of the city; than a simultaneous assault, it was thought, would carry the place by surprise. Allen succeeded in getting his men over, by the morning of the 25th of September, but Brown was not up to his engagement. The alarm spread and General Carlton turning upon Allen gave him asevere welcome. Allen’s Ca— nadians deserted, and with his handful of plucky fellows he tried to retreat, but was finally corraled by the British and Indians and compelled to surrender. Allen was treated very cruelly by General Prescott, who, finding that he had the hero of Ticonderoga in his hands, seemed anxious to mortify and degrade him and his men. He was handcuffed and leg—chained; then thrust into a vessel hold and sent to Quebec; and thence to Great Britain, suffering greatly by his brutal usage and the small quarters as— signed to thirty-four prisoners. The record of that voyage stands as a lasting disgrace to the British name. In Great Britain, however, he was treated with the consideration due abrave soldier and honorable man. He arrived at Falmouth a few days before Christmas, but was transferred to a frigate of war to pre- vent being taken out of imprisonment by the process of habeas corpus. The frigate ran for Cork harbor, and there the generous Irish took every pains to properly clothe and feed the prisoners on the frigate. From Cork the frig— ate finally sailed (February 12th) for America, with the fleet, and May 3d the ship dropped anchor in Cape Fear harbor, North Carolina. There the prisoners were transferred to an- other vessel and sent to Halifax, touching at New York on the way, and all were again treated with scandalous severity. After imprisonment in the jail at Halifax he was returned to New York, (in October, 1776), and released on parole, in the city. There he witnessed the dreadful suffering of Americans taken at the battle of Long Island. Over two thousand perished by the brutal cruelty of their captors. Not until‘early in May, 1778, was he finally exchanged. He then made his way to Washington’s headquar- ters at Valley Forge. Washington gave him a ve ry handsome welcome, and, Allen’s health being much impaired, he started for home, reaching Bennington May 31st (1778), to the glad surprise of everybody. Guns were fired and the sturdy patriot given a general welcome. Allen did not again enter the army. The old “war of the grants” being renewed, by reason of the asserted independency of the new State of Vermont, that State was deeply excited for several years over the rival claims of New Hampshire, New York and Massachu— setts for jurisdiction, and a condition almost of civil war prevailed, which Congress failed to settle. Allen, as commander—in-chief of the militia, was the guiding spirit of the movement for independency. He was, during this time, “DEAR MR. HARLEY: “ I write in haste. I learn that you have sent for one Tom Worth, a miner. If you value your daugh- ter s safety, and long for a retributive justice, when he comes, see to it that he does not leave your house before eleven o’clock. In one word. he is the Vlllaln, after all! I am myself, from certain cir- cumstances recently transpiring, satisfied that he planned the abduction of your sweet daugh- er. “ Again. I beg you to keep him until eleven o’clock, when I W111 arrive, with officers. “ Truly and sympathizingly yours, “ FAIRLEIGH SOMERVILLE.” The reader will now, doubtless, understand ' the vengeful glance old Richard Harley had cast at his rough—looking visitor, and will like- wise know why the ex-merchant consulted the clock—dial so nervously. For it must be remembered that the interview was at an end, and Tom Worth had risen for the third time to his feet, to go. When the bell had sounded, and the hall was filled with a body of men, old Mr. Harley sprung to his feet, and facing Tom Worth, ex- claimed, as he shook his finger menacineg in his face: “ Wait, villain! you are wanted!” “What do you mean, sir?” asked the miner, as a scowl passed over his face. He glanced around him. But he could say no more, nor take a step in any direction, even were he so inclined; for, at that moment, the door of the library was opened, and a squad of police of- ficers appeared. Among them, in the back- ground, stood Fairleigh Somerville, his face showing a strange admixture of triumph and fear. Tom Worth’s face paled slightly at the sight of the ofiicers, and a flash of appreciation—of a right understanding of the situation of af- fairs, flitted like lightning over his face. Then there came a quick, angry writhing of that face. This, however, was transitory, and an iron-like composure succeeded it as his gaze sought Fairleigh Somerville’s face. “That is the man, there, my men,” said that young gentleman, in a distinct, though rather nervous voice. “ You are my prisoner, Tom Worth!” said one of the officers, advancing at once toward the miner, and laying his hand heavily upon his shoulder. “I arrest you in the name of the Commonwealth!” “ Arrest me! and for What?” miner, calmly, of the officer. “ For the abduction and forcible delention demanded the approached by British emissaries to alienate Vermont from the rest of the States? and to place it under the protection of British arms, but Allen was not to be won from true inde- pendency, and staid at home during all the rest of the struggle with Great Britainto fight out the right. of Vermont to a State’s exis- tence. This bitter controversy was prolonged until 1790 before a final settlement was effected. January 10th, 1791, the first General Assem- bly of Vermont met at Bennington, and the State was formally admitted into the Union, February 15th, 1791. But Allen did not survive to witness this tuc- cessful issue of his own and co—patriots’ labors, for he died suddenly by a stroke of apoplexy, February 12th, 1789, at Bennington, where his body yet lies entomb< d. Allen was one of those bold spirits which would brook no dictatorial authority over body or mind. Bravo to a remarkable de- gree, he was aggressive and ready for action at all times. His strong sense of personal rights and public liberty made him champion what he construed to be liberty of conscience, and much that he wrote and said character— ized him as an infidel of the Voltaire persua- sion; but he was thoroughly honest, generous, and kind asa neighbor, citizen and friend, and his peculiarities of “ belief ” were found to be more an expression of love for liberty than a dislike for religious things. His wife, a de- vout Christian woman, by his consent, taught all his children her own views. In Allen’s “Narrative of his Captivity” we have an evi- dence of his patriotism, courage and good sense that, along with the record of his ex- ploits, which now is a part of our national history, makes him a hero of no common or- der, whom the State he so helped to found is eminently justified in honoring. The Masked Miner: OR, THE IRON-MERCHANTS DAUGHTER. A TALE 0F PITTSBURG. BY DR. WM. MASON TURNER, AUTHOR or “ UNDER BAIL," “SILKEN CORD.” CHAPTER XI. THE STROKE. THE letter which old Richard Harley had received that morning when he talked with Tom Worth, the miner, in his rich library, was brief, but it was startling in import. It ran thus: He turned quickly, and striding toward the prisoner. raised a whip. from her home, of Miss Grace Harley,” was the prompt reply. “ And upon what grounds, sir? accuser?” “ On very suspicious grounds, which will be given in evidence, but which can not be de- tailed here. Mr. Fairleigh Somerville is your accuserg” and the officer pointed to that in- dividual, who seemed to be endeavoring to shrink away from sight. The miner glanced at the man, and while a hot flush passed over his face, said: “ Then Mr. Somerville is a coward and a falsifler, as well as a villain!” Fairleigh Somerville, as his saturnine vis- age was suddenly distorted With anger, turned quickly, and striding toward the prisoner, raised a whip which he carried in his hand, threateningly over the other’s shoulders. Before the lash descended, however, Tom Worth, with the bound of a lion, sprimg for- ward, shaking ofif the grasp of the officer. In an instant he had clutched the whip with his left hand, and drawing back his right, till the huge muscles of his arm swelled and strug- gled under his sleeve, he said: “ Dare lay the weight of your smallest fin~ ger upon me, you white-livered scoundrel, and I’ll throttle‘ you in the very face of the law!” Tembling in every limb, Somerville let go the whip, and retreated hastily behind the po- lice sergeant, who had now stepped forward. “Enough, enough of this, Tom Worth, or you’ll condemn yourself,” said the officer, stern- 1y Who is my “Away with the villain! Away with him !” exclaimed old Mr. Harley, his face white with passion. “Such impudence in my house!” “ Come, Tom,” said the ofi‘lcer, “follow me; give me no trouble ‘or I’ll have to handcuff you!” An expression of pain passed over the miner’s face, as he stepped forward obediently by the ofiicer’s side. “Handcuff him? Of course you will!” said Somerville, in a hissing voice. “ I demand it!” “You can demand nothing of me, Mr. Som- erville,” returned the tall policeman, firmly. “ The prisoner is in my custody; I am response ible for his safe—keeping, not you. Besides, I know Tom Worth, and am acquainted with his character for honesty and truthfulness. Come, Tom, follow inc.” Somerville bit his lips in very rage, at the cutting words of the oflicer, but said nothing. Tom Worth, shaking with a convulsive shud- der, trod close behind the oflicer—who, beck- oning his men to follow him, pushed rudely by old Harley and Somerville, standing by the door, and left the house. As they reached a prison-van which was in waiting, at the street gate, the policeman turned and said: “ Mr. Somerville, you are expected to be at the alderman’s office, in Penn street, this after- noon, at four o’clock.” He was about directing Tom to get into the van, when the prisoner asked: “Will you allow me, sir, to go over to my cabin, to get a few necessary things to serve me in jail?” “Certainly, my man,” replied the officer, promptly, “but I hardly think it; will be as bad as that. From what I have heard of you, I am sure you have a. friend who win bail you.” “No, sir; I must go to jail; I do not wish bail. I will go to jail and await justice; it will come, some day. ” The policeman said no more; but when Tom Worth had entered the disreputable van, he entered also, having first directed the driver to go over the river to Tom’s cabin, as the prisoner had requested. The news of Tom Worth’s arrest, for the abduction of Miss Grace Harley, spread like wildfire through Pittsburgh. It was duly an- nounced in the afternoon papers, and various were the comments made upon the news. Among Tom’s acquaintances, the miners, the excitement was intense. He was widely and well known, not only in his own mine—the Black Diamond—but in many others, among the Coal Hills, and his arrest fell upon them with a stunning force. It were difiicult to tell the effect of these woeful tidings on old Ben Walford. When the old man first heard it he was deep down in one of the levels of the mine. A miner who had heard the news at the shaft came by and told him. Th9 old man paused as if shot, and a terrible shudder crept over him. Before he had recovered himself, and before he could ask any questions, the man had passed on. There was an iron rigidity about old Ben’s face, as, without another word to his wonder- ing companions, the old man turned off. As he pursued his way swiftly through the dark, underground “streets” toward the shaft, he muttered: “ ’Tis false! ’tis false! My boy is no scoun— drel, and young Somerville is He is at the bottom of this, I know. I’ll not doubt my boy— never !” He reached the shaft, and signaling for the bucket, was soon on the outside world again. The old man at once sought out Mr. Hayhurst, the overseer. That gentleman had just read the news in the paper, and was sitting now, with brooding countenance, gazing vacantly at his feet. “Bad news, Ben !——that of Tom—and ’tis hard to believe. But, then, it comes straight. You know young Somerville-J’ “ Is a scoundrel, Mr. Hayhurst!” blurted old Ben, right out. “Not so loud, Ben, or you may get into trouble.” “I hope, Mr. Hayhurst, you don’t believe the story?” said old Ben, almost fiercely. “ I don’t know what to believe, Ben,” said Mr. Hayhurst, “but I’ll tell you one thing: Tom has always been a good fellow, and he shall have justice!” “Thank you, thank you kindly, Mr. Hay- hurst. Yes! he shall have justice!” ‘.‘ Meet me this afternoon, Ben, at the alder- man’s ofi‘ice. At all events, I’ll see that the poor fellow, guilty or not guilty, does not go to jail.” “God bless you, Mr. Hayhurst, for your kind heart! And, depend upon it, I’ll be there!” It may be readily imagined that the alder- man’s little office was packed. It was known all over the city that a preliminary examina- tion of the prisoner would be held there at four o’clock; and as the case, from its very fia- grancy, excited much interest, and created great indignation, everybody seemed anxious to be present, and see the man, so humble in life, so well spoken of heretofore, who had been accused as the bold perpetrator of this crime upon law and society. Hence, long before the hour for the examin- ation, the scene in front of the alderman’s of- fice was an animated one. Merchants and miners, ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls— all swelled the crowd-each doing his or her best to perform what was almost an impossi— bility—to squeeze into the little room, already so full that suffocation of all hands was im- minent. At length the prison van appeared. In a few minutes it forced its way through the crowd and drew up at the alderman’s office. The assembly swayed to and fro, but was suddenly hushed to almost absolute silence, as the prisoner, clad in the same coarse garments in which he had visited the splendid mansion of Richard Harley, Esq, and carrying a bun- dle under his arm, descended quietly from the van; and, preceded and followed by an officer, entered the ofiice. As he did so, a stentorian voice in the surg- ' ing crowd shouted, aloud: “1 am here, Tom, and will never desert you I” The poor miner gave a quick, grateful glance around, and saw the powerful form of old Ben Walford performing deeds worthy of Hercules in his mighty endeavors to get closer to him. And then Tom Worth stood before the al- derman. CHAPTER XII. run MEETING IN ran SHINLnY. OPPOSITE East Common, by Christ church —the commons and their extensions now known as the Alleghany Parks—and to the right of Nunnery Hill, as you go up Union avenue, is a collection of small, squalid tene- ment-houses, extending for a considerable dis- tance, and called by the general title of the Shinley Property. As every city, town and hamlet has a dis- reputable quarter, so is the Shinley Property the disreputable quarter of Pittsburgh’s most charming suburb—Alleghany City. For years this property has home the name by which it is now known; and in the local annals of Al- leghany City it has become quite notorious in many respects, which we need not particu— larize Suffice it to say, that those who should know state very emphatically that it were dif- ficult to find a place in any other city of the United States, or of the world, which could, in looseness of life—in the utter depths of in famy—rival the dens and haunts of the wicked and abandoned in the Shinley Property of A1— leghany City. ' By respectable people there are some parts of this diseased and vice—infected quarter which are shunned, even under the glare of the noon-day sun; and after nightfall they would as soon think of wading the Ohio, with impunity, as to pass through the purlieus and lanes of the Shinley Property. In mildest language, it was a bad place, and it may per~