position, he procured his transfer the same year into the staff of his brigade, and afterward obtained for him a lieutenancy in the Pennsylvania line. A feeling of jealousy, however, soon arose toward him on the part of some of the American officers, which, though slight, was sufficient to arouse his extreme sense of honor, and he therefore left the regiment, in 1780, and volunteered as a surgeon in the navy of the United States, only to be taken prisoner and carried to New York the same year. From this point he addressed to his old patron a letter, which is here given entire, both as corroborative evidence of tradition and as showing the wonderful mastery he had already acquired over the English language. The punctuation and spelling of the original letter, which is written in a beautiful flowing hand, are strictly preserved:

"NEW YORK Nov. 6th 1780 SIR-Since my last letter to you from Phila delphia, the scene is wonderfully changed. My greatest expectations are annihilated, and I am inclosed by the unpenetrable walls of the Prevost. If I do but continue in health, I shall merrily dance through the various scenes of this tragic comedie, in hopes to accomplish my latest engagements, which shall always remain sacred on my side. I am told a general exchange is to take place immediately; but should this not be the case, the thoughts of an approaching winter, being destitute of every necessary to render life tolerable, make me wish for a change in my present situation. Assisted by your influence in Philadelphia, as I was taken as surgeon in the ship 'Revenge,' I make no doubt to see my expectations shortly

That his "expectations" were realized is evident from the fact that upon being exchanged the following year General Irvine was so well pleased with the man as to receive him into his family, and appoint him one of his aids with the rank of major. In this latter capacity he served during the remainder of the Revolutionary War, retaining to the last the affection of his General and brother officers.

The story of this young Russian officer, upon becoming acquainted with General Irvine, was that, sympathizing with the Colonists in their struggles with the mother country, he had, against the urgent entreaties of his friends, left his native

province of Livonia, made his way to England and thence to Baltimore, where he had arrived destitute of either friends or money. Disappointed in obtaining a commission in the Continental army, as he had been led to expect, he had taken a brief course of surgery under Dr. Wisendorf, a German physician in that city, whose language he spoke, and had finally succeeded in obtaining the situation of surgeon's mate as above mentioned. In the military and personal family of General Irvine he was a great favorite, and it is handed down in the traditions of Irvine's family that he was a gentleman of polished manners, who made himself exceedingly agreeable to the household, in strong contrast with many of our worthy but uncultivated officers.

The laurels of Major Rose, however, were not confined to the carpet. He was a very efficient aid to General Irvine during the remainder of the war, and was of particular service while the latter commanded the western department at Pittsburg; a command rendered the more embarrassing on account of the disputes arising out of the conflicting claims of Pennsylvania and Virginia. Rose made himself very popular with the country people, and at their request he was sent by Irvine as an aid to Colonel Crawford on the ill-starred expedition to the Sandusky Plains in 1782. "Crawford pressed me for some officers," writes Irvine to Washington at this time, "and I have sent with him Lieutenant Rose, my aid-de camp, a very vigilant, active, brave young gentleman, well acquainted with service, and a surgeon. These two are all I could venture to spare.” "Mr. Rose, your aid-de-camp," also writes Lieutenant James Marshall to Irvine, "was very hearty when I left him at Mingo Bottom. His services on this occasion have endeared you much to the people of this country, and given great satisfaction to the men on the expedition."

Indeed, the presence of Rose at Mingo Bottom, on his way to Sandusky, gave much satisfaction to such of the volunteers as had previously made his acquaintance at Fort Pitt (Pittsburg), all being captivated both by his fine appearance and by his urbanity and warm-heartedness. In a letter from him to Irvine from this place, he says, "My presence caused, seemingly, uneasiness. It was surmised I had been sent to take command. An open declaration of mine at a meeting of the officers that I did not intend to take upon myself any command of any kind whatever, but to act as

N. B.-The half-pint of whiskey was used to wash the back of my port-mantiau horse which was much hurt.

JOHN ROSE."

Indeed, this strict integrity of character was fully recognized by his superiors, who, at the close of the war, entrusted to him the payment of the troops garrisoned at Pittsburg, investing him with this responsible trust in the following order:

"It is ordered that the privates of the infantry in the Continental service receive, on account of their pay, by the musters of January, 1783, half-adollar specie per week, and the non-commissioned officers the same portion, until further orders. Major Rose having been pleased to take upon himself the trouble of paying the troops of this garrison (Pittsburg), agreeable to the above directions, he requests that a commissioned officer of each company attend the payments made to his men. The commanding officers of companies are, therefore, directed to attend, with their respective companies, immediately after troop-beating in the following succession, viz.: artillery, Virginia detachment and Pennsylvania detachment."

In the spring of 1784 Major Rose returned to Russia. When on the point of leaving Philadelphia for New York, where he was to take passage for Amsterdam, he, with that order and system for which he was remarkable, wrote General Irvine as follows:

Your forage accounts I attempted to settle. with Major Hodgeston; but the day not being determined by Congress when the army was discharged-whether it was the third or fourth of November last-prevented me. Your receipt books you will find among the magazines, packed up in a small box. The final accounts of your Continental settlement I have properly adjusted and committed to the care of Mr. Howell, who was to have left West Point yesterday to settle the accounts of our line."

While the vessel was lying in the harbor of New York, waiting for a favoring wind, Major Rose wrote a letter to General Irvine, expressing his warm gratitude and attachment to his benefactor and his family; expressing, however, his sorrow for having abstained so long from making known his true history. He then stated that his name was not John Rose, but Gustavus de Rosenthal, of Livonia, in Russia; that he was a baron of the Empire, and that in an encounter with a nobleman, within the precincts of the palace at St. Peters

burg, he had killed his antagonist in a duel, brought on by a blow the latter had inflicted upon an aged uncle in his presence. He had then fled to England, whence learning of the American war, he had sailed immediately for America, anxious to draw his sword in behalf of the American Colonies. He had now, through the mediation of his family, received permission to return, but he designed coming back and making America his home. The fact, however, that he was made Grand Marshal of Livonia soon after his return to his native country, and other circumstances which need not here be enumerated, prevented the fulfillment of his intentions, though he often recurred to it in a warm correspondence which he kept up with the Irvine family until his death, in 1830.

"Though my wishes," he writes from St. Petersburg, in 1804, "are crossed against their will, my thoughts remain at liberty and took their flight across the Atlantic, at the sight of an American vessel I discerned in the river making ready to get under sail. I went immediately home and sat down to write you these few lines."

The republicanism, however, which he had learned in America, he seemed not to have forgotten in Russia; and it is rather an interesting incident that Alexander, who has been suspected of democratic leanings at a later period, should have expressed the wish that he (Rosenthal) should wear the insignia of the Republican Society of the Cincinnati.

"Having already got to the age of fifty," he writes, in 1805, to General Irvine, "you'll think I could well go into my grave without having the emblem of the Order of the Cincinnati dangling at my button-hole. As for myself, I think so, too; but the people, having heard of my being a member of that order, will begin to think me a cheat if I do not wear it as a matter of great distinction agreeably to their notions; and, moreover, the first man himself [Alexander] has been asking me about it, and desires I should wear it. I am therefore obliged to entreat you again to send me the ribbon with the emblem as it is worn."

The last letter that was received from him was written to Callender Irvine, a son of the General, in which, after expressing the most cordial attachment to his friend and benefactor, he added:

"An affair of honor compelled me to abandon I fled to America for refuge; my own country. was graciously received by your venerated father,

and cherished by him as a son. My obligation cannot be told the power of language cannot express all I feel. I wish his portrait above all things. Send it to me that I may possess the delight of constantly reviewing the resemblance of my best friend. It will fill up the measure of my happiness. I have contentment with opulence. The mistress of my early affections is now my wife."

The children of Baron Rosenthal, one of whom served with distinction in Poland, all died before

him, though two granddaughters were still living, in 1867, in Russia.

In consideration of the long and valuable services of Major Rose, the general Government granted him bounty lands in Ohio, and he received from Pennsylvania two tracts of "donation land" in the northwestern part of the State. What became of his interest in the Ohio lands is unknown; but that he saved his other tract is certain. They are situated on Oil Creek, and have become very valuable.

GONE are the friends my boyhood knew,
Gone threescore years since childhood's morn;

A lonely stalk I stand where grew

And proudly waved the summer corn.

Scanning the record of my years,

How blank, how meagre seems the page, How small the sum of good appears

Wrought by those hands from youth to age.

Yet, 'midst the toils and cares of life,
I've tried to keep a cheerful heart;
To curb my fiercer passions' strife,
And as a man to act my part.

And I repine not at my lot,

Glad to have lived in times like these, When mystic chords of human thought

Bind realm to realm across the seas. When this dear land, Time's latest birth, Smites every chain from human hands, And 'midst the nations of the earth

The greatest, freest, noblest stands. When progress in material things Leads upward immaterial mind, And into nearer prospect brings

The perfect life of all mankind.

Kindly, as yet, life's autumn sun
Gilds the green precincts of my home;
Softly, though fast, the moments run,
And fleeting seasons go and come.
Yet nearer moans the wintry blast,

The chilling wind of Age that blows, Through darkening storms with cloud o'ercast, With blinding sleet and drifting snows.

Ho! gleaner on life's wintry lea,

I hear thy steps 'mid rustling leaves,
And soon this withered stalk will be
Close garnered with the autumn sheaves.
And then will He, beneath whose eye

Each act of right and wrong appears,
Aught of untarnished grain descry
Among these husks of wasted years?
Haply these mustering clouds that lower
On the low sky in seeming wrath
May vanish, and life's sunset hour
Shed a calm radiance o'er my path.

Then may the clear horizon bring
Those glorious summits to the eye,
Where, flanked by fields of endless spring,
The Cities of the Blessed lie.

IF we would but check the speaker When he spoils his neighbor's fame, If we would but help the erring

Ere we utter words of blame;
If we would, how many might we
Turn from paths of sin and shame.

Ah, the wrong that might be righted
If we would but see the way!
Ah, the way that might be lightened
Every hour and every day,
If we would but hear the pleadings
Of the hearts that go astray!

Let us step outside the stronghold
Of our selfishness and pride;
Let us lift our fainting brothers,
Let us strengthen ere we chide;
Let us, ere we blame the fallen,
Hold the light to cheer and guide.
In each life, however lowly,

There are seeds of mighty good;
Still, we shrink from souls appealing
With a timid "if we could;"
But a God who judges all things
Knows the truth is, "if we would,"

SOBERLY.

CLARENCE CLINTON, after parting from Bertram and Gabriel, made quick progress on his faithful nag. There was good cause for the animal's haste -his mate was on the same road that night before him. Old Cornelius Wynkoop's negro Ebo, was a dissolute fellow, spending three nights in the week, besides Sunday, in some dissipation. He never went far without a good horse, and though it might be to a distance, he was sure to return before his master had shaken the ashes out of his first pipe.

Ebo, Wynkoop's right-hand man, loved a horse, as all his race do, and mounted on black or brown, he forgot everything for the time. He treated the span impartially, taking them always out time about. The horses were brothers, and never parted from each other but they were glad to meet again. This instinct led them always to run to the same point when they could get free, and the wild Ebo had been found out before now in this very way, and traced to the very place he was most averse to being found in.

As Clarence rode along in the middle of the night, to his great surprise and sudden alarm his horse set up a loud neighing and whinnying, which made all the fields around vocal. At short intervals, these calls were responded to by others of the same kind, which increased in number and loudness in proportion as he advanced. All at once he was brought up standing at the door of a low cabin, where voices and screams went up, as if a hundred witches were dinning the air and performing their eldritch rites. "Black spirits and white, red spirits and gray," all seemed mingling together.

After gratifying his curiosity a moment by looking through the low window, he prepared to go forward; but to his mortification his horse would not move a foot, but sent forth one of his loudest neighs, that provoked the rider to vengeance, which caused the animal to make all the more noise, till it at last arrested the attention of the company within for an instant. One of the dancers came to the window, and seeing nothing,

During a brief pause in the noise Black and Brown gave an impatient neigh, that went to the quick ear of the delinquent negroes. Some one who had been out of doors ran in crying, "Ebo! your massa come; ole Kaarney at the door."

Quick as a flash, the black rogue ran to the door, and seeing the horse that Clarence held—he knew his shape and his neigh in an instant-he prepared his back for the whip; running out in the dark, to where Clarence stood, he screamed out, "Massa, massa, forgive ma 'passes, as Dominie says, in our Fader. Me come down to Phoebe Cauterwalikin, but didn't mean to come; forgive me ma dets,"

Clarence saw that he was under some mistake, and quietly said so; asking Ebo if he would help him to take the animal past the door, for he was in great haste to get on.

By this time Ebo had seen his error in regard to the man, but was still sure about the beast; and suddenly changing his tone, he called out :

"Ha! Cowboy stole massa hoss. Goot; the tief found out dis time. Fox fal ente de trap himselv. He he he!"

And his mirth returned with something additional to pay for the fear he had incurred. All the company had felt the alarm-quietness had reigned till Ebo called out, "Cowboy," when a shout arose as the whole party, male and female, surrounded the man and horse.

Clarence, in the midst of this black mob, found himself in a complete hornet's nest and dilemma, To tell them who he was would be folly, and to go back would be to frustrate his whole plan. His first thought was to leave the horse in the hands of those who claimed it, and go forward afoot. As