the Lees, the news was repeated. "Victory is ours; for Cornwallis is taken at Yorktown." Another night, and then onward, across the Potomac where the capital of the nation would afterwards arise in splendor. Onward, through Maryland to Baltimore and beyond; and everywhere the cry was repeated with varying notes of rejoicing: "Hooray! hooray! Washington has won at Yorktown, and the war must end." It was on the 19th of October that the surrender was completed; it was past midnight of the 23rd when Tench Tilghman, with Washington's dispatches in his saddlebags, rode weary but unfaltering into Philadelphia. All the good people were fast asleep. The streets were dark, and, but for the light of the failing moon, they would have been impassable. There was no sound save the thud of the horse's iron-shod hoofs upon the unpaved roadway. But Tench Tilghman was no stranger there; he had lived for years in the old town and sold merchandise there, and every street and alley-yes, every house and dooryard was familiar to him. He rode, somewhat slowly, down the "street of chestnuts," not meeting a soul nor seeing even the glimmer of a tallow candle. He turned into Second Street and then into High, where stood the house of Thomas McKean, the president of the Continental Congress. Right there, he met the town watch, in whose care the entire city was safely sleeping. With a tin lantern in one hand and a short hickory staff in the other, the officer was plodding along in the middle of the street, stopping at each corner to sing out the hour: "Past two o'clock, and all is well in the morning!" The sight of a man on horseback startled him in the midst of his cry, "Past two o'clock," — and stopping suddenly, he raised his staff to impress the rider with a due sense of the terrors of the law. "Halt! Where art thou going?" he demanded. "To the house of Thomas McKean," answered Tench Tilghman; "and I see that I am already there." He alighted from the saddle and threw the bridle reins over the hitching post in front of a large square house which loomed up, dark and quite alone, in the dim moonlight. "I am "Halt!" again demanded the watchman. constrained to arrest thee for disturbing the peace and quiet of the town at this unseemly hour. I must commit thee to the gaol until such time as the magistrate may be pleased to deal with thee.” He again raised his staff, but Tench Tilghman gently pushed him aside and, going up to the door, made such a rapping with the big brass knocker as had not been heard in that street for many a day. But no sound came from the slumberers within. "I warn thee, friend-" began the watchman. Tench Tilghman knocked again, louder, harder, more persistent than before. An upper window was raised, and a head wearing a nightcap was timidly protruded. "Who's there? What's the matter?" "I am Colonel Tilghman, and I bring important dispatches to the Continental Congress and President McKean. Cornwallis is taken at Yorktown, and victory is ours!" The next moment the door was thrown wide open, and Thomas McKean himself, in his night attire, with a lighted candle in his hand rushed out to greet the message bearer. "What's that, Colonel Tilghman? What did you say?" "Cornwallis is taken at Yorktown and victory is ours!" was the brief reply, and there was a hearty handshaking as the colonel was ushered inside, and the door closed behind him. "Well, there, I ought to have known old Tench Tilghman; but I didn't," muttered the watchman, as he picked up his lantern and resumed his walk. "Past two o'clock in the morning; and Cor-r-n-nwallis is taken at Yor-rktown!" he shouted so loudly that the whole town rang with his cry and the people, hurriedly rising, ran out into the street to repeat the good news. Neighbors joined with neighbors, and groups gathered at every street corner, talking and shouting and shivering in the frosty moonlight. "Hooray! hooray! Three cheers for General Washington and liberty! Cornwallis is taken at Yorktown." Presently, some one suggested a procession; drums and fifes and flags were brought out, and Chestnut Street was not wide enough to hold the multitude of marchers and lookers-on that filled the early hours of that October morning with sounds of rejoicing. Then the old state-house bell was set in motion, and its deeptoned clanging, together with the roar of cannon, roused the country folk, beyond the Schuylkill and beyond the Delaware, and set them to wondering what had happened in the quiet city at so early an hour. "Past two o'clock," still shouted the old watchman, forgetful of the time, "and all is well in the morning! Cor-rn-n-wallis is taken at Yorktown, and independence is won!" And what more shall be said of Colonel Tench Tilghman? The Continental Congress, convening early in the morning, listened with breathless interest to the dispatches of which he was the bearer; and later, the delegates voted to present him a fine new horse and an elegant sword, as tokens of their deepfelt appreciation. Why should his name not be remembered with those of Cæsar Rodney and Paul Revere? —“B.” Ο SKIPPER IRESON'S RIDE F all the rides since the birth of time, Told in story or sung in rime, On Apuleius's Golden Ass, Or one-eyed Calendar's horse of brass, Islam's prophet on Al Borak, The strangest ride that ever was sped Old Floyd Ireson, for his hard heart, Body of turkey, head of owl, |