put up its own fences, which were in turn burned by the Bogardus retainers. As a bloody incident of this war, one of the witnesses of the fight under oath stated that one of the church party, John Bertine, "took hold of Hannah Marsh, about 63 years of age, and pulled her down on her knees, and attempted to put her head into a pail of grog, first having dragged her across the street, and gave her very indecent usage otherwise."

There was also a fight in October, 1785. One Joseph Forbes, who had been appointed by Trinity Church as a sort of curator, undertook, with a body of retainers of the church, to pull down certain fences erected by the Bogardus heirs on the land, one of the fences running to the house occupied by one George Higday, who was in possession as châtelain in the interest of the claimants. In performance of his duties as keeper of the castle, the doughty Higday fired his shot-gun at Forbes and his men, and wounded Forbes and four others with bird shot. The victory in these contests rested, however, with the church.

In 1788, the church corporation having advertised for sale a number of lots on the tract, with a statement that the title was as good as any in the State, the heirs published the following proclamation:

"TO THE PUBLIC.

"Whereas the corporation of Trinity Church have advertised for sale at the Merchants' Coffee-House, on the 1st of April next, a number of lots of land situate in Chambers Street, Reade Street, and other places within the bounds of Domine's Hook Patent, in the West Ward of this city; the heirs of Annekie Bogardus, and those holding rights under them, in the said Patent, Do Hereby Give Notice that they are determined to support their claim to said lands, within the grant formerly made to the said

Annekie Bogardus. And this notice is given to prevent any person hereafter from pretending ignorance of the said claim; which the Heirs and those deriving title from them are determined to support.

"NEW YORK, March 31, 1788."

The result of all these troubles, however, was that all the Bogardus fences were in time taken down or burned.

Lewis Bogardus's wife and children were driven from their house, during his temporary absence, by the Trinity Church forces. The rails around the clay pit were torn down, criminal charges were made of assault and perjury against the Bogardus retainers, the tenants were frightened away or bought off, and, worst of all, the doughty Cornelius himself sold his birthright to and was bought off by Trinity Church for the paltry sum of £700, and too humiliated to meet his former companions in arms, he therefore abandoned not only the scene of his contests, but the city.

The last one of all the heirs who held out in the war of 1784-5, and who is entitled, on the Bogardus side, to all the honors of war, was old Mrs. Broad, who lived in the stockades of the old fort at the foot of Reade Street. One of the witnesses in the suit brought in 1830 testified in 1842 that he knew the old lady, and that she continued in possession of the old redoubt, refusing to leave until the opposing forces actually dug it away, when she made a fair compromise with parties representing Trinity Church.

The heirs have not yet succumbed. Meetings are still held for the assertion of their claims. The contest will probably continue until through the natural increase of the multitudinous claimants the pecuniary result of even a successful attack would be reduced for each to a minimum.

gins the fourteenth volume of my diary. Fourteen volumes! I suspect that few bachelors who have lived in one place and passed their lives in the China trade can show so much. And yet I, the journalist, in the days of my youth, of my jeunesse orageuse, when I might have kept a journal to some purpose, kept none at all. Perhaps it is as well. It would not be pleasant reading now, though it might serve as a lesson, which, however, I hope I no longer need.

over.

I am afraid there was not much of general interest in Volumes I. to XIII. inclusive. I doubt if even I shall ever read them And I fear they will not prove of absorbing interest to my heirs, remote collaterals as these must be. I kept my diary in order to form systematic habits, and now that I have formed the habits, they keep the diary. I wonder if this volume will be more interesting? Telegram to day from Rowbotham Brothers, ordering hemp, 800 barrels first, June-July, 1881, x. on Bombay, deliverable all Oct.-Dec.

June 15.-Telegraphed Rowbotham about his hemp. Saw Russell to-day; he is going home to get married. Year after year I have seen my friends go home to get married-some succeed and some of them don't leaving me in peace and HongKong. Many of them have gone, as the event proved, never to return. . . . I wonder whether I shall ever go home to get married? I suspect not. . . . Marriage is one of those rash things we do in our youth. Would I had never done anything worse!

June 16.-Rowbotham by cable countermands those two cargoes of hemp. I had already bought one of them. This telegraphing has spoiled the China trade. Now I have either got a lawsuit on my hands or a cargo of hemp. Well, I prefer the hemp, hate rows, and would rather do anything than go to law. A quiet life- By-the-way, had a letter from Uncle John to-day; he wants me to go home and marry his grandniece. Cabled, "Impossible to leave this year; fear a panic." Uncle John's mind must be going.

June 17.-Saw Russell to-day. Never saw a man so happy. He is going off Saturday. Told him of my uncle's wanting me to go home. He slapped me on

back-luckily it is a stout one). "Rammy, my boy," said he, "you must go with me." All the fellows call me Rummy; I don't know why; I have never been intemperate in my habits. Didn't tell Russell why I was to go home. My uncle's grandniece, indeed! She must be hardly out of long clothes. Why, her mother was hardly too old for me to be a little in love with her. I wonder if the daughter is like her? Business very dull just

now.

June 18.-Cablegram from Uncle John: "Panic be blanked! Come at once. Don't break my heart." Just ten words. Intemperate old fellow, Uncle John. Of course I've got to go. He sent me out here, and now he sends me back. Que la volonté de Uncle John soit faite, as we say in French. A knowledge of French is the only profit I made the last time I disobeyed Uncle John's orders. And now I am all he has got in the world; that is, I and the grandniece. Russell seems delighted. Haven't told him about the grandniece, though; it would never do, He would be certain to tell all the fellows; and they insist on giving us a dinner the night before we go. Rowbotham took that hemp, after all; very kind of him. Nice fellow, Rowbotham.

June 19.-We had a great dinner last night. Very nice fellows these boys are in Hong-Kong, all of them. 'Pon my soul I was sorry to leave them, but said I'd be back in three or four months: just the time to convince Uncle John of his folly, and I'll come home again to HongKong.... Here we are on the steamer, already out of sight of land, and I am smoking on the deck. Russell has a headache, and says, petulantly, he don't see how a fellow can do it. I don't see how a fellow can take too much wine on the very night that he is leaving HongKong and going back to get married. I were going home to get married, I am sure- After all, though, there's nearly ten years between us. He's a young fellow yet. His character isn't formed. He isn't much older in feeling than I was fifteen years ago, when I left Vienna-per order Uncle John, as usual. But Uncle John's orders had some sense in them then. Poor Mademoiselle Tavernier! she

If

must be nearly sixty now. I thought my heart was broken; I was sure of hers. Sic juvat- There is something in Virgil which hits it off exactly-I must brush up my Latin-something about deep waters and a quiet shore. When Uncle John's letter came I looked upon it as a sentence of transportation for life, and now I am almost as sorry to go home. Home! Which is home, after all? Uncle John is a peremptory old fellow, but he knew what he was about when he sent me away. I know now that I was in a sad, bad way then. The ways of Uncle John are inscrutable. Possibly this present sentence of transportation may turn out for the best. I hope not for life, though. Now I don't think Russell would care if he never saw Hong-Kong again. He growls because I am so deuced rosy about the gills. . . . After all, I am no longer a boy in disgrace. I may properly oppose any mad schemes prompted by Uncle John's affection for his only relatives. I should think the grandniece might have something to say in the matter too.

June 21.-I wonder whether he can have told her of my wild youth? No; of course not. Still, it would be only right to give her some warning that I have not always been what I now seem. I think the fellows in Hong-Kong all regard me, within reasonable business limitations, as a sort of practicable modern saint, just sufficiently mitigated by memories of my own youth to act as father confessor to them. I only hope I am not a prig. Then Uncle John seemed to think that Nero and Heliogabalus rolled into one were nothing to me. His letter ordering me to go to Hong-Kong was a masterpiece of concise English, and he called me a profligate young scoundrel. True, that time it was by letter; I don't think that even Uncle John would call me a profligate young scoundrel by telegraph. But the dear old fellow had given me a letter of credit for a thousand pounds, and just after I had been dropped from college, too. I certainly ought to have made it last longer than ten months.

And I had been so anxious to go to a German university! I had professed such a fondness for books, and begged him so earnestly to send me to Heidelberg. And then the way I went off from Heidelberg -"so dark the manner of my taking off!" I know some one must have written him, though, about Mademoiselle Tavernier

Ned Wyman, probably-when I wanted to fight that duel about her. Still, it was not quite true to call me a profligate young scoundrel; it was not my fault that she would not marry me. But Uncle John very properly did not approve of opera singers in the family. And the very day I drew my last fifty pounds she disappeared, and left me in Vienna, with no acquaintance but my creditors, and no friend but the second in the duel I was to fight. Only, as it turned out, the other fellow had gone off with her. I suppose Uncle John has forgiven me since; he never referred to it in his letters. . . . But I hope he has not told Miss Millison.

June 22.-Really, Russell is so happy that he is almost getting to be a nuisance. No, I don't quite mean that; of course I am glad to see the boy so. I suppose I should be just as happy if I were in his place. Only he seemed to hold in well enough while he was in Hong-Kong. He says he likes to talk to me about her; I am just old enough. The weather is perfect.

June 24.-After all, it seems that Russell is only eight years younger than I; hardly that, for he was born in April and I in December. When you're both past thirty, eight years don't make so much difference. . . . Russell is overjoyed to-day because the ship made 366 miles. His eagerness to get home is increasing. I tell him that is no reason he should bet every day on the ship's run, though. As a habit, it is little better than gambling.

June 27.-Russell showed me a photograph of his fiancée to-day. Didn't know he had one; he didn't show it to any of the fellows in Hong-Kong. A pretty girl enough. . . . I think Uncle John might have sent me out one of his grandniece, by way of sample. Didn't dare, I suppose; knew I wouldn't come then. She is probably some intellectual creature, whom no one else would fall in love with. I like intelligence in women, but I hate intellect.

June 30.-Had a heavy gale to-day. To-morrow we go into the Red Sea. I had a picture of her mother somewhere; I must hunt it up. Haven't seen her since the year before I went to college. I've a great mind to tell Russell about the daughter, and ask his advice. He only left the States five years ago, and will know what these girls are like.

July 1.-I told Russell of the grand

niece to-day. He was really quite enthusiastic. "Go in, old boy! do go in!" said he. I told him it was too serious a question to treat flippantly. Then he laughed immoderately at what he called the idea. I don't see what there is so very funny about the idea, nor why he should call me "old boy" either. I am only seven years older than he. But you can't be angry with Russell long.

July 5.-Saw two big fish and a waterspout. The captain says it is one of the most favorable voyages he ever made. I wish I were sure which way I wanted the ship to go. Russell is getting sentimental.

July 6.-Brindisi. Russell has purchased a strip of tickets a yard long, and means to go straight to New York with them. I am not sure they don't even carry him to Mount Desert, where his sweetheart is. I suppose I must go with him to keep him out of mischief. Profit of foreign travel when you go with a man in love!

July 8.-I am getting weary of this continual railway journeying. And I did want to stop at Rome! Russell got a packet of letters at Brindisi, and takes up all the time reading them. He says there is nothing in them that would interest me. I am not so sure.

July 9.-London. It seems Russell was engaged to Miss Morley before he left Boston. That, of course, is different. Odd, a letter from Uncle John tells me his grandniece is also at Mount Desert, where the Morleys have a cottage. Uncle John writes that she is in love with me already. Great heavens! I wanted to hear a debate in the House of Commons, but Russell will not wait.

July 14.-Mid-Atlantic. Russell becomes more and more sentimental and worse company than ever. Now I don't consider his state of things a circumstance to mine. Fancy going to meet a young maid who has, as it were, been instructed to fall in love with you! For I know the cut-and-dried way Uncle John puts things. He told her very much the same way he told me to leave Hong-Kong. I fancy she was more upset than I was, though. Poor girl, how he must have frightened her!

July 19.-New York. I have had a long talk with Uncle John. It is as I feared. He tells me he has brought up Emilyher name is Emily-with the expectation

of marrying me. It is the dearest wish of his declining years, he says. This is a favorite phrase of his, and he repeats it continually. He says it is the dearest wish of her declining years also. I think Russell's example must have worked upon me, for sometimes I catch myself considering as if it were the dearest wish of my declining years. But how the deuce am I to know?-about her dearest wish, I mean. There will, I suppose, be a tell-tale blush when I meet her: in books there is always a tell-tale blush, which every one sees but the hero. I must be on the lookout for it. Pshaw! As if I, with my grizzled beard, could cause a tell-tale blush in anybody! Fortunately I am not bald. Russell, I think, is a little bald, and he is quite as gray as I am. Not that we are either of us very gray. He is off to Mount Desert to-morrow. He really seems to enjoy the prospect, and wants me to go with him. So does Uncle John. In other words, he wants the goods delivered as per consignment. I think there ought to be some order from the consignee. It seems she is actually staying with the Morleys.

July 20.-Boston. The more I think of it, the more determined I am that I will not go down and gobble up this poor girl perfunctorily, like a Minotaur. Not that I am ill disposed toward her; on the contrary. If I could only get some private way of finding out whether her heart is really as dutiful as Uncle John thinks it is? If I could only be present at our meeting, and yet not be met—a dispassionate third party, as it were-I think I could tell. I could then note the tell-tale blush and other indications. How curiously unpractical of Uncle John to think she can really be in love with a man she has never seen! I might present myself incog., but that trick is used up; besides, she expects me, and would see through it directly. Moreover, it would be all up with me the moment she saw me, I fear. Uncle John never told her how old I was, and I never had but one photograph taken-in HongKong-and that was five years ago.

July 22.-Rodick's Hotel, Mount Desert. This is a curious place. A great big tinder-box structure with a huge piazza, several hundred rooms, and almost as many young girls. The piazza is crowded with them, and I hardly dare go out there. When I do, I catch the eyes of so many of them that I feel I am blushing myself. I ought to be beyond blushing, but I am

not. I am afraid I am a very simple old fellow. I wonder whether Emily Millison is among them? I don't think so.

Russell has been to the Morleys', and come back disgusted. He saw nobody. Miss Morley, not expecting him so soon, is away on a journey to Canada. This comes of travelling through Europe without stopping to look at the scenery. Uncle John's niece is there, and I am to go and see her to-morrow.

Evening. She was pointed out to me to-night driving by the hotel. She seems to be a pretty girl. Poor thing, how she must dread my arrival! It was absurd in me to fall in with Uncle John's preconceived notion so easily in New York. A young girl like her, really attractive too, with probably half the young fellows in town at her feet. But in this instance common humanity dictates that Uncle John should be thwarted. I won't trouble her long.

July 23.-I have just had a brilliant idea. It came to me in my dream. Why shouldn't Russell be presented in my place? He is complaining of nothing to do. Then I can go with him-as Mr. Russell-and watch how they behave. If she loves him she will, metaphorically speaking, rush into his arms. If she does that, I will disclose myself at once. . . . I have just spoken to Russell. He seems rather pleased at the idea. But he laughs at what he terms my quixotic scruples, and says if she doesn't care for me she will say so. I have a feeling she will be too modest, too shy, too submissive. Russell doesn't know Uncle John. He says I don't know American girls. I have always noticed a certain want of ideal in Russell. He agrees with me, however, in thinking that Uncle John was probably mistaken in the warmth of her affections toward me. Still, it is quite understood between us that if she does rush into his arms, he is to hand her over to me at once. We have timed our call at dusk, so there can be no prejudice of age or faces. . . . This afternoon we went to drive. I never saw so many young people all out-doors together at once. I wondered whether Miss Millison could be among them; but every maiden had a youth by her side, and I could not but hope the contrary. Even a youth would be no despicable rival for an old fellow like me.

6 P.M.-She just passed through the hall of the hotel. I hope she will give me that

is, Russell-a warm reception to - night. Ought she to kiss him? No: that would be too much. The pressure of the hand, the glance of the eye shyly looking up, will tell it all. Odd, I don't think that a month ago I should have minded her kissing him-except on her account. . . . I have just been to tea, and Russell is dressing. I do hope he will put on a becoming coat. First impressions amount to something even in a future husband selected by Uncle John. I tried to drop Russell a hint just now, but he didn't seem to understand. . . . The sun is setting, and the village street is full of girls. It is a lovely sight. Beyond lies the bay with moonlight accompaniment; I am growing sentimental. At my age it is almost improper. . . . I have just been to hurry up Russell. He got quite angry with me because I criticised his coat. I am sure I should wear a black coat if I were going to call on my fiancée for the first time. I have been giving him a few points on Uncle John, that he may carry off the situation. And if Uncle John's vagary should haply prove well founded, we are to pretend that it was all a mistake taking him for me. Here goes for the tell-tale blush!

10 P.M.-It is all over. I don't see how I could have been such a fool; I was sensible enough when I left Hong-Kong. We called at eight, sent up our cards; that is, I sent up Russell's and he sent up mine. Emily-Miss Millison-was out on the piazza with a lanky youth called Tim Chipman, who removed himself awkwardly from the field. While Russell went forward, I lurked behind one of the pillars, with the light well behind me, to mark the tell-tale blush. But instead of blushing she turned a little pale, I thought; and could not speak for several seconds, just as if it were a terrible moment which she had hoped would never arrive. Finally, "How do you do, Mr. Witherspoon?" said she, almost with a tone of sarcasm (my name does have a ludicrous sound if you dwell upon it too much), and hardly left her hand in his a second. And I will swear that at that moment Russell had the heart to look around at me and grin. The meeting was over so much sooner than I expected that I had no time to get out from behind the pillar, but stumbled about among the chairs in the dark while Russell was introducing me as his friend Mr. Russell, and I could see that she was a little angry with me, even, because I was