ry, and thrown into prison. He bore his confinement in the jolliest manner; and it soon became the favorite amusement in Sunbury to assemble about the jail, treat Ben Bidlack, and hear him sing. At first he was permitted to stand in the door of his cell to amuse them; then he was allowed to perform on the stoop. Day after day passed. Ben sang his songs, drank his grog, and retired to his cell when his auditors were ready to disperse. He seemed to enjoy his captivity; his captors certainly did. At length he announced that he had added a new song to his répertoire; it was called "The Old Swaggering Man," and was a rouser. То do justice to it he must have plenty of room to act the part; he must have a stout cane, and the whole length of the stoop. VOL. XVII.-No. 99.-X "Bring on the cane, and clear the stoop!" said the by-standers. Ben took the cane, and a fresh pull at the whisky-jug; he staggered back and forth, pouring forth verse after verse, each ending with the chorus, "Here goes the Old Swaggering Man!" At last, as if resolved to outdo himself, he took another drink, staggered more wildly than ever, reached the end of the stoop, shouted out the familiar chorus-"Here goes the Old Staggering Man!" and, suiting the action to the word, leaped from the stoop, bounded over a high fence, and disappeared in the direction of Wyoming. Some of the Pennsylvanians laughed, some swore, and others followed the jailer a few rods in pursuit, but only caught a glimpse of his stalwart figure disappearing in the gloom. BIDLACK'S ESCAPE. "There's no use chasing him," they said, as they came back; "he can outrun a deer." The next day it was noised abroad in Wyoming that Ben Bidlack had sung himself out of Sunbury jail, and was at home safe and sound. Poor Ben Bidlack led for years an unprosperous life. The part of the "Old Swaggering Man" came quite too natural to him. Men shook their heads as he passed, and regretted that there was lit tle hope that his character or his fortune would improve. He struggled long and vainly against inclination and temptation. A higher strength came at length to aid his weakness. Methodist preachers made their way to Wyoming; the "Old Swaggering Man" was converted, and in due time became a preacher of that denomination. His old power of song remained, but the pious hymns of Charles Wesley replaced the jovial staves of his youth. He had found his true vocation, and in it passed the many remaining years of his life, hon 322 ored and beloved. In 1825 he was called upon | It was long before the settlers were placed in to deliver a Fourth of July oration. The surviv-quiet possession of their lands. But as time ing soldiers of the Revolution gathered from far passed wiser counsels prevailed. A comproand near, each wearing a sprig of laurel at his button. The old man marched at their head as straight as an arrow, keeping time once more His to the familiar strains of Yankee Doodle. oration took the form of a sermon, from the text, "For consider how great things the Lord hath done for you." It was a stirring discourse; the fire of his youth seemed renewed, as the veteran told the story of the struggle in which he had borne a part. mise was entered upon, in virtue of which the original settlers were secured in the possession of their homes, and the long feud was finally healed. Things then moved on quietly for years, until it was discovered that Wyoming lay in one of the richest coal regions of Pennsylvania. Railways were then constructed which brought the secluded valley within a few hours' easy ride from the sea-board. Yet still the most The second Pennamite war lasted for years, usual family names in Wyoming are those inwith various fortune. The Yankees, repeated-scribed on the monument which commemorates ly driven off, returned with fresh numbers. The those who fell in the battle of 1788. last engagement in which lives were lost took The scene place on the 18th of October, 1784. of this action is represented in the accompanying engraving. In the distance is seen the "Umbrella Tree," whose shape and conspicuous position have long made it a landmark in the valley. The venerable house, half-hidden by trees, was built and occupied by Denison. "Last season, 1857," says Dr. Peck, "it exchanged its original red covering for a new white one, and but for its antique form and large chimney would now exhibit quite a modern appearance." The house on the left occupies the site of the block-houses from which the Yankees fired the last deadly shot in the Pennamite war. The road which crosses the creek is the old road along which the patriot army marched to attack the Tories and Indians on the fatal 3d of July. But the troubles of Wyoming were not over. Half a century of peace and prosperity has almost effaced the memory of the troublous years that preceded, as another half century Hot-headed zealots will efface the memory of the bitter contests that now rage around us. and unscrupulous partisans were among our fathers, as they are with us, and will be with Their unjust schemes and selfish our children. plans have died, are dying, and will die with them. The conservative element will in the end be too strong for them. Wyoming has been singularly fortunate in Mr. Miner gleaned from its local historians. half-forgotten records, and gathered from the lips of the survivors of the heroic age the thousand minute details which enabled him to present an almost daguerreotypic picture of the Wyoming of the Revolution. Dr. Peck, worthily following his example, has made a welcome addition to our historical literature. THE UMBRELLA-TREE. VAGABONDIZING IN BELGIUM. AT noon, October 31, 1857, I committed my fortunes to the steadiness of the North Star and sailed for Southampton. I had taken my ticket on Friday (lucky day!), and, without the assistance of stevedores, had stowed all my real and personal estate in a vacant bunk, just over the one which my valuable though somewhat dilapidated body was to occupy during the nights of the voyage. still grander calm; with rather more than the usual Aurora Borealis beauties shooting in tri colored rays across the sky, swinging into great bows of beauty, gaudily fringing the passing cloud and glistening on the ragged wave-top; with rather more than usual phosphoric glories dancing in broad spangles on the sea of ink around our bows, lighting up the distant seafoam, and, like a river of molten silver, smokA carpet-bag, contain-ing, bubbling, rollicking in our wake; with the ing my wardrobe, library, etc., etc., and a faded usual longing to climb the white cliffs, and blue cotton umbrella, constituted my luggage; plant our feet on the green turf of Old Ena big apple for each day the voyage was pro- gland; with the usual glance of admiration at phesied to last, and a bulky black bottle, filled the strength, the wealth, the glory of that ironup my invoice of stores. Thus equipped, and bound island; with the usual rolling and pitchwith thirty-eight dollars and sixty cents in my ing across the Channel to la belle France; the pocket, I set out to make the grand tour. usual falling in love with tidy French women, and usual comparing them with those angels of light across the water whose Gothic ornaments are so deranging the world's finances, and whose petticoats, a world too wide for their shrunk shanks, sweep the dirty ways of America's dirty metropolis; with the usual reverence for that daddy of all lions, Paris, but without the usual deep-boring description of his separ With the usual unusual mixture of people of all nations (myself the only Yankee passenger) for our company; with the usual weather, "much finer than could be expected at the time of year;" with the fogs on the Banks, and rain at the Devil's Hole; with the usual "mountains high" waves of fifteen feet altitude; with the usual grandeur of storm, and 324 ate hairs, I passed on to Brussels, to Antwerp, | and gave to America the finest picture she has and-to a period. a yet been able to acquire, the most perfect study At Antwerp it was my first pleasure to be- for her young artists. I found him close up under the rafters of a high-peaked old housecome acquainted with Mynheer Wittkamp man whom all American lovers of art should a Young-Holland man, free from all highfalutin, desire to know-he who, at the age of twenty-spread-eagle ideas, surrounded by the parapherfive, painted "The Deliverance of Leyden," nalia of an old-time studio, with broken casts, WITTKAMP B STUDIO. grotesque figures, quaint old furniture, curious books, pieces of armor, and modern costumes, mingled heterogeneously with big Dutch pipes, stumps of cigars, scraps of bread, and rinds of cheese; with rude strong sketches, well-finished studies, and beautiful pictures; diligently pursuing his study of art, satisfied that he was engaged in the highest calling of earth; satisfied with its pains as increasing by contrast the height of its pleasures; satisfied with its pleasures as the perfection of earthly enjoyment; satisfied with his poverty, as it gave him no opportunity to waste his life in petty pursuits, and secured him from annoyances to which the rich are subjected; only dissatisfied that contracted galleries and contracted tastes restricted him to little canvases and trifling subjects. He made many inquiries after the condition of his picture; was pleased to learn that it occupied the post of honor in the most important American Art Gallery, in the Academy of Fine Arts, that is doing more for the development of artistic talent than any other in the world; was pleased to learn that it was studied by artists, and admired by all; was satisfied with the very small sum which he had received, as it was place and preservation, and not price, that he had desired for it. The picture was too democratic for the European galleries that were large enough to receive it; he was too poor to rent a large studio or church for its exhibition. He had several times been on the point of cutting out the heads and nailing them to the rafters of his studio, rather than let them spoil on the roller; was thankful he had been induced to send it to America; besides, the little sum of money he received had enabled him to make the tour to Italy, which he had long desired, and during which he had passed the happiest six months of his life. He spoke of his future course of study; said that he would like to spend some time in the New World, but that there was a broad patch of water between here and therethat his feet were accustomed to standing on land-that the passages of the President, Arctic, Central America, and many other similar ones that he heard of, were not such as to entice one to a sea-adventure; nevertheless he would at once devote his evenings to the study of the English language, his days to the painting of portraits; then, after he had acquired a WITTKAMP, THE PAINTER. sufficiency of words and dollars, so that he should not be cheated out of half the profits of his tour by the lack of them, if he could overcome his aversion to a sea-voyage, God permitting, he would traverse some of the beautiful scenes, and paint some of the wild, free figures so poetically described by the great American novelist. I can scarcely conceive how so flat a country can raise up great artists, but the superb colossal statue of Rubens under my window is evidence positive that not only great painters but great sculptors have existed here. I can not help believing, however, that if Rubens had been surrounded by such graceful forms as grow up among American mountain ridges, and by such exquisite faces as are met in some of our American cities- if he had drawn his inspiration from stalwart Virginia mountaineers and athletic backwoodsmen from our Western hills, instead of from the shrunken corpses of Antwerpen hospitals-he would have produced such pictures as would have left no room for disputing his right to the highest position among painters. I can understand the possibility of a lack of models and a depraved public taste inducing an artist to nail a dead body to a cross and paint its portrait, but I can not understand the disposition which can invest that portrait |