en them an example so splendid. The most commercial of
people, you submitted to a total suspension of business, and without
a murmur adopted my principle, 'Citizens for labor, soldiers for
battle.' In coming times, strangers viewing the works on the hills of
Newport and Covington will ask, 'Who built these intrenchments? You
can answer, 'We built them.' If they ask, 'Who guarded them?' you
can reply, 'We helped in thousands.' If they inquire the result, your
answer will be, 'The enemy came and looked at them, and stole away in
the night.' You have won much honor. Keep your organizations ready to
win more. Hereafter be always prepared to defend yourselves.

"LEWIS WALLACE,
"Maj.-Gen'r'l."

It can safely be claimed for our young General, that he was the moving
spirit which inspired and directed the people, and thereby saved
Cincinnati and the surrounding cities, and, in the very face of Heath
and his victorious horde from Richmond, organized a new and formidable
army. That the citizens fully indorsed this was well exemplified on
the occasion of his leading back into the metropolis a number of her
volunteer regiments when the danger was over. They lined the streets,
crowded the doors and windows, and filled the air with shouts of
applause, in honor of the great work he had done.

In writing this notice of Wallace and the siege, we have had no
intention to overlook the services of his co-laborers, especially
those rendered to the West by the gallant Wright, who holds command
of the department. The writer has attempted to give what came directly
under his own observation, and what he believes to be the core of the
matter, and consequently most interesting to the public.

JANE AUSTEN.

In the old Cathedral of Winchester stand the tombs of kings, with
dates stretching back to William Rufus and Canute; here, too, are the
marble effigies of queens and noble ladies, of crusaders and warriors,
of priests and bishops. But our pilgrimage led us to a slab of black
marble set into the pavement of the north aisle, and there, under the
grand old arches, we read the name of Jane Austen. Many-colored as the
light which streams through painted windows, came the memories which
floated in our soul as we read the simple inscription: happy hours,
gladdened by her genius, weary hours, soothed by her touch; the
honored and the wise who first placed her volumes in our hand; the
beloved ones who had lingered over her pages, t