rolling mill of Lyon & Shorb, on the southern side of the Monongahela; the old Union mill in Pipetown, just east of the city limits; Shoenberger's mill in the Northern Liberties; Brown's mill in the Fourth ward of the old city, and one in Allegheny City. Of foundries, there were Bollman & Garrison's, corner of Fifth and Smithfield streets, the site of the present post-office; Speer's foundry on Penn street, and several boiler-yards and engine factories at and near to the Point. Of glass houses there were Lorenz's and McCully's, both on the south side, one or two in Birmingham, and Bakewell's, on the site of the present Baltimore & Ohio depot. Of the smaller manufacturers, there were saddlers and harness-makers in plenty, tin and copper smiths, wagon makers, brass and bell foundries, tanners and various other branches of manufacture. In fact, this smaller class of factories outnumbered largely the larger ones. Merchants west of Pittsburgh found it easier and cheaper to buy these things, as well as dry-goods and miscellaneous goods, in Pittsburgh than to go east for them. Boat building, also, was carried on here extensively, until it became necessary to get nearer to the source of wood supply.

The steamboat interest had not acquired much force at this early period. The boats, as I remember them, were all side-wheelers, and none of them of large tonnage. They came and went as they could, picking up such lading as offered. There were no regular passenger or freight lines, and travelers took such opportunities as were offered them.

The travel, by families, of people emigrating westward, was mainly by wagon, and the main street leading east and west in Allegheny City was called "Ohio" street, because it was then the road to Ohio for all who were traveling in that direction.

Of public schools there were none in 1829. Of private schools there were plenty, such as they were; but the public schools did not come until 1836 or 1837.

The canal was opened to and into Pittsburgh in 1829. It soon began to cut into the trade by wagon, but it was some years afterwards before wagons were entirely supplanted. The farming interest along the old turnpike road was bitterly opposed to the canal because it would, as it did, ruin the wagon carrying trade. The argument was that it would destroy the demand for horses, and consequently for all kinds of horse-feed; but events have shown that there were other uses for horses than that of drawing heavy freight-wagons, and Pennsylvania never saw the time when her horses were not in demand.

The manufactories of Pittsburgh, small and large of all kinds, drew their supply of fuel, at this time, from the hills opposite to and south of the city, the first of which was opened in 1760. It was delivered by carts and wagons, and was obtained from the mouth of the mines, direct, or from the foot of inclined planes, which brought it three hundred feet from the top of Coal Hill and delivered it to wagons at the bottom of the hill. When communication with

the south side was cut off, as it sometimes was, there was a coal famine in the city for a little while. The fall of a part of the Monongahela bridge, prior to the flood of 1832, brought on one of these famines. Before the flood access to the city was had by ferries; but the flood cut off the ferries for several days and no coal could be had for love or money. One man, who had a load of one hundred bushels on his wagon and had got into the city before the flood came, sold his load for ten dollars, and considered himself the richest man alive. Ordinarily he would have got but three dollars for it.

The city had two bridges at that time, one over the Allegheny at St. Clair (now Sixth) street, and one over the Monongahela at Smithfield street. But Smithfield street being at the upper part of the old city, it was a long way into the city for the south side farmers. A ferry, landing its boats at the foot of Liberty street, caught all this traffic, because it saved over half a mile of travel and landed its patrons much nearer to Market. The ferry, as I remember it, consisted of skiffs for foot passengers and small flats for wagons. The flats were pushed over by poles when the water was low, and oars were used when the river was high. But when the river was very high, the current was apt to sweep the flats out into the Ohio; hence ferriage at high water was always slow and frequently dangerous. A man named Thomas Jones was the proprietor of this ferry. He stationed himself on a perch fronting the ferry from morning till night,

and every one, coming or going, had to pay toll there. As years progressed he substituted boats propelled by horses, for the flats, and eventually his sons substituted steam for horse-power. The building of the Point bridge has for some time superseded the ferry. The building of the first bridge at Smithfield street-instead of at the Point, the most natural place for it-was probably on account of the steamboats, very few of which could get under the Smithfield Street bridge. That was the day of short spans and low bridges. Suspension bridges were then only a dream.

The postal service grew up very slowly. In 1786, when the Pittsburgh Gazette was established, there was no mail service whatever, and the publishers had to deliver their paper to subscribers by mail carriers of their own. In the latter part of that year a weekly mail service was established between Philadelphia and Pittsburgh, and another from Virginia to Bedford, connecting with the Philadelphia mail at Bedford. This route left Philadelphia every Saturday and reached Pittsburgh every Friday, returning from the latter on Friday. This route, however, could not have reached many of the subscribers of the Gazette, who were mainly supplied by private mail carriers for years afterwards. The revenue of the Pittsburgh post-office in 1787 was one hundred and ninety-nine dollars. In 1829 there were daily mails east and west, but it took three days to reach Philadelphia. As late as 1844 it took three days to get intelligence of the New York election at Pittsburgh, and in 1840 it was three

weeks before the whole state of Pennsylvania was heard from. The post-office in Pittsburgh in 1829 was on Second street, near Market, and William Eichbaum was postmaster. He was a man much liked, and made so good a postmaster that when General Jackson removed him, in 1832 or 1833, it took the people a long time to become reconciled to the change. His successor, David Lynch, removed the office to Third street, near Market, and there it remained until the government built the present office on Fifth. The rates of postage were, at that time, based on the Spanish currency, six and one-fourth, twelve and one-half, eighteen and three-fourths and twenty-five cents, all our small currency then being of Spanish coinage. These rates varied according to distance, and double rates were charged, not so much for double weight as for more than one piece of paper. Two sheets or two pieces of a sheet used in a letter had to pay double. I saw a poor fellow open a letter from New York at the postoffice window, one day, for which he had paid twenty-five cents, but upon opening it fully the window clerk saw an enclosure of a scrap of paper on which a "P. S." was probably written, and for this he had to pay twenty-five cents additional. We do not fully realize all that we have gained by the change from then to now.

It took three days, then, to go from here to Cincinnati by river, a week to St. Louis, and two weeks or more to New Orleans; and if the traveler was going beyond any river point, overland, he took leave of his family and friends with as much solemnity as if he never expected to see them again. A good story is told of James Burns, at one time canal commissioner and for many years a contractor on canals and railroads. J. Edgar Thompson, who was, in 1846, chief engineer of the Pennsylvania railroad, met Mr. Burns in Hollidaysburg. "I asked him," said Burns, "how he expected to take the cars over the mountains. By locomotives,' said he. Then I saw the man was a fool. I thought I'd find out just how big a fool he was, so I asked him how long he expected a train to be in running from Pittsburgh to Philadelphia. 'Fifteen hours,' he said. Then I knew the man was a howling idiot." Yet Burns lived to see it done in nine hours.

Altogether, the change from 1829 to 1887 is marvelous, but not more so, probably, than in most western cities. In any of them it takes a man's breath away to stop, look back and compare. But astounding as the change seems, it is not a whit more so than a comparison of the country generally, as it was in 1830 and as it will be in 1890.

RUSSELL ERRETT.

as it seems to look upon now, was then a fire-brand that meant a challenge to war. The men who had been loudly proclaiming that Bigelow should not speak felt put upon their mettle, and a fight or a back-down offered the only alternatives to them. They were all hardy fellows, and some of them were rough, and the back-down was not to be thought of for a moment. They made ready for a fight. Frequent consultations took place among them; the town and the neighborhood talked of nothing else. Bigelow was told that he would be tarred and feathered if he persisted in his purpose, and a number of the leading church members declared that the sacred edifice should never be used for any such purpose. But the sponsors of the movement went ahead and declared that the man should not only speak, but should be protected.

Thus matters stood on the morning of Independence day. It was a clear day, and at an early hour families poured in from all quarters in wagons, on horseback and afoot. The majority had come as spectators, the same as they would have gone to a camp-meeting or a circus. The old public square was filled with a motley throng, full of talk and laughter, but ready to break forth into disorder if led on and encouraged. Despite the threats of certain of its members the church was thrown open at an early hour, and a rush was made to fill it. By the time it was jammed a crowd twice as large had gathered on the outside, waiting for developments. The meeting was called to order a little after the announced time by the pastor,

the Rev. John Seward, who, although not in active sympathy with the antislavery people, was determined that they should have protection and a fair show. The prayer was delivered safely, but Bigelow had hardly been announced, and had not opened his speech before bedlam broke loose within the church and without, and no living man could have made himself heard above the din. Bigelow kept at it like a man, and Seward used all his clerical and personal influence to cause silence, but it was of no avail. The great majority had come there to prevent the meeting from going forward, and they were not to be balked in their purpose. It was bad enough inside the church, but on the outside it was far worse. A party of forty or fifty young men had gathered at an appointed place on horseback, and just after the services opened they came clattering into town, yelling, blowing horns, ringing bells, firing guns and horse-pistols, and making constant circles about the church building. The little band inside the church again and again made attempts to go on, but were every time shouted down and drowned out by the now laughing and goodnatured audience. Time wore on, and the noise on the outside increased. Liquor was circulated freely, and as it gained influence the talk grew more threatening, and fears of violence upon Bigelow and his few backers were held with good grounds. The speakers would have gone away quietly could they have left, but they were so crowded on the inside of the church and so threatened on the outside, that they could hardly