The following advertisement is from the New York Advertiser of November 9, 1804:

"All prizes! No Blanks As the Adventurer pleases.

At G. and R. Waite's Permanent Lottery Offices and Book Stores, No. 64 and 38 Maiden Lane, may be had Tickets in the Third Lottery for the Promotion of Literature which begins drawing on the third day of the next month.

Warranted Prizes

at 13 Dolls and 50 cts each

Tickets partaking of blank or prize 7 Dollars each. 1,,. Purchasers have advantage of examining check books at either office.

Lottery insurance conducted as above at the most liberal terms."

The price of tickets depended somewhat upon the value of the prizes which remained undrawn from day to day, as the following advertisement will illustrate:

(Daily Advertiser, August 8, 1807). "If the capital prize of $10,000 remains in the wheel on the 45th day of drawing, tickets will then

be advanced to 10 dollars each, and will continue advancing daily one dollar, as long as it remains in."

An advertisement of May 31, 1805, stated that the tickets were nearly all sold; that the capital prize still remained in the wheel, and that only a few days remained for the drawing; that the price of tickets was fourteen dollars, but that it would advance on Monday to fifteen dollars.

Lottery dealers usually received tickets in the State lotteries from the managers at the par value of six dollars. Dealers, therefore, did a lucrative business in selling tickets at prices ranging from six and one-half to twenty dollars. Besides selling tickets outright, lottery offices did a business in leting out of tickets. A person might hire a ticket for a particular day at rates varying from fifty cents upward. If the number of the ticket were drawn during the time of rental, the holder of the ticket was entitled to any prize that it might draw. If the number remained undrawn the ticket, of course, was returned to the lottery office. Moreover, it was not necessary for a person to buy a whole ticket. Tickets were sold in "shares of halves, quarters, and eighths. Every provision was made to make it possible for the person of slender means to participate in the wonderful advantages of the lottery. One of the frauds which was frequently practiced upon purchasers of tickets was the selling of tickets which had already been drawn and were known to be blanks. Lottery dealers, therefore, often made much parade about the fact that tickets purchased in their offices were warranted undrawn."

The essential and grievous evil of the lottery business was the insuring of tickets. The disastrous effects which developed from the practice of insuring tickets was responsible more than anything else for the storm of public disapproval which resulted in the sweeping away of lotteries simultaneously in about all the states. And yet little or no mention of the subject has been made by those who have written upon the subject of lotteries in America. Of course, contemporaneous discussions of the subject teem with criticisms of the practice.

A. FRANKLIN Ross.

NEW YORK CITY.

(To be continued.)

REMINISCENCES OF THE FREMONT CAMPAIGN

T

HE year 1856 found me in New York City. Social, religious, and political life were alike at high tension. Beecher was expected every Sunday to touch the quick of social wrong; including such dramatic events as the enfranchisement of a beautiful slave girl from his pulpit. How the people threw the cash to buy her-giving all, even their ornaments! The American Tract Society was holding crowded anniversaries, to discuss the expurgation from their publications of anti-slavery Biblical passages. The discussions were perfervid. Dr. George B. Cheever blistered the cowards, in his church on Union Square; and it was rapidly getting to be impossible for compromise to show its face.

It was the day of great orators, because there was a topic abroad which compelled men to be eloquent. Horace Greeley was the first of these great leaders that I heard on the platform. He stood leaning over, and drawing a huge red handkerchief through his hands, from end to end-first through one hand, and then through the other. His face, surrounded by white hair, looked like a full moon. He drawled sarcasm, and pulled out of his handkerchief damnation for those whom he opposed. In fact he picked his enemies' bones before he got through, and sat down defiant. Edward Everett delivered, in the largest opera house, his address on Washington. Before the doors were opened the streets were packed as far as could be seen, and, when opened, the surging mass ground its way through the passageways, crushing and terrifying those who were caught. We passed back, over our heads, fainting women and frail men. But hear these brilliant orators the people must.

Charles Sumner came in the autumn of 1855. He was superb in build, and magnificent of brow. When he came on to the platform, he dropped into a chair sideways and carelessly, then laid one leg over the other, and looked as if he did not see the audience. But when he began, he became every inch a Jove. The people insisted on hearing him five times, in New York and Brooklyn, before they would let him go on to Washington. His topic was, "The Duty of the South."

He had hardly taken his seat in the Senate before he was assaulted by Brooks, with the evident intention of assassinating him. Then began the fury of the tempest. An indignation meeting was called in the Tabernacle, at Howard Street and Broadway-a building capable of holding about three thousand. It was the church of Joseph P. Thompson, leader of the liberals in theology-also notable as an anti-slavery leader. Only a part of the crowds could get into the building. Speech after speech touched the very quick of the nation's sore. It was an assemblage of as respectable people as I ever saw gathered; but it was not long before they began to cry for vengeance. Speakers were interrupted with shouts, and finally curses. When affairs were already at a white heat, a man came upon the platform from the wings, wearing a linen coat. The chairman, John Jay, after a brief consultation, touched the speaker, and introduced the stranger. He stepped to the front, gave his name, I think it was Representative Granger, who, lifting his coat, cried "This coat of mine is saturated with the blood of Charles Sumner." He could go no fartherthe audience stood upon the seats, yelling and cursing and demanding vengeance. It was wild with madness. I have never seen anything of the like elsewhere, and pray never to see the like again. They would have torn Brooks in pieces had he been there. I believe that there were many people very profane that night, to whom an oath had before that been unknown.

Hot times for both politics and theology were those. I saw Theodore Parker when he pounded on the big wooden pillars that flanked the Tabernacle platform, and cried "Yes! Yes! It is you that are sound! sound! sound!" and as the echoes went through the hall, he added" because you are hollow." His followers were very few in those days, and it looked about equally far off to the abolition of slavery and the triumph of liberal theology.

Such were the environments of the times; 1856 brought us to the sure conclusion. The Republican party was formed, and nominated for President John C. Fremont. As for Vice President it little mattered, although it was William L. Dayton of New Jersey. We voted for, sung for, and shouted for "Fremont and Jessie." This brilliant little woman was the daughter of Senator Thomas H. Benton, and she was possessed of qualities remarkably taking with the common people. It was the cause, however, above the candidates. Some of us were feeling as if, on the shore, a big tide had rolled in upon us unexpectedly. We had been ac

customed to argue that slavery could not outlive another hundred years; it was destined to go within ten. Could it be possible that we, who remembered the mobs of Boston, Philadelphia and Utica, were about to see slavery beaten and abolition triumphant? Born myself in a station of the underground railroad, I had seen many a runaway railroaded into Canada, or hid among the farmers of Northern New York. It is not to be wondered at that young Americans, with such heredity, should feel a keen sympathy for William Lloyd Garrison, and be willing to see the Dred Scott decision trampled upon-even if constitutional.

Fillmore was nominated by the "American Party," the "Know Nothings." He had signed the bill which made Northerners slavecatchers for their masters. His sense of duty may have been strong, but it certainly was strained when he undertook to compel free men to act as bloodhounds for Southern slave-holders. Buchanan got the Democratic nomination, mainly because of his subserviency of temperament, and a habit of piously turning over to the Lord the consequences of his own indecision. In New York City, Fillmore had a strong support; the young American bullies were all to be counted among his followers.

One night, while going up Broadway, about nine o'clock, I stopped with a friend in front of the old Lafarge House, to watch some Fremonters, who were raising a banner across the street. We got into conversation with a guest of the hotel, a gentleman from California. He knew Fremont well, and told us many stories illustrative of his plucky character. While we were still talking, a crowd suddenly broke loose from a nearby hall, and poured down stairs, into the street. It was a Fillmore club, headed by a huge bully. Pulling off his coat, he forbid the hoisting of the banner. With voluble cursing, his followers immediately set to work to tear down what had already been done. Our California friend, who was a very quiet individual, took off his coat and handed it to me; then quickly stepped in front of the blustering leader, saying to him, "Sir, I heard you use the name of Colonel Fremont with vulgarity. If you utter that name again I will knock off your empty head." The bully looked him over-he was superbly built-then put on his coat, and quickly got out of sight, and his followers with him. The banner was erected. Our new-found friend thanked me, saying "I am Colonel Selover, and am here negotiating California bonds. I am not a fighting man, but I must defend the honorable name of my friend Fremont."

The nominating Convention met at Philadelphia, at the call of a