pany of volunteers was raised in New Orleans, and the two Bonneys again enlisted, this time for six months, to fight against the Seminoles in the Everglades of Florida, under the command of Gen. Persifer F. Smith.

Their permanent headquarters were at a point about twenty miles up the river from Charlotte harbor. From here the men were sent in detachments through the swamps with two or three days rations, a heavy musket, a woolen blanket, and fifty rounds. of ball cartridges each. There was no halt in this service. It was a continual tramp, day after day, without any let up, until darkness came, and then there was no respite for the pickets, because the enemy was ever on the alert, and woe betide the sentry caught napping! Not the least of the discomforts was the mud, often up to their knees, and the water not unfrequently up to their waists. Their term of service expiring, transportation was furnished to New Orleans, where they were mustered out and received their discharge. From thence they returned to Texas. On arriving at Houston they called on the provisional secretary of war, Barnard E. Bee, and demanded their discharge. This, on account of some informality on the part of the "Two Bonneys," was refused. While the controversy between the secretary and the boys was at its height, Gen. Sam Houston entered the room and happening to overhear the conversation, he turned and said, "What is thisdid you two boys come away out here from Maine to help us fight the Mexicans?' Hannibal spoke up and said, "General, we enlisted for the war, and now, if the war is

over, we want our discharge, and what was promised us with it."

President Houston then ordered Secretary of War Bee to give the boys their discharge, pay for eighteen months service, and land warrants for twelve hundred and eighty acres each. A little later they returned to New Orleans feeling comparatively rich, and there took ship for New York, from whence they started for Maine, for a happy reunion with relatives and friends.

Their sojourn in Maine was, however, short. Life was altogether too tame in the old Pine Tree state for boys with the experience they had enjoyed for five years; so, both being of one mind and with a longing for their old regiment, they went to New York and reënlisted in the First Dragoons, this time for five years. After a detention in New York of several months on the recruiting service, they were ordered to join their regiment on the Western frontier, being assigned to the company commanded by Capt. Nathan Boone, the youngest son of Daniel Boone, the pioneer of Kentucky. Both served the full terms of their enlistments and were discharged at Fort Gibson, Ark., on September 4, 1843, after ten years of continuous and active service.

Horace Bonney was for many years landlord of the Ayer House in Hooksett. The love between him and his brother never cooled. His house was noted for neatness and homelike comforts. He died a few years ago, respected by all who knew him best.

Hannibal Bonney purchased the Penacook House, in Penacook, in 1862, and has been since then its

proprietor and landlord. For nearly a third of a century it has been one of the best known public houses in the state, and its reputation has not been confined to New Hampshire. It will rank favorably with the old English inns so well described in the works of Dickens and other British writers. The secret of its success has been the constant care exercised by Mr. and Mrs. Bonney in providing the best in the market for their guests, and in this respect the proof that they have succeeded is the reputation the house has enjoyed since he took charge of it.

His army life ended eighteen years before the Civil War began, and that event was thirty-nine years ago. His last company commander was the son of Daniel Boone, and one of his tentmates was a son of David Crockett. Fifteen years ago an article relating to his experience was published in the Concord Monitor. It was copied extensively, and in this way came to the notice of his old comrade, Crockett, who was still in Texas. The result was a correspondence, which ended only with the death of Crockett in 1898. In his comradeship he united the soldiers of the Revolution and of 1812, with many of the leaders of the Civil War on both sides-Gens. Stephen H. and Philip Kearney, Gens. David Hunter, E. V. Sumner, Gens. Sam

and Felix Houston, Gen. Albert Sidney Johnston, who was styled the ablest soldier in the Confederate army, and last but not least, so far as notoriety was concerned, Jefferson Davis, president of the Southern Confederacy. All have departed this life, and with them nearly every one of his army associates.

Before coming to Penacook Hannibal had served on the police force in New York city, and, after his discharge, had been engaged in the hotel business in New York and in Manchester. Horace was engaged in the same business for the greater part of his life. He was at one time a member of the common council of Manchester. Both were connected with the Amoskeag Veterans, either as active or honorary members, for a quarter of a century.

The adventures of the "Two Bonneys," if written in detail, would be fully as interesting as were those of Sinbad the sailor, and far more truthful. Hannibal of Penacook is still in fairly good health. An evening spent in his company, listening to his reminiscences of army life nearly three quarters of a century ago, must be enjoyed in order to be properly appreciated, and after hearing him one is inclined to believe that a "Grand Old Man" lives in the person of the veteran proprietor of the Penacook House.

NOMAN'S LAND⋅

F

OR the greater part of twentyfour hours there is dusk or intense darkness in that lonely gorge. Only the hermit and the hunter penetrate those dim solitudes, for it is here that the mountain grizzly and the rattlesnake hold high carnival, and the mountain goat poises over the precipices in his sure-footed flight. Whenever the prospector comes it is the lone explorer daring the unknown dan gers in the gloom.

Behind a great pile of boulders, yet holding a commanding view of the valley at midday, is a natural seat in the ledge where it seems as if the hand of man in some remote time had carved an armchair for some kingly retreat. As you sit there, at your feet rolls the crystal tide of some brisk torrent wending its way to the open meadows, where the Comanche warrior smokes in his tepee, and the wild bison roam free as the wind, untouched by the sweeping lust of civilization.

Sitting there in that hollow rock one may allow his imagination a free play through the weird fastnesses and untamed surroundings. Here, long ages before might have wandered the huge monsters of the prehistoric world, twisting and tumbling in their Leviathan gambols amid the caverns of the deep sea, and fighting to the death-as lord against lordthey disputed the supremacy of their

rivals in the sea-fern bowers where roamed their natural prey.

But imagination is not the only king who holds sovereignty over this grand isolation. Away to the right, beyond the pile of boulders, the attention is arrested by a loud snort and a curious shuffling sound, attesting another presence, and one whom Nature has placed in his rightful habitation. Just around a spur in the dark cliff a huge grizzly ambles his ungainly bulk along an uncertain foothold in the midst of the torn rocks. He picks his way with care, looking from side to side as if expecting a hidden danger, and now and then sniffing curiously at the cracks in the splintered mass.

Off down the gorge a few rods below lies a fallen tree, twisted and broken, yet fresh as though it had fallen but yesterday. Toward it the bear seems making his way, his eager eyes often roaming in that direction. Twenty or thirty feet up the trunk, which is scarred as if by a lightning bolt, is a hole, around the rim of which is a little cloud of insects buzzing in and out as though yet angry from their late disturbance. It is a bee's nest, and bruin is bent upon a feast. ness in his gait it is evident that some disturbing fear hovers about his movements. And it surely is not the bees of which he is afraid.

Yet from the uneasi

Suddenly the hungry beast espies

a suspicious looking object stretched out upon a rock. He utters a grunt of mingled fear and anger. At the sound the object moves, draws itself into a coil, and gives vent to a warning hiss. It is, then, the rattlesnake of which he is afraid-not of this one alone-but of hundreds of others that lie in these gloomy crevices. Experience, perhaps, has taught the gray marauder that they are an enemy not to be despised, and he quickens his shuffle as he arrives at the danger point. It is here that the snake dens are the most frequent and the venom boils in the reptiles at any disturbance.

The coiled snake is a fearful thing to behold. Its jaws are distended. Its eyes snap dangerous fire. The forked tongue plays like lightning from between those terrible fangs. Ill fares the living creature receiving contact from those needle points. Bruin makes a detour of the rock that suffers the presence of his formidable enemy intending to come back into the path again, and then thrust his nose into that lucious, melting honey.

The tail of the rattler vibrates its warning whirr. answer faint hisses and other ominous sounds proceed from the loose boulders around. The bear catches a perception of the movements of suaky bodies over the rough bottom of the gorge. It is but a rustle, yet it is the rustle of death. His uneasiness increases, but the temptation ahead overcomes his wisdom. His great fore-foot lifts again to the front. It drops upon a loose flat slab of gneiss that tips a little with his weight. Instantly sounds the note of warning, and an ugly, diamond-shaped head

darts with remorseless activity, imbedding its awful weapons of defense in the foot of the intruder.

The mighty grizzly utters a roar that seems to shake even the solid walls of the cañon. That unfair attack fills him with a burning desire for revenge. Shaking the paw that felt the prick he lunges to the right as the reptile glides away and plants his claws in the head of that writhing body.

Ugh, the checkered, crawling things are now all around him. There is no choice but in battle or ignominious flight. But what matters it now to run? The poison is rankling with the fierce impulse, and bruin thinks only of pursuing the battle to the end.

The air is filled and heavy with a sickening odor. Fearful hisses rise in a full, sibilant chorus, while the warning whirr of the rattle sounds strange and ominous, where the straggling rays of sunlight slant feebly from the cliff above in a vain. attempt to flood with light the semigloom.

The last scene of the tragedy is at hand. The mountain monarch, as though realizing that his final moments are fast spending, leaps frenziedly into the coiling, squirming, hissing mass. Clumsy no more, his feet fly back and forth, tearing, bounding, parrying, all in the grand effort of defense, with the equally powerful motive of revenge.

Hundreds of snakes, cold and abhorrent, swarm from the crevices. They attack fiercely, lunging and biting, in spite of the havoc created in their midst by the plucky foe. Sundered reptiles lie all about, ghastly and hideous in the gloomy