Read, you

are losing a great opportunity. If

I had such a

GEN. JUBAL EARLY, SHERIDAN'S ANTAGONIST AT WINCHESTER. [From a Photograph taken since the War.]

poem to read at my reception to-night, it would make a great hit.' "But, Murdoch, you can't order a poem as you would a coat. I can't write anything in a few hours that will do either you or me any credit,' he replied rather sharply.

"I turned to him, and said:

"Read, two or three thousand of the warmest hearts in Cincinnati will be in Pike's Opera House to-night at that presentation. It will be a very significant affair. Now, you go and give me anything in rhyme, and I will give it a deliverance before that splendid audience, and you can then revise and polish it before it goes into print.'

"This view seemed to strike him favorably, and he finally said: "Well! Well! We'll see what can be done,' and he went upstairs

to his room. A half hour later, Hattie, his wife, a brilliant woman, who is now residing in Philadelphia, came down and said:

"He wants a pot of strong tea. He told me to get it for him, and then he would lock the door and must not be disturbed unless the house was afire.'

"Time wore on, and in our talk on other matters in the family circle we had almost forgotten the poet at work upstairs. Dinner had been announced, and we were about to sit down, when Read came in and beckoned to me. When I reached the room, he said:

"Murdoch, I think I have about what you want.'

“He read it to me, and with an enthusiasm that surprised him, I said, 'It is just the thing.'

"We dined, and at the proper time, Read and I, with the family, went to Pike's Opera House. The building was crowded in every part. Upon the stage were sitting 200 maimed soldiers, each with an arm or a leg off. General Joe Hooker was to present me with the flag the ladies had made, and at the time appointed we marched down the stage toward the footlights, General Hooker bearing the flag, and I with my arm in his. Such a storm of applause as greeted the appearance I never heard before or since. Behind and on each side of us were the rows of crippled soldiers,-in front the vast audience, cheering to the echo. Hooker quailed before the warm reception, and growing nervous, said to me in an undertone :

"I can stand the storm of battle, but this is too much for me.' "Leave it to me,' said I, 'I am an old hand behind the footlights and will divert the strain from you.' So quickly I dropped upon my knee, took a fold of the silken flag and pressed it to my lips. This by-play created a fresh storm of enthusiasm, but it steadied Hooker, and he presented the flag very gracefully. I accepted it in fitting words.

"I then drew the poem Read had written from my pocket, and with proper introduction, began reading it to the audience. The vast assemblage became as still as a church during prayer-time, and I read the three verses without a pause, and then the fourth:

"As this verse was finished the audience broke into a tumult of applause. Then I read with all the spirit I could command:

"The first that the general saw were the groups

Of stragglers, and then the retreating troops.

What was done? what to do? a glance told him both;
Then striking his spurs, with a terrible oath,

He dashed down the line, 'mid a storm of huzzas,

And the wave of retreat checked its course there, because
The sight of the master compelled it to pause.

With foam and with dust the black charger was gray;
By the flash of his eye, and his red nostrils' play,
He seemed to the whole great army to say,
"I have brought you Sheridan all the way

From Winchester, down to save the day."'

"The sound of my voice uttering the last word had not died away, when cheer after cheer went up from the great concourse that shook the building to its very foundation. Ladies waved their handkerchiefs and men their hats, until worn out with the fervor of the hour. They then demanded the author's name, and I pointed to Read, who was sitting in a box, and he acknowledged the verses.

“In such a setting and upon such an occasion as I have been able only faintly to describe to you, the poem of Sheridan's ride was given to the world. It was written in about three hours, and not a word was ever changed after I read it from the manuscript, except by the addition of the third verse, which records the fifteen-mile stage of the ride:

"But there is a road from Winchester town,

A good, broad highway leading down;

And there, through the flush of the morning light,
A steed as black as the steeds of night
Was seen to pass, as with eagle flight,
As if he knew the terrible need;
He stretched away with the utmost speed;
Hills rose and fell; but his heart was gay,
With Sheridan fifteen miles away.'

"This Mr. Read wrote while on his way, shortly after I first read the poem, to attend a birthday reception to William Cullen Bryant. Mr. Read read the poem, thus completed, at Mr. Bryant's birthday party. The great old man listened to every line of it, and then, taking the younger poet by the hand, said, with great warmth, That poem will live as long as "Lochinvar.",

The heroic verse in which Mr. Read so graphically describes General Sheridan's wonderful ride is here quoted in full :

SHERIDAN'S RIDE.

Up from the south at break of day,
Bringing to Winchester fresh dismay,
The affrighted air with a shudder bore,
Like a herald in haste, to the chieftain's door,
The terrible grumble, and rumble, and roar,
Telling the battle was on once more,
And Sheridan twenty miles away.

And wider still those billows of war
Thundered along the horizon's bar;
And louder yet into Winchester rolled
The roar of that red sea uncontrolled,
Making the blood of the listener cold,

As he thought of the stake in that fiery fray,
And Sheridan twenty miles away.

But there is a road from Winchester town,

A good, broad highway leading down;

And there, through the flush of the morning light,

A steed as black as the steeds of night,

Was seen to pass, as with eagle flight,
As if he knew the terrible need;

He stretched away with his utmost speed;
Hills rose and fell; but his heart was gay,
With Sheridan fifteen miles away.

Still sprung from those swift hoofs, thundering south,
The dust, like smoke from the cannon's mouth;

Or the trail of a comet, sweeping faster and faster,
Foreboding to traitors the doom of disaster.

The heart of the steed, and the heart of the master,
Were beating like prisoners assaulting their walls,
Impatient to be where the battle-field calls;

Every nerve of the charger was strained to full play,
With Sheridan only ten miles away.

Under his spurning feet the road

Like an arrowy Alpine river flowed,

And the landscape sped away behind

Like an ocean flying before the wind,

And the steed, like a bark fed with furnace ire,

Swept on, with his wild eye full of fire.

But lo! he is nearing his heart's desire;

He is snuffing the smoke of the roaring fray,

With Sheridan only five miles away.

Of stragglers, and then the retreating troops.

What was done? what to do? a glance told him both;

Then striking his spurs, with a terrible oath,

He dashed down the line, 'mid a storm of huzzas,

And the wave of retreat checked its course there, because

The sight of the master compelled it to pause.

With foam and with dust the black charger was gray;

By the flash of his eye, and his red nostrils' play,

He seemed to the whole great army to say, "I have brought you Sheridan all the way From Winchester, down to save the day."