R. T. Van Horn & Co., Publishers.*

November 12, 1870.

     The city was unusually lively yesterday.  Yesterday was a remarkably clear and beautiful day, and everybody remarked it.

     Workmen are rapidly filling up the landslides on Bluff street, upon whose acclivities that famous sidewalk rests.

     Miss Phoebe Couzens will not lecture before the students of the Boston Law School this term, her engagements in Kansas and Missouri preventing.

     The market reports quote apples going up, but one wagon load on Main street,  yesterday, went down, and then went down the throats of a mob of boys, who gathered at the place.

     A drunken man, tumbling about among the bricks, debris, and crumbled mortar of the ruins on the levee, was the only object of interest observable in that classic vicinity yesterday.

     Last night at the Opera House, the thrilling drama by Victor Hugo entitled, "Lucretia Borgia," and that standard old comedy, "The Toodles," were presented in the usual good style of the company to a highly appreciative audience.

     The house which is being moved on Fifth street was left standing in that thoroughfare last night, and when the sombre shadows of evening had settled on the countenance of nature, a couple of blind beings happened lucklessly to pass --  no, not to pass -- but to stray that way.  They were a poor old blind horse and his rider who was "blind drunk."  Neither of them perceiving the slight obstacle they collided with it, making a noise like a beating of a huge bass drum, and -- stopped.  The man stopped on his head almost under the horse, where he was thrown by the force of vibration, and the horse sat down on his haunches like a pony in the circus, until some good Samaritans came that way and extricated the pair from their inexplicable dilemma, and they went nonchalantly on their journey.

     The springboard on Fifth street will become a fall-board, when it falls down that bank, which will occur before winter, and then summary vengeance should be meted out by the individual who happens to be on it when it goes down, on the City Council for their indifference to human life.

     A man named J. F. Schroder paid a fine of $7.60 in the City Court, yesterday morning, for exercising his pugilistic abilities on a neighbor.  He paid the fine with the utmost sang froid, and indicated, by his general manner, that he thought the pastime indulged in was exceedingly cheap at the price.  His conduct augurs unpleasantly for the future of his antagonist, for, at such rates, such a great pleasure will doubtless be often indulged in.