Litchfield enquirer. [volume], July 19, 1860, Image 1

About Litchfield enquirer. [volume] (Litchfield, Conn.) 1829-current

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Dei-nickt to Moral and General Zirielligenctz nnd the Ynterests as Mirhlield cis-mig.
Vol. XXXVR—Wo. 13
LITCHFIELD, CONN., THURSDAY, JULY 19, 1860.
Whole No. 1833.
<EI)c Citcljfieft inquirer
t< Published kveby Thursday Mobnino or th
Third Floor or The Enquirer Building by
(TAMES HUMPHREY, Jr.
TERMS.
SUDSCBirriON PER ANNUM I
Village subscribers (by carrier,) and single
mail subscribers—in advance.$1 0
4Wn subscribers (off the carrier’s route,)
and mail subscribers, iu bundles, in ad
vance.'.1 1
1®” Postage Free within this County.
Advertising :
J^jurteon lines or less—1, 2 or 3 weeks-$1 0<
fCveli continuance thereafter per week- 2'
Probate and other legal notices at the usual rates
Yearly and other regular advertisers chargci
“According to space occupied.
JOB PRINTING
HAVING recently added to our Job Depart
ment one of GORDON’S
-New * lightning’ Job & Card Presses
'and a number of fonts of new and beautiful Car
and Job Type, from the foundry of Messrs. Con
her & Sons, so that our facilities for executing al
Vi nds of
JOB AND CARD PRINTING
are not surpassed by any establishment in th
State. We solicit the patronage of our friend
uud tire public generally, with the assurance tlia
their favors will be executed with promptness
and at the lowest living prices.
Among the many articles printed at our cstnb
lishment are the following :
ADDRESSES,
. BLANKS of all kinds,
BRONZING, all colors,
BUSINESS CARDS,
BOOKS,
HILL HEADS,
BY-LAWS,
BANK CHECKS,
RANK WORK of every description,
CARDS,
CATALOGUES,
CIRCULARS
DRAFTS.
Plain and fancy
L a to o 1 a .
In Black and Colored Inks, or Bronze of every
shade, on White or Fancy Colored Paper.
WEDDING and VISITING CARDS,
HANDBILLS, HEADINGS,. TICKETS,
MA NUFACTUKERS’ LABELS,
PAMPHLETS, POSTERS,
PROG ft A M M ES. SERMONS.
SHOP and STAGE BILLS
Ac., Sc., in every style.
Always on band, a good stock of plain, enum
eled, and fuller white and colored
Cards,
and, in fact, everything in this branch of the
bmiuess, adapted to every description of v.oik
JAMES HUMPHREY, Jn.
K.vqcibkb Jon Orvu'K, Nov. 15. 1850.
Klin Pnrk Collegiate Institute
LITCHFIELD, COW,
fTSDEii tiie management of the Rkv. Pit
J J.uu Hicmabim, assisted l>v well ipialilietl
instrneturs Full course of English and Classical
*tu lie*, with tiie Modern Languages. Music nud
Drawing. Every advantage is afforded for obtain
ing a substantial, useful ami accomplished educa
tion. Perms moderate for board and tuition.
Pupils received at any time. For circulars, ad
dress Dr. J. RICHARDS, Principal.
31
C. If. BISHOP A' to
Dealers in .
DRY GOODS,
71 EA D Y MA DE L'LO Til IA Cl,
Boots and Shoes, Hardware,
CROCKERY, GROCERIES, Ac. c
LITCHFIELD, CONN.
C. »- NMUP. 3 SJtDGtTICK.
48-1y __
£ 1 RAVES A 8AYLES, Attorneys ami
V.JT Counsellors at-l-nw, 307 Broadway, New
York, (entrance ou Kultou street.)
HIHIT g. QR1VNI OKO. WILLABI) ?ATL»3.
1>45.
Henry M. DUTTON, Attorney au.1
Counsellor-at-letw. Office iu Court House,
Litchfield. Conn.
OLUSTER A CHAMPUN, Attorneys
and Counsellors at Law, 63 William Street,
Corner Pine. New York. &0tf.
u u. uoixistck. sons » euAUPUSt. rr.
If1N8IOH BOUSE.
1t1 i.iTv'urirLO. Coxx
S3 S. SPENCER, Proprietor.
FD. BEEMAN. Attoruey and Couuselo;
• at Law. Also, Commissioner of Deed
for the States of New York and South Carolina
Office'in Seymour's Building, South street, latch
field, Conn.
EW. SEYMOUR. Attorney and Counsel
• lor at Law, Litchfield, Conn.
^-NROSSMAN-S Shaving. Hair-Cutting an.
V/' Wig Making Rooms—under the Mansioi
House. Litchfield.
R" OBERT M. TREAT, Manufacturer of Con
Shellers. Churns, Safety Tug Irons, fitc.
South Farms, Conn.
GEORGE a HICKOX. Attorney at Law
Office in East street, directly oppoeiti
the Congregational church, Litchfield, Conn.
Ambrotypes! Ambrotypes!
rclESS popular pictures are taken with grea
success, aud at a trifling expense, at
JUDD'S GALLERY, No. 3South street
Litchfield, Oct. 4, 1869. 24
Agrits Wanted.
FpTO travel and sell Valuable BOOKS. An it
■ dustrious and enterprising man can mat
fifty to seventy-five dollars per month. Apply l
47-tf] JOHN HINSDALE, West Winsted, ct.
Hew Crop Porto Rieo Mol»sse:
VERY NICK, just received by
F. D. McNEIL.
A T. BfSQELL,
Piua Forte Toner A Repairei
WOULD respectfully inform the citizens i
Litchfield and vicinity, that he will 1
ta that pine* the second week in June for tl
purpose of Tuning and Repairing Piano Fortes.
AB orders left at the Mansion House will 1
promptly attended to. « tf
WAITED,
AfrNAfA CORDS of HEMLOCK BARK.fi
R# V which a good price i a Coat will be pa
*h«» dskvarid at Utr shop af the subscriber
_ B. C. MOSSON.
Mmtk, Aug. St I*5« *]
Ipoctnj.
B VESPERS^
There is a very beautiful and touching custoi
prevailing in the villages of Germany for th
church bells to toll a few moments at sunse
whes all the inhabitants, whatever their situs
tion, spend the moments while the bells are chin
) ing in offering up a silent prayer of praise an
thanksgiving for the mercies of the day.
Hark! the village bells are pealing,
Chiming softly through the air ;
Darkness o’er the scene is stealing,
| Tis the hour of evening prayer.
| Twilight falls and shadows deepen,
Softer glows the crimson west,
Nature dons a garb in keeping
With the honr of quiet rest.
Now the swallows homeward flying,
Sport the village belfry round,
As they to their nests are hieing,
t Seem to float on waves of sound !
Softly now the chaunted vespers
Through the quiet air arise,
Linger now in chastened whispers,
Now are wafted to the skies.
< | \\ ufted upward, as the chimings
Fill the air with cadence sweet,
And together urge their climbings,
Heavenward, to the Mercy seat I
And us the fair moon uprising
Bathes the eastern skies with light,
So those chimes the song baptizing,
Seem to hallow e’en the night.
Thus at evening’s tender twilight
Prayer ami Praise together rise,
Thus together they are allied,
Aud are blest beyond the skies ! H.
A MEMORY OF THE PAST.
TO C.
The summer moon is wandering slow
Along the azure path of night.
Ami one by one the stars come forth,
To revel in the golden light;
And every leaf, and bud, and flower,
Is fluttering like a wounded dove,
And the soft air is tremulous,
With a sweet murmuring sound of love.
On such an eve. long, long ago,
We stood beneath a summer sky.
And with the glorious hope of youth
Our hearts were beating wild and high ;
The past had been a rosy dream,
That scarcely knew a moment's blight;
We thought the future would be crowned
With gems more beautiful and bright.
' Oh ! it was in those golden days
When love was young, and hope was high
We sat upon the moss-grown rock,
Beneath the crimson sunset sky.
And watched the wild waves kiss the beach
And the pale moonlight kiss the sea ;
And stars came dowu to dally with
The pearly waves in childlike glee.
Oh ! it was long ago. aud yet
The memory of the sunny past
.Steals o'er my listless, dreaming soul.
Like some rose-scented twilight blast.
Sweet in the wind's enamoring kiss
Oil beauty's marble sculptured brow ;
The memory of those golden days
Are Hitting round my spirit now.
We sat together till the moon
Had dipped its clmliee in the sea ;
And planned each bright and glorious drean
Of what our future lives might be.
And then we parted—vou to brave
The splendid, dizzy neiehts of fame ;
For, oil 1 we dreamed its lightning flash
Might sometime quiver round your name
And it is so : a marble form
That seems a breathing thing of life,
lias made thy name a glorious star
That shines above fame's mad'niug strife;
Around thy brow the laurels twine,
Iu pride a nation shouts thy name ;
But. oh 1 that early dream of love.
Was sweeter than this meed of fame.
Oh ! down beside the moss-grown rock
Again we. lingering, muse once more ;
And memory sweetly wanders back
To those bright golden days of yore.
And still the same wild dream of iove
Is burning faithful in each heart;
Oh ! souls that thus have b!eu% in one.
Not even death can ever part 1
s missenauv
—«»»«x» »—. Ax —- wa w -. »»«W-«»·
THE CADET’S BABY,
j I am a military man—not a private in the
! ranks, but an officer these many years. ]
. have seen service iu Florida, in Mexico, ot
the borders, and I bear honorable scars uot
' i a few.
When I was just seventeen, a cadet al
West Point, I was on my way heme for the
first time in three years. Early in the
* morning I took my seat in the cars fron
New York to Boston. I wore my uniform
l and (I may own up now) was not so ancon
i scions or indifferent as I seemed to the main
admiring gfauces young ladies bestowed up
on it ami the embryonic colonel or genera
within. Towards the middle of the forenooi
an Irish woman got into the cars. The;
were crowded, and she, not having the res
pect for the military which others had had
i took what was almost the only uuoecnpie.
seat, and by my side. I am, or was a Dem
ocrat. The woman was well clad and clean
so I kept my place. In her arms she held i
. child—a young babe of some six or eigb
months old. It was a plump, beautiful, hap
py little thing. I had a very unmanly uni
uncadetish weakness for both babUs an.
children, and it was so Ioog since I had beei
so near to either, that I petted and notice,
r this little creature not a little.
* 1 At noon the train stopped for fifteei
0 minutes. Most of the passengers got oat
_ I meant to have the novelty of a six or doe 1
“inner in Boston, so I did not stir from m;
~ . l"eiD8 that I dui not stir from m
seat, the woman begged to know if I wouli
- hold ** * few minutes while sh.
got out. I assented. She put the child i
«ny arms and vanished. The minutes passe
, away ;oee byoae thep^gers retted
Jf presently, when the bed mag, a crowd cam
« with a rash to resume their places; the low
* motive started; we were off; and where, ot
horror of horrors! vkert was that woman
* My hair began to rise, and the sweat t
start from every pore; still I waited, hopis
that the woman was trying to get throng
the other ears, and wo old come finally to a
£ same her responsibility. A quarter of i
hoar elapsed; every body was quietly seate.
and still I held that efcOL People began 1
* Stare, jOBSf ladies to tote- I felt ■
as red as a lobster. The conductor passed
through; I stopped him. With a shaking
finger I pointed to the bnrdeu in my arms
and stammered out something about the
1 mother being left behind.
3 “What, the d-11” he exclaimed as
his eye fell on the child. “Well, you’re in
r for it, and no mistake. I saw that woman
. after she got out, streaking it like mad
j away from the depot, but I thought she had
her young one with her. You are nicely
taken in aud done for, that’s a fact.”
“ But what’s to be done with this child?”
I asked.
“ Don't know, I’m suro. How far are you
going?”
“ To Boston, to-night.”
" Then I guess you’ll have to carry it as
far as there. Then, you can take it to one
of the hospitals or asylums where they at
tend to this sort of business, and leave it.
j Perhaps some of these ladies will help you
! take cafe of it till we get to Boston;” and
the conductor passed on. As ho went for
j ward, evidently he, told his story, for heads
began to tnru, and then men and boys came
sauntering in from the other cars to see the
fellow that had the baby left with him.
Plenty of jokes were cracked at my expense
for every now and then I beard a regular
guffaw, and some such phrases as “precious
green, eh?” “Such a go!” “Looks father
ly!”
i wiia in u ragu. ±\iy uioou uoueu iuri- !
ously. One miunte I wanted to swear, the j
next to kick every person and thing in the !
car. I suppose in my passion I gave the 1
poor little tiling in my arms a grip, for she i
altered a quick, little cry. She stopped in !
a moment, aud I looked at her. She lay in j
my arms so innocent, and so helpless and
fair, and white, and looked up at ms with
such complacent placidity, that somehow I
felt my auger dying out iu spite of me—my
embarrassments too
“ I tpay as well be a man as snch a con
temptible sneak,” I thought. "I was an in
effable greeny to get saddled in this way, to
be sure, but that’s my fault, and not this
l>oor little pussy’s, and I may as well brave I
it through. As for these confounded fools, ]
just let them laugh a little, that’s all.”
So I settled myself coolly to the care of j
my baby. People after a while grew necus- \
tomed to see her in my arms, aud most of the '
afternoon she slept soundly. But oh, how
heavy she grew! I seemed to have a lead-;
cn weight tugging heavier and heavier upon
mo. How on earth do women lug about
children, day after day, in the wav they do?
For me I’m certain I’d rather mow, though
: I never tried it.
i However, to my story, toward night my
baby waked; and waked fretful, and hungry
I suppose. She began to cry; a long, des
i pairing, entirely uncompromising cry. l’eo
! pie began to Iook again, curious to see what
| master nurse would do. I tried every possi
| blo means to pacify the child; iny watch, my
i eagle buttons, held it up to the window, I
j dandled it, I turned it nearly upside down;
I no use. Baby properly despised my misery
i ble efforts to make it forget its needed and
rightful consolation, and tried louder and
loader till at last I seemed to have nothing :
. in my arms but an immense squall. A man
; could stand it no longer, let alone a cadet
i and I rose desperately from my seat, deter
! mined to appeal to some lady or woman for
1 assistance. As I passed through the car,
some of the young ladies broke into their
senseless titter again, the older ones looked
oat of the windows, and the men eyed me
with a knowing sort of leer, that, had not
my arms been occupied they would have had
i a hit straight out from the shoulder. One
! motherly looking person whom I approach
ed liopingly, transfixed me with a stony,
virtuous sort of glare, that made me shake
i in my shoes ns if I bnd committed the un
| pardonable offence. I gave up in despair, 1
i and was ahont to retarn to my seat, when a
I gentlemen at the extreme, end of the car
beckor.ee me forward. It was a little fami
i ly party, the gentleman, his wife, and a col
| ored girl with them, who held their babe in
; i __ i
I UV. I HI UlO.
The gentlemen find his wife, were both
! youug, and evidently Southerners.
“ We heard alx>ut tliis bal»y from the
I conductor,'’ said the gentlemen, as I came
here. “My wife has been fidgeting ever
since it began to cry. Can we do anything
for you?”
The lady leaned past him. “Wiil you :
iet me see your baby a moment, sir?” she
asked in, it seemed to me then, the sweetest
; toues I had ever heard. She held oat her j
arms, and I laid the baby in them.
“ Such a vonng child—and so pretty, too! |
How it eries! What is the matter with it?” |
“ I don’t know, madam, unless it’s bun- j
: gry,” I answered. “It has had nothing to j
: eat since that woman got in this morning.1
j I don’t kuow what to do with it.”
i “ Poor little lore!” exclaimed the lady,1
“what a shame! no wonder it cries!” She j
' hesitated, glanced at her baby in her ser-;
' vant’s arms, at her husband, then, blushing
1 like any rose, the sweet mother laid my baby
’, on her bosons, beneath her shawl, and hnsh
' ed its cries as if it hadJjeen her own—of her
' very flesh and biood.
t i Her husband smiled, and leaning forward
’: as if to protect her from the gaze of others,
> made room for me on the seat with their
1 nurse. I explained the affair to him, told.
: him my name, and found that my family
‘ was not unknown to him. As we-talked, i
^ I saw that his wife, listening, examined the
l; dress of the child on her lap, felt of its tex
1 tore, and finally unclasped some chains that
l held up its sleeves. A Ettle miniature was
set in the clasp of each. She looked at
1 them then she said, “I am convinced^ sir,
- that the woman who abandoned this child
; to yoar care, is not its mother. In the first
r place, no mother could do such a thing; then
r this babe's clothing is of the most expensive
l make and quality, and in these sleeve chains
! are two miniatures. See! one a gentleman with
1 epaulets, the other a beautiful woman, evi
I deatly a lady. Depend upou it the child is
! a stolen one, or came iato her hands by un
s fair means. What caw be done?”
" “ Do not be troubled, madam, about the
j fate of the child. After the possibility or
• probability you have suggested, I shall not
° leave it in Boston. I will take it to my
E mother and advertise the case. If its par
5_ *°ts are fcwad, I shall he glad; and if not,
b “I mother will care for the rest.
L “I wish the meeting was
* aafely over.”
f th*OTSfcte*ra
I can t t*U you, «&* tjm
m
have done, and are doing, seems to me, bnt
I think you too noble to dread anything. ]
will answer for the mother that has such s
son!”
“ Softly, softly, if you please,” exposlula
ted her laughing husband; “Don’t be quite
oblivious of the fact that I exist.” She
turned to him with a look that must have
silenced the veriest grumbler iu the world.
We reached Boston, took a carriage to
gether, and only at the hotel entrance did
my new friend bid me adieu. “God bless
you!” said the beautiful, noble woman, as
she gave me back my baby. I should have
knelt and kissed the hand of such a princess,
but my arms and I were then so awkward
at baby tending that nothing else seemed a
possible accomplishment at one and the same
time. The clerk glanced suspiciously at me
and my burden.
“ We are fulf, sir. Not a room to be had.”
I sent for the proprietor, and again my
name vouched for me. What is it to have a
family in the land? “But where in the
world, Mr. Edward,” he demanded, “did
you get that child?” I told the story. He
shook his head, but said nothing.
I sent for a chambermaid to come to my
room. I begged of her to take the child
and care for it during the night- At first
she would hear to nothing. I put my hand
in my pocket and gave her a particularly
large bribe, but I was young audgreeu. She
took the child.
jLmt sumc au ^ c ic iiui/ tiie
tlernan that ’ud be after lavin’ ye’re baby?
IIolv Yargin! My charncthcr ’ud be ruined
intirely, intirely!” I assured her of the rec
titude of my intentions, and sent her off, but
she was at my door in the morning before I
liad left my bed, and nothing could induce
her to keep the charge another instant.
I took the stage for my country home.
Hie driver recognized the lad he had driven
so often over the same road. “How you’re
grown, to be sure, Mr. Edward! Your folks
won’t know you, I’m thinking, ’specially
with that baby in your arms. It seems to
ne yon are getting to be a family man a
'edit too early.”
I laughed and took my seat. But as we
jegau to near my home I grew terribly ner
rous and cowardly. The honse stood back
some distance from the road, and as I walk
id up from the gate I saw the whole family
gathered on the piazza to welcome me. I
tliiuk I should rather have walked up to the
million's mouth. My sister started down the
steps to meet me, then stopped I stepped
apon the piazza.
My mother, pule as death, sunk into her
lhair. My pretty cousin Ella, on whom I
lad always, from round jacket days, been
sweet in a sneaking sort of way, darted an
annihilating glance at me, and ran to sup
aort my mother. My father advanced.
‘What do yon dure to bring here, you shnme
ess young rascal? Is this a place-”
lie broke down so angry that utterance wur
itterly impossible. At any other time I
ihonld have shouted with laugtiter at the
udicrous spectacle he presented; now I only
uasteued to tell my story. In a few mo
nents my mother’s arms were round me, my
lister and cousin were contesting a ieuri for
jossessiou of my baby, and my father recov
ired from his rage sufficiently to welcome
lis only son, though I did hear him growl
lirougli his white beard, “ Confounded
ipooney.”
Y advertised far and wide to no purpose,
jut uiy baby grew so into the affections of
dl the household that I had no other steps
:o take. We named, her Perdida, and I
oft her with my mother. When I returned
rear after year, I found her each time glow
lealtliier and prettier, and she each time
nanifested an affection for me, charmingly
egitimate—for was she not “ My baby ?”
a.s sncu 1 cnerisueu tier.
She was six years old when I left West
Point for active service. After that I led a
wandering and adventnrons life for years,
‘ by flood aud field.” “ My baby” wrote
bc at first, often. Her first letters were
:urious specimens—half-written, half print
ed, aud sometimes her meaning eked out
with rade drawings. In those days she was
:harmingly personal. “ I do so and so—I
ihink so and so—I love so and so.” Bnt
fears changed her caligraphy, and alas ! the
feeling of her letters. Now, ip her charm
ing girlish characters stood, “ Yonr mother
Ioes so aud so,” or “ yonr sisler thinks and
loves,” etc. My mother wrote “Wo can’t
:a!l Perdida yonr baby any longer. She
ioes not permit the title, and yoa, were yon
:o see her, would scarce imagine that onr
’air young qneen was ever a baby. I’m too
>ld to be an enthusiastic, bnt onr darling is
mrely the loveliest vision these eyes have ev
ir rested on. She makes hearts ache, but
is yet their pain is vain. We tried to be so
motions ; but she has somehow learned
sbout her finding, and it is bitter knowledge
io the proud little heart, ft-oay be that
that makes her melt only to ns. Will yoa
never come home to see ns and her ?”
It wa3 the springs of the year 1856. I
was on my way home to America. An el
derly gentleman who had evkleutly been a
soldier, occupied the state room next to
mine. A similarity of taste and feeling
brought os much together during the voy
age. He had been absent from his country
many years.
“When I left it,” said he to me, “I
meant never to revisit the shores that had
been accursed to me. I lost there my wife
and child. I thought then I could never
see again the spot that had been so fatal to
me. And yet I return bow, impelled by
some feeling which I can neither account for
nor resist. I dream that I am going to see
my child ; sometimes even in my waking
moments, I am fully convinced that I shall
find her.
“ How,” I interrupted, in spite of myself,
“ is not your child dead V
" Alas, I do not know.”
“ Yon do not know ! did she not die be
fore yoa left America Tr
“No. Three months ago I should have
said I wished she had rather than live lost
to me, exposed to fates I shudder to think
of.* Now I am more hopeful. More—
trostfaL It seems to me she has been kept
pure, and that I shall know her. And yet,
I haven't the shadow of a reason for such
hope and trust.
I was excited—I compared the remem
brance of the miniature on my “ baby's
sleeve chain with the fignre before me. J
made him explain all. He told ae of the
chad’s berth, the delicate health of his wife,
afterward, hb taking her to Cabo, leaving
the child in, as he supposed, trusty care, th<
death of his wife in Havana, and while hi
was still in first anguish of her loss, newi
from his child’s nurse of its death, and o
her speedy return to Ireland. He came t(
New York too late to fiud her, aud lef
America at once—as he supposed forever
In Enrope, years afterwards, he had met c
servant who had been with him, during hit
brief married life, and who declared to him
positively that his child was not dead at th<
date on which the women hod written him
but further than that he could not say as
he had followed the fortunes of another mas
ter. The uuhappy father sought vainly foi
the woman, and now returned as a last
means to America. He described the child’*
nurse. It was the woman who «Aad aban
doned her child in my arms, and the face was
the changed, aged one of Perdida’s minia
tnre. Not many days thereafter, I restored
to my friend his so early lost child, and gave
I up my baby to her rightful father.
Without a pang ? Yes. Did I console
myself with the pretty cousin aforemen
tioned ? She hadn’t had patience to wait,
that I might—-a husband and several olive
branches precluded that. How, then ? I
saw my baby a stately, radiantly beautiful
woman. She called me Major, and treated
me in the most precise and formal way—the
: utmost favor she bestowed upon me was the
; slitrllfpcf. nnCCll^lA tnnoli nf tlm finrvoi'o no elm
j bade me good night or good morning, aud I
I saw her hourly in her idolizing fathers arms,
lavishing the tendercst caresses upon him.
Would I have it otherwise ? No. There
was a dearer delight in the reserve with
which I was treated—the faiutest flush tliut
colored her cheek when I was near her oi
addressed her, had for me an inexpressible
sweetness that I wouldn’t have bartered
for aught on earth short of what I eventu
ally obtained. What ! you don’t mean that
yen a scarred old veteran of between thirty
and forty, dared—. Didn’t I. Hum I And
this was the way of it. In my military ca
pacity I was invited to West Point. I went,
and my friend and his daughter accompa
nied me. I sat beside her in the cars. The
happy old gentleman, at a little distance,
read diligently I said—
j “ IVrdida 1 yon have traveled this route
; before with me ; do you recall this scenery
: at all?”
| She blushed scarlet, and looked at me
| beseechingly. I went on.
j “To think what a heavy, unpncifiable ba
i by I carried on that day, and the way that
poor cadet’s humanity was ridiculed !”
The tears started, and the young lady at
my side bowed her haughty head.
“ And the worst feature in the case is
j that he has never had any recompense. A
I good deed is its own reward, to a certain
j degree, of course ; but in this case every
! feeling of my soul, every fibre of my heart
! demands something more—and a great sontc
| thing more, l’erdida ! my darling, after
! these seventeen years, I liuve lost you to
i your father ; but I cannot bear it. he gen
erous. Here, here where I found ‘my ba
; by,’ give, O give her back to me !”
i She raised her head.
i “If site were us much tioublc now as
then V*
“ My darling, don’t trifle ! Am I to
have you ?”
My voting ludy answered net. Instead
she occupied herself with deliberately draw
ing off iter glove. Then site turned to me,
“ Since yon will be troubled,” and she
laid her bared hand in mine. Mine again.
Shortly after we were married. I carried
Perdida dtiring our wedding tour to the
friends I had found for Iter and me in the
cars seventeen ycare before ; and this time
right reverently I kissed the gracious hand
that had then so sweetly tended what was
now becoming my earthly all.
Paris is prolific in romantic stories. The
last is worthy of Boureicanlt or Xcrl Bunt
line. It is said to arise in a suit before the
Paris Tribunal, and the tale is told as fol
lows :
Xear'.y thirty years ago a widow Indy, of
a noble and powcrfnl family, residing in the
south of France, placed her child with a
gardener’s wife, who was to act ns his fos
ter-mother and nurse, to the heir to the vast
family estate. One day, as the young heir
was sporting before the door and the gard
ener’s child was lying on a bed in the cot
tage, the nurse heard the wheels of a car
riage, and immediately suspected that the
mother of her young charge was coming to
see her son. In her flurry she snatched up
the heir, but slipped, let him fall upon a
heap of stones, breaking his right arm and
collar-bone. In her terror she rnshed to her
husband, who advised her to stow away the
screaming victim nnder the bed-clothes, and
taking his garments, he placed them on his
own child and boldly stood at the door to
wait the lady’s coming. Contrary to the
usual casual glance given by her on her pre
\ viona visits, the lady mother was so struck
! at the change in her darling, to the lean,
j brown, hungry looking babe, which she be
; held in the place of her own plump baby,
! that vexed and exasperated beyond meas
! are, she seized the child in her arms and
bade the postillion drive away. The gard
! ener and his wife were terribly frightened,
i but decided to go the next day to the chat
eau and make an explanation. To their
i further consternation, tliey found on the next
morning that the lady was gone, and bad
I taken away the child. Years sped on, and
: the family did not return, while the igno
rant cottagers, influenced by terror, never
dared to stir in the matter, until the gard
; tier’s wife ou her death bed made a full con
j fession.
In the meantime the cottager’s child lias
; passed hia life as a member of one of the
i noblest families of France, ha3 been attached
| to an embassy, and now holds a desirable
official position, while the real heir has
spent his youth in discipline and privation,
as a soldier in Algeria. The latter now
brings suit to reeove his property and title,
and the trial promises to be one of the most
extraordinary of modern times. Berryer,
now probably the most celebrated lawyer in
France, lias been retained for the defence.
A country editor, ro speaking of a steam
boat, savs : “ ghe had twelve berths i» the
ladies’ cabin.” “ Oh, life of me,” exclaimed
an old kdy upon reading the effusion, “whal
m squall there must have been P
That literary kdy. Mrs. Terpua, hag given th<
world another production. It'* title la* no
: transpired, bat it weighs seven pounds, and has
1 bine eye* gad fight fcsr.
i Editorial Correspondence of the Utica Morning
i Herald.
i AN EVENING WITH ABRAHAM
LINCOLN.
Springfield, III., Jane 20, 1800.
I have an instinctive aversion to dogging
the footsteps of distinguished tnen. Nothing
was further from my thoughts foar days ago
than a visit to Abiaham Lincoln. Nothing
seemed more impossible than that I should
ever—before or after his election to the-Presi
dency—join ihe great mob of those who
should “ pay him their respects.” But meet
ing a personal and political friend of Mr.
Liucolu, a few days siuce, he said, " You
New Yorkers don’t know our glorious stand
ard bearer. You think him a mere rough
diamond—a slamwhanging stump-speaker,
who lacks the case and polish of a well-bred
gentleman. I want yon to go and see him
—to come in contact with the man—to talk
with his neighbors—and then go home apd
tell your people why we in the West so much
,so much love and honor him.” I confess I
had an ardent desire to see the man, and I
readily surrendered to the argument of my
friend. Armed with a strong letter of re
commendation, I was soon en route for Spring
field. Leaving Chicago by the Illinois Cen
tral Railroad, I passed over country unsur
passed in fertility of soil, and smiling iu the
promise of a bounteous harvest. As I went
South I found the corn almost ready to tas
sel out, and the wheat ready for the sicklo.
Indeed, many fields were almost cut.
“ v/‘ Hump in (• Dim tunt i
had all the fierceness of the dog-days, brought I
me to Springfield, a common-place, sprawl-.
ing sort of town, covering ten times us much
ground as it ought, aud remarkable chiefly
for haviug no central visible business. After
vainly searching for a hack, and finally set
tling down to the conclusion that all the
world hereabouts were pedestrians, I set out
to visit the future President of the United
States, in the truly democratic style of going
a-foot and unattended by any guide save my
own wits. I had but little difficulty iu find
ing the place of my destination. A modest
looking two-story brown frama house, with
the name “ A. Lincoln” on tho door-plate,
told me that my pilgramage was ended. I
was met at the door by a servant, who usli
, tired me into the parlor, and carried my note
! to Mr. Lincoln, who was up-stairs. The house
was neatly, without being extravagantly furn
ished. An air of quiet refinement pervaded
the place. You would have known instantly
that she who presided over that modest
household was a true type of the American
lady. There were flowers upon the tables;
there were pictures upon the walls. The
adornments were few but chastely appropri
ate; everything was in its place, and minis
tered to tho general effect. The hand of the
domestic artist was everywhere visible. The
thought that involuntarily blossomed into
speecli was: “What a pleasant homo Abe
Lincoln lias!”
; Pyescntly 1 heard footsteps on the stairs,
! and ft tall, narrow, angular gentleman, with
; a profusion of wiry hair,'41 lying around loose”
j about his head, and a pair of eyes that seem
| ed to say, " make yourself at home,” and o
| forehead remarkably broad and capacious,
1 and arms that were somewhat too long and
i lank for a statue of Apolio, made his nppenr
i uncc. The lips were full of character, the
| nose strongly aquiline, the cheek bones high
j and prominent, and the whole face indicative
! at once of goodness and resoluteness. In rc
j pose, it had something of rigidity, but when j
| in piny it was one of the most eloquent 1
have ever Seen. Xone of his pictures do him
tho slightest justice, llis presence is com
; manding—his manners winning to n marked
: degree. After yon have been five minutes in
j his company, you cease to think that he is ei
; ther homely or awkward. Yon recognize in
| him a high-toned, nnassnming, chivalrous
minded gentleman, fully posted in all the
amenities of social life, and sustained by tho
infiilliltlr* monitor of common Kcn?r>
He approached, and extended his hand
and gave mine snch a grasp ns only a warm
hearted man knows how to give. He sat.
down beside me on the sofa and commenced
| talking about political affairs in my own
state with a knowledge of details that sur
prised me. I found that he was more con
| versant with some of our party performances
i in Oneida Co. than I could have desired, and
made some pointed allusions to the great
Congressional struggle—which resulted iu
j the election of Mr, Conkling in 1858. I j
; asked him if he wns not very much bored !
j with calls and correspondence. He replied I
j that he liked to see Lis friends, and as to the j
| letters, he took care not to answer them ! |
j He referred, playfnlly, to the various " at- ■
! tempts apon his life,” and the poor sncccss j
that attended them. His greatest grievance j
were the artists ; he tried in vain to recog
nize himself in some “ Abraham Lincolns”
| of the pictorials.
I asked him if he had continued his pro
: fessional business since bis nomination. He
i said lie bad attempted it, bnt pitied his cli
ents. He had been argoing a case the day
before, but said the demands of his position j
I made him an indifferent lawyer. He spoke;
| with great freedom of corruption in high
i places. He regarded it as the bane of onr
American politics and said he could not re
spect, either as a man or politician, one who
! bribed cw-'waa bribed. He said he was glad
I to know the people of Illinois had not yet
learned tha art of being venal. The whole
expense of his campaign with Douglas did i
; not exceed a few hundred dollars. I wish
the thousands of people in my own State :
j who loathe corrupt practices, could have j
j heard Mr. Lincoln’s indignant denunciation j
! of venality in high places. I can now nn
derstai/1 bow the epithet of “ hfmttl Abra
; ham Lincoln,” has come to be so universal
! ly applied to him by the great West.
! He related many pleasant incidents eoo
1 nected with his contests with Douglas. He
i told me that he spoke in ail sixty-four tiroes,
\ nine or ten times face to face with his antag
;onist. His estimate of the "Little Giant”
is generous. He concedes to him great har
dihood, pertinacity, and magnetic power.
| Of a» men he has seen, says Mr, L., he has
the most audacity in maintaining an nnten
I able position. Thns, in endeavoring to re
: eonette Popular Sovereignty and the Dred
I Scott decision, his argument, stripped of
I sophistry, is : "It is legal to expel slavery
from a territory where it legally exists t” j
And yet he has bamboozled thousands into i
believing him.
! I asked Mr. Lincoln if he saw much of
s I the Democratic papers, lie said some of |
1 Ms friend* were kind jeacugb to let him see
the most abusive of them. Ho should judge
that the liue of tactics which they intended
was that of personal ridicnle.
The Chicago Times tried it in ’58, and help
ed him (Lincolu) amazingly. He was in
clined to believo that the present efforts of
his enemies would be attended with the like
happy results.
I was fortunate iu finding Mr. Lincoln
alone and disengaged. My visit, which I
intended should be ten minutes, was nearly
two hours long. More than once I rose to
leave, but he was kind enough to assure me
that he did not regard my call as a bore. I
found him to be one of tho most companion
able men I have ever met. Frank, hearty
and nnnssumiug, oue feels irresistibly drawn
towards him. Iu his conversation and bear
ing he reflects the geutleman. Hardly a
trace of the rough schooling of his earlier
days remains. You may be impressed by
his angularity of character, but it never oc
curs to you that ho lacks culture. If his
manner is at times somewhat unusual, it nev
er strikes you as in the least degree uncouth.
In the essentials of good breeding Mr. L. is
iufinitely superior to tho generality of Amer
icans. I find him far more refined—far
more subdued in manner—exhibiting far
more the effects of social attrition—than I
had expected.
i was greatly impressed witn tue emin
ently practical diameter of his mind. No
man living has less of the visionary. ITe i*
evidently a “good hater” of elcrad-cappcd
theories. . Tiie grasp of his mind is strong
and tenacious. Hu talks like one who thinka
dearly and profoundly. He has all tha
■narks of a man who scans closely, canvass
es thoroughly, concludes deliberately, and
bolds to such conclusions unflinchingly. Ha
seems to me to bo rarely gifted with the
faculty of remaining faithful to Ins convic
tious of right in the face of difficulties and
discouragements. I shall be mistaken if lie
does not prove as firm ns lie is acknowledged
to be houest. Another characteristic that
impresses me is his eminent truthfulness. I
do not believe any earthly power can driro
Mr. Lincoln into the commission of a mean
action. 1 am sure that ho would far prefer
being right to being President. One feels
in talking with him, thnt his utterance corns
from the heart.
I heard but one expression of unqualified
praise of Mr. Lincoln among his neighbors.
No man living is more profoundly respected
and more ardently beloved among those who
know him best. All parties and interests
join in paying tribute to Ids private virtues
Everywhere I heard him spoken of us the
best of husbunds, the kindest of poreuts, the
most irreproachable of citizens. w.
Devoured ny Dears.—On Wednesday,
6lli inst., a child about four years of ago
was carried o(T and devoured by a bear, in
the town of Ellcnhnrg, Clinton county. Tha
child, a boy, went a short distance from Ids
father’s house, with a brother about eight
years old, to fish in a brook At school
time the oldest boy went into tho house la
prepare for school, and told his mother that
Ids brother hud remained at the brook, and
would return in n short time. In a littla
while his mother went after him, but he was
not to be found. She then called him, and
heard him cry at a distance. Tho sound
rapidly receded and passed beyond hearing.
The woman immediately alarmed her hns
band, who made search for the child with
ont success. The noighbors were then no
tified, nod a general search took place until
nightfall. Next day the alarm beenmt
more extensive, and the search was renew
ed with increased energy. It was continued
rrom day to day without avail, till the fob
lowing Monday, when n man passing by a
liolluw log, was growled nt by a black l*ear.
1'lie bear was fired npon and killed. In tli«
og were two young bears, tho missing
child’s clothes, and a portion of one of his
cgs. Tho cnbs wero dispatched, and in tha
itomaebs of nil three wero found portions
if tho devoured boy.— (Jgrlrn.ibu.rg Journal,
IU.
The Cheat Public Libraries ib Eu
rope.—The British Museum Library is said
to be in a flourishing condition ; the annnal
appropriation of $50,000 for pnrrhasc* of
books is continued, and it is difficult to find
room for the students who daily assemble in
the Library. A distinct rending room haa
been appropriated for nsnnl visitors and
general readers, apart from the one devoted
to students and men of science Jn the fine
art department there arc said to be 2,600,
000 separate engravings. The French Im
perial Library is in gradnnl process of re
organization The Russian Imperial Libra
ry consists of 900,000 volumes of printed
books and manuscripts, a larger nnmber
than tire Rritish Mnscnm, and second only
to the Paris Library. The Library is open
nntil 9 o’clock at night. Last year tha
readers amounted to 40,000.
WoBnpRFUT, 1 nsmtoi or a Cat.—Tha
Barnstable Patriot relates that on Tbnnutey
of last week a cat and two kittens were box
sd np by Mr. Eben Hmith of that Tillage,
»nd sent to Boston on board the sloop 8. P,
Cole. They remained in the box in the hold
until Tnesday afternoon, when they wera
transferred to tbe ship Ashburton, soon ta
(ail for Calcutta, and lilwratcd in her eabin.
They remained comparatively contented un-i
til Thursday morning, sahen the cat was
missing, and was not again seen np to the
time of tbe sailing of the Ashburton Satur
day morning. On 8atorday erening at Iff
o'clock, a familiar mewing was heard at tbe
door of Mr. Smith’s house in Barnstable,
and on opening it, in leaped tbe aforemen
tioned cat, very hungry,, and apparently de
lighted to get home. The marvel is, how
did the eat find her wayhaek over a strange
territory, for a distance of seventy-one
mites ?
“ Sumivel, Sami vet. hev*re. her are of tbe viW
men as reads no newspaper. Tour father mar
ried a roman as rea/1 none, and you re the aad
consequence. Ton're as hignerant a# a ora*.
A beauti ful, hut haughty young My at Phila
delphia. declined to let the young Japanese
f TTmvmy,’’ kiss her. At which the young raa
c.*t exclaimed, she " was much d-d proud.”
Three men have started for Pitre's Peak with
» party of fifteen girts, to supply the destitution
of wives existing in that, quarter. An exchange
doubts if the girts hold out count- when dgfirer
ed. Thors may be but twelve at lest