Newspaper Page Text
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