The Oxford intelligencer., 1860-07-25

tnlnK snould ralner nave WalKed up 10 tDe
cannon's mouth. My sister started down the
steps to meet NE, then stopped. / stepped
up on the piazza. My mother pale as death,
sunk into her chair. My pretty cousin, Ella,
on whom l had always, from roundjacket
days, been sweet in a sort of sneaking way,
darted an annihilating glance at me and ran
to support my mother. Ny father advanced.
What do you dare bring here, you shame
less young rascal' Is this place-
lie broke down, so angry that utterance
was absolutely impossible. At auy other
time | should have shouted with laughter at
the ludicrous spectacle he presented; now
only hastened to tell my story. In few
moments my mothers arms were round me,
my sister and cousin were contesting aPeuri
for possession of my baby, and my father re-
covered from his rage sufficiently to wei
come his only son, though ! did hear him
grumble through his white beard, 'Confoun-
ded spooney9
advertised far and wide to no purpose.
But my baby grew so into the affections of
all the household that had no other steps
to take. We named her Perdida, and | left
her with my mother. When | returned,
year after year, found her heavier and pret-
tier and she each time manifested an affection
for me, charmingy legitimate-for WAS she
not MY babyF As such | cherished her.
She was six years old when left West
Point for active seryic. After that led a
wandering and adventurous life for years
by food aud field MY baby wrote me,
at first often. Her first letters were curious
specimens = halEwritten, halfprinted, and
sometimes her meaning eked ont in rude
drawings. In those days she was charming
ly personal. Il do so and sol think so
and sol love so and So, But years chang
ed her caligraphy, and, alas! the feeling of
her letters. Now, in her charming girlish
characters stood. Your mother does SO
and 5o,' or your sister thinks and loves, dc.
Ny mother wrote;
I'VE can't call Perdida your baby any
longer She does not permit the title, and
you, were you to see her could scarce imag-
inc that our fair young queen was ever ba-
by. am too old to be enthusiastic, but orr
darling is surely the loveliest vision these
eyes ever rested on. She makes hearts ache,'
but as yet their pain is vain. We tried to
be so cautious, but she has somehow learned
about her finding, and it is bitter knowledge
to the proud little heart. 1t may be that
that makes her melt only to us. VIII you
never come home to see us and herr
1t was in the spring of the year 1856. ]
was on my way home to America An cl-
derly gentleman who had evidently been a
soldier, occupied the state room next to mine
A similarity of taste and feeling brought us
much together during the voyage. He had
been absent from the country many years.
when left it, said he to me, meant
never to revisit the shores which had been
accursed to me. lost there my wife and
child under the cruellest circumstances, and
could not remain. thought then | could
never see again the spot that had becii so IA
tai to me. And vet return now, impelled
by some feeling which can neither account
for nor resist. dream that | am going to
see my. child sometimes, even in waking
l am fully convinced shall find
her.
How ? interrupted, in spite of myself
Is not your child dcadF
ALAS / do not know
'You do no know! Did she not die before
you left AmcricaF
NO Three months ago should have
,aid wished she had rather than live lost
% me, exposed to fates shudder to think Of
Now | am hopeful. More-tmstful. 1t
seems to me she has been kept pure, and
hat shall know her. And yet and he
sighed heavily, Il haven't the shadow of
'eason for such hope and trust
l was excited-I compared the rcmem-
France of the miniature on my baby's sleeve
hain and the figure before me. Imade him 1
Explain ALL He told me of the childs birth, 4
he delicate health of his wife afterward, his .
aking her to Cuba, leaving the child in, as
lie supposed, trusty care, the death of his
wife in Havana, and while he was still in the
irst anguish of his loss, news from his child's
urse of its death, and of her speedy return
o Ireland He came to New York too late
o find her, and left America at once-as
Ie thought forever In Europe, years after
yard, he had met a servant who had been
nth him during his brief married life, and
Tho declared to him positively that his
hid was not dead at the date on which the
roman had written him; but further than
hat he could not say, as he had followed the
Drtunes of another master. The unhappy
lther sought vainly for the woman, and now
eturned as a last means 70 America He
escribed the child's nurse. 1t was the wO-
ian who had abandoned her child in nv
rms, and the face was the changed, aged
ne Of Perdida's miniature. Not many days