Cleveland morning leader. [volume] (Cleveland [Ohio]) 1854-1865, 1860-08-14

| Ndu tel YOU snt atllui ~" "N.ss JSu Ao'o
done, and are doing seems to me, but
think you too noble to dread anything.
will answer for the mother that has such Q
son -
'Softly, softly, if you please eIpostula-
ted her laughing husband; ''don't be quite
oblivious Of the fact that l exist" She
turned 70 him with look that must have ST.
fenced the veriest grumbler in the world.
We reached Boston, took carriage to-
gether, and only at the hotel entrance did
my new friends bid me adieu. "God bless
you p said the beautiful, noble woman, as
she gave me back my baby | should have
knelt and kissed the hand Of such a princess,
but my arms and were then so awkward at
baby tending, that nothing else seemed a
possible accomplishment at one and tae same
time. The clerk glanced suspiciously'at me
aud my burden.
1--WE are full, sir. Not a room to be had"
sent for the proprietor, and my name
again vouched for me. What is it to have
family in the land "But where in the
world MIR. Edward" he demanded, ''did you
get that child2p told the story. He shook
his head, but said nothing.
sent for the chambermRid to cOmeto my
room. begged of her to take the child md
care for it during the night. At first she
would hear to nothing. Iput my hand in
my pocket gave her ridiculously large
bribe, bnt was young and green. She
looked at the child.
"But shure an ye're not the young gentle
man that 'ud be afther leving ye're baby p
Holy Varginl My character I'D be ruined
intireIy, ,intirelyp Iassured her ofthe rectitude
of my intentions, and sent her of, but she
was at my room in the morning before had
left my bed, and nothing would induce her
to keep her charge another instant.
took the stage for my country home
The 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, especially
with that baby in your arms. Seems to me
you're gettin' TO be q family man a Iestle too
early"
laughed and took my seat But as we
began to near my home l grew terribly ner-
vous and cowardly. The house stood some
distance from the road, and as walked up
from the gate saw the whole family gath
cred on the piazza to welcome me. l think
I should rather walk up 10 the cannon mouth.
Ny sister started down the steps to meet me,
then stopped. l stepped on to the piazza
My mother, pale as death, sunk into her chair.
My pretty cousin, Ella, on whom l had al
ways, from round jacket day, been sweet in
sneaking sort of way, darted an snnihi!ating
glance at me, and ran to support my mother.
My father advanced.
"What do you dare to bring here, you
shameless young rascal2 Is this a place
Here he broke down so angry that utterance
was absolutely impossible. At any other
time should have shouted with laughter at
the ludicrous spectacle he presented; now
only hastened to tell my story. In a few
moments my mothers arms were around me,
my sister and cousin were contesting Feuri for
possession of my baby, and my father re-
covered from his rage sufficiently to welcome
his only son, though l did hear him growl
through his white beard, "Confounded
spooneyi"
l advertised fer and wide to no purpose
But my baby grew 80 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 1 returned,
year after year, found her each time grow
ing healthier and prettier, and she each time
manifested an affection for me charmingly
legitimate-for was she not "-Ky 5a6yP As
such cherished her.
She was six years old when l left West
Point for active service. After that led
wandering and adventurous life for years 'by
food and field" "My baby" wrote me, at
FIST often. Her first letters were curious
specimens -half-written, halfprinted, snd
sometimes her meaning eked out with rude
drawings. In those days she was charmingly
personal. 81 do so and SOL think so and so
Il love so and So" But years changed her
caigraphy, and, alas the feeling of her let
tiers. Now, in her charming girlish charac-
ters, stood, "YOur mother does so and so :"
or, ''Yom sister thinks and loves" etc. My
mother wrote: ''We can't call Perdida your
''babyh any longer. She does not permit the
title, and you, were you to see her, could
scarce imagine that our fair young queen was
ever baby. l am too old to be enthusiastic,
but our darling is surely the loveliest vision
these eyes have ever rested on. She makes
hearts ache, but as yet their pain is vain
We tried to be 50 cautious; but she has some
how learned about her finding, and it is Bit
ter knowledge to the proud little heart. It
may be that that makes her melt only to u ..
Win you never come home to see US and
her2n
1t was in the spring of the year 1856. l
was on my way home to America. An el-
derby gentleman who had evidently been a
soldier, occupied a stRte-rOOm next to mine.
A similarity Of taste and feeling brought US
much together during the voyage He had
been absent from his country many years.
"When | left it, said he to me, l meant
never to visit the shores that had been ac-
cursed to me. I lost there my wife and child
under the most cruel circumstances; and I
could not remain. thought then l could
never see again the spot that had been so
fatal to me. And yet l return now, impelled
by some feeling which can neither account
for nor resist. l dream that l am going to
see my child: sometimes, even in my waking
moments, am fully convinced that shall
find her"
How" interrupted, in spite of myself;
sis notyour child dead p
Alas I do not know"
You do not know did she not die be-
| fore you left America ?"
"No Three months AFRO l should have
said wished she had rather than live lost To
me, exposed to fates l shu oder to think Of
Now ] am hopeful MOre--trustful. 1t seems
to me she has been kept pure, and that
shall know her. And yet'-and he sighed
heavily" haven't the shadow of reason
for such hopes and trust"
Twas excited compared the remembrance
of the miniature on my babys' sleeve.
chain with the figure before me. Imade hin
explain all. He told me Of the child's birth
the delicate health of his wife afterward, hi:
taking her to Cuba, leaving the child in as
he supposed trusty care, the death of his wife
/ in Havana, and while he was still in the first
anguish of her loss, news from his child
nurse Of its death, and of her speedy return
to Ireland. He came to New York too late
to find her, and left America at once-as ht
supposed forever. In Europe years afterward
| he had met servant who had been with
him during his brief married life, and who
declared to him positively that his child wal
not dead at the date on which the woman
had written him; but further than that be