Richmond Palladium (Weekly), Volume 34, Number 40, 1 December 1864 — Page 1

TERUS JOE Imt RtlSIHG .

THEPALLADIUM: ri'KLisnkD ffKbX.iit Monxixos, or D P. HOLLOWAYJc B. W. DAVIS. rr TERMS: $2,00 A YEAR. JtJ " I'ATAliLK IN ADVANCE. ALL KINDS JOB PRINTING, . i 1qc in t'i bcrrt maaaeT ami at fair prices. THE MOID On jr Ihrr wwSSr.. .. ;... 91,00 . ; " mli I ln ml iiwnitfci IS - Thr .nth . ..,00 - - S11 month-,,.- aM " On er lOyOO A liherl d(iKNunt tnaJe on Usjm fciiilliM mrata. for the same Xu. of insertion alwa. X& "iHJTiarr-" i (en tux at this tjrS. Vo rertwmeot uuwrted It leas than Ca Ldar, tboqh 1ms than tea lines ao4 ftir 000 waak 07 0 displareJ dn-rtuK-mt-nta bwmwpA wr tKs rule. XHMUr voaK10cBt pet lavf; S sritat pefiala. ii cents pal hmm - f iitiiamli akoutl be adl ia oa Vfon oar siasanons. Iotas ur inaertsoa. -V - BE JUST AND FEAR NOT! LET ALL THE ENDS THOU AIM ST AT, BE THY VOF. YW IV ' RICIDIOXD, WAYXE CO., IXD., DEC. 1, Whole Xaaaber, 1VO. 40 Office fa Warner Building-, Richmond, Ind.

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PALLADIIJ1. GOD'S, THY COUNTRY'S AND TRUTH'S!" iV,

THE LITTLE INN AMONG THE HILLS. The sun liail not Hlione since midday and a the afternoon wore away the wind .tucked to the eastward snd blew a coM raw mint into rnv face and neck very uncomfortably. The premonition of a coming storm aul au early nightfall soon grew so -plain as to make ine really anxious to find a comfortable lodging for myHflf and horse daring the coming

night. I had wondered far away from ray usual course and was a perfect stran ger in a section of the country promising but little in the way of material comforts, as far as I could sec. For many mile back I had traveled over nearly level plains of loose, sandy soil, sparsely covered with small pines and gray birches. These plains however, were not broad reaches of open countrj-, but were irregular and often very narrow, hemmed in on all Bides by barren, rugged hills and precipitous bluff of bare rocks, among which they wound along like the bed of a great river. I ho prospects on all sides was very limited, and the scenery of the most bold and rugged sort. I seemed to have lost myself in the huge labyrinth, and to . wander about without much prospect of an egress for which I was becoming hourly more anxious. The few houses I had passed upon the pine ' lands had a poor and comfortless look, which cieierrea me irom soliciting uicir hospitality. Their tumble down postures, rag or shingle windows, slatternly doorways and miserable hovels, haunted by a lew spectral cattle, gave my practised eye but few indications of reasonable entertainment for man or beast. .So I pursued my way rather discontentedly while the gathering storm grew more darkly and the waining afternoon grew more chilly and comfortless. I had just passed a dwelling a little better than the most and was stauding quite still debating whether I had not better return and seek shelter in it, when a stranger rode briskly up from behind. He was mount ed on a line strong animal, glossy and mettlesome, and as he came abreast he drew rein and bringing his horse to a walk, was passing with an impairing look, when I accosted him. Iu answer to my inquiry for a public house, he said "there is none nearer than four miles. About a mile and a half further on, you will leave the plain and follow a road which bears away to the left among the hill. .There is a large maple tree at this point. Go on as streight a the road will let j-ou, until you descend a steep hill and cross a brook. It is the next house on the right a little white one with a bit of a sign, which you will see by the time, you get there. This last was said with a look at the sky and a slight tap at his riding whip. He had gone but a few yards, however, and I was standing still, turning over hi directions in my mind in order that they might not escapo me, when he halted, bent his head as if some thought had struck him, and after a moment's deliberation with himself, he wheeled his horse and said "I am going to spend the night at the same house myself, and as I am in no great haste, I will be your company if you please. You will find ita blind road in the night, sir." This proposal I at once accepted with thanks for his kindness. Yet 1 was hardly at his side, before I become conscions of a vague dislike to my new companion I think, however, it was rather a suspicion than dislike. His eyes, keen and gray, his swarthy and strangly sallow skin, and streight black hair long and straggling over his shoulders, gave him a rather incongruous and somewhat sinister appcarauce He was well mounted as I have said, and wore a cap of shaggy fur, shading his singular features. Coarsely and loosely dressed, he nevertheless, displaved a form of flue proportions ami great strength, and al together reminded me of those gentlemanly bandits, which in story books haunt the passes of the Pyrannee an I Appennies. This impression was deepened by a certain steadiness of tone a id feature, and easy self constrained and selfreliant bearing, snd a general auvand metn not easy to describe, but such as is seldom found in men unaccustomed to intercourse with the world. We had role some distance, wheu thiukiug to relieve the inouotouy of the jvirnev andattho same time satisfy, my curiosity, I said to mvaguide. You reside near here, I presume." "Xo sir," he answered, in a rather repellent tone of voice. "Kxeuse me, sir, but you seem familiar with the way." Ye sir, I am, and wa once more so perhaps, though for that matter there is hardily a tree or rock between this and the place I spoke of, that I should not know if 1 were to see it at the world end." "ICarlv impressions," I remarked, ''are very vivid and lasting " "s "i--. "They are said to be," he rejoined, "but there i much difference in the people; soiu-j notice what is about them at any time, and other go all their lives with their eyes shut." There was no smile or leer upon his features, a he said these last words, but he cast at me a significant glance from his keen gray eye; an eye that always carried in it a gleam of a javelin, and a til I e uly recollection myself, I saw that I was already half past the maple tree which as he had told me, marked the the diverging road we were to follow. Being on the right, 1 had noticed that his horse had alaeadr turned into it. I may as well confess." I said, a little piqued, "that I am less observant than ma ty, but in truth, I do find my way through many miles of strange country every year." ' 'Then voir travel a good deal," he 'aid. I nodded assent. Well," he said, with another gUnce

at ine," "If one seeks only to amuse himself, he cannot easily miss his course greatly." "That is true," I rejoined, "but does not apply to my ease." "Then you travel oa business." I nodded again. "An agent, I presnme, for some manufacturing or mercentile house." I felt the interrogatory to be impertinent, but a I had fairly set the example, which my companion was following I could only nod again. We had only gone a little way when my guide took the lead, an arrangement which seemed necessary, for the road we had taken was apparently little more than

a bridle path winding up the sule ami through the gullies of precipitous and uninhabited hills. My companion scl dorn said anything, and if I attempted to draw him out, he genrally succeeded iu turning the conversation upon myself and oft'-n, as iu the case already mentioned, in drawing something from me which I di 1 not care that he should know, under existing circumstances. Once as we reached a road bridge across a brook that came rushing hoarsely down a ravine, he checked his horse and looked about attentively, as if he had expected to meet some one, or was trying to recognize some object. His head was bent as lie rode along and though he appeared sunk in profound thought, I did not fail to observe something nervous and expectant iu his carriage. As we slowly climbed upward the mist and vupor became thicker and the lowering night closed in with speed. During years of travel I had become acens tomed to strange position, but I could not now avoid a feeling of insecurity. Perhaps I should have said that I did not, for that kind which one feels on looking down from a mast head while though his head swims he has down deep in his mind a pretty substantial conviction that there is really no risk after all. The night soon grew so dark that I was guided on!' by the clatter of hoofs before me and the sparks struck from the stones. Up and down we toiled and stumbled 0:1 in the thick darkness. I began to feel that if my sinister looking companion meant me any harm, he could not have taken me to a place better suited to deeds of violence though ny hand seldom left ray pistol, I knew that in the darkness I was very much at his mercy. The strangest of it was that no inn appeared in sight although I judged that we should have reached it some time before. My apprehensions had nearly amounted to alarm when a light suddenly appeared and reining up beforo a small white house we both halted. Leaning over in his saddle, my companion said in a low voice, "I have lead so far do you go forward now." I was not slow to comply and riding up to the door which I could dimly make out. I dismounted and rapped. An elderly man soon appeared and without waiting for any inquiries on my part, he stepped back, calling upon a boy to take 1113- horse and returning invited me to enter. It was not until I had crossed the threshold that he seemed to notice my companion, who like myself, had thrown his bridle to the ostler, and was following me in. "There are two of you, I see. Do you wish for supper, gentlemen ?" I replied in the affirmative, but my guide shook his head, and pulling his cap over his eyes, he sat down by the fire to dry his clothes, for it had already begun to rain. I regarded him closely, for he had ex- ' cited many conjectures iu my mind, aud , I saw that though apparently inattentive he was keenly observant of my host, and . of everything about the place. Once in particular, when a beautiful girl, of eighteen or tweuty, tripped into the room aud whispered a moment in the ear of the landlord, he watched them with s gaze of more than curious interest. He rose up soon after, and in a voice disguiscd from what I had heard it, asked to be shown to his room. While my supper was preparing, I had an opportunity to become somewhat acquainted with my host. He seemed to be about fifty, well formed, though not stout, with a tine open face, and an eye of much intelligence. He had prepossessed me by the frank and cordial welcome he had given us and his unfeigned desire to make us eomfortable.and when he had sat chatting with me for half an hour, hy his cheerful tire lie seemed to me like an old friend, rather than a mere innkeeper. The bell rang, and I was shown into an adjoinin g room where supper was waiting. A neat carpet covered the floor, and upon the hearth a fire burned brightly. There was no sickis'u dining room smell, tlio tablj coves was spotless, and the dishes were arranged with neatness a-? I taste. When I was seated, the young lady of whom 1 have spoken, came ia quietly and gracefully gave a finishing touch to the table, poured out my t.-a. let down the curtains, and left me to enjoy my meal alone. As I sat sipping my tea and iahailing its fine aroma, mbbllugmy biscuit and watching the light glimmers playing up and down the curtains, I experienced a sense of exquisite comfort such as I can hardily express. On my return to the fitting room, I found my host less cheerful, and more thoughtful than when I had left it. "Do you go in the morning?'" he asked. "I intend to do so," I replied. "Excuse mo, sir, I did not know, but you might wish to remaiu with us, a it is thanksgiving." "Indeed, 1 had forgetton about that. I had hoped to reach home by that time, and I am afraid my little nest will be loucly without me. There are not many to come to it, and there is the more need they should all be there." "And I have not many to come home," said my host with Blush feeling; "and perhaps none, perhaps none. Yet there is one, or there was one whether he is living or not I don't know, but if I could see him here once more as he used to be, I could, if there were need, lay down and die contented. Your eon, sir?"

"My only." "Has he been absent long?" " Five years, sir. Five years ago, on the morning after Thanksgiving he left us and ha never been back." "You have heard from him?" - "Yes, several times. He left us to go to California. We heard from him quite often, for nearly a year. Then he wrote to us that he ha 1 lost all his raonev by

i buying a worthless claim, and had con cluded to strikeout for Australia, hoping to do better there. He had shipped on board a returning Chinaman, and thought he could easily find passage from Canton, to Melbourne He sent us all his love, and a kind good-bye. and we have uever heard of him since. I often fear the worst, but I cannot give him up altogether. There is only one chance for hope. His letters may have been miscarried, for I know he has written if he is alive." "I trust, sir, that he may yet come back safe and sound many have returned after much longer absences, you know." "I do encourage myself in that way sometimes, but it is hard, O it is hard to hold np year after j-ear. 'Hope deferred, maketh the heart sick.' I think of him night and d-iy, how I used to rock and tend him when he was a baby, and how he used to play and frolic and rnn to meet me when he was a little larger, and how he used after that run of errands, and do little things for me. By the time he was eight year old, he knew every tree in the woods, and could climb them like a squirrel. So he grew up strong, handsome and dashing. He was always headstrong, but he was a good bov, and never gave me a rough word, and he was as kind and attentive to his mother as she had been to him when he was lying in hi cradle. But I don't think he loved any of us so well as little Minnie. It was a pretty sight to us to see them together, and they were seldom apart he a fine young fellow with strength and courage and spirit enough for two, and she a sweet little thing riding on his back or perched upon his shoulders,or clinging about his neck, with her pale golden curls, half hiding his dark manly locks O it was a pretty sight to us, at least. Sometime we never knew when, exactly, my son William found a place in his heart for another a sweet orphan girl, sweet Alice Benson. She lived near here witii an aunt, and from children she and William were never happier than when with each other. He al ways carried her satchel for her to and from school, drew her upon his sled in winter, carried her through the drifts in his arms, and nothing pleased him better than to put his coat over her iu a shower, and come home himself wet and glorious. She is the young lady who waited upon you at tea, sir, our adopted daughter. We used to think she would be more than that, though I don't know how she could be much more or nearer than she is. So we lived till he was twenty years old. Then I saw that though he loved us all very much, he was chafing more and more for some life where there was more to be done and dared. He had never kept his thought from but this he never spoke of, partly I think, because he thought it not quite right, and also because he feared to give us pain. But I understood it all, ami one day I broke the ice and we had a long talk. I had hoped to persuade him to be contented at home, but before we had got through, he had half brought me over to his way of thinking. The truth is, I had great confidence in him. and really believed he might accomplish something handsome if he were to have a chance. So my love and pride helped to overbear my better judgment. Hi mother could not give him up without a great struggle, and poor little Minnie, when she knew he was a going we thought her heart would break." On the day he went away it was the morning after Thanksgiving, five year ago we were all standing together down at the gate there, waiting for the stage to come along. Alice had come over to see him off, and we have never been aide to let her go since. Our hearts have clung to her instead of our lost boy. William was standing there in the midst of us, brave and cheerful, and when the J stage hove in sight, he took both my hands, and gave me the goodbye of a i good true boy. Then he kissed his j mother and Alice,too, tenderly and like a j gentleman. But when he came to little ! Minnie, he took her np in his arm for 1 the lat time then he broke down. The j poor child clung to him a if he had been , her life and they both sobbed together, j At last he unclasped her little arms ten- f derly, and with a "God bless you all," he j was gone. Gone indeed, and all day and all night the house seemed changed and strange and lonely. Wc all thought of him verymuch, but our poor little Minnie most of all. She would go and sit for hours wl-.erc thev had been together, pining and drooping all the while. And Alice, j though her heart ached sorely, she bore up the best of us all. When at the end j of a fortnight we received our first let- j t.r from him. he seemed to have been ; away a long, long time ; it did not cheer us much for we could but think 01 the time that must pass before we could hope for another he had written on the point of sailing and of the dreary years that must be before he would come again. Bv and by the winter passed and the spring wore aivay without its wonted gladness. As the season wore on our little Minnie grew more and more silent We did all we could to divert her, and take up her mind; but do all we might the sweet little one paled and wasted with the waning summer. We did not know what ailed her, and the doctor could .do nothing for her. A terrible fear came over ns. and in it we almost forgot our former grief we never spoke of it but wc all knew what was in each others thiughts. One day, it was in October, when the air was fall of golden haze, and the red and yellow leaves were falling, little Minnie came in from the wood, where

she and William bad rambled so much together, with a slower step than usual. Her face wa flushed and her head hot, and aching. She went to her little bed, and never rose again. For three days and nights we scarcely left her for a minute. It does not seem to me now, that we could have ate or slept, and we were not weary or faint, except with the sickness of despair. Meek and patient as a lamb, she seldom said anything, but she alwaj-s smiled when we came near her or did anything for her comfort. The first half of the last night, her mind was wandering. She constantly imagined herself with her brother, rambling, through their old .haunts, carried up hill sides on his shoulder or across brooks in his arms, or sitting in his lap on the sunn- side of some great rook By aud by she fell into a troubled sleep, and when after hilt an hour she opened her eyes she knew us. Her sweet eyes wandered from one to another, and at last they rested on me, and her little hands were stretched toward me, I went and bent my face near to hers. She seemed too weak, to speak but her eyes so mute and tender, said all. She fondled my face with her hands as she had done when a baby. O those chilly little fingers, red hot iron could not have wrung me so. My heart moaned till I thought it would have burst my bosom, and shrieked aloud and yet I would not have lost that good bj'e for the world. To each in turn she gave the same mute farewell, and her pale gold ringlets as they lay back on the pillow, were

soaked with our tears. When this was done she composed herself as if to sleep, but suddenly looking up to Alice whispered : "Now my little prayer, I forgot it before I believe, will you say it to me dear Alice, I'm so tired and And the dear brave girl choking down hei sobs, murmured in the ear of the lamb like sufferer the little prayer which she had said every night since she could lisp. At the last worV the head turned slightly upon the pillows wiih a peaceful satisfied look, tl hands were still clasped over the bosom and remained closed. So she lay for some time, breathing easily but shorter and shorter. By and by her eyes opened once more, but this time they were not turned to us, and her face kindled up with a strange light so that we who were looklug 011 seemed to have caught a glimpse of heaven then the brightness passed slowly away, her features settled down into a smile so sweet and peaceful, that we half forgot our grieving, her eye closed again of themselves, and 6he was dead. It must have been a long time that we remained standing where we were, as tonished, stunned, bewildered, and this j did not pass away, for several days, j We knew that our darling was in Heaven, j bat still she vaguely seemed in some j strange way to be still with us and per- ! haps she was perhaps she was. But ' by and by when the cold gravel had fall- ' en on the little coffin of our beautiful j one, the cold hard dreary truth began to j come home to our hearts, that she was lost, gone forever, dead and buried. j Our home had been lonely before, but 1 now it seemed a ruin, a desolation. I I never drove my business so in all my life ; it seemed to be the only way I : could live. But when I was busiest, there would be a low restless moaning i in my heart all the time like the wind in j the pine trees. ! But by-and-by better thoughts came to ! me ; I did not grieve less but more sub- i missively, and my heart went out again more earnestly than ever after our wan dering boy, He has seemed nearer to j us, ami we have somehow had more hope of his return since our little Minnie : died. When I think of the deep dark j sea she has crossed, all the oceans in the world seem only a trifle. But so far we j have waited in vain for any word or j token of his coming, and we can only ' hope against hope.'' ! My host remained a long time silent. I looking thoughtfully into the embers. I j had been unfeigned!- interested in his ! simple narration, which I have here writ- j ten down a nearly as I can recall it. and j I forbore to distrust him. Suddenly j rousing himself lie said, "I beg your j pardon, sir I nd no right to trouble i you with this, which I have been saying, j But I sometimes make the more free to i speak of my son before strangers, in the j hope that thev may somewhere have 1 mei or neara 01 sucn a person. 1 suppose, however, that if living he has changed a good deal. When" he went away he was stongly and handsoinely forraed, his skin was fair, his eye gray and bright, and hi hair dark brown aud curly." I hastened to assure my host of my interest in hi story, and to promise that on my return to the city, I would make dilligent inquiry of a house of my acquaintance having transactions in Australia, and if possible learn through them something of the lost youth. The father thanked me with great warmth and gave me his son's name in full, which I entered in civ memorandum book "William Henry Archer." Then at my request he lighted my lamp and conducted me to my room. It was a little chamber, simply yet tastefully furnished, with an air of the most refined neatness. I sat down for a few minutes to listen to the beating of the storm upon the roof over me, and the moaning and howling of the wind about the eave and gables, and io collect my scattered thought a litUe. As they came slowly back into their ordinary channels, I became aware of a soft, but decided tread in the chamber next to mine. Back and forth, back and forth, sometimes suspending, yet soon renewing their pace, passod the feet of my unknown neighbor. With many curious surmises and half formed conjectures, my mind reviewed the events of the afternoon and evening, until tired out 1 lid between the sheets, deliciously clean and rose scented, and fell asleep with the tumult of the tonn, and the sentry

like tread of the unknown watcher mingling in my tlrowsy ear. Cool and breezy, and gloriously bracing, was the next morning. I went out early for a draught of the mountain breeze, and a look at the picturesque and romantic scenery all a!out- The superb prospect, the fine air, almost as exhilerating to my over-sensitive nerves as draughts of cordial, might have well nigh intoxicated me had not the flying leaves and the sad and sombre tints of advanced autumn, checked my elation. On my return to the inn, which I found to be situated in the corner formed by the junction of the by-way, I had come, a much better and more traveled road ; I was kindly received by my host into the sitting room, already warm and cheery with a bright fire. Before retiring the evening previous I had reconsidered ray intention of going on, and I now composed myself to the enjoyment of a quiet and comfortable day, a respite welcome as well to my tired horse as myself. "Do you know," asked my host, after I was seated by the fire, "do you know, sir. who the gentlejnan was that came in with you last night?" "I do not," I replied, "I fell in with him a few miles below, and he showed me the way, which I should otherwise hardly have found, lie seemed quite familiar with it." Indeed," answered my host, with some surprise, "it is rather strange. He went away during the night and took with him one or two little trinkets which we're on the mantle piece in his room. Thev were of no value, but Alice

thought a great deal of them, for they had been given by William to our little Minnie, before ho wentawav. It is very strange. I have kept open doors for five and twenty years, but anything of this sort has very seldom happened. Our daughter is much troubled about the loss of the keepsakes." I sat down by one of the front wiudows and watched the passers-by. Now and then a large lumbering wagon went past driven by some sturdy farmer, with his buxom helpmeet by his side, and an abundance of plump rosy-cheeked children, packed snugly in before and behind all glowing with health and radiant with happiness on their way to some family gathering. Once in a while a neat chaise or elegant buggy drove by, bringing once more to the kind old homestead sons and daughters from some populous place at a distance. Now and then a young couple passed sprucely dressed and with neat appointments, going I was sure, where one of them would claim for the first time a place and ahare at tne paternal hearth and in the paternal heart. All was very bright and pleasant and cheerful. By and by the bell rung for religious services from a neat little chapel near by, and I walked leisurely down the street, toward the place of worship. The day, as if conscious of the use to which it had been appointed, was mild and kind ly, and the sunshine seemed glad and joyful as a hymn of praise. There was no sexton in attendance at the little church but several seats were at once offered, one of which I accepted. The congregation w-as small but very pleasant to look on devout, yet without any of that austerity which good people sometimes unconsciously assume on the Sabbath. The exercises were such as befitted the occasion earnest and thankful. On rav return to the inn, I was invited by my host to dine w ith the family, an in- ! vitation which I very gladly accepted, j Mrs. Archer, a fine matronly woman, did j the honors of the table, with a kindlv ! grace, and my host dispensed the viands j with a frank and hearty hospitality, j pleasantly unlike the bought civilities of i the common Boniface. Sweetly beauti- I ful was their adopted daughter ; woman- j ly, yet almost infantile in her chaste and j simple loveliness. As I observed her I remembered how proudly her foster father had named her "sweet Alice Benton." There was a shade of sadness on j all their faces as we sat down as if they were thinking of him, who should have i been with us, but whatever were their re- I grets, they bore them like those to whom I the discipline of sorrow had not come ! in vain. So. although the meal was not a festive one, it was still pervaded with a quiet and subdued cheerfulness. I sat a considerable time in pleasaut conversation with the family and then retired to my own apartment. The day, which had begun cool and breezy, ha softened down into an afternoon warm, hazy and dream like. Over all the hill and in all the valleys lay. the enchantment of the Indian summer. I sat down at my window and watched the the sun declining slowly, the brighten ing amber of the western sky and the deepening purple of the transparent haze now stealing over the distant hills. By and by as the sun went down and all j the beautiful tints died away from the ! landscape, and then from the sky, I became aware that I was a little lonely and homesick, and so, as my only relief, I j bethought myself of writing to those J with whom I would gladly have been on this day of pleasant reunion. j A page wa finished and I sat dreamily staring at the lamp when I was startled by the -quick opening and shutting of an outer door just beneath me. This was followed by a short, faint cry and a few low hummed word unintelligible to me yet spoken in tone that seemed not unimDressed that something unusual had occurred, below, I descended into the ! sitting room. Mr. Archer, who was sitting by the fire and noticed my manner as I entered, was about to speak when his wife entered, the room from another door, very vale and evidently under the influence of some strong excitement. She tottered across the room to where he sat, threw her arm about his neck and murmuring or rather gasping, "Thank God, thank God," sank down on her knees beside him. He raised her tenderly and wondericgly and was seating her in the chair from which he had risen when two other figures appeared at the door. One was

Alice and the other a young man. I took him in at a glance "he was strongly and handsome' v formed, hi skin was fair, his

j eye gray and bright, ami hia hair dark ' brown and curly." And Alice -what I had transformed her so? Pal and cry-, j taline but an hour before, she now ! seemed flushed and overflowing with the richest wine of existence. The drooping bud had hurotin a moment into the' full ; bloom and glory of womanhood. She" ' clung trustingly to the arm that supper-, j ted her so tenderly and her eyes were ; raised to his in the proud, meek triumph j of woman. My host stood as one transfixed until the youth, advancing in silence, took both his hands. Then like the father in the par&hle, "ho embraced him and fell upon his neck and kissed him." I was about to withdraw, when the father turnj ed toward me saying, "do not go, sir, j this is my son about w hom I told you. i Rejoice with us for he wa dead aud is I alive again, was lost and is found." j Then he took the hand of his foster j daughter and laying it in that of his son, i said. "She has loved you truly, William, I God bless you my children." j Half an hour later as we were all sitting around-the fire, the young man j turned to me, with a smile and a flash or j the eye which I well remembered, saying, "I am afraid you did not find me very j companionable last evening, I owe you an apology and I want to ask pardon of vou nil for the foolish thing I did last j "When I arrived at New York, I fell 1 in with an old acquaintance, who told me j all about you, and how it had been with you. I was surprised that m- letters had not reached you, for I had written as freequently as I could, which wa not often to le sure. We were two hundred miles away from any considerable settlement and could seldom get writing utensils or paper, and a all my letters, and they were not very many, were sent by passing explorers, I do not know that I need wonder that they were lost. When I learned that I had not been heard from and wa not expected home, then the foolish notion seized me of coming home in disguise. The more I thought of it the more I longed to look in upon you undiscovered nnd see just how you might be getting on. So I came as you know. A bath may have improved my complexion and the wig lies where I threw it when I came in to night. I had intended to show myself to you this morning, but when I saw those little trinket of Minnie's lying upon the mantle and thought how we had rlajed and rambled about together and how she had given me the last kiss when I went away. I felt that I must go and look at the places where we used to be together and at the place where she is lying before I could see you. lie paused, for his voice faltered, and hi lip was quivering. There was something beautiful in the sudden grief that fell softly upon all the circle, chastening tiieir overflowing joy. So he said, resuming, I have spent the day down in the quiet little graveyard and the wood rambling about our old haunts. I obtained some refreshments at a farm house where I was not known and have come not quite too late to share in your Thanksgiving. The next morning I parted from the good people of the inn as from friends, ami as I looked back upon it from an eminence quiet and modest and picturesque, I was glad to know that it contained within its walls all the happiness that belongs to the lot of man. When 1 next saw it another cottage stood beside it somewhat more spacious and elegant, with fine outbuildings and surroundings aud there I found in their own home Alice Benson and William Archer who were united shortly after hi return, and with- au interesting family surrounding them, makes their home little short of an earthly paradise. Exchange of Prisoners Rebel Barbarities. Ntw York, Nov. 19. The Herald's Hilton Head correspondent says: All rebel prisoners taken down from Fortress Monroe, by Col. Muli'ord, were first to be transferred to the authorities of Sa-' vaunah, w hich would be concluded by Thursday of this week, when CoL Mul-. ford was to commence receiving released Union prisoners, in all about li,0o0. It is understood negotiations were in progress to exchange a large number on the Mississippi. Eight Union officers arrived at Hilton Head on Monday last, having escaped from the Rebels. They confirm the worst of the previous accounts of inhuman treatment. They are Capt J. S. Paaton, 13th Tenn Cavalry; Capt. Alfred A. Dickerson. 16th Conn. ; Capt. T. W. Rathbone, 1531 Ohio; Capt. Thos. Burke, 16th Conn.: Capt. G. W. Smith, 16th Iowa; Capt. Wra. J. Runnels, 8th Ohio Infantry; Capt. T. B. Robinson, 16th Conn. ; Second Lieutenant John S. Elder, 11th Ohio. They state that the private soldiers at Columbia are infinateiy worse off than the officers, many of them having nothing to cover their nakedness but grain sack, with holes cut in them for their naked arms. Dozens of them crawl out of their prison pen every night, and are shot at by the guard. Many are killed in this manner. Those who escape to the woods are hunted by dogs, and tora and mangled. Captain Parker escaped on the 5th of October, and was hunted by blood-hounds, and wa torn so. horribly that he died in a few days. There are about two thousand prisoners in this pen, and hundreds are without pantaloons or shoes. For days together all the rations are withheld from the prisoners, and their rebel officers come In and offer food to those who will take the oath of allegiance and join the southern army. In this way, under the pang of hunger, many have taken the oath of allegiance to the Coifederacy, but of course few feel the oJ, Tinder such circumstances, binding ttcm their consciences.

Bejr rwJry . Womtn. One-Uay X. app woman went out to fish 4n Ukraeeoiu jlnnied by her son, who was fourteen year old. When they had caught a 6ufff ient supply, they landed on a"part onhT shore which wa thickly overgrown .with fie aud under wood. Presently the woman's quick eye fell on a large Leap of houghs, reed?, moss, Ac, aud, on nearer inspection, she found a Urge hole underneth the mass of rubbish, and felt convinced it was the entrance to a bear's "Hi," or cave. She was a courageous and resolute little body, and. nothing daunted by the di cover-, nor reflecting that she was alone, hastened back to the boat to fetch her ax and rifle, ( for a Lapp woman generally goes armed, and is usually an ex pert shot ) Now, her sisters in other parts of the civilized world would most probably have been frightened out of their wits, and have beat a speedy retreat under such circumstances. Her only anxiety wa lest the bear should get otr. On returning she proceeded to cut dowu a small fir sapling, which she pointed at one end, and gave it to the boy to dibble about in the hole to ai certain whether it was occupied or not, while she stood with uplifted ax a little on one side. No sooner, was the polo inserted than out came the head of a monstrous she bear, and down came the ax on her skull with such force that it remained sticking fast in the wound, and accompanied bruin a she retreated to the furthest end of the cave. Time be ing up for round uumber two, and her opponent not putting in an appearance, she determined to try the effect of shot. No sooner had she fired down the hole, than out bolted a cub about the size of a sheep dog, which her Bon cleverly managed to catch hold of by the hind leg. But it was too strong for the little fellow, and, after dragging him for

some distance, managed to get away. Determined, however, not to lose him, mother and son went in pursuit, and speedily overtook the animal, which had taken to the water. A few well administered taps with the end of the oar soon rendered him hors de combat. Having secured him, the courageous little woman went back to the "Hi," and gave it another stirring up. But all wa still. Next she fired a second shot, but nothing moved. Concluding that the bear must be dead, or else have escaped during her absence, she determined to dig her out, a work of no small labor. Success, however, attended her exertion, for at length she found the bear lying quite dead, with the ax still sticking in her cleft skull, and, by her side, another cub as big as the first, with a bullet wound through' hi neck, also dead. No mean achievement for a woman and her boy. All thb Year Rocmd. Financial Crisis in England. , By the Persia, at New York, we learn that the depression in financial and commercial circle show little or no improvement. Failures were daily announced, and it is well known that the announcements would be far more numerous than thej- are,- but for the circumstances that in a large number of cases private arrangements were being made between struggling firms aud their creditor s. The new failures publicly announced include: Galbraith, Bigland Co., merchants, London, for about - 150,000 ; Manuiug ik Collyer hemp brokers, Ac, fcc, London, for JC 100,000 ; Simpson & Co., of London, in the Brazilian trade, &c. The weekly returns of the Bank of Eugland showed a decrease in bullion of only JC8.&05, and in the return notes of 551,83. These figures were o much more favorable than had been anticipated, as also were the returns of the Bank of France, that they produced a very favorable effect on the Stock Exchange, and a more favorable ' tone prevailed than had been for many days! Consuls advanced d, closing at 8H5J for, money, and miscellaneous securities participated in the improvementIn , the discount market there was a more healthy tone, but there was an increased demand at the Bank at the previous rates. Nine per cent.1 continued the nominal premium. ": Grand Division S. of T. The Grand Division of the Son of Temperance met In Temperance Hall, in Indianapolis on the 1st of November. Officers present . T. A. Goodwin, G. W. P.; L. Abbet, P. G. W. P.; Henry Ohr, G. S ; J. B. AbbettT G. T.; J. II. Batty, G. C; II. J. LindleyG. , Sentinel. T. G. W. P. made his' annual report, advising the membership to prove faithful to the cause of temperance, and although war in our belored land has threatened to destroy our fraternal Brotherhood, yet we, as Sons of Temperance, should prove true to our obligatons, and hope to see the day when peace shall be restored to our conn try, , and noble Order will again prosper in oar State. The following officers were elected for the ensuing year: II. J. Lindley, G W. P. Dr. J. T Boyd, G. K. i , Dr. L. Abbett Grand Scribe. u J. B. Abbett, Grand Treasurer. , H. Ohr, Grand Chaplain. . Thomas Gray, G. CL , . ' A. 8. Kingtley, G. tt. ..' , The following brothers were sleeted as delegatea to the next National Division, to be held in th city of New Hares, Connecticut, on the lth day of June, 1865 : W. Hannaman,- R. T. Brown, H. Ohr, Iv Abbett, II J. Llndely, J. T. Boyd, P S. Sage, J. B. bbett, J. H. Batty, T. A- Goodwin 'JL 8- Xingaley. After the ' other ttstral business of the session was transacted the Grand Dirison adjourned to meet again fn this city on the first Tuesday in Novetnbsr, IWj, at 2 o'clock, r.nr V .'"-"'V I AiBiTT.G. Scribe, A' firss tinmKar nf mi1i anil 12.000 lives were lost at Calcutta rosnt.

It by a tTrinc hurricane.