At a breakfast party which we gave, I made the acquaintance of General Cluseret, who figured in our Civil War, afterward became War Minister of the Paris Commune, and is now member of the Chamber of Deputies.  He learned English when in America, and had not entirely forgotten it.  He told anecdotes of Lincoln, Stanton, Sumner, Fremont, Garibaldi, the Count of Paris, and many other famous men whom he once knew, and proved to be a very interesting conversationalist.

Old bookstands were always attractive centers of interest to Theodore, and, among other treasure-troves, he brought home one day a boy of fourteen years, whose office it had been to watch the books.  He was a bright, cheery little fellow of mixed French and German descent, who could speak English, French, and German.  He was just what we had desired, to run errands and tend the door.  As he was delighted with the idea of coming to us, we went to see his parents.  We were pleased with their appearance and surroundings.  We learned that they were members of the Lutheran Church, that the boy was one of the shining lights in Sunday school, and the only point in our agreement on which they were strenuous was that he should go regularly to Sunday school and have time to learn his lessons.

So “Immanuel” commenced a new life with us, and as we had unbounded confidence in the boy’s integrity, we excused his shortcomings, and, for a time, believed all he said.  But before long we found out that the moment we left the house he was in the drawing room, investigating every drawer, playing on the piano, or sleeping on the sofa.  Though he was told never to touch the hall stove, he would go and open all the draughts and make it red-hot.  Then we adopted the plan of locking up every part of the apartment but the kitchen.  He amused himself burning holes through the pantry shelves, when the cook was out, and boring holes, with a gimlet, through a handsomely carved bread board.  One day, in making up a spare bed for a friend, under the mattress were found innumerable letters he was supposed to have mailed at different times.  When we reprimanded him for his pranks he would look at us steadily, but sorrowfully, and, immediately afterward, we would hear him dancing down the corridor singing, “Safe in the Arms of Jesus.”  If he had given heed to one-half we said to him, he would have been safer in our hands than in those of his imaginary protector.  He turned out a thief, an unmitigated liar, a dancing dervish, and, through all our experiences of six weeks with him, his chief reading was his Bible and Sunday-school books.  The experience, however, was not lost on Theodore—­he has never suggested a boy since, and a faithful daughter of Eve reigns in his stead.