was a Refreshment Hall, and it was supplied
in lavish abundance with every variety of edi
ble, from every place in the neighborhood.
The city and its vicinity was divided into dis
tricts, and each district covered the tables with
cooked dishes of all kinds on a particular day
assigned to it—coffee, oysters, turkeys, ducks,
chickens, hams, tongues, beefsteaks, cakes,
fruits—and a hundred ladies waited on the
guests. There was a Ladies’ Bazaar, in which
almost every thing that ladies can either devise
or manufacture, or that they or gentlemen are
at all likely to require, was exposed for sale.
There is hardly any art or manufacture that
was not represented at it, and hardly any de
partment of industry in the West which did
not contribute to it. And though last, not
least, there was an Art Gallery, containing all
the most valuable pictures to be found in Cin
cinnati or its neighborhood, lent by their own
ers for the occasion. It must not be forgotten,
too, that, as we remarked in our last, Cincin
nati, young as it is, possesses a collection of
pictures and engravings such as only one or
two other cities in the Union can boast.
The proceeds of the Fair were $230,000.
This was a large advance on that of Boston,
and a still larger on that of Chicago, and was
doubtless due to the experience gained by the
example of these cities, as well as to the
growth of the enthusiasm which the success of
the earlier efforts in this direction inspired.
LOVE AT THE FAIR.
The following letter, supposed to have
dropped from the ridicule (we beg pardon) the
reticule of a young lady from the country, was
picked up yesterday in the picture gallery of
the Fair. There being no address upon it, we
print it for the benefit of “the concerned.”—
Editor.
Philadelphia, June , 18G4.
Dearest Amelia Ann: —l had not the slightest
idea of writing you so soon, at least not until
I had heard from you dearest, but I’ve had
such an adventure; you cant think how inter
esting, and ma’s in such a flurry about it, you
dont know how she embarasses me by her con
stant allusions to him, —for you must know
he’s perfectly charming. Of course you feel an
interest in all that concerns me, and will know
from your own experience in affairs of the
heart how terribly absorbing such things are,
particularly to one who like me never before
felt what our dear Byron calls the “strong ne
cessity of loving.” But I’m anticipating.
Well dearest you know we left in the 11 o’clock
train, pa and ma, and aunt Slocum and cousin
Bob, —in such great spirits you know. I felt
bad enough, though after we started, thinking
<of you all, and you in particular, my best and
dearest friend.
0 how little did I think when I kissed you
at the depot, and you complimented me on my
OITB ID .A. I XjTT IB 1 _A- 33.
new bonnet and said I should catch a Phila
delphia beau at the Fair, that your words were
so prophetic!! Do you know we didn’t get to
the city ’till ever so much after dark, owing to
a delay on the up train, which broke down or
something of that sort; —no, it run into a
freight train—l remember now, Pa said it was
that, but to tell you the truth Amelia Dunn, I
don’t distinctly remember anything about the
journey down, his image has so completely
crosed every other impression. 0, how freely
I talk to you my friend ; but you know how
dearly I love you, and that I can never keep a
secret from you and that all my thoughts are
yours and always will be—l mean, always
have been, but after a certain event, I don't
know whether it will be right then, for 1 shall
have another to share my confidence. (For
heaven’s sake, dear, tear this letter up, or burn
it as soon as read.) Well, let me see, how far
have I got ? 0, I remember, got to town, and
here we are at the “Continental Hotel,” way
up—l dont know how many stairs, and we
go up and down by steam in a box like a thing
with a chair in it.
I must reserve, however, all these common-
place things for another letter, and come at
once to my affair. Do you know we all went
to the Fair, the first day, and it's splendid.
But I can’t write about that this time, I’ve so
much to say to you. Well, we went to the
Fair, pa and ma, and I and aunt Slocum, and
cousin Bob. There was a great crowd, and,
somehow or other, aunt Slocum and I got
separated from the rest, and 1 found myself
standing before a picture of the Rocky Moun
tains, by Bierstadt, and I said to aunt Slocum,
“Did you ever see anything half so lovely?”
Immediately, a deep, rich, manly voice, at my
side, answered, “0 yes, Miss, far more lovely,
for I behold you.” I looked up, in amaze
ment, and there stood a perfect stranger, in
the shape of a splendid fellow, with liquid,
hazel eyes (ma says they’re brown, but 1 say
they’re hazel), and whiskers black as coal, and
the loveliest mustache, and such an expression
of countenance 1
I was of course very indignant and all that,
but he apologized so sweetly and really seemed
to feel so badly at having broken the rules of
etiquette, &c., that my heart pitied him, al
though I didn’t let him see it. “Pa:don me
Miss,” he went on to say,—“ but really I fan
cied your question was addressed to me, and I
could not avoid replying to a voice that sounded
so sweetly in my ear.” I looked around for
Aunt Slocum, and do you know I couldn’t find
her! —the crowd had separated us, and I stood
there alone! What a position, and what could
I do ? I had to tell the gentleman that I missed
the lady who was with me—l was very much
frightened. Then you should have seen his
countenance light up!—he insisted upon my
taking his arm, “only long enough to protect
me from the crowd and to find my Aunt.” So
finding it utterly impossible to adopt any other
course, for what could I do, Amelia, but to take
it —l took it, and we went together on our
search for Aunt Slocum. But the cunning
man! what do you think, instead of going
where I thought most naturally she would be
in the room near where we had been, he in
sisted on going the opposite direction, assuring
me that in all probability, my party would not
stop to look for me, but take it for granted
that I was safe, and had gone on to inspect the
Fair. “ Well on we went.”
I think it must have been for hours, although
it seemed but minutes to me, so entertaining
and agreeable was my companion. lie told
me all about himself and managed the conver
sation so cleverly that long before we found
Pa and Ma and Aunt Slocum I had reciproca
ted his confidence and told him all about my
self. He was very polite to pa and ma, and
apologized again and again, and gave pa his
business card and promised to call next day at
the hotel to make our acquaintance. Pa was
a little stern at first, but became quite favora
bly impressed with my companion at last and
cordially invited him to tea with us the next
evening. .Well, you may depend upon it he
came and proved very agreeable to all of us,
and after tea he sat with me in a corner of the
ladies’ parlor and talked so delightfully, and
with such an expressive manner, that I do
assure you that it was after eleven o'clock be
fore he left. He said he did not think it was
more than eight o’clock, so rapidly had the
time passed. Ma was horrified to see us going
on so “after so slight an acquaintance,” but
ended by admitting “that young folks must be
young folks, and that she went through the
same thing when she was a girl.” I must tell
you the name of my admirer. His name is
Phoenix Featherby, (is’nt it a lovely name?)
and he belongs to the great firm of Ketchum,
Contract & Ketchum, of St. Louis, and alto
gether, as Aunt Slocum says, “it will bo a
very desirable thing, if the young gentleman’s
antecedents are all right, as no doubt they
are.” Antecedents! to be sure! why, of
course, they are.
Aunt Slocum never will forget that her
grandfather’s half cousin was an ancestor of
the Duke of Wellington, which Bob says, is “ so
snobbish.” However, Aunt means well, no
doubt. Bob is ever so fond of Phoenix—l
mean Mr. Featherby—one must be particular
in writing, my dear. You know although he
call me Fan, and I call him Phoenix—Bob and
Phoenix go to dine every day, and Phoenix—l
mean Mr. Featherby dines and takes tea
regularly with us, so it’s all arranged, and
it’s so nice—you don’t know. Well, dear, this
letter is long enough, so I’ll close by promising
you all the particulars very soon. Do write
to me, my darling Amelia Ann, and tell me
how my good news impresses you. Ever dear
est, your eternal friend, Fahnt.