American Telegraph

INTERESTING SCENE.—As a part of the history of the President's visit to New York, the following incident at a mad-house is told by the New York Mirror;

After this fading remnant of a mighty race, the most affecting scene was at the lunatic asylum at Utica. On entering the chapel where some two hundred of these unfortunates were quietly seated, the overseer introduced the President of the United States, when all rose, respectfully bowed, and resumed their seats. Each member of the party was then introduced by name, when the same ceremony was profoundly repeated. Dr. Malthy, a wise lunatic, then arose and welcomed the President in a strain of graceful and touching eloquence that drew tears to every eye. He is a tall, thin, pale man, with penetrating eyes, a fine voice, and gestures belonging to the polite oratory of "gentlemen of the old school." The President's reply was also very happy and affecting. So orderly and so well behaved a company surely has not greeted him in all his travels. In one of the female wards the whole party was individually introduced to an elegantly dressed, and most accomplished lady, the daughter of one of the most distinguished lawyers New York has ever produced. She had the right word ready for every one who addressed her, and presented the President with a sweet little bouquet of her own arranging, in the most tasteful and graceful manner. We saw the same "act of presentation" performed a hundred times, but in no instance with such exquisite simplicity and grace as marked the offering of this accomplished lady. She is about forty years of age; and in mentioning the names of some of the distinguished men she had entertained at her father's house, added "but for the last seven years I have been—very much out of the world."

There was a young girl in the asylum who also attracted much attention by her beauty of person and elegance of dress. She did not appear to be over seventeen years of age, and there was not the slightest indication of lunacy, or even of "irregularity," about her. She stood in the door of her room, which was adorned with flowers, gracefully acknowledging the bows of the visitors, though no one presumed to speak to her. She wore a beautiful wreath of peach and cherry blossoms in her dark hair—the only ornaments appropriate to her rare and touching beauty. Thinking of the "fair Ophelia" and the heart-broken "Bride of Lammermoor," and all the delicate feminine harpstrings that were ever broken by sorrow or sin, we left the beautiful lunatic, and for hours afterwards every sound seemed a moan, every breeze a sigh, and even the "drops of the morning" which glistened in the flowers looked more like tears of sadness than gems of joy.