is
fatherly care, knowing he could not prove recreant to the trust.

CHAPTER XXXIII.

"There was a time when meadow,
Grove and stream,
The earth and every common sight
To me did seem
Appareled in celestial light,
The glory and the freshness of a dream.
It is not now as it has been of yore,
Turn where soe'r I may,
By night or day,
The things that I have seen
I now can see no more."

Upon our return to Chicago I found my husband so ill that he yielded to
the advice of his physician to go to the Mineral Springs of St. Louis, and
there being a heavy drain upon our finances, I felt it necessary to resume
my travels. Disagreeable as was the task, it was tolerable only for its
benefit to loved ones.

Ida, the young daughter of my favorite brother, had just graduated, her
laurels still green and her heart full of girlish enthusiasm. With the
sanction of her parents she kindly consented to accompany me. Kindred ties
are deep and strong, and her society was like a ray of sunshine in my
clouded pathway.

Mr. Keep, the Manager of the North-western Railway, presented us with a
general pass, and we started for the Lake Superior country, first visiting
many of the beautiful towns of Wisconsin, among which was Peshtigo, then
but partially rebuilt from its recent ravages from fire. In canvassing we
called at the house of Mrs. Armstrong, who kept a book, and asked us to
call in the afternoon for the money.

During the day her little daughter had become so interested in the "story
of the blind girl," that she insisted upon going out to buy her a dress,
which she presented in person. Little Nellie's gift of simple calico was
as precious to me as if of silken texture and Tyrion dye, and "waxed rich"
with the royalty of sympathy and love.

We visited Escanaba, a beautiful summer resort upon Lake Michigan,
spending a delightful week in the elegant hotel, which rests in the shaded
seclusion of park and garden, and gaining renewed health and vigor.

We had a short, sweet stay at Marquette, saw the "Isle of Yellow Sands"
with its luring light, the "Pictured Rocks" bearing the tracery of the
Divine Artist, and all the well-known beauties of Lake Superior.

On our way to Ishpenming we were presented with tickets to the concert of
"Blind Tom," the musical prodigy and whilom slave boy, through whose
God-given talent the former master had amassed quite a fortune.

We heard his impro