ican Notes" may have been in Margaret's mind when
she penned these lines, and this faith in her may have been quickened by
the perusal of the pages in which he showed mostly how _not_ to see a
new country.

Reaching Chicago, she had her first glimpse of the prairie, which at
first only suggested to her "the very desolation of dulness."

"After sweeping over the vast monotony of the Lakes, to come to this
monotony of land, with all around a limitless horizon--to walk and walk,
but never climb! How the eye greeted the approach of a sail or the smoke
of a steamboat; it seemed that anything so animated must come from a
better land, where mountains give religion to the scene. But after I had
ridden out and seen the flowers, and observed the sun set with that
calmness seen only in the prairies, and the cattle winding slowly to
their homes in the 'island groves,' most peaceful of sights, I began to
love, because I began to know, the scene, and shrank no longer from the
encircling vastness."

Here followed an excursion of three weeks in a strong wagon drawn by a
stalwart pair of horses, and supplied with all that could be needed, as
the journey was through Rock River valley, beyond the regions of trade
and barter. Margaret speaks of "a guide equally admirable as marshal and
companion." This was none other than a younger brother of James Freeman
Clarke, William Hull Clarke by name, a man who then and thereafter made
Chicago his home, and who lived and died an honored and respected
citizen. This journey with Margaret, in which his own sister was of the
party, always remained one of the poetic recollections of his early
life. He had suffered much from untoward circumstances, and was
beginning to lose the elasticity of youth under the burden of his
discouragements. Margaret's sympathy divined the depth and delicacy of
William Clarke's character, and her unconquerable spirit lifted him from
the abyss of despondency into a cheerfulness and courage which nevermore
forsook him.

Returning to Chicago, Margaret once more embarked for lake travel, and
her next chapter describes Wisconsin, at that time "a Territory, not
yet a State; still nearer the acorn than we were."

Milwaukee was then a small town, promising, as she says, "to be, some
time, a fine one." The yellow brick, of which she found it mostly built,
pleased her, as it has pleased the world since. No railroads with
mysterious initials served, in those days, the needs of tha