The various localities in Ottawa being so familiar to so many readers and tourists, I will not dwell upon them at length, but suffice it to say I visited the various Government Departments, and could not fail to be deeply impressed by the truly elegant manners and courtly bearing of the officials.
In one of these Departments I found an elderly gentleman, slightly afflicted with deafness. According to the etiquette of their business regulations I was received in standing attitude, and in the few moments' interview were condensed the thoughts and feelings of years. He bought my book, for which he paid two dollars and a half in gold, and, as he bade me good-bye, he stooped and kissed my forehead with the stately grace of a cavalier of the Crusades, which act of emotional deference was heightened by the hot tears which fell from his eyes and dropped upon my cheeks, and the fervor of his repeated—"God bless you, my child."
At Hamilton we called at the Mute and Blind Asylums, which were then combined in one, where we were received with great kindness, every possible attention being lavished upon us to heighten our interest and render our visit enjoyable. Going to Buffalo we had a social, cozy visit with an aunt of Hattie's, after which we proceeded to Niagara Falls.
It is no wonder that, as a nation, we are proud of Niagara, which, in grandeur and sublimity, rivals any waterfall of note in the world. Taking a carriage we drove to the Canada side, where are so many localities of historical interest, and where, at certain points, are found the finest views of the falls. I remained in the carriage while Hattie went under the dashing, roaring, maddening sheet of water, which feat, as well as the usual one of a trip in the Maid of the Mist, seems necessary, in its apparent peril, to a full appreciation of the awful and stupendous grandeur of this phenomenon of nature.
I walked over Suspension Bridge in order to realize its construction through the sense of feeling, and our driver seemed much amused at my manner of seeing. Dismissing our carriage, we walked over Goat Island, in order to better take in the diversified beauty. The old man at the bridge, in consideration of my affliction, refused to accept the usual fee; so hard-hearted as they seem, in their spirit of gain, they have still some vulnerable point, some avenue left open to the heart, thus confirming the humanitarian sentiment, that no nature is utterly depraved.
Entering into conversation with the old bridge-tender, I was amused and surprised at his fund of anecdote and wealth of wit. Among other playful jests he declared he could define the exact condition of heart in each individual who crossed over, as accurately as we note the mercury in the barometer for atmospheric probabilities, even going so far as to say that he could guess the "Yes" or "No," and consequently the engagement or non-engagement of each returning couple.
We followed the meandering paths and shaded seclusions, where tree and flower, rock and stream make up the fairy realm, and crowned all by standing in the tower on Table Rock, our hearts awed and reverent and our lips inaudibly whispering "Be still, and know that I am God."
Leaving by the Great Western Railway we stopped at London, Canada, where Hattie had friends, and where I found a letter from my husband, who had returned from Woodbine, and being about to establish himself for a time in Milwaukee, where he was to build a mill, he desired me to return at once and accompany him. Without delay we sped on in the lightning train to Chicago, my impatient heart keeping time with the winged flight of the cars.
Our hearts beating with high hopes and expectant joys, we once more settled down to happiness in Milwaukee. A joyful trio were we, my husband, Hattie and myself. Our location in the Lake House, then one of the most popular little hotels in the city, augured well for a pleasant sojourn.
Mrs. Towle, the proprietress, was one who had deeply drank of the cup of sorrow, the first draught coming from the hand of one who had vowed her his love and protection, and who, after twenty-five years of wedded life, deserted her. When, with apparent penitence, he returned to her, he was received to her forgiving heart, and then came the draining of the bitter dregs in a second desertion.
With her two children as her only dower, she patiently took up the burden of life, and bravely bore all, supporting and educating her two daughters, and never losing dignity or caste.
No more delightful summer resort could be found than Milwaukee, familiarly known as the "Cream City," from the light straw or creamy tint of the brick, which forms so large a part in the architecture of that city, and gives an air of charming cleanliness to the buildings. This shade is said by chemists to be the result of the want of the usual element of iron in the clay of which it is made, and so curious is it to strangers that it has become a familiar saying that few people leave Milwaukee without carrying away "a brick in their hats," this being doubtless in part a jesting allusion to the apparently all-pervading spirit of the gay Gambrinus apparent there and the numberless manufactories of the foaming lager. Yet methinks this is no longer a more striking characteristic there than elsewhere, in spite of the predominant German element.
The word "Milwaukee" signifies rich land, and the truthful significance of the appellation is amply testified by the rare flowers, green gardens, fertile fields and towering forests in and around it, all of which are the outgrowth of its soil of rich alluvial loam.
Milwaukee is a city whose animus is in striking contrast to the daring, dashing spirit of Chicago, but its substantial wealth, cash basis, and slow, careful, steady progress, have led it on to sure success, so well attested by the quiet and substantial elegance of its business buildings, the palatial proportions and exquisite finish of its private dwellings, with their appropriate appointments of cultivated conservatories, gorgeous gardens and rare works of art. The well stored libraries evince an advanced degree of cultivation, and the literary coteries a prevailing element of the dilletante spirit, while the plain, rich habiliments, and the elegant turnouts with liveried attendants, indicate a degree of fashion and style unknown in many larger cities; and their manufactories and business houses suggest great mercantile advancement, their elevators and shipping a high order of commercial greatness.
Their harbor is one of the finest in the world, and by travelers is said to resemble that of the beautiful Naples. Indeed, the extended view from the drive upon Prospect Street is without a rival. Beautiful Boulevardes were then in quite advanced process of construction, and in time must rank among the most shaded, flowery walks and drives in the world.
Swiftly sped the summer hours in fair Milwaukee, with its gay gladiolas and blue skies, its crystal waters and grand old forests, until it ceased to be a wonder why so many health and pleasure seekers made it a resort, and that it became, during the warm season, a fashionable watering place.
One of our most frequent rendezvous was upon the lake shore, where, in a sweet secluded spot, far away from the throng which resorted there, a rough log for a seat, we were wont to sit for hours, listening to the music of the bands upon the excursion boats as they came and went with their scores of pleasure seekers, and the still more harmonious melody of the waves as they rose and fell at our feet in low, soft, musical murmurs.
Among the many attractions of Milwaukee is that of one of the several noble institutions erected by our Government and known as National Soldiers' Homes.
It is located four miles west of the city, and is accessible both by Elizabeth Street and Grand Avenue, two of the most delightful drives of Milwaukee.
Its eight hundred acres are beautifully enclosed and finely cultivated, being laid out by one of its former chaplains, according to the most artistic rules of landscape gardening; every coil and curve of avenue being a line of beauty, and its fifteen miles of drive startling the eye with its grouping of lake and garden, bridge and stream, fern-clad ravines and sunny heights.
Amid its dense groves are fairy pavilions, in which its maimed and scarred veterans discourse sweet music by a silver cornet band, without one grating sound or discordant note.
Without the rigid discipline of active array life, these veterans have sufficient military discipline for comfort and order, and one cannot fail to remark the systematic precision which characterizes the performance of their daily duties.
I cannot say all I should like to say in regard to these institutions, but suffice it to say that I found many sympathizing and some old friends among the blind, and was glad to learn that these soldiers, as a class, ranked among the most cultivated inmates.
I cannot close my chapter upon this subject without alluding to the magnanimous generosity of the Milwaukeeans in their donation of one hundred thousand dollars to the National Home Fund, the proceeds of a Sanitary Fair, in which white hands and deft fingers, faithfully and patriotically wrought, for the benefit of the disabled soldiers, and few cities could boast of a nobler donation. I must also allude to the high appreciation in which the Homes are held by foreign dignitaries.
Miss Emily Faithful, the fair amanuensis and confidential friend of Queen Victoria, while visiting America in an official capacity, spent a day in socially visiting and carefully inspecting the Soldiers' Home of Milwaukee. Astonished and entertained she pronounced it the most pleasurable day she had spent in this country.
The Grand Duke Alexis left upon its register the only autograph written in person in a public place, bestowing upon the institution the most extravagant encomiums, both himself and his suite of traveled and titled gentlemen pronouncing it a wonder and a marvel!
The Reverend Doctor Smythe, of Dublin, Ireland, when in attendance upon the Evangelical Alliance, visited the Soldiers' Home of Dayton, Ohio. Examining its magnificent libraries, seventy thousand dollar chapel and its hospital, the finest in the world, he was spell-bound. Going to its music hall and listening to its band, inhaling the perfume of its conservatories, visiting its grottoes, bowers and springs, rowing on its lakes, seeing its aviaries with birds of all varieties of plumage and song, and driving in its parks inhabited by buffalo, elk, antelope and over five hundred deer; he exclaimed with evident fervor, "In the Old Country, libraries, conservatories, bands and parks are for the nobility; in the new world they are for the soldiery." And what nobler compliment could he have paid to our country and its institutions?
The summer being ended, we visited the friends of Mr. Arms in Wisconsin, after which he went to Grinnell, Iowa, in pursuit of his usual avocation. My own delicate health made it necessary for me to be again winging my way southward. Going to Atlanta, Ga., and making that my headquarters, I visited with marked success all the towns of importance on the various railroad routes diverging from this centre. I then made Macon another headquarters, after which I canvassed the greater part of the State.
The forests were filled with flowering shrubs and trailing vines, the towering trees hung with the wild, weird drapery of the southern moss, and the mocking birds sang their sweet songs from "early morn 'til dewy eve." These scenes "vibrate in memory" with quivering, throbbing power, and come back like odors exhaled from fading flowers or "music when soft voices die."
Selma, Alabama, became my third headquarters, where I boarded with Mrs. Cooke, a lovely woman of the purely southern type, who, before the great conflict, was a millionaire, and was afterward forced for her own support to convert a large mansion into a huge boarding house, which, with its hundred guests, was a cheerful, happy home; permeated as it was by the sunshine she diffused, and lighted by the fairy face of her lovely daughter, who was named for her native State, Alabama.
As in the aboriginal tongue this signifies "here we rest," and it became to us a name deeply fraught with significance, for in this pure untainted heart we found "rest! sweet rest!"
"En route" to Rome I met with my usual good fortune in finding another friend in a lady resident of the country, who fondly urged me to leave the hotel and make my home with her, where she lavished upon me every luxury and kindness. Her husband was the only man in that region of country who voted for Abraham Lincoln; and when General Sherman made his "March to the Sea," she concealed none of her stores or treasures, but went to him and asked protection for her property and home, when a guard was immediately furnished her by the commander.
She afterward married an officer of this guard, in consequence of which she was disowned by her family and associates, but in the noble and sterling qualities of her husband found ample compensation as well as a subsequent reconciliation with friends.
In order to reach Montgomery I took passage in one of the high-pressure steamers of the Alabama river, and during the two days and nights of the trip I was surrounded by a throng of sympathizing, interested passengers, whose tender tones and gentle touch was as a cool, refreshing draught to parched lips, a sweet morsel to the tongue, for human hearts ever hunger and thirst for affection. How utterly unendurable would be this life, with its desert wastes and hot siroccos, but for the sweet, verdant spots dotting the sandy sea, whence spring the "fountains of perpetual peace" and issue the healing waters.
These loving ones surrounded me as I sat busily occupied with my bead work, and not only delighted and entertained with their curious questions and familiar chat, but freely bought my books and fifty dollars worth of baskets, while they would doubtless have doubled the amount had not this exhausted my little store.
As we steamed in sight of Montgomery a gentleman came into the cabin and requested me to make for him eight of the handsomest bead baskets before we landed; and, seeing an amused and incredulous smile upon my face, he said: "You work so dexterously and so rapidly that I did not realize that my demand was unreasonable." Explaining to him that it would require eight hours of the closest application to accomplish that amount of work, he apologized and left me. Nor did this specimen of the "genus homo" evince any unusual ignorance of woman's work, whose endless routine and diversified drudgery ofttimes require the patience of a Job and the wisdom of a Solomon. In the labyrinth of domestic entanglement more is needed than the silken clue of Ariadne, and the vexed question of domestic economy requires the unerring skill of the diplomatist, the subtle tact of the politician, and the sure strength of the statesman. The "Poet of Poets" has shown his appreciation of the character and life of woman in the following lines:
After a pleasant and successful visit to Montgomery we went via the Mobile Railroad to Evergreen, a little town fitly named from its deeply shaded evergreen surroundings. We reached this little hamlet at two o'clock in the morning, and those who are familiar with the cold and penetrating dampness of a southern night, even in mid-summer, could realize our condition and desire for rest and warmth, and know something of our disappointment at finding the one poor little hotel of the town without a vacant room. Seeking the office for a resting place, we found the case equally hopeless, for congregated within its narrow limits were men, women and children, every one of whom was stretched in various attitudes upon the floor, as peacefully enfolded in the arms of Morpheus, and, perchance, as sweetly dreaming as if resting upon beds of down and pillowed upon fine linen and gossamer lace.
Sleep is indeed to such "tired nature's sweet restorer," and to those whose healthy bodies and unambitious natures know no perturbation it is balmy and refreshing.
Turning from the unconscious, slumbering group for one friendly face, we were greeted by Major Lanier, of the Confederate Army, whose manner and tone not only betokened the gentleman, but whose acts of kindness evinced the true and chivalrous heart so characteristic of the southern character. After failing in repeated efforts to find us a room, he gave us his blankets and great coat, and all through the dreary watches of the night fed the fire with wood, which with one hand he chopped, while with the other he fought off the rabid attacks of fierce and barking dogs, which persistently assailed him. Had we been distinguished ladies, or had there been any probability of the gallant major being praised, complimented, or in any way preferred for this act of gallantry, it might have been less appreciated, but it was an act of purely chivalrous courtesy to two strange ladies in humble position, and his only reward was our poor thanks and the approval of his own generous heart. It must have had its comic side, too, to see a major of the regular Confederate service, who had done battle on the field where glory was to be won, groping in the dismal dark of the night and running the risk of being severely hurt, possibly of being killed, by dogs, practicing war with one hand, and dispensing a noble if not an ostentatious charity with the other.
We had been promised the room opening into the office as soon as it was vacated, and at the first streak of coming dawn the Major stationed himself near the door, listening for the slightest sound; and when from the carefully guarded chamber the faintest rustle came he would jocularly exclaim: "Ladies, prospects are brightening!" and so he helped us to while away the weary hours until we secured the promised room and bed, where we rested until noon.
When we arose from this refreshing rest we found that the session of court had brought this throng, and we were soon surrounded with visitors, who kept us constantly conversing and almost incessantly weaving baskets for their amusement. These people not only bought large stores of my work, but their talk sent crowds of people from far and near, all of whom made purchases of some kind. Such was the interest of every member of the bar and every attendant upon court that the four days I spent there completely exhausted me, physically and mentally.
Finding there were no other important towns beyond Evergreen, I returned to Montgomery and repaired to Savannah, Georgia, where I was treated with the most genial generosity, and should have been repaid for a trip to that place in a visit to its cemetery, whose reputation has been spread throughout the length and breadth of our land, and whose strange, sad beauty is so infinitely beyond the conceptions of imagination, but which—
Its grounds are densely grown with trees of live oak, whose huge and spreading branches, seeming to bear the size and strength of a century's growth; with the dark, drooping moss, which, as it mingles its weird, fantastic drapery with the bending, swaying, weeping willow, seems like a pall for the graves hidden in its sombre shades; while the millions of birds which dwell therein lull their warbling notes to the measure of a low funeral song; and every sound of Nature's many-voiced music seems to murmur a requiem for the dead. As I sat subdued and listening, the low, rustling sound of the wind seemed as a sigh of sorrow escaping the breast of the bereaved, and I could picture in the far away land of Palestine that sacred spot which had so often been described to me, even the "Church of the Holy Sepulchre."
This most benevolent city of Georgia, without solicitation, presented me passes to Jacksonville and Tallahassee, Fla. The former was at that time quite an unimportant place, but has since become a popular resort.
While in Tallahassee I met with great sympathy and kindness from Governor Rood, who bought a book and handed me five dollars. When change was tendered to him he quietly and respectfully declined, and said with his usual delicacy that it was worth that much to him.
The Sheriff of the county was also very generous. Wishing to present me with ten dollars, and fearing to wound me by so doing, he ordered that amount of bead-work.
Tallahassee was certainly the most quiet Capital City I had ever visited, resting in its placid loveliness apparently undisturbed by the usual wrangle of legislation.
We returned via Live Oaks, at which place we encountered one of those severe thunderstorms known only to tropical lands, and in which the angry "war of elements" strikes terror to the hearts of those unschooled to it. All through its thundering and lightning, its wind and torrent, I was in such a state of nervous excitement, that when the last lurid light faded, the last crash was echoed by a low reverberating moan and died away, I gave one deep sigh of intense relief and sank exhausted from the reaction.
My visit to Charleston combined little of eventful note, and this city is to well known as a seaport to require a detailed description. There, as in all places in close proximity to the ocean, I was spell-bound amid the ceaseless ebb and flow, the endless melody of the waves glowing and scintillating with myriad gem-like hues from the amethyst, the emerald and the diamond, to the many-hued opal, its varied and changing beauty bearing all the brilliant glory of the fabled dolphin, born in its depths.
In this sea-girt city I found the home of Mrs. Glover, and above all her hallowed presence there. She is an accomplished lady, and once wrote an attractive novel, more for pastime than from any literary aspirations.
Vernon, the hero of her story of Vernon Grove, was blind, and as this depiction of character was so much more true to nature than the pen-pictures of other gifted delineators, even that of the shrewd searcher of the human heart, Wilkie Collins, that she had won the sympathy and interest of all at the Baltimore Institution, at which, in former years, she had been so cheerfully greeted.
Vernon possessed none of the melancholy, inanimate, suspicious characteristics supposed by many to belong of necessity to the blind, but was a brilliant, cheerful, high-minded person, who filled every position in life with dignity, accepted every sorrow and disappointment with resignation, in every struggle was a lion-hearted hero, and in every contest a conqueror.
This gifted lady was a sister of Mrs. Bowen, of Baltimore, who, as well as her husband, was a warm, true friend to the blind, and ever joyously hailed as a guest in the institution.
After traveling through the Carolinas I went to Richmond, Virginia, the Rome of America, and like that ancient city built upon seven hills, while in its patrician pride and family loyalty it possessed much of the essence of the old Roman spirit.
My visit there was during the most fervid heat of the summer solstice, when through the sultry days all living creatures are panting and breathless, yet withal the stay of three weeks' duration passed away with delightful rapidity, and time stole upon us and stole from us almost imperceptibly.
Leaving Richmond for White Sulphur Springs, I stopped at all important intervening points. At Staunton I devoted an entire day to the inspection of the Institution for the Blind, and in pleasant acceptance of hospitalities dispensed both by inmates and officials.
Arriving at White Sulphur after dark, we found the mountain air so cold that we could almost imagine ourselves suddenly transported from the Equator to the Pole, and were as thoroughly chilled as one unacclimated would be from so great and sudden a transition.
The mammoth hotel of this watering place, comfortably seated in its dining-hall twelve hundred guests, and all its appointments were in equally grand proportion. We occupied, from choice, one of the cozy little cottages, nestling like a dove-cot in some bowery shade, with its patch of green-sward and flower-garden in front and purling brook behind, holding the double charm of rural simplicity and home-like air. Hattie led me through every path and grove, nook and glen of this sweet seclusion, this valley embosomed in mountains, and my thoughts reverted to the days when the belles and beaux of our American court sought these sylvan shades; when Washington and the successive Chief Magistrates of the Great Republic had gracefully glided through the stately minuet and invested this spot with a now classic interest.
Prominent among the visitors was the leonine General Lee, a Colossus in person and in mind. In spirit brave as a true hero, but in manner gentle as a woman. In the sweet solace of sympathy his heart went out to the blind girl, and assumed the tangible form of solid favors, for by his personal efforts under the magic influence and royal mandate of his imperial power many a little volume was appropriated that would have been otherwise unnoticed.
George Peabody was also a guest, but in this, his last visit to his native country, he was too ill and prostrate to receive friends. I felt for him a strong personal sympathy for his beneficence to my native city, to which he ever acknowledged himself indebted for his first business success; and in which the pure, white marble structure, with its magnificent library and other appointments, so well known as "The Peabody Institute," stands as a monument of his munificence.
Returning to Richmond, we took the James River route to Baltimore, a trip fraught with varied interest.
At Yorktown, that city of eld, we landed to take in a cargo of freight, not neglecting the usual store of oysters, of which we had at supper a sumptuous feast and it was from no fickle epicurean fancy that all pronounced these delicious bivalves the finest in the world, for, certainly, never before or since have we partaken of them with such rare relish and absolute gusto.
Home again in dear old Baltimore, where over my cradle was sung my mother's first lullaby, and where so many localities were invested with the charm of loved association. I of course visited the Institution for the Blind, which would not, in its many changes, have seemed at all like home but for the music of a familiar voice and the presence of dear Miss Bond, who still with loving dignity presided as matron, throned in the majesty of noble humanity, and crowned with purity and goodness.
Dr. Fisher, Mr. Trust and Mr. Newcomer still faithfully held their positions as Directors, and cordially welcomed me home. Mr. Morrison, the new Superintendent, and his most estimable wife, although they had never seen me, brought me near to them by the bond of sympathetic kindness, and seemed not like strangers but friends.
It seemed singular to those who had known little Mary Day to have her go back to them a married woman, and indeed, for the moment, time seemed to have gone backward in its flight; the dignity of the matron was forgotten, and I was a child again, even little Mary Day. I felt glad of an assurance from Miss Bond, that so fondly had my name been cherished, even by those in the institution who had never met me, that it was regarded as a "household word," and that enshrined in the most sacred niche of the temple of love was the image of Mary L. Day. As a testimony of this continued affection I was fondly urged to remain in the institution while in the city, but, as I had so many resident relatives, I declined.
My cousin, William Heald, who had by his kindness infused light into some of my darkest hours, had won a lovely woman for a wife, and certainly no one more richly deserved such a consummation. Cousin Sammy Heald had also married his fair fiance, of the West, who in her sweet purity of character, beauty of person and a life fragrant and blossoming with good deeds, could justly be called a "prairie flower." He had been ordained a Methodist minister, and was winning true laurels in his little charge in Iowa, to which conference he belonged. He had chosen his proper vocation, for as a preacher he was "Native, and to the manor born," for when a wee boy, he had written and declaimed many a sermon, and had his mimic audience been a real one these efforts would have produced electrical effect.
Among the many changes in my Baltimore circle was the vacant chair at the fireside, once filled by my uncle Jacob Day, whose memory and whose life was pervaded by the odor of true sanctity. It could truly be said of him at the sunset of a beautiful life, that
He had been a great leader in the Sabbath School movement, and a prominent feature of the funeral cortege was a procession of his pupils in pure white raiment, who, in token of their love and bereavement, strewed his grave with flowers.
I cannot close my home chapter without an expression of exultant pride for my classmates who have done so nobly in their various vocations. Two had entered the literary ranks as book-writers, and had met with marked success in the acceptance and sale of their works; three stood high as teachers; one earned a good living by tuning pianos; several were engaged in various departments of the institution; and two ranked high as musicians, which profession has seemed an especial field for the blind.
To use the musical measure of poetic prose as rendered by Mr. Artman, one of the most renowned blind authors—"There is a world to which night brings no gloom, no sadness, no impediments; fills no yawning chasm and hides from the traveler no pitfall. It is the world of sound. Silence is its night, the only darkness of which the blind have any knowledge. In it every attribute of Nature has a voice; the beautiful, the grand, the sublime, have each a language, and to me, whose heart is in tune, every sound has a peculiar significance. Sounds fill the soul, while light fills the eye only. 'In the varied strains of warbling melody,' as it winds in its graceful meanderings to the deep recesses of his soul, or of the rich and boundless harmony, as it swells and rolls its pompous tide around him, he finds a solace and a compensation for the absent joys of sight."
And so I close with a blessing upon the members of my class, and may the God of light and love illumine their paths, and glorify their lives, is my earnest, heartfelt prayer.
From Baltimore I went to Westminster, Maryland, to visit my cousin, Charles Henniman, and my stay there was characterized by all the joy of sweet reunion and eager acceptance of hospitalities so lavishly bestowed. It was with mingled emotions of pleasure and pain I greeted my old friend, Carrie Fringer. In person she was of a peculiar type of beauty, a face regular in features as a Madonna, beaming with the soft, love-light of rare, sweet eyes, in whose depths were imprisoned not only an intense brightness, but the still deeper glow of a soul of love and truth. Curls of soft brown hair fell upon her symmetrical shoulders and softened the face they framed into an almost spiritual sweetness. From an affliction in her childhood she had almost ever since been unable to walk, and indeed none of the beautiful limbs were available for voluntary motion. Thus deprived of more than half of life's joy, its sweet activity, many would have lapsed into a morbid, nervous condition, over which we might justly have thrown the mantle of charity, but this dear friend was so lovely and chastened in her affliction, that she seemed almost a Deity in her attributes of tender love and patient self-abnegation, united to a heroic endurance of pain with which she was daily, hourly and momently tortured. Surely
Going to Washington I accompanied an excursion down the Potomac to Mount Vernon, that sacred spot whose mention sends a thrill of patriotic pride through every American heart, hallowed as it is by memories of George Washington. So I became one of the zealous pilgrim throng who wended their way to this our Mecca, dear to us as that sacred place in the old world to the most devout worshiper of the Prophet Mahomet.
Reaching our destination we first repaired to the tomb, and with bowed and uncovered heads all reverently gazed upon the mausoleum of departed greatness, and turned to the mansion, each department of which had its own peculiar charm.
Prominent among other relics were his war-equipments, the paraphernalia of Revolutionary times; and as we ever associate him with his character as general, these were especially significant from the sword so often wielded with masterly power, to the little canteen, from which, after long and weary marches, he refreshed his parched lips.
In his bed-chamber, with its antique air and quaint garniture, there stood a bedstead, the fac-simile of the one upon which he died. Here we lingered long and lovingly, and turned to another department, in one corner of which stood a harpsichord, once belonging to his niece, Miss Lewis. In fancy I could see her fairy fingers as they swept in "waves of grace" over its strings, and with the "concord of sweet sounds" ministered to a circle of distinguished listeners. I could not resist the impulse to pass my hands over the long neglected strings, and recalled the sentiment of the old song,
The garden still remained as arranged by his taste and dictation, and at one corner of the house the magnolia tree, planted by his own hand, still bloomed in fragrant beauty.
In the yard was the old well, with "its moss-covered, iron-bound bucket," and at the door the gray-haired negro, the inevitable servant of "Massa Washington," who will doubtless, like a wandering Jew, out live all time, and for centuries to come remain an attaché of our country's father.
Several gentlemen present evinced and expressed great surprise that a blind woman should go to see Mount Vernon, yet I very much doubt if any eyes really saw more than my own. When we reached the boat, each gentleman carried in his hand a cane cut from the woods of Mount Vernon, and one and all returned to Washington with the consciousness of having spent a pleasant and profitable day.
We soon left for Lynchburg, Virginia, after which we visited the towns en route to Knoxville, Tennessee. At the latter place we had a very enjoyable visit to the home of Parson Brownlow. He was absent in attendance upon the Legislature, but his daughter gracefully and cordially dispensed the hospitalities of their home, and did everything within the bounds of her warm, sympathetic intelligence to heighten the pleasure and interest of our visit.
Back again to Chicago, we were welcomed by Mr. Arms, whom we found engaged in erecting machinery in the Gowan Marble Works, the largest of the kind in the North-west. Resting in the sweet haven of home, we passed the winter in this sanctum.
Renewed and refreshed from our long winter rest, with the migration of the birds we winged our way westward, alighting in many a lovely locality in the flourishing State of Iowa, whose soft undulations of prairies were now swelling in billows of gorgeous green, and touched with the varied tints of flowery bloom.
Our last resting place was in Council Bluffs, so celebrated for the grandeur of its location at the foot of the beetling bluffs of the Missouri River, and for its flourishing and progressive spirit, aside from which it holds a place in our historic annals dating back to aboriginal days. When this century was in its early infancy, and the shadowy dawn of our young nation was still wrapt in the mists which enshrouded its first struggling efforts; when the little far-away fur station of Astoria, near the whispering waves of the Pacific coast, held not the mellowing memories of time or the living light with which the genius of an Irving has since invested it; when the great explorers, Lewis and Clarke, were leaving their foot-prints on the land bordering the Columbia River, they held a council with the Red Man at Kanesville, Iowa, ever since known as "Council Bluffs."
Thence we went to Omaha, which is one of the most flourishing places in Nebraska, and from the improvised post-office of early days, the "plug" hat of Mr. Jones, its first post-master, has grown the large distributing office of the department.
It was also a military post and winter garrison for our troops in transitu, its cheerful barracks, well-kept roads and clean parade ground converting it into a favorite drive and walk, where resort many strangers to witness the dress parade of "The Boys in Blue."
The Platte River Valley is well known to most of my readers from its romantic association with the struggles of the vast army of emigrants, who not only braved the dangers of its uncertain fords and deceitful quicksands, but the tomahawk and scalp knife, ofttimes leaving a nameless grave beside its waters; and, were it not for a laughable incident in this connection, I would pass it by unnoticed.
There are so many heroes of the Don Quixote school, who are so brave in fighting wind-mills, who, in time of peace, are "soldiers armed with resolution," but in the real conflict what Shakspeare designates as "soldiers and afeard." There was in our train a young prig, who "played the braggart with his tongue," telling of his brave exploits, like a very Othello recounting the "dangers he passed," ending with a defiant show of how he should act in the event of an attack from marauding Indians, to which the trains were at that time so subject, after which he fell into a profound slumber, resting upon his imaginary laurels. While he slept the train had changed conductors, and it became necessary to see his ticket. This new official passing by, and finding himself unable to arouse the snoring sleeper by ordinary means, gave him a lusty shake, whereupon our hero gave a hideous yell of "Indians! Indians!" his lips quivering and his frame palsied with fear. The sound was so startling that the affrighted passengers imagined themselves for the moment in the merciless grasp of a band of Red Men.
The conductor gave this quaking coward another energetic shake and an imperious demand for "your ticket, sir!" and the quondam man of war "smoothed his wrinkled front," and humbly subsided into a semblance of sleep, while the conductor was no doubt astonished at the loud laughter that followed a brief silence, during which the passengers recovered their composure, and realized the full ludicrousness of the incident. In my experience in life I have met a great many people who were ready to tell what they would have done "had they been there;" but this priggish gascon was the first I had ever seen put to the test, and I believe him to be a fair sample of that smart class who could, if you take their words for it, have done better on any given occasion than those whom the occasion found "there."
Emerging from the Platte Valley, we realized the fact that we were fairly on our way to the far West, ready to take in with insatiable avidity all the immensity and grandeur of our territorial scenery.
Arriving at Cheyenne, we were surprised to find a comfortable hotel-omnibus in waiting, and most of the concomitants of a metropolis, notwithstanding the oft-expressed surprise and fear of friends at the daring venture of two unprotected women in going alone to this lawless and God-forsaken country.
Alas for the demoralizing influence of so-called civilization! While in the elegant counting-rooms of polished millionaires in more eastern localities we had occasionally met with insults and snubs; in this place of reputed "roughs" we received not one rebuff, and were greeted not merely with respect, but with unbounded generosity. While we found rough diamonds, they were diamonds nevertheless.
Over this city has since swept the tidal wave of reform, and a great temperance awakening evoked by one of the great workers in that movement, Mr. Page, who, with gentle yet royal mandate, has said to the many "troubled waters," with their sad wrecks of human souls—"peace! be still!"
We find it vain to depict by our feeble word-painting the many-hued, many-voiced phases nature assumes in this almost boundless domain, and the yet untold, undeveloped depths of our territorial resources. Mountains looming up in imperial grandeur, their snow-crowned summits melting into cloud and sky; weird cañons, in which the whispered words of worship from a myriad devotees seem to echo and re-echo through their dark depths; giant trees: