VISITING AT TRAVERSE CITY.

Since coming to mainland I have visited my old Traverse City home. There I met many friends of my childhood days, my teacher among the rest, with her sister Agnes. For a couple of weeks I was entertained by my old friends, Mr. and Mrs. H. D. Campbell and family. While there I visited all the old haunts and located the spot where the little log school house had stood, and the crooked tree which we school children loved so much to climb into and sit while our companions played about among the green pines and oaks. I strolled around to Bryant's where the road turns off to Old Mission. The old Bryant home looked just the same, nestling among the green trees, as in the years of long ago. Close beside it was the beautiful home of my school days' friend, Mrs. Frank Brush, where I was very cordially entertained by herself and family. I visited with my old friends in their handsome country home, Mr. and Mrs. J. K. Gunton, then around the bay to Greilick's. It seemed but yesterday since I had left it, and yet I missed so many of the old familiar faces. There was much sadness mixed in with the pleasure of meeting with old friends.

The city had changed, no traces were left of my old home. The mill pond was filled in and streets and buildings were in its place. Strangers were in the places where once we children had run our races down the car track to the dock. The house where I had last visited my father, had been removed and another built in its place, but the little gurgling brook was still singing its cheerful songs and the flowers were blooming on its mossy banks. The beautiful forest trees had been cut down and a city was made where once the wild strawberries and June roses grew, even the Company's garden where we school children used to go and ride the horses around the field, was all changed into a city. While there I found where my three school friends were, the Rice girls. I had thought them dead, but happy was the meeting after thirty-six years of separation, and every summer since they never fail to make a little visit to the light-house, where we again live over the old days. Although there are silvery threads among the gold of our hair, we feel our hearts are young when speaking of the old school days.

Since I left my island home I have never returned but once. The short time I was there were precious hours to me, and though I cannot go I so often see it in memory as it was when nature had put on her most lovely garments of green; when June roses were in bloom filling the air with fragrance with the friends of my younger days. Such pictures can never fade from memory.

I always feel a deep interest in the prosperity and welfare of the island people. My present surroundings are all that could be wished for, and the light-house on Harbor Point is the place that is dearest to me.

A few of the old pioneers of the island are Capt. Manus Bonnar, who owns and runs the Hotel Beaver; Mr. and Mrs. James Dunlevey have a fine, large dry goods store; Mr. James McCann has another with general merchandise; Mr. William Gallagher is the pioneer pound-net fisherman of the island; Mr. William Boyle and several others are in business. Several outside people have invested in land and in the near future expect to have a resort with daily boats running to main land in the summer months. No more healthful place can be found for rest and recreation than the fair and beautiful Beaver Island.

RESORTS AROUND LITTLE TRAVERSE BAY

The growth of many resorts around little Traverse Bay have been wonderful since my coming to Harbor Point light-house. Bay View with its summer schools of music, paintings and works of art, with its splendid gospel teachings and quiet restful places where people come to rest the tired brain from a busy city life. It is an ideal place for summer rest.

Petoskey is a beautiful little city built upon a hillside. It has many advantages of pure air, beautiful views of the water on the bay and Lake Michigan. With its boats and railroads nothing more is needed for comfort.

Roaring Brook, a picturesque spot of nature which must be seen to be appreciated. One must listen to the roaring of the brook to understand the meaning of the gurgling sound. One never tires in rambling about through the quiet, shady, green mossy nooks where the birds sing sweetly among the cedar trees.

Wequetonsing, how fair to look upon. With its handsome cottages, green lawns, flowing water clear as crystal. Surely no drink can be sweeter than this pure water! It has a beautiful view of the bay, with Petoskey showing so prettily across the waters, and the light-house point with its green trees making delightful scenery for the eyes to rest upon.

Then the pretty town of Harbor Springs nestling so near the high bluff with its many pretty buildings on the heights from which the view is perfect. On clear days Fox Islands and Beaver Island can be plainly seen.

And beautiful Charlevoix. Her natural beauties with works of man have made her fair to look upon. I love to remember the beautiful scenery as I saw it when a child, with its lovely forest trees growing down to the water's edge, wild birds warbling in the branches, wild ducks swimming upon the quiet, calm waters of little Round Lake. There are many other resorts scattered all about the bays and shores where people find rest and strength.

Last, but not least, is beautiful Harbor Point. A narrow point of land which helps to form the harbor with water on both sides and a heavy growth of trees of many different kinds making lovely, natural, shady parks, with many fine summer homes and beautiful drives. On the end of the Point stands the lighthouse with its red light flashing out at night over the waters, looking like a great red ruby set with diamonds as the electric lights are shining around the bay and harbor. What more is needed of nature's beauty to make the picture complete?

The sun has sunk in the west, leaving the sky all purple and pink. The moon, just risen, sheds her soft, mellow light over the earth; all nature is resting. The birds are in their nests, the whip-poor-will has ceased her plaintive notes, the sea gulls are soaring away to their nightly rest. No sound is heard save the soft, low murmurings of the waves upon the shore.