agnificent 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.

CHAPTER XXIII.

"Sweet is the hour that brings us home,
Where all will spring to meet us;
Where hands are striving as we come,
To be the first to greet us.
When the world has spent its frowns and wrath,
And care been sorely pressing;
'Tis sweet to turn from our roving path,
And find a fireside blessing;
Ah, joyfully dear is the homeward track,
If we are but sure of a welcome back!"

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
conti