e, her two bachelor brothers and a maiden sister
attending him, in the lingering, languishing hours of suffering, and
gently smoothing his "pathway to the grave."

I must not fail to mention among Chicago friends the name of Mrs. Dean,
which has been written in letters of light upon a hallowed life page,
standing out in bold relief upon the background of years. Her house was my
home, and she was ever a fond mother to me.

Her lovely little daughter, Ada, has since matured to womanhood, assumed
the relations and duties of a wife, and is now presiding over an elegant
home in one of the flourishing towns of Iowa.

CHAPTER IX.

"And when the stream
Which overflowed the soul was passed away,
A consciousness remained that it had left.
Deposited upon the silent shore
Of memory, images and previous thoughts,
That shall not die and cannot be destroyed."

For three years longer lowered the lurking war-cloud, and I, among so many
others, felt its baneful shadow. During this time I made Chicago my
headquarters, taking occasional trips upon the various railroad routes
converging there.

Finally I ventured upon a trip to Louisville, Ky., and, while it was my
first introduction to that place, so cordially was I received by its
citizens, so much was done to place me at ease, that I could but feel that
I was revisiting a familiar spot and receiving the greetings of old-time
friends; and, in spite of the heavy war pressure, it was financially the
most successful visit I ever made, having sold five hundred volumes in
the short space of two weeks, a fact in itself sufficient to exemplify the
pervading spirit of its society, not one of whose members gave grudgingly,
but with unhesitating and cheerful alacrity.

Thence I repaired to the "Blue Grass Country," the garden spot of
Kentucky, and to the city of Lexington, the reputation of whose beautiful
women has reached from sea to sea and from pole to pole, and the name of
whose hero, Henry Clay, has made the heart of our nation throb with
exultant pride. I was also a stranger there, yet I resolutely repaired to
the Broadway, its principal hotel, trusting to the hospitality of its
citizens. Nor did I "count without a host," for Mr. Lindsey, the
proprietor, received me with courtly cordiality, installing us in an
elegant suite of rooms upon the parlor floor, assigning us a servant in
constant attendance, and urging us to feel at home. At b