many
accomplishments, numbered that of music, a science he had so thoroughly
mastered, and with the "concord of sweet sounds" he helped us all to while
away many an otherwise weary hour.

I visited the various places of note upon the New York Central Railway,
thoroughly and successfully canvassing all, and reaching New York city,
was received by my uncle Henry Deems with such a welcome as only a noble,
soulful man can extend. After a short, sweet respite from care, we turned
toward New England, the truly classic ground of America, every foot of
whose "sacred soil" has been trod by pilgrim feet and hallowed by their
hearts' devotion.

Went to Plymouth, Massachusetts, and spent almost an entire day at Pilgrim
Hall in researches and study of its musty and time-worn relics.

It was against the rules to open the cases containing these treasures of
the past to spectators, all of whom were forced to look at them through
doors of glass, even as the bereft ones are ofttimes allowed to look at
loved lineaments only through the lid of a closed casket; but the
gentleman in charge made mine an exceptional case, and, to use his own
language, as my sight lay in the sense of feeling, I should certainly
touch these relics.

All the interest of varied historical association was imparted to me, and
my fingers allowed to rest upon everything. I closed this day, so rich in
research, with gratitude to him for his thoughtful kindness.

There was in process of erection a monument upon Plymouth Hock, and I
stood upon that granite shrine, where first knelt the Pilgrim Fathers, and
pictured in my mind's eye the landing of the Mayflower and the grouping of
her freight of human souls, majestically towering above them all the
stalwart form of Miles Standish, with his "muscles and sinews of iron,"
and close by the lithe, clinging, delicate form of

"That beautiful rose of love
That bloomed for him by the wayside,
And was the first to die
Of all who came in the Mayflower."

These and all their attendants passed through my fancy as they knelt upon
Plymouth Rock, and with the surging sea for a symphony, sent up their
first song of praise and deliverance, and in that hour of reverie there
was to me, indeed,

"A rapture by the lonely shore;
A society where none intrudes.
By the deep sea--and music in its roar."

Then again I moved away in almost rapt entrancement, and soon stood in the
old cemetery beside the moss