he 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.

CHAPTER XIX.

"And the night shall be filled with music,
And the thoughts that infest the day
Shall fold their tents like the Arabs,
And as quietly steal away."

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 u