At Hamilton we called at the Mute and Blind Asylums, which were then combined in one, where we were received with great kindness, every possible attention being lavished upon us to heighten our interest and render our visit enjoyable.  Going to Buffalo we had a social, cozy visit with an aunt of Hattie’s, after which we proceeded to Niagara Falls.

It is no wonder that, as a nation, we are proud of Niagara, which, in grandeur and sublimity, rivals any waterfall of note in the world.  Taking a carriage we drove to the Canada side, where are so many localities of historical interest, and where, at certain points, are found the finest views of the falls.  I remained in the carriage while Hattie went under the dashing, roaring, maddening sheet of water, which feat, as well as the usual one of a trip in the Maid of the Mist, seems necessary, in its apparent peril, to a full appreciation of the awful and stupendous grandeur of this phenomenon of nature.

I walked over Suspension Bridge in order to realize its construction through the sense of feeling, and our driver seemed much amused at my manner of seeing.  Dismissing our carriage, we walked over Goat Island, in order to better take in the 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.”