She was indeed

    “A perfect woman, nobly planned,
    To warn, to comfort, and command.”

One who, aside from her physical attractions, possessed all the charms of inner grace and beauty, idealizing and spiritualizing her nature.

We at once also agreed that she should remain with me, and with such rare companionship I started East.  Stopped at the beautiful city of Cleveland, so rural and yet so metropolitan in its characteristics, where, following fast upon the din of business and the rush of trade, steals the sweet murmur of waters, the “wave of woods” and flow of fountains, the shaded park and perfumed pasture.

Here, aside from the cheer of business success, my heart was gladdened by a meeting with my old friend, Mrs. Bigelow, and little Willie, the whilom blind boy I had met in New York city, and toward whom I had been drawn by that “touch of nature” which “makes the whole world kin.”

He was now an elegant, educated gentleman, who, among his 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.”