[Footnote A:  “Mackinaw, that long desired, sight, was dimly discerned under a thick fog, yet it soothed and cheered me.  All looked mellow there; man seemed to have worked in harmony with Nature instead of rudely invading her, as in most Western towns.  It seemed possible, on that spot, to lead a life of serenity and cheerfulness.  Some richly dressed Indians came down to show themselves.  Their dresses were of blue broadcloth, with splendid leggings and knee-ties.  On their heads were crimson scarfs adorned with beads and falling on one shoulder, their hair long and looking cleanly.  Near were one or two wild figures clad in the common white blankets.”  Manuscript Notes.—­ED.]

As the day has passed dully, a cold rain preventing us from keeping out in the air, my thoughts have been dwelling on a story told when we were off Detroit, this morning, by a fellow-passenger, and whose moral beauty touched me profoundly.

“Some years ago,” said Mrs. L., “my father and mother stopped to dine at Detroit.  A short time before dinner my father met in the hall Captain P., a friend of his youthful days.  He had loved P. extremely, as did many who knew him, and had not been surprised to hear of the distinction and popular esteem which his wide knowledge, talents, and noble temper commanded, as he went onward in the world.  P. was every way fitted to succeed; his aims were high, but not too high for his powers, suggested by an instinct of his own capacities, not by an ideal standard drawn from culture.  Though steadfast in his course, it was not to overrun others; his wise self-possession was no less for them than himself.  He was thoroughly the gentleman, gentle because manly, and was a striking instance that, where there is strength for sincere courtesy, there is no need of other adaptation to the character of others, to make one’s way freely and gracefully through the crowd.

“My father was delighted to see him, and after a short parley in the hall, ‘We will dine together,’ he cried, ’then we shall have time to tell all our stories.’

“P. hesitated a moment, then said, ‘My wife is with me.’

“‘And mine with me,’ said my father; ’that’s well; they, too, will have an opportunity of getting acquainted, and can entertain one another, if they get tired of our college stories.’

“P. acquiesced, with a grave bow, and shortly after they all met in the dining-room.  My father was much surprised at the appearance of Mrs. P. He had heard that his friend married abroad, but nothing further, and he was not prepared to see the calm, dignified P. with a woman on his arm, still handsome, indeed, but whose coarse and imperious expression showed as low habits of mind as her exaggerated dress and gesture did of education.  Nor could there be a greater contrast to my mother, who, though understanding her claims and place with the certainty of a lady, was soft and retiring in an uncommon degree.