father's wife; she, her two bachelor brothers and a maiden sister
attending him, in the lingering, languishing hours of suffering, and
gently smoothing his "pathway to the grave."

I must not fail to mention among Chicago friends the name of Mrs. Dean,
which has been written in letters of light upon a hallowed life page,
standing out in bold relief upon the background of years. Her house was my
home, and she was ever a fond mother to me.

Her lovely little daughter, Ada, has since matured to womanhood, assumed
the relations and duties of a wife, and is now presiding over an elegant
home in one of the flourishing towns of Iowa.




CHAPTER IX.

"And when the stream
Which overflowed the soul was passed away,
A consciousness remained that it had left.
Deposited upon the silent shore
Of memory, images and previous thoughts,
That shall not die and cannot be destroyed."


For three years longer lowered the lurking war-cloud, and I, among so many
others, felt its baneful shadow. During this time I made Chicago my
headquarters, taking occasional trips upon the various railroad routes
converging there.