A YANKEE FROM THE WEST.
CHAPTER I.
CHAPTER II.
CHAPTER III.
CHAPTER IV.
CHAPTER V.
CHAPTER VI.
CHAPTER VII.
CHAPTER VIII.
CHAPTER IX.
CHAPTER X.
CHAPTER XI.
CHAPTER XII.
CHAPTER XIII.
CHAPTER XIV.
CHAPTER XV.
CHAPTER XVI.
CHAPTER XVII.
CHAPTER XVIII.
CHAPTER XIX.
CHAPTER XX.
CHAPTER XXI.
CHAPTER XXII.
CHAPTER XXIII.
CHAPTER XXIV.
CHAPTER XXV.
CHAPTER XXVI.
CHAPTER XXVII.
CHAPTER XXVIII.
In his mind the traveler holds of Illinois a tiresome picture, thekitchen garden of a great people, a flat and unromantic necessity. Thegreatest of men have trod the level ground, but it is hard to markhistory upon a plane; there is no rugged place on which to hang awreath, and on the prairie the traveling eye is accommodated by no innwhereat it may halt to rest. Such is the Illinois as remembered by thehastening tourist. But in the southern part of the State there aremountains, and in the north, the scene of this story, there is a spreadand a roll of romantic country—the green billows of Wisconsin gentlybreaking into Illinois; lakes scattered like a handful of jewels thrownbroadcast, quiet rivers singing low among the rushes. Traveling north,we have left the slim, man-tended tree of the prairies, and here we findthe great oak. There are hillsides where the forest is heavy. There arevalleys sweet in a riot of flowers. Along the roads the fences arealmost hidden by grape-vines. On a[Pg 6] knoll the air is honeyed with wildcrab-apple; along a slope the senses tingle with the scent of the greenwalnut. There are lan