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would astonish the good citizens of Dubuque, Iowa, of to-day if I should tell them what a small, pretty village theirs was when I first saw it; how immense prairies filled with wild flowers stretched back from the great bluff (I suppose that is there still) which defends their State of Iowa from the rolling Mississippi, and what a little row of houses clustered under the hill. Beyond on the prairies lived some of our friends, who were early settlers. We used to go out for a day and a night, and had some log-cabin experiences not always pleasant.

One of our friends, a Philadelphia gentleman, had married a fair-haired wife, and they were "roughing it on the plains." Among their live-stock was a fawn, the most beautiful creature possible. I loved and petted this gentle animal, and was shocked when one day I was asked to come out and eat him.

He had grown troublesome, I suppose. This was bad enough, but, what was worse, he was shot before my eyes after I got there, and I saw the dying look in his splendid eyes. This effectually spoiled the effect of the venison for me; as sad a story, I thought, as that of