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forget. At Davenport & Rock Isla we enter upon a seemingly new character of country & climate, the bluffs begin to rise, first into grassy hills with clumps of trees here & there seemingly prepared by nature for the farmer, while on the opposite shore a large forrest reaching back for miles over a gently undulating country. The Rapids of Rock Island run between for line drawn, text below is written upside down seated on his chest which contains his all & that of his faithful guide his grandson is an old blind man, whose only consolation for the loss of the most pleasurable of the senses, consists of enjoying the melody of sound which he draws with surprising skill from the strings of an old violin -- This face bears an expression of quiet, & beautiful resignation with a tinge of sadness--his grey hair is thrown back over his face & exposes a forehead of benevolent form--