LAKE Superior! ocean wide, majestic, wildly heaving Superior! What joy to see thy free waves dance! What life in the breeze from thy waters! What vigour from a plunge into thy clear, cool depths!

Upon my faint spirit, brightened this picture of freedom and healthful life, one melting afternoon in the summer of '35. At early morning, my little study at Walnut Hills, shaded by magnificent forest trees, and looking out upon a charming landscape, was as dear a spot as the earth held for me. But when the trees drooped motionless, and the light quivered in the exhausted air; when every living thing was hushed, and the all of mental energy was perfect weakness; never did captive long for freedom more than I to leave this spirit prison. On the afternoon aforesaid, much study proved a weariness to the flesh: the print danced, solid theology run to vinegar, eyes closed, and more to be desired than many books," than "principalities and powers," "moral faculties" than Dr. B.'s spectacles, seemed the wings of a -fish, to glide through the clouds, and to preach in the caves of the ocean! Thus gently expired my heroic purpose to study through the hot season. Then came the vision of the far off, wild Superior. All night, in dreams, I tilted upon its waves in a birch canoe. Next day, the card upon the door bid all good fellows to "inquire at the lodge of Muj-je-ke naw-waw-bee." He was the great under-ground wild-cat of the "Pictured Rocks." So “Tanner's" veracious "Narrative." But my whereabouts was a mystery until three months afterward, when the paraphernalia of a "medicine man," hanging over the door, announced my return.

The ten days of storm-tossing on Lake Huron may go unnoticed: nor will we dwell upon the luxury of a ravenous appetite for the white-fish and potatos of Mackinaw; both unrivalled in their kind. The wonders of that romantic little island must also be passed without description; indeed they are hardly novelties now to the summer travellers. The passage from Mackinaw to Fort Brady at the outlet of Lake Superior, is better worth description for its novelty and exciting circumstance. We commend this trip especially to the listless pleasure hunters at the springs; and to the fretful jammed and jaded travellers by stage and steamboat.

We left Mackinaw one Monday in a batteau belonging to the government. Our party consisted of Lieut. C. of Mackinaw; Mr. H., the Indian Agent, and his wife; Mrs. De R., a French lady;

Miss Chatterbox, her daughter; Alma La V., an accomplished and beautiful Indian girl, and my humble self. We had eight soldiers for oarsmen, with a corporal at the helm. Two other batteaux filled with soldiers, went in company with us. As by one trifle and another we were detained until near noon, before "the parting cheer," the proposal of Mr. Agent to inspect our stores at Goose Island, about ten miles from Mackinaw, was received nem. con. Being a stranger to the party with whom Mr. S ft had secured me a passage; and also to the way they do things in that region, I had guarded against being de trop, by taking along my own provisions: and while the ladies were making arrangements for the lunch, seated myself under the shadow of a rock, at respectful distance, for a solitary meal.

"What the deuce are you doing here?" said Lieut. C., coming suddenly upon me.

'Why, just what you see,' ," said I, holding up some dried venison that defied the tooth of man, 'extracting salt from that petrified meat. This is some of Christie's 'prime,' at 20 cts. a pound!"

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"Ha! ha! good-this serves you right. Come on; we're waiting for you to lunch with us."

The idea of being delicate about feeding upon Uncle Sam, when you have the chance, seemed ludicrous enough, and over pastry and claret I was cured of feeling like a stranger.

During the long traverse from the Island to the mouth of the St. Joseph, my seat was by the Dusky Maid. Her father, not living at the time, was a French trader, a man of some ambition in the way of style and courtesy: her mother, then at the Sault, a full-blooded Indian, held in great veneration by the Chippewas. Alma La V. had been as carefully educated in childhood as the remote situation of the family would allow; and was at this time returning from the best seminary in Massachusetts, after three years absence. The conversation started upon Mrs. Jamieson's "Characteristics of Women," which she was reading, as we glided before a fresh breeze. The world, as Shakspeare drew it, was to her mind a picture of the world now. He was her great authority, beyond the realities of personal experience; and the work in hand was a portrait gallery of familiar friends. It wanted, however, one character which Shakspeare never drew; that was her own. It remains for an American Shakspeare to do justice to a heroic Indian girl, inheriting a French taste for artistic beauty; educated to call the most attractive fair one, sister, in the graces of social life; with keenest sensibility to kindness or ne

glect, and with all the rich affections of her nature matured under the genial love of a high-minded, Christian lady, who, when she learns that to be elevated thus above her tribe, is to become “a shining mark" for deadly prejudice, can suffer silently; and show the proud white man what it is to be a Christian. Such was Alma La V., as an incident of the second day's voyage will presently show.

We encamped that night on the banks of the St. Joseph, at an old Indian burying ground-a most inviting little sward plat. The forest trees pressed closely around us; and when our camp fires lighted up their green, their partially revealed forms stood like the priesthood of Nature, whose giant arms stretched over us, promised defence against some evil lurking in the gloom beyond. The stars seen through the tracery of the branches, and again reflected in the river; the purling of the waters; the responsive cries of night birds; the perpetual wail of the forest, rising and falling on the fitful breeze, and a feeling of estrangement from the sympathies, as well as from the abodes of men-all so wild, so beautiful, so impressive to the imagination; made the season any thing but a time for sleep. Was Nature conscious that her child was with us? Was it to welcome her back, that she was round about our tents so lovely and benign? Or was this thought a heart-fantasy?

The gun at sunrise! we're all astir. Not a mist wreath to be seen. The tents are struck; ready now! one cheer, and away we go! Listen to the echo of the oars! What merry voices are chasing us along the shore! How dark the water in the shade! How ruddy in the middle of the stream! See! there rises a heron. Bang--well done Mr. Agent! but we can't stop to hunt for him among those reeds. We've made nine miles--a merry breakfast we'll have now upon this little island. "With a breeze to help us up the narrows we'll sup in the fort." "Remember we're not to stop for dinner, so eat away." Bless us--what do they know of a good breakfast at a fashionable hotel! Here's heart glee to begin with;--appetite! what can we compare it to?

"Corporal--tell those men to row back, and let the duck go-we can't be delayed." Corporal sees a large bird watching our operations from an old pine on shore-is "sure 'tis an Eagle!" All run, breakfast in hand. Corporal fires -- bird waits awhile, then sails off-a hawk!

There's but little wind yet, and the men must pull. They are in the spirit for it though, and our batteaux move rapidly. The water of the upper lakes is of crystalline purity: we can see the pebbles distinctly thirty feet below. Save the arrowy ripple that keeps just so far ahead of the batteau, the river before us is calm as a mirror. As we gaze downward, the water vanishes; the underworld with its enameled sky is a reality; we are floating in the air! Now we are pulling hard through a pass; a little onward and we sweep free

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and fast across a bay; and then we are bewildered in a labyrinth of tiny islands -- all duplicate -- as real in the water, as in the air. "That rood of moss with the gaunt pine upon it, must be swept away soon." Not so. The shore and every little island is bound with rock; while the inexhaustible lake sends down its flood so steadily, that the moss, from summer to summer, drinks quietly at the brink.

We seemed to be in a new world, as yet untouched by art, unvisited by sin. Not a sign of human dwelling, nothing to restrain the outbreakings of our merry hearts. Each exclaimed when he pleased, or what he pleased; apostrophized the clouds, the trees, the rocks, or his own image in the water; halloed to the men in the other batteaux, or exchanged a murmur of satisfaction with the dreamer at his side. All chatted, phantasied, and sung con amore, ad libitum. But who of us so buoyant, so full of song, so alive to every beauty of nature, and to the wit of our gay Lieutenant, as Alma La V. now gliding through the Elysium of her childhood! While thus borne along, happy as we could be, and excited by our near approach to the fort, a canoe suddenly darted from behind an island, crossed our track someway ahead, and disappeared.

"Who are they?" cried all, at once, as the Lieutenant dropped his glass.

"Only a pack of half breeds," was the reply.

Poor Alma! upon her soul expanded with innocent joy, unconscious of sorrow, that curse of contempt for her blood, fell fatal as the frost upon the flower. Her song for that day was ended. There was no rising of anger, no tear; but evident mistrust of our every attention, and painful anxiety to be released from our company. In conversation afterward no one could get her eye, or draw forth a sprightly word. The thing was a damper upon us all, and nothing could have been more timely than the sport that awaited us above the narrows. Just as we were rounding into the broad river in full view of the Fort, a canoe with a single Indian shot across our bow in chase of a deer, which he had turned in its attempt to swim the river. Without a word said, the corporal headed the boat for the deer. The men cheered, and stretched away lustily, the Indian plied his paddle like a mill-wheel, the deer swam for life. Eight oars against one paddle--we are gaining fast upon the canoe--. oe--Bang, the Indian: too soon and unsteady; another cheer--pull away--bang, the Lieutenant: a hit, but too low. Uprose the deer upon the bank--bang, the Agent--one bound and the deer is free! "Whew!" says the corporal, how that last ball made him jump!"

At this period, visitors at Fort Brady by the falls of St. Mary, were rare. No speculation folly in the shape of a vast, reverberating hotel domineered among the huts and lodges of the settlement. No crowded steamboat as yet poured its hordes upon the wild river bank before the Fort. What a champion then was the mail carrier,

who thrice each dreary winter unstrapped his snow-shoes in the barracks, "just from Mackinaw!" And when summer for a few weeks loosed all the streams, and the outlets of the lakes, and the song of the voyageur announced the coming ones; what a range of glasses was levelled at the batteau or canoe, from the moment it shot round the point, until close at the landing! Who would not hate to step ashore, when many a bright eye after piercing him through, is dim with disappointment, and when not a soul of the friend-seeking throng knows who he is? But only present exactly the right letter; and those eyes brighten again, warmest welcomes make one at home in an hour.

For sensible wit, hospitality, and the courtesy that warms a man to the soul, the little corps of officers and their families at Fort Brady, were not to be outdone by society anywhere. The first day there was exceedingly pleasant, the next more so; and thus the days went on better and better for three weeks.

A detail of the rapid succession of enjoyments cannot be expected; nor would it be interesting on the written page. It may be well to state, however, that none but an uncaged student, in the exhilaration of reviving health, surrounded with novelties, with an insatiable receptivity for enjoyment from any and every source, no matter for the time, and rara avis withal, can expect to realize the same "fine times" that I had. Moreover, the steamboats have of late years made it very difficult for any one to be rara avis now. Still, above the Sault St. Marie, rolls the wild, ocean-like Superior; and for many a year will it be a rare adventure for a "pale face" to sail in a canoe beneath the pictured rocks." There rushes yet undiminished, and untamed by art, the outpouring of the lake; dashing for miles over immense sharp rocks; shaking the earth far around; filling the air with spray, and overwhelming the beholder with the roar of its fury, and by its immeasurable rapidity, and volume, and power. One may yet rank himself among the glorious few, who, with an old Indian, desperate for a dollar, have descended those tremendous rapids, with the strength of Lake Superior whirling them headlong, and nothing but a sheet of birch bark between their vitals and the jagged rocks.

There, also, one may see to this day, how the poor Indian struggles at hand grip with starvation; and by a visit to his squalid lodge, learn to appreciate his own comforts. Indeed, independent of the charming society of the garrison, there are a hundred things about that romantic little spot, to make a summer visit as pleasant as can well be imagined. The most interesting event, will probably be the excursion up to the White Fish Point, where the vision of Lake Superior which tempted me from my study, was realized to the full. The plan is to go up one day and return the

next.

The mention of this excursion brings an odd character to mind. As our canoe, at evening, approached the shore above the rapids, we perceived among the friends waiting to greet us on our return, no less a personage than Mr. Peter Longwind, a teacher and exhorter from La Pont. He had given us a terrible spiflication upon free agency, the Sabbath evening previous; in course of which he killed forty men of straw, and magnetized a squad of Indians in the "far corner." Could we have forgotten the philosopher, we must have remembered the man bodily. His prominent feature was neck, which admitted of two distinct cases of bronchitis. Upon this, which he wore entirely bare, was perched a diminutive bald head, propped up from behind by a tremendous coat collar. He had evidently studied gesture before a windmill. Presuming that we all knew him, he thought it but fair to know all of us; so waiving the frivolty of an introduction, he greeted us familiarly, and proceeded, in a businesslike way to show all manner of attentions to Alma La V. We supposed of course, they were old acquaintances, and took no notice of their keeping some way behind, until when near the Fort, Alma darted by us with a scream, and bounded through the gate like a deer. For once in his life Mr. Peter Longwind lost his breath; for on asking him "what's the matter?" he seemed "dumb foundered." The story was told next morning. Mr. Peter had left his cabin among the Chippewas to hunt a wife; and brought with him some Indian notions about the honour to be conferred upon whomsoever he might choose. As soon as he heard of Alma La V. "something told him it was his duty to take her." Accordingly, without having seen her as yet, he walked up to meet her on the return from our excursion. Sad tidings, thought Peter, should be announced little by little; but not so the good. An hour was long enough to withhold such an intention as his, and accordingly he broke the news--with the effect described. Peter's claim was urged by his friends confidently; because, as he wanted a wife who could talk Indian, she must be the very one Providence designed for him. The mother was also appealed to, that "for the glory of God," she would command her daughter to accept him! But think of Peter, himself, giving her a written exhortation as to her duty in the matter, and closing with the motive; "must not expect to be well settled among the white people!" He was pretty soon favoured with an introduction to her brother, a clerk in the Agency. What was said may remain a secret; but Peter's motions towards Mackinaw were certainly very expeditious.

An opportunity was now offered me to return which was not to be slighted, reluctant as I might be to depart. Dr. C., attached to the garrison there, had engaged a canoe and five Indian voyageurs for Mackinaw. According to custom, after packing the canoe, the voyageurs all got drunk; so that we found ourselves at leisure to see Mons.

Purcelle and some other French gentlemen, who arrived that forenoon, intending to go up the lake to the Pictured Rock. Some English people from the Mission opposite, Lieut. S. and Lady of the garrison, with Alma La V. and one or two others joined the expedition. 'Tis a week's trip, and the more the merrier.

It requires great skill to guide a canoe down through the narrows. The river turns very suddenly there, and with a tremendous currentwhile the rocks seem to defy a passage. We were no little alarmed therefore to find our steersman in a towering passion, and too drunk to be controlled, at the very moment a cool head was needed. He had taken his place that evening, quietly enough, but something passing between him and "Wack-tau" as near as we could understand his name, roused him; and he was for coming forward to fight. The oarsmen were not entirely sober, but they saw the danger; and though the savage seemed determined to dash us to pieces, they succeeded in warding the canoe from the rocks. Now came the quarrel. Either the oarsmen or the steersman must go ashore. The Dr.'s sword was out; and the old savage had to yield. The canoe was his; and we thought ourselves fortunate in getting off again with only the loss of the long paddle, and the best sail, which he held on to.

These oarsmen now became the best fellows in the world. But for the steersman they would not have had a carouse; but for him-there was no knowing what saints they might have become. It was well to make him the scape-goat, and avail ourselves of their repentance for the delay and trouble, to make good terms for the rest of the voyage. The canoe had been paid for in advance, the agreement that scape-goat's pay should be divided among them, and they paddle all night, was mutually satisfactory.

In this agreement, however, the Indians made no proviso, that they should stop awhile to "make kettle:" an important affair with a voyageur at all times, but especially when extra effort is to be made. 'Tis said of Washington, that his mind was always just equal to the occasion: that as any affair became momentous, his mind enlarged itself to take in all the considerations pertaining to it; and this without straining, or subsequent exhaustion. The same is true of the stomach of a voyageur. Is he required to paddle all night!-he stows away enough to supply the consumption of animal carbon during the operation. Is he to travel two days without eating? allow him the material, and he will lay in at one meal enough to carry him through with ease; all this too, without exertion, or the slightest inconvenience. The process of "making kettle" commenced between ten and eleven, at the Indian caravansary on Mud Creek. This public building might be improved by sides and roof; but it answers well in pleasant weather without either. The structure is complete with a circle of stones, to keep the fire com

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pact, and two stakes with a cross stick to swing the kettle on. Here the Dr. and myself, wrapped in our blankets and stretched upon the ground, watched with interest the scene before us. The fire deepened the gloom of the forest, and gave the swarthy visages of the Indians a peculiarly wild look. As they moved to and fro a little back from the fire, their bodies not quite distinct, but eyes glaring in its light, they seemed like a pack of hyenas prowling around us. No creatures, however, could be more pacific than our voy. ageurs, with their hearts in the kettle with the pork, pausing till it be done.

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They are making bread now! Process-dip from the boiling pork water into the tin cover of the kettle; mix in what the cover will hold of flour, and stir till it becomes a tough paste. Make the paste into rolls like suasages, and toss them into the kettle with the pork. After the pork is done, spear them out with a stick, and say "gallette-bon!" Wack-tau says, man eat gallette every day, he never die." That is, if this don't kill him, nothing will. Baked bread! Processroll the paste into thin, flat strips; wind it rouud a stick like riband on a baton; sink one end of the stick into the ground by the fire, with the other end pretty well into the smoke; turn as fast as baked; pull up stick, and knaw off. Tea! yes, they make tea also. Process-hold a handful of bushes over the fire till well dried-strip off the leaves; put them into a tin cup; fill up with pork water; let steep awhile; season with maple sugar, and drink ad infinitum-never affects the nerves. Pipes-scorched leaves crumpled fine, and a wee bit of tobacco-too precious to be smoked all by itself. Thus fare the hardy voyageurs.

It would seem that they either understood the bargain to be that they should eat all night; or else judged that the rowing would consume a prodigious quantity of carbon.

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'Who," says Solomon, can eat, or who can hasten thereunto more than I?" Ans. Voyageur. At length we are on our course again. Our canoe was forty feet long. The Dr. and myself occupied the middle, stretched at full length upon a camp bed, with carpet bags for pillows; while the baggage piled up behind, and at our feet, kept our quarters secure. Three rowers occupied forward, and the steersman all aft. A greater luxury can hardly be imagined than thus to float along in a canoe of a summer's night; lulled by the gentle motion, by the sound of the paddles, and the chanting of the voyageurs. The stars looking down so earnestly; branches, rocks, and the heavy masses of foliage changing as we pass them, into all fantastic shapes, and the romance of the whole adventure, hold one in a long, delightful vigil. Then, how sweetly do these realities blend with the visions of our dream!

But where are we now? All dark-bushes close over head, and swarms of insects at our faces! Sure enough-we are close up under the bank, and the Indians gone! "Halloe-0-0-0!"

m

"Perhaps they have stopped to visit the graves of their fathers."

"Yes, and taken the kettle along, to offer a sacrifice!"

The Dr.'s opinion was soon verified. We went but a short way into the forest, and lo! there sat our voyageurs by a fresh fire, quaffing tea, and stuffing themselves with gallette and pork! Hour, 3. The Dr.'s wrath produced no visible effect upon them-All the reply they made was "ugh! ugh!" Wack-tau, however, showed some agility in bringing the canoe round to a better landing, and, once off again, we found ourselves under a powerful head of carbon.

To lie upon one's back in a canoe, of a rainy morning, holding up an umbrella, is quite a different affair from gazing at the stars on a balmy evening. Such, however, was our fate the morning we approached Pt. De Tour, at the mouth of the St. Joseph's. The landing was conducted soberly enough-notwithstanding it was our turn to "make kettle." Having an ample tent, however, we were enabled to enjoy at leisure, and with all comfort, what the considerate ladies of Fort Brady had provided for us. The articles of service are to be returned-but is it expected that the beautiful Mokuk" of sugar, with the initials A. La V. so gracefully wrought with porcupine quills shall be sent back too? Pardon the theft then, the temptation is too strong. The clouds threatened a squall, and while enjoying our capital breakfast, we held a council with Wack-tau and the steersman, as to the safety of taking the open lake. The canoe was stout, the Indians strong, and in fresh carbon from another heat at the kettle, and the Dr. was in a great hurry; as a man upon furlough always is. These were our arguments. Wack-tau said something about "wind off shore;" but real bread, and real tea convinced them all it would be safe to put out. Accordingly we were soon tossing upon the rough lake-course due W., wind N. W. By noon the wind had increased considerably, and the waves run high: soon it was impossible to keep in shore as we intended; the canoe drifted for the open lake in spite of all the Indians could do. A regular northwester was coming down; and what is a birch canoe on Huron "Lake of storms" at such a time? We could now look into the waves swelling in dark masses above our heads, and shuddered as each seemed inevitably coming into the

canoe. The next moment we rise upon its crest and see the lake all foam. What our emotions were, with such a thin partition between us and death, can better be imagined than described. No cry of alarm, however; that cannot help us. The steersman-what thinks he? there's no fear in that countenance; yet, what but real danger gives him the look and motion of a young Hercules! How dexterously he forces the canoe diagonally upon the wave! If it takes us square in

front, it will lift the canoe in the air, and down we come-the back broken. If the wave turns the prow, and throws us into the trough, we roll over and over like a log. The steersman knows it well; the rowers too are thoroughly arousedall but Wack-tau. He is stultified. There he sits, making silly gestures, scraping the mast with his fingers, chanting prayers, and throwing tobacco into the water. The threatened vengeance of the whole army cannot move him. The Dr. seizes his paddle; the Indians cheer. "It cannot be more than three miles to Goose Island, ply now for life!"

The island was gained before the storm was at its height. Yet though we came upon the lee shore, the landing was very difficult. Two Indians held the canoe in the surf, while the others unladed; for the last load taking us upon their shoulders. The canoe was then lifted out, and borne high on the beach. Comfortless enough! on a little island, sheltered only by small birches, and gooseberry bushes; the rain and wind increasing, and no chance for a fire. But we are saved, let us think only of that. The Indians have backed the canoe to the wind; filled under with sand and cobble stones, and think to weather the night well. Our tent is pitched, and spite of a wet bed, of rain and wind, and the thunder of the waves, overcome with fatigue, we slept soundly. Short rest! we wake in the middle of the nightthe wet sail-cloth flapping upon our faces, scarce able to rise up-the tent is down, the wind at a gale, and it rains furiously. The Indians cannot hear us-'tis for me to go down to the beach and bring them to the rescue. By violent pulling the tent was fastened securely among the birches, and we were somewhat sheltered again. But we were wet to the skin, cold, hungry, worn out, and thoroughly dispirited. Morning came at last, but every thing was wet, and fire out of the question. The Dr. was warm as need be, but with fever heat. No tea all day-no bread either. Indians "no make kettle-eat bread." So they had devoured every mouthful of it during the night. There we staid until sundown; when, as the wind lulled, the steersman gave the word to get ready. With extreme difficulty we got into Mackinaw at about nine: where our Indians, sweeping all the provisions as spoils" made great kettle" with "bon tea" until morning.

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Who are those about to tempt the treacherous lake to-day? The short, full-faced, benevolent looking woman, is Miss H. from Bedford, Eng. land; and the Indian girl near her, is her adopted daughter. But who is that, arching over them on the right? Not Peter Longwind! The veritable he. They are all off for La Point!

Women of England! Daughters of England! Warm hearts have ye all; but who, save her of Bedford, could cross the Atlantic without a friend; and for the sake of a walking-stick into the Indian country, upon two days' acquaintance, agree to be the wife of Peter Longwind?