procure it in a fit state to be sown, for Judge Buel, of Albany, who was desirous of trying its cultivation on the grassy shallows of our eastern rivers.  He was not successfull at first, because, as soon as the grain is collected, it is kiln-dried by the Indians, which destroys the vegetative principle.  At length, however, he obtained and sent on a small quantity of the fresh rice, but it reached Judge Buel only a short time before his death, and the experiment probably has not been made.

On one side of the creek was a sloping bank of some height, where tall old forest trees were growing.  Among these stood three houses, just built, and the space between them and the water was formed into gardens with regular terraces faced with turf.  Another turn of our vehicle brought us into a public square, where the oaks of the original forest were left standing, a miniature of the Champs Elysees, surrounding which, among the trees, stand many neat houses, some of them built of a drab-colored brick.  Back of the town, we had a glimpse of a prairie approaching within half a mile of the river.  We were next driven through a street of shops, and thence to our steamer.  The streets of Southport are beds of sand, and one of the passengers who professed to speak from some experience, described the place as haunted by myriads of fleas.

It was not till about one o’clock of the second night after leaving Chicago, that we landed at Mackinaw, and after an infinite deal of trouble in getting our baggage together, and keeping it together, we were driven to the Mission House, a plain, comfortable old wooden house, built thirty or forty years since, by a missionary society, and now turned into an hotel.  Beside the road, close to the water’s edge, stood several wigwams of the Potawottamies, pyramids of poles wrapped around with rush matting, each containing a family asleep.  The place was crowded with people on their way to the mining region of Lake Superior, or returning from it, and we were obliged to content ourselves with narrow accommodations for the night.

At half-past seven the next morning we were on our way to the Sault Ste. Marie, in the little steamer General Scott.  The wind was blowing fresh, and a score of persons who had intended to visit the Sault were withheld by the fear of seasickness, so that half a dozen of us had the steamer to ourselves.  In three or four hours we found ourselves gliding out of the lake, through smooth water, between two low points of land covered with firs and pines into the west strait.  We passed Drummond’s Island, and then coasted St. Joseph’s Island, on the woody shore of which I was shown a solitary house.  There I was told lives a long-nosed Englishman, a half-pay officer, with two wives, sisters, each the mother of a numerous offspring.  This English polygamist has been more successful in seeking solitude than in avoiding notoriety.  The very loneliness of his habitation on the shore causes it to be remarked, and there is not a passenger who makes the voyage to the Sault, to whom his house is not pointed out, and his story related.  It was hinted to me that he had a third wife in Toronto, but I have my private doubts of this part of the story, and suspect that it was thrown in to increase my wonder.