eat; and the full and
jolly proportions of most of the inhabitants, who would have rivalled
Scott's worthy in height and obesity, immediately struck my eye; and I
might have imagined myself transported to the Shetland isle, had it not
been for the lodges of the Indians on the beach, and the Indians
themselves either running about, or lying stripped in the porches before
the whisky stores.

I inquired of one of the islanders, why all the white residents were
generally such large portly men, which they are at a very early age; he
replied, "We have good air, good water, and what we eat agrees with us."
This was very conclusive.

I enquired of another, if people lived to a good old age in the island;
his reply was quite American--"I guess they do; if people want to die,
they can't die here--they're obliged to go elsewhere."

Wandering among the Indian lodges (wigwams is a term not used
now-a-days), I heard a sort of flute played in one of them, and I
entered. The young Indian who was blowing on it, handed it to me. It
was an imperfect instrument, something between a flute and a clarionet,
but the sound which it gave out was soft and musical. An islander
informed me that it was the only sort of musical instrument which the
Northern tribes possessed, and that it was played upon by the young men
only when they were _in love_. I suspected at first that he was
bantering me, but I afterwards found that what he said was true. The
young Indian must have been very deeply smitten, for he continued to
play all day and all night, during the time that I was there.

"If music be the food of love, play on."

Started in a birch canoe for Sault St Marie, a small town built under
the rapids of that name, which pour out a portion of the waters of Lake
Superior. Two American gentlemen, one a member of Congress, and the
other belonging to the American Fur Company, were of the party. Our
crew consisted of five Canadian half-breeds--a mixture between the
Indian and the white, which spoils both. It was a lovely morning; not a
breath of air stirred the wide expanse of the Huron, as far as the eye
could scan; and the canoe, as it floated along side of the
landing-place, appeared as if it were poised in the air, so light did it
float, and so clear and transparent are these northern waters. We
started, and in two hours arrived at Goose Island, unpoetical in its
name, but in itself full of beauty. As you stand on the beach, you can
lo