prefer the trout, despite the solemn and
eloquent remonstrances of the _habitues_, to whom the superiority of
white-fish seemed a cardinal point of faith.

I am here reminded that I have omitted that indispensable part of a
travelling journal, the account of what we found to eat. I cannot hope
to make up, by one bold stroke, all my omissions of daily record;
but that I may show myself not destitute of the common feelings of
humanity, I will observe that he whose affections turn in summer
towards vegetables should not come to this region, till the subject
of diet be better understood; that of fruit, too, there is little yet,
even at the best hotel tables; that the prairie chickens require
no praise from me, and that the trout and white-fish are worthy the
transparency of the lake waters.

In this brief mention I by no means intend to give myself an air of
superiority to the subject. If a dinner in the Illinois woods, on dry
bread and drier meat, with water from the stream that flowed hard by,
pleased me best of all, yet, at one time, when living at a house where
nothing was prepared for the table fit to touch, and even the bread
could not be partaken of without a headache in consequence, I learnt
to understand and sympathize with the anxious tone in which fathers
of families, about to take their innocent children into some scene of
wild beauty, ask first of all, "Is there a good, table?" I shall ask
just so in future. Only those whom the Powers have furnished with
small travelling cases of ambrosia can take exercise all day, and be
happy without even bread morning or night.

Our voyage back was all pleasure. It was the fairest day. I saw the
river, the islands, the clouds, to the greatest advantage.

On board was an old man, an Illinois farmer, whom I found a most
agreeable companion. He had just been with his son, and eleven other
young men, on an exploring expedition to the shores of Lake Superior.
He was the only old man of the party, but he had enjoyed most of any
the journey. He had been the counsellor and playmate, too, of the
young ones. He was one of those parents--why so rare?--who understand
and live a new life in that of their children, instead of wasting time
and young happiness in trying to make them conform to an object and
standard of their own. The character and history of each child may
be a new and poetic experience to the parent, if he will let it.
Our farmer was domestic, judicious, solid; the so