t two hundred miles, till he came within sight of the Highlands of
the White River. He then turned in a southerly direction, and continued
his explorations, till death soon terminated his melancholy career.

More than one hundred and thirty years passed over these solitudes, when
James Marquette, a French missionary among the Indians at Saint Marys,
the outlet of Lake Superior, resolved to explore the Mississippi, of
whose magnificence he had heard much from the lips of the Indians, who
had occasionally extended their hunting tours to its banks. He was
inured to all the hardships of the wilderness, seemed to despise worldly
comforts, and had a soul of bravery which could apparently set all
perils at defiance. And still he was indued with a poetic nature, which
reveled in the charms of these wild and romantic realms, as he climbed
its mountains and floated in his canoe over its silent and placid
streams. Even then it was not known whether the Mississippi emptied its
majestic flood into the Pacific Ocean or into the Gulf of Mexico. The
foot of the white man upon the shores of Lake Superior, had never
penetrated beyond the Indian village, where the Fox River enters into
Green Bay. From this point Marquette started for the exploration of the
Mississippi. The party consisted of Mr. Marquette, a French gentleman by
the name of Joliete, five French voyageurs and two Indian guides. They
transported their two birch canoes on their shoulders across the portage
from the Fox River to the Wisconsin river. Paddling rapidly down this
stream through realms of silence and solitude, they soon entered the
majestic Mississippi, more than fifteen hundred miles above its mouth.

Marquette seems to have experienced in the highest degree the romance of
his wonderful voyage, for he says that he commenced the descent of the
mighty river with "a joy that could not be expressed." It was the
beautiful month of June, 1673, the most genial season of the year. The
skies were bright above them. The placid stream was fringed with banks
of wonderful luxuriance and beauty, the rocky cliffs at times assuming
the aspect of majestic castles of every variety of architecture; again
the gently swelling hills were robed in sublime forests, and again the
smooth meadows, in their verdure, spread far away to the horizon.
Rapidly the canoes, gently guided by the paddles, floated down the
stream.

Having descended the river about one hundred and eighty miles, they c