funereal greens,
These stunted cedars and low scraggy pines,
Where nature stagnates and the soil repines--

Alas! the source is small--small every bliss,
That e'er can dwell on such a place as this.
Bleak, barren, sandy, dreary, and confined,
Bathed by the waves and chilled by every wind;
Without a flower to beautify the scene,
Without a cultured shore--a shady green--
Without a harbor on a dangerous shore,
Without a friend to joy with or deplore.
He who can feel one lonely ray of bliss
In such a thought-appalling spot as this,
His mind in fogs and mists must ever roll,
Without a heart, and torpid all his soul.

About three o'clock P.M. there was a transient gleam of sunshine, and,
for a few moments, a slight abatement of wind. I ordered my canoe and
baggage taken inland to another narrow little bay, having issue into the
lake, where the water was calm enough to permit its being loaded; but
before this was accomplished, a most portentous cloud gathered in the
west, and the wind arose more fierce than before. Huron, like an
offended and capricious mistress, seemed to be determined, at last, on
fury, and threw herself into the most extravagant attitudes. I again had
my tent pitched, and sat down quietly to wait till the tempest should
subside; but up to a late hour at night the elemental war continued,
and, committing myself to the Divine mercy, I put out my candle and
retired to my pallet.

_8th_. The frowning mistress, Lake Huron, still has the pouts. About
seven o'clock I walked, or scrambled my way through close-matted spruce
and brambles to get a view of the open lake. The force of the waves was
not, perhaps, much different from the day before, but they were directly
from the west, and blowing directly down the lake. Could I get out from
the nook of a bay where I was encamped, and get directly before them, it
appeared possible, with a close-reefed sail, to go on my way. My
_engagees_ thought it too hazardous to try, but their habitual sense of
obedience to a _bourgeoise_ led them to put the canoe in the water, and
at 10 o'clock we left our encampment on Outard Point, got out into the
lake, not without imminent hazard, and began our career "like a
racehorse" for the Capes of the St. Mary's. The wind blew as if "'twad
blawn its last." We had reefed our sail to less than four feet, and I
put an extra man with the steersman. We literally went "o