the lake, to which adhered no slime, nor green moss,
nor aquatic weed. In the light-green depths, far down, but distinctly
seen, shoals of fish, some of them of large size, came quietly playing
about the huge hull of our steamer.

On the shore were two log-houses inhabited by woodmen, one of whom drew a
pail of water for the refreshment of some of the passengers, from a well
dug in the sand by his door. "It is not so good as the lake water," said
I, for I saw it was not so clear. "It is colder, though," answered the
man; "but I must say that there is no purer or sweeter water in the world
than that of our lake."

Next morning we were coasting the western shore of Lake Michigan, a high
bank presenting a long line of forest. This was broken by the little town
of Sheboygan, with its light-house among the shrubs of the bank, its
cluster of houses just built, among which were two hotels, and its single
schooner lying at the mouth of a river. You probably never heard of
Sheboygan before; it has just sprung up in the forests of Wisconsin; the
leaves have hardly withered on the trees that were felled to make room for
its houses; but it will make a noise in the world yet. "It is the
prettiest place on the lake," said a passenger, whom we left there, with
three chubby and healthy children, a lady who had already lived long
enough at Sheboygan to be proud of it.

Further on we came to Milwaukie, which is rapidly becoming one of the
great cities of the West. It lies within a semicircle of green pastoral
declivities sprinkled with scattered trees, where the future streets are
to be built. We landed at a kind of wharf, formed by a long platform of
planks laid on piles, under which the water flows, and extending to some
distance into the lake, and along which a car, running on a railway, took
the passengers and their baggage, and a part of the freight of the steamer
to the shore.

"Will you go up to town, sir?" was the question with which I was saluted
by the drivers of a throng of vehicles of all sorts, as soon as I reached
the land. They were ranged along a firm sandy beach between the lake and
the river of Milwaukie. On one side the light-green waters of the lake, of
crystalline clearness, came rolling in before the wind, and on the other
the dark thick waters of the river lay still and stagnant in the sun. We
did not go up to the town, but we could see that it was compactly built,
and in one quarter nobly. A year or two since t