TRUST that it involves no disloyalty to Queen Victoria to dislike Toronto; it is the last of her Majesty's dominions that I should select for a residence. Its tumble-down, dilapidated aspect, its almost total absence of adornment in architecture, or ornamentation in shrubbery, was, I confess, very repelling to me. One excepts, of course, what is called the "College Walk," leading to the fine new University buildings and grounds, consisting of an entire mile of handsome shade trees, but alas! a line-and-plummet, undeviating, straight mile, innocent of the faintest suspicion of a curve. Still, on the pleasant afternoon we walked there, we enjoyed it, as well as the sight of the crowd, dressed in holiday attire, sauntering past us. I saw no beauty in their faces, but a look of jolly health, which, to my eye, was quite as pleasing. The young girls, perhaps, looked a trifle too theatrical, in the little straw crowns of hats without brim, a large ostrich feather being curled over the forehead, instead. This head-dress, worn with quite ordinary dresses, seemed to me incongruous, and not in good taste; but one forgives much to a sunny, bright face, and this would be a very monotonous world, were all individuality destroyed. It struck me that there was an immense number of sixteen-year-old young girls in Toronto; perhaps their mothers and aunts don't go out, or they may be youthful mothers and aunts—who knows? It struck me, too, that the Torontonians enjoyed themselves; every face wearing a smiling, care-free expression, rare to meet in larger places; so, if they like their pigs to run loose in the street, who shall say them nay, provided they don't trip up the Prince of Wales?
It was funny to see the "beadle" standing in the cathedral porch on Sunday morning, with his scarlet cloth collar and pompous air. If he had the usual cocked hat belonging to his office, I didn't see it, but he found us a good seat, and I trust we prayed for "the Queen and Prince" after the minister, with as much zeal as any of her subjects. The church service was indeed the best part of the performance, the sermon being very harmless and rigidly respectable. Perhaps that was the reason my thoughts wandered to a lad of twelve or thirteen near by, who was starched up in a white cravat, and dressed like his grandfather. There were some stylish equipages round the church door as we came out, and many that were not stylish, but seemed comfortable enough for all that. If I thought Toronto rather a "slow" place, the fault may be in my quicksilver temperament, which sent me off by railroad through the backwoods to Detroit, after one day's sojourn in it. Ah! that I liked! Those grand old woods, those primeval trees, towering and stately as "cedars of Lebanon;" those log-huts with the bronzed mother standing in the door-way, and a group of rosy little children about her; the woodman near by, resting on his axe at the sound of the shrieking whistle, all unconscious how pretty a picture he and his were making. And so on, for miles and miles, through that bright day, we never wearied of gazing till the sun went down. When it rose again it found us in Detroit, and quite as comfortably settled as we could have been in the best hotel in New York. Breakfast, and then a carriage to see the place. Detroit will do. There are flowers in Detroit; there are pretty gardens and vine-festooned windows; they make good coffee in Detroit, and grow peaches, or at any rate sell them—which answered my purpose just as well. Some of the streets and buildings are very pretty. There are funny little market carts, similar to those one sees in Quebec, driven about by women who sell apples, beans and potatoes. There are plenty of stores there, and civil salesmen. One need not cut his throat in Detroit, said I, as we took a farewell glance from the deck of the propeller, on which we were to glide up Lake St. Clair. It seems so strange that people will go, year after year, through the tiresome monotony of watering-place life; the same unvarying, uninteresting round of dressing and dancing, when a tour of a week or more on our Northern Lakes would be so soul-satisfying and healthful. It must be that many of them only need reminding of its superior advantages, and the ease and comfort with which so many hundred miles may be traversed, to undertake it. But to enjoy it, it must be done on the right principle. If a woman, you are not to dress up, and, striking an attitude in the ladies' saloon, take out that everlasting crochet-work, with which so many women martyrize themselves and their friends, to pass the time. You are to array yourself in a rough-and-tumble-dress, with the plainest belongings; then you are prepared to scramble up on the upper deck, to promenade there and look about; or go into the wheel-house and ask questions of the jolly, gallant captain; or go "down below" and see emigrant life, among the steerage passengers; or, when the boat stops to take in coal or freight, to jump out on the landing, and make your way, through boxes and barrels, up into the town during the brief half-hour stay of the boat. You are to do anything of this kind that a modest, dignified, independent woman may always do, without regard to Mrs. Grundy, or her numerous descendants on sea and shore. That's the way to make the Northern Lake trip.
Eleven days without a newspaper! and yet we ate, and drank, and slept, and grew fat, as our boat carried us farther and farther from all knowledge of the "horrid disclosures," and "startling developments" of fast Gotham. We were blissfully ignorant how many men choked, poisoned, and were otherwise attentive to their wives, during those bright days when we sat on deck, basking in the sun, with our fascinated gaze fixed upon the bright foam-track, or upon the sea-gulls, that, with untiring wing, followed us hundreds of miles, now and then laving their snowy breasts in the blue waves; or, as we gladly welcomed the smaller, friendly birds, that flew into the cabin windows, and fluttered about the ceiling, as if glad to see new faces in their trackless homes. We were ignorant—and contented to be—during this tranquil period, of "mass-meetings," and "barbecues," and "pugilistic encounters," and scrambles for office, the baptismal name of which is "patriotism." Meanwhile the fresh wind blew on our bronzed faces, and we glided past lovely green islands, on which Autumn had hung out, here and there, her signal flag, warning us—spite of the pleasant breeze—not to linger too long where the fierce winds would soon come to lash the waves to more than old Ocean's fury. Who could dream it, "with the blue above and the blue below," and we so gently rocked and cradled? Who could believe it—that heavenly evening, when we watched the sun sink beneath the waves on one side of us, as the moon rose majestically out of them on the other, while before us the beautiful island of "The Great Spirit," was set like an emerald in the sapphire sea? Now and then an Indian in his fragile canoe, with a blanket for a sail, gave us rough welcome in passing. How could we realize on that balmy evening, that for eight months in the year, he saw those green pines covered with snow, or that he guided huge dogs to carry the mail, through paths accessible only to Indian feet, or that spring and autumn were there almost unknown, so rapidly did winter and summer, with their intense heat and cold, succeed each other. Entranced and spell-bound we asked, Can it ever be dreary here? Hark! to that sound of music, as another boat, homeward bound, plashes past us, with its living freight. One moment and away! Heaven send them safety! And now picturesque little huts are dotted in and out among the trees, along the line of shore, and the solemn mysteries of life and death go on there too. And now, as if every illuminated page in Nature's book were to be turned for us, flashes up the Aurora! in long, quivering lines of light,—rose-color and silver—till earth, sea and sky are ablaze with glory! Oh, let us go home and gather together all who love us, (this boat would more than hold them,) and let us always live on these waters, said I; such nice, quiet sleep in the cosy little state-rooms where one cannot lose anything, because there is no room to lose it; and then the pleasant surprise of the new landing-places with their Frenchy-Indian names, and the strange but friendly faces on the pier; the mines too, to explore in this rich country, often held by residents in the old world; oh, you may be sure, even without Broadway, there would be no lack of excitement on these Lakes, no more than there would be lack of culture, refinement and intelligence among their residents; for it must needs be men of mark who are the pioneers in these wildernesses; men who will stand strong as do its rocks, when the waves of discouragement dash against them, waiting the lull of winds and storms, for the fore-ordained sunshine of prosperity. There are women, too, here; not flounced and be-gemmed and useless, but bright-eyed and fair-browed, for all that, and loving appreciatively the wild, grand beauty of these lakes and woods, even when laggard Winter holds them ice-bound. Nor need the traveller be surprised, on stepping ashore, to find here a large, well-appointed hotel, with a bill of fare no epicure need despise, especially when the far-famed fish of these regions is set before him.
The Indian, when asked to work, points significantly, and with characteristic nonchalance, to the lake for his answer! Spite of the poets, I found no beauty among these people, save in the bright eyes of one little child, who was playing outside the door of a wigwam, on the shore of that lovely Sault River, so rich in its clustering islands, so beautiful with its foaming rapids; miniaturing those of Niagara. The Indians dart over and about these rapids in their egg-shell boats with startling fearlessness. I am sorry to inform you, by the way, that the "nymph-like Indian maid" wears a hoop! In this vicinity—for one instant—I wished that I were a squaw; particularly as she was a chief's widow, and was being rowed in a pretty canoe by fourteen Indians, whose voices "kept tune as their oars kept time." A nearer inspection of her opulent ladyship might have disinclined me to the exchange, but at that distance, as her picturesque little canoe safely coquetted with the foaming, sparkling rapids, her position seemed enchanting.
Homeward bound! and now we must leave all these beautiful scenes, and say Farewell to the kind faces which greeted us so many happy "good mornings" and "good nights." There are mementoes now before me: mignonnette from the bright-eyed girl of "Marquette;" specimens of "ore" from "the Doctor," of sterling value as himself; and recollections of at least one member of the press, glad, like ourselves, to escape from pen and ink. Ah! who has not hated to say Farewell?
"We must come again next summer," said we all—so said the Captain.
Ah! the poor Captain. My eyes fill—my heart aches, as if I had known him years, instead of those few bright, fairy days. Poor Captain Jack Wilson, with his handsome, sunshiny face, cheery voice, and manly ways! How little I thought there would be no "next summer" for him, when he so kindly helped me up on the hurricane deck, and into the cosy little pilot-house, to look about; who was always sending me word to come "forward," or "aft," because he knew I so much enjoyed seeing all beautiful things; who was all goodness, all kindness, and yet, in a few hours after we left him, found a grave in that cruel surf!
The afternoon of the day we had said our last "Good-bye" to him, on the Chicago pier; we had taken a carriage to drive round the city, and reined up at the "draw," for a boat to pass through. It was the "Lady Elgin," going forth to meet her doom! We kissed our hands gaily to her in the bright sunshine "for auld lang syne," and that night, as we slept safely in our beds at the hotel, that brave heart, with a wailing babe prest to it, had only that treacherous raft between him and eternity. The poor captain! How can we give him up? As his strong arm sustained the helpless on that fearful night, may God support his own gentle ones, or whom our hearts ache, in this their direst need.