Michigan [pp. 602-605]

.Michigan; Recollections of its Scenery, and Kindred Thoughts. [SEPTEMBER,
Spring lured the sturgeon and muskanounge from
their deep blue homes in the Lake, to ascend the
Raisin, I was always among the first on the " large
platform below the mill-dam," with spear in hand,
and heart to conquer. Many a noble sturgeon, six
and seven feet long, have I seen extended upon the
shore. As for me, I never aimed only at the
smaller ones. Once, however, my spear entered the
back of a "whapper," and my determination to
keep hold was nearly the cause of my being drown ed. It must have been a thrilling yet a ridiculous
sight to see me a-straddle of the fellow, holding on
to the spear, and passing down the river like light ning. I think if Mr. William Skakspeare had been
present, he would have exclaimed," Lo! a merman
on a stur,eon's back!" If I could enjoy such sport
now, I would willingly risk such a ducking every
day.
White bass fishing in Michigan is one of the
most quiet and interesting of sports. It is a com mon sight to see forty or fifty canoes, each one
with two persons in it, with their lines thrown
gracefully out, and floating silently on the smooth
river at sunset-small pieces of red and white
flannel, being the trifles which lure to death many
thousands of these beautiful and sweet fish.
The white fish are caught with the seine, and
abound in all the lakes surrounding Michigan. The
celebrated Mackinaw trout, so called after the town,
near which they are only found, is generally caught
by the hook, and sometimes weigh ten and twelve
pounds. When they are caught the water is so
transparent that they may often be seen playing
about at the depth of fifty feet.
How many long Saturday afternoons have I
mused away "on the old wharf down the river!"
How many sunfish, and perlch, and black bass have
I brought up from their pure element to spread
upon my father's table! But this was long-long
ago. Those days of innocence and youth have
gone into their graves, bearing with them many
blighted hopes and fond aspirations. Alas! they
never-never will return!
Time was when the society of Michigan was
not so mixt as it is at present. The French were
the first who settled there, and at as early a date
as 1620; and for many years they and the Indians
were the sole inhabitants. Now people out of every
civilized nation dwell within its borders. Detroit,
on the river of that name, and Monroe, formerly
French-Town, on the River Raisin, were both
founded by the French. Here it is that the farfamed Jesuit Missionaries first pitched their tents
in (what is now called) the U. S. The former of
these is a flourishing city of fifteen thousand inhabitants. Its principal street is handsomer (though
not so wealthy) than the Broadway of New-York.
Its elevation is about sixty or seventy feet above
the water; and looking from its streets, the eye
wanders over a scene not unlike that seen from the
North River side of New-York. But in winter,
it is a beautiful sight to see this same vast sheet of
water frozen like marble, and -on its surf ace a thou sand sleighs and skates, gliding in every direction;
while a chorus of bells comes faintly and sweetly
to yo ur ear. Monroe, as I have before said, is
situated about two miles from the Lake, and is also
a flourishing city containing about five thou sand
inhabitants-a goodly portion of whom are the de scendants of the early settlers. A deep impression
of their origin is still visible in these places. But
instead of diminishing, these characteristics add
much to their beauty and interest.
I look upon the old French farms in this vicinity
as among the finest and most beautiful in the world.
The front part is generally watered by some river,
on which the farm-houses are mostly situated.
They are about three quarters of a mile in width,
and sometimes running back in a straight line to
the distance of three and four miles, though two
miles would be an average length. A description
of one is that of many. Leaving the river and
going back, you first pass through an orchard con taining four or five hundred trees. Here a row of
splendid pear trees, fifty and sixty feet high. There
a regiment of old black apple trees, each one stag gering under its weight of fruit like a laughing,
fat, wealthy wanderer. Entering that little enclo sure behind the barn, you will see fifty small light
green trees, from under whose leaves an iunumerable number of rosy-cheeked peaches will peep at
you, reminding you of as many lovely country
girls. That strange noise which you now hear is
but the great screw of the cider-press. I see, kind
reader, that your mouth is watering; come along
then, and we will drink a glass of this American
wine to the memory of those we love. A little
farther on we come to a green pasture, where
there are cows, oxen, sheep, and horses grazing.
Onward still, and a wheat field yellow as gold
meets the eye, bowing before the breeze; then a
little brook goes by watering a rich meadow; then
a cornfield, and still another wheat field; until,
after a walk of a mile and a half, you find yourself
in the forest, dark and gloomy. On just such a
farm as this was it my happy privilege to spend
the dawn and morning of life. Is it strange then,
that a deep and holy love for Nature, should be
firmly rooted in my heart!
I would dearly love to do it, but I fear to weary
the patience of my reader if 1 linger any longer
about m~y hlome. Therefore, let us away.
No one who has never witnessed themn can form
any idea of the exquisite beauty of the thousand
lakes that gem the western part of Michigan. They
are the brightest and purest mirrors that the virgin
sky has ester used to adorn herself. Their banks
are frequently dotted lay human dwellings —the
humnble, though comnfortabile abodes of emigrants and
farmers. Notwithstanding w hat has been so often
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