We pushed along with the marvelous propeller and, surrounded with every comfort, had the assurance of each evening anchoring in some safe harbor--encountering cheerful voices, and seeing glad faces--with the possibility of daily finding everything we wanted, in profusion. There was the postoffice, with its rapid service at our disposal, or the electric telegraph, by means of which we could communicate with every part of civilization, ever within our reach--and the climax of modern genius in the magnificent structures of the Columbian Exposition awaiting us--the marvel of the nineteenth century, with its unparalleled aggregation. The thought is overwhelming! And could these explorers have seen in a dream--what we witnessed in reality--it would have seemed to them an impossibility that so short a time could have brought about such great events. The eastern lake shore was richly garlanded with forests displaying a vast multitude of verdant hues, varying through all the shades of green. Over the whole the azure of the sky cast a deep, misty blue; blending toward the rocks of lime- and sandstone, seemingly embracing every possible tint and shade of color. Having achieved a course of sixty miles, the yacht cast anchor in the excellent harbor of St. James on _Beaver Island_, a large tract of land covering an area of 3,700 acres. Vessels of various kinds and shapes lay moored in this spacious inlet. Being wind-bound, we tarried for two days, which gave us opportunity to become acquainted with the features of the island. We were informed that it is identified with the history of Mormonism; since it was first settled by adherents of that sect, who robbed the ships entering this port, and who led the lives of pirates. After their leader was killed in one of the numerous combats which ensued with the attacked sailors, they abandoned the place; but the habitation of the Mormon chief is still existing, probably the only vestige left here of the followers of Joseph Smith. At 1 o'clock A.M., on Wednesday, August 16th, we departed from Beaver Island. The pilot had guided the "Marguerite" on a course of about forty-five miles southward, when we approached _Northport_, Michigan, a place noteworthy for having not a single of those maleficient institutions, commonly styled beer-saloons. We lingered two hours at the dock of this town. The white fields of blinding mist floated along the winding valleys of the low lake shore; and from the dark clouds curtaining the sun, the rain fell continuously. Thus the landscape on our left bore a gray and dim tincture.