When we reached Lake St. Clair—a lake as round as a dollar, (or the city of Boston,) and twenty-five miles in diameter—we fancied we could see the _St. Louis_ just sinking beneath the southern horizon. If we did, we never saw her again—at least _I_ never did. When we reached Detroit, she had been gone half an hour. My trunk was there, but my other articles were clearly forfeited. My companion and I got on the ferry-boat, went over to Windsor, Canada, just opposite Detroit, and inquired when the first train would depart for Buffalo. We were informed that an express-train would go at seven. He determined to go, and did so, no doubt, arriving at Buffalo a dozen hours in advance of the propeller. I have never heard of him since. I told him, when we parted, to go to my state-room when he should reach the propeller, and take possession of my chess-board, et cetera, remarking that I “willed” them to him; and I presume that he did so. The city of Detroit, where I remained a week, is about the size of Milwaukee, Wisconsin, and is the largest city in Michigan. It was there that Hull surrendered to the British, during the war of 1812; and it was there that the Fenians crossed into Canada and frightened the Canadians in 1866. So much for its historical importance. Its _sobriquet_ is, “The City of the Straits.” Its location on the Detroit river—which is, more properly, a _strait_, connecting Lake St. Clair with Lake Erie—gives it this name. Detroit is a French word for _strait_. CHAPTER XXXVIII. SMITH IN SEARCH OF HIS UNCLE. FROM Detroit, I went, by railroad, to Toledo, Ohio, distant eighty or ninety miles. I stopped there with the view of visiting an uncle of mine, whom I had never seen, and who resided near a little village called Holland, nine miles from the city. I inquired a whole day for a village of that name, but no one knew where it was. I began to think of offering a reward for it; but at last went to the post-office, where I gained the desired information. I was told that Holland was a little place on the Air Line Railroad, and that it was also—and, in fact, regularly—called Springfield. I was furthermore told that the first train would go at ten o’clock that night. As I did not contemplate remaining long at my uncle’s, I left my trunk at an hotel in Toledo, and went out to Holland, _alias_ Springfield, on that ten-o’clock train. It happened to be a naturally slow train, and, besides, it met with a little accident on the way; so that it was eleven o’clock when we reached Holland, which I found to be a little village, comprising a couple of dwelling-houses and a small grocery-store.