The sun was throwing his morning beams upon the tree-tops of the Apostle Islands, as our little steamer, chartered for the occasion at Superior, rounded the promontory of the main-land, turned its prow southward, and glided into the harbor of Bayfield, on the southern shore of the lake. We had made the passage from Superior City during the night, and were on deck at daybreak to see the beauties of the islands, of which so much has been written by explorers and tourists. The scenery is not bold, but beautiful. Perhaps there is no place on the lake where more charming vistas open to the eye, or where there is such a succession of entrancing views. The islands, eighteen in number, lie north of the promontory. They would appear as high hills, with rounded summits, crowned with a dense forest growth, if the waters were drained off; for all around, between the islands and the mainland, are deep soundings. There is no harbor on the Atlantic coast, none in the world, more accessible than Bayfield, or more securely land-locked. It may be approached during the wildest storm, no matter which way the wind is blowing. When the northeasters raise a sea as terrible as that which sometimes breaks upon Nahant, the captains of steamers and schooners on Lake Superior run for the Apostle Islands. Bayfield is about sixty miles from Superior City, and is the first harbor where vessels can find shelter east of the head of the lake. The Apostle Islands seem to have been dumped into the lake for the benefit of the mighty tide of commerce which in the coming years is to float upon this inland sea. "It is," said our captain, "the only first-class harbor on the lake. It can be approached in all weathers; the shores are bold, the water deep, the anchorage excellent, and the ice leaves it almost two weeks earlier in spring than the other harbors at the head of the lake." The town of Bayfield is named for an officer of the Royal Engineers, who was employed years ago in surveying the lake. His work was well done, and till recently his charts have been relied on by the sailing-masters; but the surveys of the United States Engineers, now approaching completion, are more minute and accurate. The few houses that make up the town are beautifully located, on the western side of the bay. Madeline Island, the largest of the group, lies immediately in front, and shelters the harbor and town from the northeast storms. The scream of the steamer's whistle rings sharply on the morning air,--while main-land and island, harbor and forest, repeat its echoes. It wakes up all the braves, squaws, and pappooses in the wigwams and log-houses of the Chippewa reservation, and all the inhabitants of Bayfield. The sun is just making his appearance when we run alongside the pier. It is an early hour for a dozen strangers, with sharp-set appetites, to make a morning call,--more than that, to drop in thus unceremoniously upon a private citizen for breakfast.