When we have occasionally met the traders, as they were returning from their year's residence among the Indians, I have asked myself what mysterious excitement there could be in the spirit of gain, that will cause men to separate themselves from society, and voluntarily renounce those privileges incident to an intercourse with the world? But as I pass along my wonder ceases. There is such an union of beauty and grandeur in all the works of nature throughout this region, that it is impossible to be acquainted with them, and not wish to pass a life in their admiration. Following the impulse of my present feelings, I could joyfully make my home among these hills and valleys, and I should want no other. 'Tis true, the busy hum of men would not reach such a wild retreat, neither would their faithlessness and cold deceit. And now, let me tell you how I have written this letter. We are waiting, at the Kewena Bay, for the arrival of some Indians to transport part of our baggage to the Ontonagon. Mr. S., and Mr. Houghton, with Lt. Clary, are by this time over the traverse. It was uncertain how soon we might be able to embark, but I resolved to devote what time I had to you. Accordingly at 5 o'clock this morning, I turned a chest upside down for a desk, planted myself against the tent-pole, and with the stump of a pen commenced operations. But alas! the sand flies and musquitoes made such a desperate onset that I was obliged to haul down my colors, and ingloriously fly for my life. I then waited until after breakfast, and commenced again with no better success. I then resorted to the open air; and placing my paper on a small bank, and standing on the stones below, with the sun at 90, pouring its rays upon my head, while with one hand and sometimes two, I battled insects of divers descriptions, at last have made _black marks_, over the greater part of this sheet. Should you in decyphering these hieroglyphics, come to any place where the subject was suddenly dropped and another commenced, without any apology, attribute it to a huge horse-fly, which lighting on my nasal protuberance, caused me to drop my pen, and with it my ideas. But here come a dozen of them, so good bye till you hear from me again. M. L. WOOLSEY. To ---- ----. III. La Pointe, Lake Superior, July 17, 1831.