Norman had his first experience of seasickness, and retiring to his berth at five o’clock, he slept there till the morning. His mother was very sorry to have him miss that magnificent sunset on Lake Michigan. The rain had passed away, and a light breeze crisped the waters. The boat had made its last landing, and the little town they were leaving was glorified by its back ground of amber, deepening into a brilliant orange. Every house and tree came out with marvelous distinctness, as the sun dipped behind the western horizon, and painted, after he had passed from view, a gorgeous picture as his parting gift—a gift not to be lost with the fleeting hour, or to be confounded with other gifts from the same source. It was marvelous in its beauty. Clouds of rich crimson, fading into brown, were festooned on the serene radiance of the clear sky. A wealth of celestial drapery seemed drawn aside to reveal the far-off glory. As these kindling hues faded away, a cloud nearer the horizon assumed the aspect of a woodland scene receding from the shore of the lake. There were the headlands jutting into the water, the nodding groves, the bays running into the land. It was difficult to make all this extensive country only cloud-land, and the little company at the stern of the boat gazed upon it till the gathering darkness hid it from view. It was a night of glorious shows; about ten o’clock the northern lights threw up their quivering brilliant scintillations far up into the heavens, glorifying the north with a bow of flickering beauty, even as the west had been glorified with masses of magnificent clouds. The lake, however, was almost too rough to allow many spectators to enjoy this glimpse of northern splendors, and most of the passengers sought the safe security of their berths. Early in the morning Norman was called by his mother to come out on deck and see the Manitou Islands, with their sandy bluffs and crown of green trees. Norman looked at them a long time in silence by himself. When he came to his mother he said: “I feel almost as if I had been looking at the Holy Land; those islands were the holy land to the Indians, the dwelling-place of the Great Spirit, not to be approached by mortals.” “It made me very fanciful to look at them,” continued Norman. “The great cloud of smoke that our steamer is sending toward the island, and that now hovers over it, seemed to me an oblation to the great Manitou of the Indians.” There was a visitor from those islands; a pretty little bird that lighted on the ropes, and jumped about the deck till frightened away. They passed Beaver Island, once inhabited by the Mormons, who, the captain said, seemed a very quiet, inoffensive people when they lived there. He said they had been very kind in assisting him once when he ran ashore near their island.