How beautiful the island looked in its commanding position! The high land in the center, with its lofty forests rising like a curve. How much they would have enjoyed the day that had been promised them at Mackinaw to visit the old fort on its central heights, the arched rock, and the wild solitudes of this picturesque region. The bold rock known as the Lover’s Leap stood out finely from the greenwood behind, and Norman listened to its story told him by Mr. Bard. An Indian maiden, who had refused to marry a brave who loved her very much, was one day seated on this lofty rock, looking out on the grand view beneath her, when she heard a stealthy step, and her rejected lover stood by her side. The hour, the scene were propitious to his suit, and again it was urged with all the warmth of earnest affection. The maiden listened, hesitated, and at length told him that if he would leap off that cliff she would marry him. The Indian raised his tall form to its utmost height, looked at the sea, the sky, and then at the beautiful face for which he periled the sight of both, and leaped from the giddy verge. Strange to say, without loss of life or limb, with the agility and skill of a well-trained Indian, he took the fearful leap, which was broken by the branches of trees and shrubbery beneath. And thus he won his Indian bride. Mr. Bard, who had come to the country when there were but two houses in Chicago out of the fort, had been familiar with it when the Indian tribes roved at will over the vast prairies of Illinois. He spoke four of their languages, and could sing their songs. He had been twice cast away on the shores of Lake Michigan, and he could tell many a tale of wild adventure. More wonderful than any fairy tale was the aspect of the cultivated farms, the neat farm-houses, the numerous villages and towns, with their spires pointing skyward, the great city that had all grown up in a few years beneath his eye. And those red men, with whom he had been so familiarly associated, where had they gone? How rapidly those western regions are losing the element of the picturesque that the Indian with his bark canoe and his wigwam give to their lakes and rivers, with their wooded shores. He told Norman of a most curious scene he had once witnessed. An Indian had a very handsome pony, which another Indian was anxious to purchase, but which he resolutely refused to sell. They were both drinking, when the owner of the pony, finding his stock of whisky exhausted, asked the other to give or sell him a mouthful from his remaining bottle. He at first declined, but, on being entreated, said that he would give him a mouthful of whisky for the pony. The Indian at once consented to give up his favorite horse for the momentary gratification, and putting his lips to those which had recently imbibed the whisky, he received the stipulated mouthful.