Early on Saturday morning we passed Silver Islet, that mine of wealth to
our neighbours across the line. It lies in an island-dotted bay, and is
so covered with mining works that it looks like a pile of buildings
rising out of the water. The crushing-mills are on the mainland close by.
Silver Islet first belonged to a Canadian company; but from lack of
enterprise or capital it was sold to an American company for a nominal
sum, and, as is often the case, the sanguine nature of Cousin Jonathan,
acting on the motto, "Nothing venture nothing win," has been successful,
and the company is now (1879) shipping $20,000 worth of silver ore a day.
The islet can be visited only by those who have especial permission to
see the mines and works, or friends among the officials, neither of which
had we.

The adjacent village, at which the _Manitoba_ stopped, did not look
as if times were very prosperous with it. Two smoky little tugs lay idly
at the small wharf, and the few red wooden houses built against the
rocks, their flat roofs piled up with bales of goods and boxes--the
ever-present blue barrels of coal-oil being most conspicuous--seemed
tenantless. Leaving Silver Islet far behind, we rounded Whitefish Point,
with its tall lighthouse, and saw a very distinct mirage--a long stretch
of cold blue water, filled with great blocks of ice. It was rather
amusing to see the eagerness with which glasses were levelled at the
"counterfeit presentment" of a scene, of whose reality we should soon
have even too much.

At the entrance of Thunder Bay, we passed Thunder Cape on our right and
Pie Island on our left; the former a bold promontory, rising 1300 feet
above the sea-level, and wooded with a short stunted growth of bush,
principally poplar. Save for its picturesquely situated lighthouse and