On the Sunday we crossed the Grand River, on a day so stormy that the
ferryman would not take the "_scow_" across. We rowed ourselves over in a
crazy boat, which seemed about to fill and sink when we got to the middle
of the river, and attended service at Port Hill, one of the most desolate-
looking places I ever saw. We saw Lenox Island, where on St. Ann's day all
the island Indians meet and go through ceremonies with the Romish priests.

We remained for part of the next day with our hospitable friends at St.
Eleanor's, and set out on an exploring expedition in search of a spring
which Mr. K. remembered in his childish days. We went down to a lonely
cabin to make inquiries, and were told that "none but the old people knew
of it--it was far away in the woods." Here was mystery; so, leaving the
waggon, into the woods we went to seek for it, and far away in the woods
we found it, and now others besides the "old people" know of it.

We struck into the forest, an old, untrodden forest, where generations of
trees had rotted away, and strange flowers and lichens grew, and bats flew
past us in the artificial darkness; and there were snakes too, ugly
spotted things, which hissed at us, and put out their double tongues, and
then coiled themselves away in the dim recesses of the forest. But on we
went, climbing with difficulty over prostrate firs, or breaking through
matted juniper, and still the spring was not, though we were "far away in
the woods." But still we climbed on, through swamp and jungle, till we
tore our dresses to pieces, and our hats got pulled off in a tree and some
of our hair with them; but at last we reached the spring. It was such a
scene as one might have dreamed of in some forest in a fabulous Elysium.
It was a large, deep basin of pure white sand, covered with clear water,
and seven powerful springs, each about a foot high, rose from it; and
trees had fallen over it, and were covered with bright green moss, and