 Wacusta, or the prophecy, a tale of the Canada's, Volume 1, written by John Richardson, narrated by Nick Adams. Chapter 1 As we're about to introduce our readers to scenes with which the European is little familiarized, some few cursory remarks, illustrative of the general features of the country into which we have shifted our labours, may not be deemed misplaced at the opening of this volume. Without entering into minute geographical detail, it may be necessary merely to point out the outline of such portions of the vast continent of America as still acknowledge allegiance to the English crown, in order that the reader, understanding the localities, may enter with deeper interest into the incidence of the tale connected with a ground hitherto untouched by the wand of the modern novelist. All who have ever taken the trouble to inform themselves of the features of a country so little interesting to the majority of Englishmen in their individual character must be aware. And for the information of those who are not, we state that the portion of the northern continent of America which is known as the United States is divided from the Canada's by a continuous chain of lakes and rivers, commencing at the ocean into which they empty themselves, and extending in a northwestern direction to the remotest parts of these wild regions which have never yet been pressed by other footsteps than those of the native hunters of the soil. First, we have the magnificent Saint Lawrence, fed from the lesser tributary streams, rolling her sweet and silver waters into the foggy seas of the Newfoundland. But perhaps it will better tend to impress our readers with a panoramic picture of the country in which our scene of action is more immediately laid, by commencing at those extreme and remotest points of our Canadian possessions, to which their attention will be especially directed in the course of our narrative. The most distant of the northwestern settlements of America is Michela Mackina, a name given by the Indians and preserved by the Americans who possess the fort even to this hour. It is situated at the head of lakes Michigan and Huron, an adjacent to the island of St. Joseph's, where, since the existence of the United States as an independent republic, an English garrison has been maintained, with a view of keeping the original fortress in check. From the lakes above mentioned, we descend into the river Sinclair, which in turn disembarks itself into the lake of the same name. This again renders tribute to the Detroit, a broad, majestic river not less than a mile in breadth at its source, and progressively widening towards its mouth until it's finally lost in the beautiful Lake Erie, computed at 160 miles in circumference. From the embouchure of this latter lake commences the Chippewa, better known in Europe from the celebrity of its stupendous falls of Niagara, which form an impassable barrier to the seaman, and for a short space sever the otherwise uninterrupted chain connecting the remote fortresses we have described with the Atlantic. At a distance of a few miles from the falls, the Chippewa finally empties itself into the Ontario, the most splendid of the gorgeous American lakes, on the bright bosom of which, during the late wars, frigates, seventy-fours, and even a ship of one hundred and twelve guns manned by a crew of one thousand men, reflected the proud penance of England. With the opposite extremity of this magnificent and sea-like lake, which is upwards of two hundred miles in circumference, the far-famed St. Lawrence takes her source, and after passing through a vast tract of country whose elevated banks bear every trace of fertility and cultivation, connects itself with the Lake Champlain, celebrated as well as Erie for a signal defeat of our flotilla during the late contest with the Americans. Wishing her bold waters through this somewhat inferior lake, the St. Lawrence pursues her course seaward with impetuosity, until arrested near Lachine by rock-studded shallows which produce those strong currents and eddies, the dangers of which are so beautifully expressed in the Canadian boat-song, a composition that has rendered the rapids almost as familiar to the imagination of the European, as the falls of Niagara themselves. In Lachine, the St. Lawrence gradually unfolds herself into greater majesty and expanse, and rolling past the busy commercial town of Monterey. Sample complete. Ready to continue?