When we had lived in Detroit two years we moved into a house on Jefferson avenue, two doors from the old Campau house, and from our back piazza we had a fine view of the river. I never wearied of watching the white winged vessels as they sailed up and down the beautiful stream; the canoes paddled by the Canadian women bringing loads of fruit and vegetables to market, and the little sail-boats tossing on the water. I wanted no other pastime. Every pleasant evening in summer, all along the river, canoes were launched, and gay parties rowed up and down the stream, meeting and exchanging salutations, or side by side trying the strength and speed of their oarsmen.
The large birch canoe of Gov. Cass with its crimson canopy in the center, was always an object of special attraction to the spectators on shore.
Just as the sun disappeared below the horizon, from some canoe would arise the sweet notes of the vesper hymn one and another would catch the strain, till over the placid river floated waves of almost heavenly melody.
One song would success another, till the gathering shadows beckoned the happy hearted singers to their homes.