made by growing flax. Premiums were offered for the best specimens. Choice seed was imported. Every thing was abandoned for flax. Flax was to be the great staple of Red River. But when the seed came, and was distributed, matters were so arranged that the Governor's friends got all the best qualities, and consequently all the premiums. Against this the democracy of Red River not unnaturally rebelled, and the flax scheme fell through.

It was followed by another Wool Company, sheep, and not buffalo being, however, the wool-bearers this time. A sum of money was sub scribed in the colony for the purchase of sheep in the United States, and a party sent to Missouri to buy. The commissioners arrived at St. Louis, visited the farms, found sheep, and offered $1.50 a head. The Missourians who were probably Yankees thinking the Red River men wanted them badly, asked $2. On this, Rae, the head commissioner, took offense, and swore he would have nothing to do with such extortionists. The Missourians repented, and offered to take $1.50; but Rae was inexorable, and shaking the dust from his feet, journeyed to Kentucky, 450 miles further. There he bought the sheep at his own price, and had the satisfaction of paying for their pasture and keep every night on the way home. On the journey through Missouri he halted to shear the sheep, and contracted to deliver the wool, at a high price, to a speculator. When the wool was ready for delivery, the purchaser proved unable to raise the whole amount fixed; other bidders, at lower rates, offered to take it; but Rae, furiously indignant, refused to take a cent less than the previous price, and had the whole quantity burned on the spot. The weather was hot when they reached St. Peter's, and the sheep had 1500 miles to travel. Rae's ardor admitted of no delay. If a sheep showed signs of weakness, the order was, "Cut its throat, and drive on." As many as 45 were killed of a morning. When the party arrived at Red River, out of 1475 animals, only 251 survived; and of these many soon perished from the effects of the journey. So the sheep scheme failed.

It was followed by a new Company, the "Tallow Company." The Governor confessed that errors had been made; but about this there was no mistake. Were not the plains teeming with pasture? Where could limits be set to the production of hides and tallow? A herd of 473 cattle was purchased, and the stock-gambling was renewed with fervor. Each animal was tastefully branded on the haunch, "T. T."- meaning Tallow Trade, and the Red Riverians confessed they had never seen so beautiful a sight as the whole herd grazing peaceably together. Uncommon accident: early in May a severe frost occurred, and twenty-six of the foolish animals died. However, summer set all right, and the stock was at a premium. When winter came it was a different story. Thirtytwo cattle died of the cold; on very severe nights, when the thermometer marked 40° and 45° below zero, the ears, horns, hoofs, and tails of the poor creatures fell off. Besides which, the wolves helped themselves to fifty-three. This was discouraging. Still, with summer, the stockholders' courage revived, and there was more talk of fortune's in tallow. The second winter settled the business. With all their care, the mangers

could not keep out the wolves or protect the herd from the cold; and before spring, the assets of the concern were sold by auction. The tallow fortunes had melted away.

Of all these failures, John Company generally paid the damage, and the colony never ceased to prosper. It became an object for the company to retain within their dominions those among their factors who had realized small fortunes; and as many of these had married native women, whom they could not introduce into European or civilized American society, and were, besides, attached to the wild life they had led, they were only too ready to accept Red River as a sort of refuge for their declining years. These constitute the aristocracy of the settlement. Next to them came the French Canadians (the Swiss and Germans have mostly disappeared), who are not to be distinguished from the men of the same race in Lower Canada; and again below them come the halfbreeds. The Scotch and French Canadians are mostly farmers, and some of them uncommonly successful farmers. The half-breeds dislike a settled life. They prefer the excitement of the chase, or the idle life of the fisherman.

They are technically termed plain-hunters. Every spring they collect at the fort, to the number of a thousand or two-men, women, and chil dren-buy, beg, or borrow carts, horses, guns, knives, powder, oxen, and other hunting materials; elect a chief captain and a dozen second captains; establish rules for the guidance of their hunt, and start forth into the plain. A priest accompanies the party to bless the undertaking. The rules established on the occasion are rigorous. No buffalo must be hunted on Sunday; disobedience of orders is punished with the destruction of the offender's saddle for the first offense, with a flogging for the second; theft even, where the object stolen is only a sinew, is avenged by the exposure of the thief in the middle of the camp, while the crier thrice shouts his name, coupling with it the word "thief."

The march was long and often severe. With the plain-hunter there is no medium between a feast and a famine. Women and children often cry themselves to sleep every night for a week from sheer hunger; next week they are all ill of a surfeit. When the expedition reaches the hunting-ground, the camp is put in order. The carts are arranged in a circle, within which the women and children are placed. This done, the hunters mount their horses and survey the ground. With spy-glass in hand the captain reconnoitres the plain, and as soon as a herd of buffalo is discovered, assigns to each lieutenant his place in the hunt. When all is ready, and the men prepared-as many as four hundred often start together the commander gives the word "Start!" It is a cavalry charge. The whole body advances first at a slow trot, then at a gallop, then at full speed. As their speed increases, the earth trembles; but when the herd perceive their enemy, and begin to paw the ground and make off, the sound and shock are like an earthquake. A cloud of dust arises mingled with smoke. Right into the midst of the herd dash the hunters, firing as they go at the fattest cattle; ride on and on, through and through the close ranks of the buffalo, until there are but a few stragglers-the leanest brutes-alive. Each man has his mouth full of

balls, and loads and fires at full gallop. As he seldom pulls a trigger until his gun is within a few feet of the mark, he hardly ever misses. Though the hunt seldom lasts over an hour or so, a good hunter will kill his ten or twelve buffaloes. It often happens that the party brings over twelve hundred tongues into the camp. The herd dispersed, the horses are relieved from duty, and the carts come into play. Their functions or rather those of the hunters when their turn comes - appear the most embarrassing part of the business. Out of twelve hundred carcases lying together, and shot by four hundred hunters, to find the beasts shot by each, appears a knotty problem. It did not put puzzle the plainhunters. Every man knew his victims, and very few disputes arose. A hunter was once asked how he could possibly discover his eight or ten buffalo out of thirteen hundred, which lay huddled together on the plain. The half-breed replied:

"Suppose four hundred learned men were all to write words on a piece of paper; would not each of them be able afterward to recognize his own handwriting?"

Just so, the plain-hunter recognized his shooting.

The task of skinning, drying, and manufacturing tallow and pemmican, mostly falls to the women; but as this business is often dangerous, the hunters superintend it. A hunter may escape the common accidents of the chase-broken bones, buffalo horns, and the like and at the last moment fall a victim to the treacherous Sioux, who lurk about in the long grass on the wait for scalps. The fate of one poor fellow, named Louison Vallé, who perished in this way, is well remembered at Red River. He was skinning a buffalo after the chase, his little son keeping a look-out on his father's horse. The boy's attention flagged; Vallé's experienced eye detected a peculiar movement in the grass near him. He had only time to shout, "Make for the camp, my son! make for the camp!" when a shower of arrows overwhelmed him. The boy arrived safe in the camp and gave the alarm. A party was instantly started in pursuit of the murderers, and before night eight of the twelve were hunted down and shot.

The settlement itself, in the short summer season, is like every other flourishing agricultural district. Vegetation is as luxuriant as in the tropics; and cattle, apparently without number, pasture on the wilds which have never been scarred with a fence. Among the Scotch settlers especially, comfortable houses, corn-yard, parks and inclosures betoken a very high degree of material prosperity. The French Canadians, in the invariable blue capote, with red belt, might be mistaken any day for the habitants one meets with traveling through Lower Canada; and the half-breeds though a lower race, and essentially distinguished from the French Canadians by their habits of idleness and filth-dress, and, in many respects, live like them. Some few of the half-breeds, who are blessed with an unusually happy disposition, will work, and acquire, in course of time, a comfortable settlement; but by far the greater portion of the race preserve nomad habits throughout, and are contemptuously called squatters by the legitimate Red Riverians. They often have a passion for show; and will leave their children and wife in rags and

ashes in order to appear on Sunday in a handsome turn-out. Others, again, and this is more characteristic of the women than the men, will sacrifice every thing, will even work for tea. The bashful maidens of Red River (the half-breeds, we mean), who will hardly ever dare to look at a stranger in the face, or answer a civil question, who would deride an offer of dress or even money, can not resist the temptation of a couple of pounds of souchong.

The life of the thoroughly vagabond half-breed is well illustrated in Mr. Ross's sketch of Baptiste l'Esprit. He was, it may be observed, a well known character at Red River, and the type of a large class.

Baptiste had a wife and children; but they were all his property. When spring comes round Baptiste wants to join the hunt. He is in want of every thing. Wishes to make you believe he is the most honest fellow in the world. Wishes you to trust him, to try him once more. Promises every thing. Tries one; tries him this way, that way, the other way, every way, but is refused; yet the smile of confidence is never off his countenance while in his supplicating mood. Nor is it an easy task to resist importunities so urgent, and particularly when enforced by an object of charity; yet Baptiste is refused. But he is accustomed to refusals; such things never discourage him. Baptiste tries another and another, but with no better success. Unfortunately for Baptiste, his character is known. Nevertheless, Baptiste, still confident in his own cause, tries another; accustomed to persevere, tries again and again; and at last, by dint of importunities and fair promises, gets a horse to hire from one, a cart from another; but as the risk is great, the price is in proportion. A man of means gets a horse and cart for $10 a trip. Baptiste promises $20. But he is in want of ammunition, of every thing else Baptiste tries again; tries one, tries two, tries a dozen; at last succeeds. The rogue and the fool meet. Baptiste still wants clothing - something from the merchant as well as the settler. Himself and family are naked. Baptiste sets out again; calls here, calls there, travels up, travels down, nothing discouraged; gets credit from some merchant at last. After a month's preparation, and before Baptiste is half ready, the time for starting arrives. The others are off; Baptiste must start too, ready or not ready. At this stage all Baptiste's hopes hang on a hair; he must go, c: all is lost; but he can not go without something to eat. Charity stops forward, and a day after the rest, off goes Baptiste, helter skelter, with his horse and part of his family; but if no horse, as frequently happens, they tramp it on foot, neck or nothing. At the camp all is bustle; no one is idle but himself. The dogs eat, but Baptiste starves in the midst of plenty; asks, begs, lounges about, but shows no disposi tion to assist any one. He is above working; can not work. Sympathy steps forward. Baptiste must not starve. Gets a piece from one, some from another. Baptiste eats, but can not make provisions; has no servants; himself indolent, his family more so. They can do nothing but eat. However, they live well on the charity of others, and that is all they care about. Days pass, weeks pass, the summer passes; Baptiste eats, sleeps, smokes, and all is right; but no load; notning to pay the hire of his horse and cart. The busy scenes of the camp pass unheeded

Bap

by him. No effort made. Late and early every one is at work tiste alone is idle, but consoles himself with saying, "There is time enough yet." Before he looks about him the hunters are loaded. A move is made for home. Baptiste is roused from his apathy. His cart is still empty. Begins to bestir himself. Goes round, asks one, asks two, asks this one, asks that one, asks every one, for something to put in his cart; promises this, that, and the other thing. The good people were shy, but Baptiste was not to be discouraged, did not slacken in his im portunities; they upbraided him for his indolence, mistrusted his prom ises. Baptiste is no favorite; nevertheless, he could sing a good song, te. a good story. Some pity his family; Charity stretches forth her hand, and now the cart is loaded in a trice-Baptiste the while as proud as if ne had done all himself, quite satisfied, happy as happy could be. The last to start, the last to camp, Baptiste, fat as a seal, and sleek as an Esquimaux, arrives to resume again the delicious enjoyment of indolence. As soon as he arrives, he sits down, smokes his pipe, then unloads his pony, and tells the story of his journey. Is highly pleased with the trip; praises his own industry and success. 'Look," says he to his wife, "at this piece, look at that piece, and at that," turning them over and over. His wife is charmed; counts his profits. There is enough to pay all, so now they can enjoy themselves. A day, a week passes; but not a word about paying off debts till the load gets nearly expended; then they begin to reflect. They distribute the remains of the profits a day after the fair. This piece is laid aside for a new gown for Madame, that piece for a shawl. So much for tea, so much for tobacco, the two great luxuries of Red River; a bit to this gossip, a bit to that. Madame has her cronies. Then there must be a merry let out. Friends are invited, a feast given, the last piece disappears. The load is gone. Then Baptiste for the first time begins to think of the borrowed horse, the borrowed cart, the generous friends who supplied him at starting. "We must," says he, "pay something; a little to one, a little to another." The happy couple reason the matter over and over. The piece set aside for the new gown is cut in two; half goes for the horse, half for present "We can do no more now," said the wife. To this Baptiste adds, "Amen. But we will pay all next trip." The new shawl, the tea, the tobacco, etc., are attended to, and the cronies are not forgotten. After another consultation, Baptiste, with the half piece worth two dollars, the eighth of what he had promised, goes to settle with the owner of the horse, finds him, hangs down his head, is silent for some time, at last looks up with a sorrowful countenance, tells a pitiful story, very different from the one he told his wife. "I have been unfortunate," said he; "I had bad luck; my horse was sick, I broke my cart in the plains. Most of my provisions I lost in crossing a river. After a hard summer's labor, I had scarcely a mouthful left for my family. Brought nothing home; my cart was empty. Ask my comrades; they will confirm the truth of my statement. Here," says he, holding up the half piece, "is all I can give you now; but Baptiste never cheated anybody; if you lend me the horse for the next trip, I will pay you all honestly." "Sympathy for poor Baptiste, and a desire to be paid, have their effect. The

use.