nger who travels through
those wild romantic regions no longer beholds the humiliating scenes or
hears of the frightful crimes which were seen and heard of too often in
former days, and which always have been, and always must be, prevalent
wherever spirituous liquors, the great curse of mankind, are plentiful,
and particularly where, as in that country, the wild inhabitants fear no
laws, human or divine.

In the year 1826, Red River overflowed its banks, and flooded the whole
settlement, obliging the settlers to forsake their houses, and drive
their horses and cattle to the trifling eminences in the immediate
vicinity. These eminences wore few and very small, so that during the
flood they presented a curious appearance, being crowded with men,
women, and children, horses, cattle, sheep, and poultry. The houses,
being made of wood, and only built on the ground, not sunk into it, were
carried away by dozens, and great numbers of horses and cattle were
drowned. During the time it lasted, the settlers sailed and paddled
among their houses in boats and canoes; and they now point out, among
the waving grass and verdant bushes, the spot where they dwelt in their
tents, or paddled about the deep waters in their canoes, in the "year of
the flood." This way of speaking has a strangely antediluvian sound.
The hale, middle-aged colonist will tell you, with a ludicrously grave
countenance, that his house stood on such a spot, or such and such an
event happened, "_a year before the flood_."

Fort Garry, the principal establishment of the Hudson Bay Company,
stands on the banks of the Assinaboine River, about two hundred yards
from its junction with Red River. It is a square stone building, with
bastions pierced for cannon at the corners. The principal
dwelling-houses, stores, and offices are built within the walls, and the
stables at a small distance from the fort. The situation is pretty and
quiet; but the surrounding country is too flat for the lover of the
grand and picturesque. Just in front of the gate runs, or rather
glides, the peaceful Assinaboine, where, on a fine day in autumn, may be
seen thousands of goldeyes playing in its limpid waters.

On the left extends the woodland fringing the river, with here and there
a clump of smaller trees and willows surrounding the swamps formed by
the melting snows of spring, where flocks of wild-ducks and noisy plover
give animation to the scene, while through the openings in th