the Red River region-lies proportionate to the size of the country. It may not be out of place here to indicate a few of them. The water of this region is not good. In the rivers it is muddy; in the wells it is alkaline. The mosquitoes are large, vigorous, and active. For them, stone walls do not a prison make, nor iron bars a cage. They are a burden; and so, in certain seasons, is the grasshopper. The climate is not mild. In fact, it is sometimes too cold for comfort, in spite of the protection afforded by the isothermal line. There is a strange reluctance on the part of the writers who describe this country to mention the figures marked by the thermometer in winter. The inhabitants also show a consummate skill in avoiding the subject. "Pretty cold here in winter, eh?" "Wa'al, no; ye see, it mos'ly blows away." "How low does the thermometer go?" "Wa'al, I dunno. Ye see, we live indoors, an' so we keep our'n thar." Another point on which the public has been much deceived is the average yield of wheat. I asked a very intelligent gentleman the other day what he supposed would be a good crop of wheat in the Red River Valley, and he answered, "Perhaps sixty bushels to the acre." In point of fact, forty bushels is an uncommonly fine yield, and the average is not much above twenty bushels. I have before me the returns from two of the divisions of the Dalrymple farms. The figures for the smaller one are as fol lows: 3338 acres in wheat yield 63,190 bushels; 200 acres in oats yield 7641 bushels; 120 acres in barley yield 2374 bushels. The price of land in the vicinity of Casselton has rapidly increased. Railroad land is worth from $10 to $20 an acre; and there is little of it to be had. There is excellent government land, some miles back from the road, still unclaimed. Living is dear. Fuel is scarce and high. Wood costs $5 50 a cord, and coal $10 a ton. Over against all these disadvantages you may set the simple fact that wheat can be raised here more easily and more profitably than anywhere else in the world. Here is a level plain. It does not need clearing, for there are no trees or stones; it does not need fencing, for there are but few cattle; and the herding laws must always afford strict and sufficient protection. All that it is necessary to do is to "break" the prairie sod to a depth of three or four inches in the spring, "backset" it in the fall, and in the following spring sow a bushel and a half of wheat to the acre, and reap twenty bushels at harvest. From Casselton we returned to the east side of the Red River, and went northward along the valley. Everywhere we saw the same things. The level, fertile land; the wooden towns that have sprung up as if by magic along the railways; the agricultural machines standing at every dépôt; wagons loaded with sacks of wheat; cars receiving their freights of grain from the elevators beside the track-over all an air of prosperity and bustle which marks a new country. Some of the towns, like Candor compels me to record that we Moorhead found a happy exception to all this in the and Crooks- little hotel at Pembina. Blessings on you, Mrs. W-! for under your régime we found rest and comfort. It was your nimble needle also, O most excellent housewife, that repaired a distressing accident to my only pair of corduroys, and enabled me again to appear without disgrace in the company of civilized men. ton, possess brick stores, which confer in this region a sort of municipal aristocracy. Other towns have run down as rapidly as they once sprang up. Surely there is nothing so ghastly as new ruins, a row of dilapidated shanties, or a huge wooden hotel in which the want of custom is sig-lished in this region. nified by the need of paint and the decay of window-shutters. "The hall is dirty and broad and bare, And never a guest goes up the stair; The flies on the ceiling buzz and creep, While the landlord sits in the bar asleep." There is very little in these infant cities to please the eye or gratify the sense of beautiful order. The citizens have been too busy to make any attempts at adornment, or even to remove the débris of building operations from the streets. Everything has a crude, unfinished look. We could not expect it to be otherwise. And yet to the man who has lived in a picturesque New England village, or a wellbuilt city, or even in an ordinarily pleasant country home in some older part of our country, there must be a constant uneasiness, a strong temptation to homesickness, when he arrives at one of these Red River towns. And if it be his fate to spend much time in the hotels of this region, he will be thoroughly unhappy. The misguided person who wrote that verse about finding his warmest welcome in an inn, never travelled through this valley. It Pembina is an ancient settlement. was one of the first trading posts estabThe tame Indians still haunt the place. There is a United States military post on the western bank of the Red River, and a village of a few hundred inhabitants about half a mile away. Pembina has but small chance of growing to any great size, for there are five towns laid out here within a circle of as many miles; and St. Vincent in Minnesota and Emerson in Manitoba, both on the eastern bank of the Red River, have already outstripped their older neighbor. Everything depends upon the line of travel; and now the great highway on the western bank of the river, which was once the only route connecting Lord Selkirk's settlement with the civilized world, has been superseded by the railway. It was at Pembina that we saw for the first time that famous vehicle of the country, the Red River cart. We were idling on the grassy bluff in front of the fort, enjoying the warm sunlight and the delicious air, when we beheld a caravan approaching. At the head came a Chippewa brave in his long blanket and best red leggings, trimmed with beads. The two points of his toilet upon which he had evi dently spent the most care were his hair | criminate and indescribable: a bundle of and his legs. He was followed by two ragged bedding, a gun, an axe, tent poles, carts drawn by ponies of Gothic and de-a canvas cover, cooking utensils, a buffalospondent appearance. Beside them wan- skin, a baby, and several puppies. These dered two other ponies equally angular, last were the only provisions visible; and two squaws with pappooses slung at their the noble brave indicated that unless his backs, and a younger brave less pictur- white brother would help him, he and his esque than the patriarch. They halted offspring must endure the pangs of hun near us, and while Gad was sketching the | ger for many days. This was probably a tipi and the family, I ventured to make a closer inspection of the carts. The Red River cart is sui generis: it is an epitome of the history and description of a peculiar country. It is built on the model of the Normandy peasant's cart, and tells us at once that its inventors were of French descent. It is simply a light box with a pair of shafts, mounted upon an axle connecting two enormous wheels. There is no concession made to the aversion of the human frame to sudden violent changes of level; there is no weakness of luxury about this vehicle. The wheels are broad in the felloes, so as not to cut through the prairie sod. They are long in the spokes, so as to pass safely through fords and mud-holes. They are very much dished, so that they can be strapped together, and a rawhide stretched over them to make a boat. The whole cart is made of wood; there is not a bit of iron about it, so that, if anything breaks, the material to repair it is easily found. The axles are never greased, and they furnish an incessant answer to the old conundrum, "What makes more noise than a pig under a gate?" The contents of the carts were indis flight of barbaric fancy; but we gave him a little money, out of regard for his family, and his possible connection with our old friend Hiawatha, who belonged to the same tribe. Some miles west of Pembina, on the British side of the boundary line, there is a large settlement of Russian Mennonites. The history of these people is full of interest. They are named after Menno Simons, who was a Romish priest in Friesland about the middle of the sixteenth century. He was not a man of high birth or education, but he seems to have had great natural strength of mind and character. He became convinced of the necessity of reformation in the Church, more particularly as regards the purity of life of Christians, and their separation from the world. He entered vigorously into the work of preaching and teaching his doctrines, and the result of his work was the formation of a sect of Baptist Quakers in Holland and North Germany who bore the name of Mennonites. They were peaceable and industrious citizens, willing to contribute money for the support of government even in war, but positively refusing to take an oath or to bear 66 arms. In the course of time they became | ments. It was a beautiful morning when we set out on a "prairie yacht," behind a pair of quick-stepping horses, to visit the Mennonite Reserve. Our road lay along the north bank of the Pembina River, skirting the edge of the timber, and occasion ally cutting across a point of woods which ran out into the open prairie. We passed many thrifty-looking farms, where the men were still working at the remnant of the harvest. At Smuggler's Point there was a log tavern, and we stopped for a little dinner. The landlord was a frontiersman who had tried life in many territories. We asked him whether the Mennonites were good settlers, and how he liked them. "Well," he said, "they're quiet enough; and some on 'em lives pretty white; but they ain't no good to the country. They live on black bread and melons, and raise their own tobacker; and when a crowd on 'em comes in here to drink, each man steps up and drinks, and pays for his own liquor." Such conduct as this, of course, is subversive of the very first principle of American society, which recognizes "treating" as the true medium of friendly intercourse. A few miles farther on we found the farm village of Blumenort. It is not the largest of the villages on this reserve, but it will serve as a type of the rest. The high-road was simply a well-worn wagon track over the bare plain. An irregular line of a dozen low thatched houses on each side of the road and a steam sawmill made up the village. The farms radiate from this centre. Every man cultivates his own land, and the four-andtwenty families have the advantage of living close together, and making common front against the hardship and loneliness of frontier life. Each village has its head-man, or Schulz-its school-mas ter-who teaches in German; and if the village is too small for a church, the Pfarrer comes over from some larger town to preach at stated times. We sat on the steps of the mill, talking with some of the villagers, and eating a water-melon, which was passed around from man to man for each to cut off a slice with his pocket-knife. The Mennonite German is a barbarous dialect; it has not been improved by ninety years' sojourn in Russia. But it served as a medium of communication. They told us that their village had been unfortunate; that they had been forced to move The men expressed some anxiety to know if Sitting Bull were coming to make war in Manitoba. They had heard that he was marching with four thousand braves to attack Emerson. They seemed much relieved to hear that he was many hundred miles to the west of them. On the other side of the road I saw a clay threshing-floor between some wheat stacks, and an old man driving a team of horses over it to tread out the grain. The method was old-fashioned enough to be quite a novelty. I went over to watch it, and thus chanced to make the acquaintance of the proprietor of the stacks and twice on account of the wetness of the the horses. He was a pleasant, talkative land. The present situation seemed to old man, who had come from Russia withbe better. They like the country better | in a year, and was just beginning to make than Russia. But one of the men, who had not yet taken up his allotment of land, complained greatly that under the new law, made this summer, he could get only eighty acres of homestead. He thought of going to America (i. e., the United States), where he could get one hundred and sixty acres. "But how about the oath of allegiance ?" we asked. He shrugged his shoulders and grinned, from which we concluded that he must be a Buttoner of the looser stamp. a home for himself. This was his first crop, and he thought it would average over twenty bushels to the acre. Three or four barefooted girls, ruddy and strong, were brushing up the grain as the horses trod it out, and winnowing it. The scene was picturesque, and I called Gad over to make a sketch of it. But something in his dark and rolling eye, or some natural timidity, sent the maidens scampering off to hide behind the stacks, from which they made rapid sallies to gather up a little |