This was not the only interior we saw; we had before called on the single scientific man of the Settlement, Donald Gunn, and later in the day are forced by a thunderstorm to seek shelter in the nearest house; where we are also warmly welcomed, and the rain continuing, are glad to accept the cordial invitations of its inhabitants to pass the night.  This is a larger house, but only the father of the family and his buxom daughter, Susie, a lively girl of eighteen or nineteen, are at home, the others being off at the other end of their small farm, where they have temporary shelter during the harvest.

We have each a chamber to ourselves in the garret, reached in the same primitive method as before mentioned—­and are shown with a dip of buffalo-tallow to our rooms.  The furniture of these consists of a sort of couch, with buffalo skins for mattress and wolf skins for sheets and coverlet, a chest for a seat, a punch-bowl of water on a broken chair for a washstand, and a torn bit of rag for towel; while a barrel covered with a white cloth serves as a centre-table, and is besprinkled with antique books.  Among those in his chamber our naturalist discovers one which appears to be a catechism of human knowledge containing, among other entertaining and instructive information as an answer to the question, “What is a shark?” the highly satisfactory reply that it is “An animal having eighty-eight teeth.”

The wants of the Colony were few, the peasantry simple and industrious, and their lot in life did not seem to them hard.  The earth yielded bountifully, and in time of temporary disaster fishing and hunting stood them in good stead.  When they hunt, they go accompanied by Indians, who live on the outskirts of the Colony.  Further and further they have been compelled to go, until at our visit no buffalo could be found within a hundred miles at nearest.

The hunt is just over as we reach the Settlement, and every day carts come in laden with the buffalo meat, hides, and pemmican.  The prairie, back from the river, by Fort Garry, is dotted with carts, lodges and tents.  Many are living in rude shelters formed of the carts themselves, placed back to back, and the sides secured by hides.

These carts illustrate well the primitive nature and the isolation of the Colony.  They are the vehicles in universal use, and are built on the general pattern of our one-horse tip-carts, though they do not tip, and not a scrap of iron enters into them.  They are without springs, of course, and rawhide and wooden pins serve to keep together the pieces out of which they are constructed.  As they have no tires, and the section of the wheel part or crowd together, according to the moisture, a train of these carts bringing in the products of the hunt is a strange sight.  Each cart has its own peculiar creak, hoarse and grating, and waggles its own individual waggle, graceless and shaky, on the uneven ground.  To add to its oddity, the shafts are heavy, straight beams, between which is harnessed an ox, the harness of rawhide (shaga-nappi) without buckles.