or any other of the multitudinous sounds of a large city, was always
welcome. Nowhere is evening more beautiful than in Manitoba. One instance
in particular I noticed. The sun was setting low down in the heavens as
in a sea of gold, one long flame-coloured line alone marking the horizon.
In the south-west rose cloud upon cloud of crimson and gold, crossed by
rapid flashes of pale yellow and white lightning, which momentarily
obliterated their rich colours. To the south was a great bank of black
thunder-cloud crested with crimson, reft to its deepest darkness by
successive flashes of forked lightning. Immediately overhead a narrow
curtain of leaden clouds was driven hither and thither by uncertain
winds; while below, the prairie and all its varied life lay bathed in the
warmth and light of the departing sun, throwing into bold relief the
Indian wigwam, with its ragged sides and cross-poles.

Squaws were seated round the camp fires, or dipping water from a pool
hard by; Indians were standing idly about; droves of cattle were being
driven in for milking; groups of horses, their fore feet tied loosely
together, were hobbling awkwardly as they grazed; tired oxen were
tethered near, feeding after their day's work, while their driver lay
under his cart and smoked. Above the low squat tent of the half-breed,
there rose the brown-roofed barracks, its lazy flag clinging to the
staff. Through the surrounding bushes, water gleamed here and there. In
the distance could be seen long trains of ox-carts, coming from remote
settlements, the low monotonous moan of their ungreased wheels making a
weird accompaniment to the muttering thunder; or a black-robed procession
of nuns, on their way to the small chapel on the prairie, whose tinkling
bell was calling them to prayers. An Indian on his fiery little steed,
his beaded saddle-cloth glistening in the sun, was galloping in mad haste
over the grass, away to the low hills to the north, which deserved their
name of Silver Heights as they received the sun's good-night kiss.