On the pleasant afternoons which we occasionally enjoyed as the season advanced, we found no small amusement in practising pistol-firing.  The place appropriated to this sport was outside the pickets, the mark being placed on a panel in one of the bastions.  The gentlemen must not be offended if I record that, in process of time, the ladies acquired a degree of skill that enabled them, as a general thing, to come off triumphant.  One of the ladies, Mrs. Hunter, was a great shot, having brought down her grouse on the wing, to the no small delight of one of the officers, Captain Martin Scott, of raccoon celebrity.

Now and then there was a little excitement within the fort, aroused by the discovery that a settler had been engaged in selling milk-punch, instead of milk, to the soldiers, thereby interfering in no small degree with the regularity and perfect discipline of the service.  The first step was to “drum out” the offender with all the honors of war—­that is, with a party-colored dress, and the Rogue’s March played behind him.  The next, to place all the victims of this piece of deception in the guard-house, where the commanding officer’s lady supplied them bountifully with coffee and hot cakes, by way of opening their eyes to the enormity of their offence.  It is not to be wondered at that the officers sometimes complained of its being more of a strife with the soldiers who should get into the guard-house, than who should keep out of it.  The poor fellows knew when they were well off.

Once, upon a Sunday, we were rowed up to Wolf Point to attend a religious service, conducted by Father See, as he was called.

We saw a tall, slender man, dressed in a green frock-coat, from the sleeves of which dangled a pair of hands giving abundant evidence, together with the rest of his dress, that he placed small faith in the axiom—­“cleanliness is a part of holiness.”

He stepped briskly upon a little platform behind a table, and commenced his discourse.  His subject was, “The fear of God.”

“There was a kind of fear,” he told us, “that was very nearly a_lee_-a-nated to love:  so nearly, that it was not worth while splitting hairs for the difference.”  He then went on to describe this kind of fear.  He grew more and more involved as he proceeded with his description until at length, quite bewildered, he paused, and exclaimed, “Come, let’s stop a little while, and clear away the brush.”  He unravelled, as well as he was able, the tangled thread of his ideas, and went on with his subject.  But soon, again losing his way, he came to a second halt.  “Now,” said he, wiping the perspiration from his forehead with a red cotton handkerchief many degrees from clean, “now, suppose we drive back a little piece.”  Thus he recapitulated what he wished to impress upon us, of the necessity of cherishing a fear that maketh wise unto salvation, “which fear,” said he, “may we all enjoy, that together we may soar away, on the rolling clouds of aether, to a boundless and happy eternity, which is the wish of your humble servant.”  And, flourishing abroad his hands, with the best of dancing-school bows, he took his seat.