was never destined to reach Red River—­swamps would entrap it, rapids would engulf it; and if, in spite of these obstacles, some few men did succeed in piercing the rugged wilderness, the trusty rifle of the Metis would soon annihilate the presumptive intruders.  Such was the news and such were the comments I had to read day after day, as I anxiously scanned the columns of the newspapers for intelligence.  Nor were these comments on the Expedition confined to prophecy of its failure from the swamps and rapids of the route:  Fenian aid was largely spoken of by one portion of the press.  Arms and ammunition, and hands to use them, were being pushed towards St. Cloud and the Red River to aid the free sons of the North-west to follow out their manifest destiny, which, of course, was annexation to the United States.  But although these items made reading a matter of no pleasant description, there were other things to be done in the good city of St. Paul not without their special interest.  The Falls of the Mississippi at St. Anthony, and the lovely little Fall of Minnehaha, lay only some seven miles distant.  Minnehaha is a perfect little beauty; its bright sparkling waters, forming innumerable fleecy threads! of silk-like wavelets, seem to laugh over the rocky edge; so light and so lace-like is the curtain, that the sunlight streaming through looks like a lovely bride through some rich bridal veil.  The Falls of St. Anthony are neither grand nor beautiful, and are utterly disfigured by the various sawmills that surround them.

The hotel in which I lodged at St. Paul was a very favourable specimen of the American hostelry; its proprietor was, of course, a colonel, so it may be presumed that he kept his company in excellent order.  I had but few acquaintances in St. Paul, and had little to do besides study American character as displayed in dining-room, lounging-hall, and verandah, during the hot fine days; but when the hour of sunset came it was my wont to ascend to the roof of the building to look at the glorious panorama spread out before me-for sunset in America is of itself a sight of rare beauty, and the valley of the Mississippi never appeared to better advantage than when the rich hues of the western sun were gilding the steep ridges that over hang it.

CHAPTER SIX.

Our Cousins—­Doing America—­Two Lessons—­St. Cloud—­Sauk Rapids—­“Steam Pudding or Pumpkin Pie?”—­Trotting him out—­Away for the Red River.

Englishmen who visit America take away with them two widely different sets of opinions.  In most instances they have rushed through the land, note-book in hand, recording impressions and eliciting information.  The visit is too frequently a first and a last one; the thirty-seven states are run over in thirty-seven days; then out comes the book, and the great question of America, socially and politically considered, is sealed for evermore.  Now, if these gentlemen