an ugly maiden was content to have an Indian for her lord;
and she tried no arts, plucked no bouquets from the
prairie flowers, beaded no moccasins, and performed no
tender little offices to catch the heart of the white man.

"Pale face gets all the pretty squaws; suppose we must
take 'em ugly ones. Ugh!" This was the speech, and the
true speech of many a chief, or lion-hearted young man
of the tribes under the new order at Red River.

This may seem hard to the poor Indian, but perhaps it
was just as well. It would have, indeed, been worse had
the handsome maiden given her hand to the dusky Red, and
afterwards, wooed by blue eyes, given her heart where
her hand could never go. And the Indian woman is no better
and no worse than her kind, no matter what the colour
be. Happier, then, is the lot of the Indian with his
homely affectionate wife, than with a bride with roses
in her cheek, and sunlight in her eye, who cannot resist
the pleading eye and the outstretched arms of one whose
wooing is unlawful, and the result of which can be nought
but wrong and misery.

The population grew and comforts increased till eighteen
or twenty thousand souls could be reckoned in the colony.
The original whites had disappeared, and no face was to
be seen but that of a Metis in any of the cosy dwellings
in the settlement. These people had not yet learnt that
amongst the whites, whose blood knew no alloy, they were
regarded as a debased sort, and unfit socially to mix