Manitoba, and the prairie lands of the Lower
Assineboine, 100,000 square miles of water. The water has long since been
drained off by the lowering of the rocky channels leading to Hudson Bay,
and the bed of the extinct lake now forms the richest prairie land in the
world.

But although Winnipeg has shrunken to a tenth of its original size, its
rivers still remain worthy of the great basin into which they once
flowed. The Saskatchewan is longer than the Danube, the Winnipeg has
twice the volume of the Rhine. 400,000 square miles of continent shed
their waters into Lake Winnipeg; a lake as changeful as the ocean, but,
fortunately for us, in its very calmest mood to-day. Not a wave, not a
ripple on its surface; not a breath of breeze to aid the untiring
paddles. The little canoe, weighed down by men and provisions, had
scarcely three inches of its gunwale over the water, and yet the
steersman held his course far out into the glassy waste, leaving behind
the marshy headlands which marked the river's mouth.

A long low point stretching from the south shore of the lake was faintly
visible on the horizon. It was past mid day when we reached it; so,
putting in among the rocky boulders which lined the shore, we lighted our
fire and cooked our dinner. Then, resuming our way, the Grande Traverse
was entered upon. Far away over the lake rose the point of the Big Stone,
a lonely cape whose perpendicular front was raised high over the water.
The sun began to sink towards the west; but still not a breath rippled
the surface of the lake, not a sail moved over the wide expanse, all was
as lonely as though our tiny craft had been the sole speck of life on the
waters of the world. The red sun sank into the lake, warning us that it
was time to seek the shore and make our beds for the night. A deep sandy
bay, with a high backing of woods and rocks, seemed to invite us to its
solitudes. Steering in with great caution amid the rocks, we landed in
this sheltered spot, and our boat upon the sandy beach. The shore yielded
large store of drift-wood, the relics of many a northern gale. Behind us
lay a trackless forest; in front the golden glory of the Western sky. As
the night shades deepened around us and the red glare of our drift-wood
fire cast its light upon the woods and the rocks, the scene became one of
rare beauty.

As I sat watching from a little distance this picture so full of all the
charms of the wild life of the voyageur and the In