Vain retreat, the waters are out and may not be stayed.

It is fate! it is right, but the travail is sore, the face of the mother is wet with tears.
This outline sketch proposed is at an end; we have striven to be faithful to the true lines.

There is no obligation to perpetuate unworthy "minutae." Joy is immortal! sorrow dies! the petty features are absorbed in the broad ones; those capable only of conveying truth.
The Red River Settlement in the days adverted to is an idyl simple and pure: a nomadic pastoral, inwrought with Indian traits and color; our one acted poem in the great national prosaic life.

When the vast country in the far future is teeming with wealth and luxury, this light rescued and defined will shine adown the fullness of the time with hues all its own.

The story that it tells will be as a sweet refreshment: a dream made possible, called by those who shared in its great calm, "Britain's One Utopia--Selkirkia.".