Fights on and oh in the endless wars,
Then silent, unseen, goes down.
Oh, spotless woman in a world of shame;
With splendid and silent scorn,
Go frack to God as white as you came
The kingliest warrior born!
—Joaquin Miller.
AN EVENING ON THE PLAINS.
But time passes; the watch is set for the night, the council of the old men has broken up, and each has returned to his own quarter. The flute has whispered its last lament to the deepening night. The violin is silent, and the dancers have dispersed. Enamored youth have whispered a tender "good night" in the ear of blushing maidens, or stolen a kiss from the lips of some future bride for Cupid here as elsewhere has been busy bringing together congenial hearts, and among these simple people he alone is consulted in forming the marriage tie. Even the doctor and the pilot have finished their confidential interview and have separated for the night. All is hushed and repose from the fatigues of the day, save the vigilant guard, and the wakeful leader who still has cares upon his mind that forbid sleep.
He hears the ten o'clock relief taking post and the "all well" report of the returning guard; the
