ordinary incidents of the night should be reported directly to the pilot, who alone had the authority to call out the military strength of the column, or so much of it as was in his judgment necessary to prevent a stampede or repel an enemy.
To-night he is at no loss to determine that the approaching party are our missing hunters, and that they have met with success, and he only waits until by some further signal he can know that no ill has happened to them. This is not long wanting. He does not even await their arrival, but the last care of the day being removed, and the last duty performed, he too seeks the rest that will enable him to go through the same routine tomorrow. But here I leave him, for my task is also done, and unlike his, it is to be repeated no more.
THE SNOW-PLANT.
And chilling brooks no longer flow
Under an icy disk;
As in the sun the pale buds blow,
Though winds are keen and brisk;
Where no unguarded foot intrudes,
The snow-plant dwells secure:
Its modesty all gaze eludes,
Its life is chaste and pure.
Thou waxen, rosy-tinted cone!
A flame incarnate, thou !
All fruits are compassed in thy zone ;
All blossoms thee endow !
Unshod thy roots: thy members claim
No verdure but the air.
The winds are jealous of thy frame,
And visit thee with care.
The solemn beauty of thy mien,
When early shoots adorn
The fading drifts. Lo! thou between
Art the young spring’s first-born.
Of elements. O, fitting hush!
And shadows that caress,
Shall mask the beauty of thy blush,
And veil thy nakedness.
