The fence was lost, and the wall of stone,
The windows blocked, and the well-curbs gone;
The hay-stack had grown to a mountain lift,
And the woodpile looked like a monster drift,
As it lay by the farmer's door.

3. The night sets in on a world of snow, While the air grows sharp and chill, And the warning roar of a fearful blow

Is heard on the distant hill;

And the Norther! See! on the mountain peak,
In his breath, how the old trees writhe and shriek!

He shouts on the plain, "Ho, ho! Ho, ho!"
He drives from his nostrils the blinding snow,
And growls with a savage will.

4. Such a night as this to be found abroad,
In the drifts and the freezing air,
Sits a shivering dog in the field by the road,
With the snow in his shaggy hair!

He shuts his eyes to the wind, and growls;
He lifts his head, and moans and howls ;
Then, crouching low from the cutting sleet,
His nose is pressed on his quivering feet:
Pray, what does the dog do there?

5. A farmer came from the village plain,
But he lost the traveled way;

And, for hours, he trod, with might and main,
A path for his horse and sleigh;

But, colder still, the cold wind blew,

And, deeper still, the deep drifts grew,
And his mare, a beautiful Morgan brown,
At last, in her struggles, floundered down,
Where a log in a hollow lay.

6. In vain, with a neigh and a frenzied snort,

She plunged in the drifting snow,

While her master urged, till his breath grew short, With a word and a gentle blow;

But the snow was deep, and the tugs were tight, His hands were numb, and had lost their might; So, he wallowed back to his half-filled sleigh, And strove to shelter himself, till day,

With his coat and the buffalo.

7. He has given the last faint jerk of the rein
To rouse up his dying steed,

And the poor dog howls to the blast, in vain,
For help, in his master's need;

And wags his tail, if the rude winds flap
The skirt of the buffalo over his lap,

And whines, when he takes no heed.

8. The wind goes down, and the storm is o'er:
"Tis the hour of midnight past;

The old trees writhe and bend no more
In the whirl of the rushing blast;

The silent moon, with her peaceful light,
Looks down on the hills, with snow all white;
And the giant shadow of Camel's Hump,
The blasted pine and the ghostly stump,
Afar on the plain are cast.

9. But cold and dead, by the hidden log,
Are they who came from the town,
The man in his sleigh, and his faithful dog,

And his beautiful Morgan brown

In the wide snow-desert, far and grand,

With his cap on his head, and the reins in his hand,

The dog with his nose on his master's feet,

And the mare half-seen through the crusted sleet,
Where she lay when she floundered down.

CHARLES GAMAGE EASTMAN.

LIII. A RIDERLESS WAR-HORSE.

IT T was at the close of the second charge in the battle of Malvern Hill, when the yelling mass reeled back from before the blaze of those sixty guns and thirty thousand rifles, that I saw, from the spot where I lay, a riderless horse break out of the confused and flying mass, and, with mane and tail erect, and spreading nostrils, come dashing obliquely down the slope. Over fallen steeds. and heaps of the dead, she leaped, with a motion as airy

as that of the flying fox, when, fresh and unjaded, he leads away from the hounds, whose sudden cry has broken him off from hunting mice amid the bogs of the meadow.

2. From my earliest boyhood, I have had what horsemen call " a weakness for horses." Only give me a colt, of wild, irregular temper, and fierce blood, to tame, and I am perfectly happy. Never did lash of mine, singing with cruel sound through the air, fall on such a colt's soft hide; but touches, soft and gentle as a woman's, caressing words, unfailing kindness, and oats given from the open palm, were the means I used to "subjugate" him. Sweet subjugation, both to him who subdues, and to him who yields!

3. The wild, unmannerly, and unmanageable colt, the fear of horsemen the country round, finding in you, not an enemy, but a friend, receiving his daily food from you, and all those little "nothings" which go so far to win the affection of a horse, grows to look upon you as his protector. So, when I saw this horse come vaulting along with action so free, and motion so graceful, amid that storm of bullets, my heart involuntarily went out to her, and my feelings rose higher and higher, at every leap she took from amid the whirlwind of fire and lead.

4. As she plunged, at last, over a little hillock, out of range, and came careering toward me, her head flung wildly from side to side, her nostrils widely spread, her flank and shoulders flecked with foam, her eye dilating, I forgot my wound and all the wild roar of battle, and, lifting myself, involuntarily, to a sitting posture, gave her a ringing cheer.

5. No sooner had my voice sounded, than she flung her head, with a proud, upward movement, into the air, swerved sharply to the left, neighed, as she might to a master, at morning, from her stall, and came trotting directly up to where I lay. I spoke again, and stretched out my hand

caressingly. She pricked up her ears, took a step forward, and lowered her nose, until it came in contact with my palm. Never did I fondle anything more tenderly, never did I see an animal which seemed to so court and appreciate human tenderness as that beautiful mare.

6. In color, she was a dark chestnut, with a velvety depth and soft look about the hair, indescribably rich and elegant. Her mane was a shade darker than her coat, fine and thin; her ear was thin, sharply pointed, delicately curved, nearly black around the borders, and as tremulous as the leaves of an aspen.

7. All that afternoon, the beautiful mare stood over me, while, away to the right of us, the hoarse tide of battle flowed and ebbed. When some of my men, at dusk, came searching, and found me, and, laying me on a stretcher, started toward our lines, the mare, of her own free will, followed at my side; and all through that stormy night of wind and rain, as my men struggled along, through the mud and mire, toward Harrison's Landing, the mare followed; and ever after, until she died, was with me, and was mine; and I, as far as man might be, was hers. I named her Gulnare.

8. As quickly as my wound permitted, I was transported to Washington, whither I took the mare. Her fondness for me grew daily, and soon became so marked as to cause universal comment. The groom had instructions to lead her, twice every day, to the hospital window, against which was my bed, so that, by opening the sash, I might reach out my hand, and pet her. But the second day, no sooner had she reached the street, than she broke suddenly from the groom, and dashed away at full speed. I was lying, bolstered up in bed, reading, when I heard the rush of flying feet; and, in an instant, with a loud, joyful neigh, she checked herself in front of my window.