The Kenosha telegraph. [volume] (Kenosha, Wis.) 1860-1888, 1864-04-07

But see, on the side of you great white
mountain-two black, moving specks.-
What have they stopped No they are
moving noT-but not now. They seem
moving again, but---no---No; the tired steed
can 90 no further-cannot be driven. He is
stretched in the snow. Now our wanderer
must make his own path. See, the snow is
against his breast but he pushes bravely
t6rouob. Listen was that moan? 1t
/ was sigh from the dumb companion Of the
| lost man, but he has put his head down again
he is weak, he cannot follow his master.
Look the man has turned about; now he
kneels down by the poor brute and takes its
head in his lap his arms are about its neck.
Will he stay and die with his horse? No.
the cabin and the two blue-eyed babies! In
vain the poor horse now lifts his head-in
vain listens for bis masters voice-his mas
ter's breast is against the snow, his thoughts
are with comedy dame and the little ones
that cling TO her clothes, in the little brown
cabin by the fountain, i'll the dell, far below
among the foothills. Dull is the boom of
the snow falling from the tops Of the lofty
pines; lone grouse is startled and flies
across to an opposite mountain, with din
that echoes far up and down the canon
Now all is still where is he who is lost Sc
high up in the mountains? Ominous, sad, is
the stiffness. See, he lies with his face on
his arms-his breast still against the snow,
| This saddens me, for | am thinking Of the
comely dame in the little cabin-yes, and OF
the little ones that hang by her Clothes
! VIII he never move again? The snow Is
| deep, but life il sweet and loved ones dear.
All, good be is rising. But see why is
he 80 feeble-he was strong yesterday All,
me, he lies again with his head on his arms,
and has scarce moved five PAGES. The white
cloth is spread on the table dainty dishes
smoke an the hearth-'Why does he not
come ?" Look out little bIue-eyed daug hter
Hook out at the door! Poor, mother, keeE
your dainties warrn-tell the little ones papa
| will soon be home The face Of the lost man
is still buried in his arms, he utters no sound,
he does not move From the tall pines the
snow falls heavily about him, but he is not
disturbed. Poor man he is very tired
very drowsy. He will take short Sleep then
try again to Get out of the snow. lie is
smiling. The young pines about are hooded
with snow, snow has bent the young hrs
yet above all, the sky is blue. lie sees none
| Of these-he smiles for he sees the white
cloth that is spread on the table-the dam
tv dishes Oh the hearth-he is almost home
| Look out, little blue-eyed daughter, and you,
| little baby,I look out at the door-poor moth
er, look no more to your dainty dishes, fol
papa" is now at Home Alas! now thai
we look again-Iook at his glazed eyes anC
| his rigid limbs, we see that it is too true
| He is at home, at rest, for he is dead. Colo
are the nights on the mountain heights
cold the stars and blue sky The stiffeneC
form of the lost gold hunter still lies in tin
snow on the side of the great white noun
tain; we are sad to know how many night
have passed since he went to sleep with hi
face on his arms and his breast against tn
snow, dreaming of the white cloth sprea
on the table III the little brown cabin, far be
low among the foothills. The grey vol
perched on his rock, looks down on two dar
specks in the snow and chatters croakin
ravens circle above the pines. The two dar
specks are our lost man and his dead steed-
lying scarce half mile apart. Hateful ar
those croaking ravens, and hateful that wo
growing so bold and his eyes so greedy,a
, he stands chattering with his feet on tn
brink of his jutting rock, and his shagg
neck stretched out hungrily towards the dea
in the snow The sun shines warm abou
the little brown cabin in the foothills; tw
blue-eyed children play about the door, an
the birds sing Oh the nearest trees, the inc
Their, shading her eyes, gazes up at the noun
tains, though she has no hope ofseeing him
she is thinking ONO dainties are on tn
hearth, nor is the white cloth spread on tn
table. When spring comes, the remains {
the lost man may be found-but who knows