* * * * * * * * * * Ere the conclusion of the narrative, Through every crack and cranny of the door The snow had sifted in, as through a sieve, And piled in little cones upon the floor. Without, the raging tempest still assailed; Within, the fire to glowing coals had failed. All smoked, and with their eyes on Dad McGuire, Waited for some one else to build the fire. Such close attention had his tale received, It seemed as if 'twas partially believed; Few of the tales which we enjoy the most In verity, may that distinction boast. The dying embers shed their mellow glow Upon the agèd face of Dad McGuire, As he swept out the little piles of snow And laid a hemlock log upon the fire. Then followed disconnected colloquies And witticisms in the form of jest; The joke is always where the miner is, The form of levity he loves the best, For cutting truths have thereby been conveyed, Where delicacy all other forms forbade. As some fierce gale that bows the gnarlèd oak, Sinks till it scarcely sways the underbrush, The laughter, incident to jest and joke, Subsided to a calm and tranquil hush. All husbanded their energy and strength And smoked in silence for a moment's length. * * * * * V. THE AVALANCHE Just then a crashing sound was heard, That caused each ruddy cheek to blanch, Though no one moved nor spoke a word, All listening to the avalanche With apprehensive ears intent, Knew what a mountain snowslide meant. Nor marvel that each visage paled, Nor that the hardy sinews quailed; These terrors of the solitude The mountain's timbered slopes denude, Sweeping the frozen spruce and fir As with a snowy scimitar; Nor can the stately pines prevent Its irresistible descent; A foe admitting no defence. A moment passed in dire suspense, And at its expiration brief, Each heaved a breath of deep relief; The snowslide, terrible and vast, Had precipice and chasm leapt, And down the rugged mountains swept, Missing the cabin as it passed. * * * * * The cabin clock had indicated five When due composure was at length restored; As evidence that all were still alive, Queries were made about the "festive board," As sailors shipwrecked on some barren rock, After the first excitement of the shock, Mingle their words of gratitude and prayer With speculations on the bill of fare. No depth of danger man is called to face, No exultation nor extreme disgrace, No victory nor depression of defeat Can shake recurrent Hunger from her seat.