XXXIII 



A CAMP-FIRE RUN WILD 



Some wooden tent -pins inclosing a 

 few square yards of ground half covered 

 with a bed of evergreen twigs, matted 

 but still fresh and odorous, a litter of 

 paper and powder-smirched rags, empty 

 cans and boxes, a few sticks of fire wood, 

 a blackened, primitive wooden crane, with 

 its half-charred supporting crotches, and 

 a smouldering heap of ashes and dying 

 brands, mark the place of a camp re- 

 cently deserted. 



Coming upon it by chance, one could 

 not help a feeling of loneliness, some- 

 thing akin to that inspired by the cold 

 hearthstone of an empty house, or the 

 crumbling foundations of a dwelling long 

 since fallen to ruin. What days and 

 nights of healthful life have been spent 

 here. What happy hours, never to re- 

 turn, have been passed here. What 

 jokes have flashed about, what merry 

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