SNOW 195 
plain, in many parts of which no wood, nor even 
the smallest shrub, was to be seen: a frozen sea, 
of which the little coppices were the islands. 
That behind which we had encamped the night 
before soon sank in the horizon, and the eye 
had nothing left save only the sky and snow.” 
Fancy them encamped by night, seeking shelter 
in a scanty grove from a wild tempest of snow; 
then suddenly charged upon by a herd of buffa- 
loes, thronging in from all sides of the wood to 
take shelter likewise, — the dogs barking, the 
Indians firing, and still the bewildered beasts 
rushing madly in, blinded by the storm, fearing 
the guns within less than the fury without, 
crashing through the trees, trampling over the 
tents, and falling about in the deep and dreary 
snow! No other writer has ever given us the 
full desolation of Indian winter life. Whole 
families, Henry said, frequently perished to- 
gether in such storms. No wonder that the 
aboriginal legends are full of “mighty Peboan, 
the Winter,” and of Kabibonokka in his lodge 
of snowdrifts. 
The interest inspired by these simple narra- 
tives suggests the reflection that literature, 
which has thus far portrayed so few aspects of 
external nature, has described almost nothing 
of winter beauty. In English books, especially, 
this season is simply forlorn and disagreeable, 
dark and dismal. 
