THER NIGHT-HUNT IN RECESS. 79 
whites of his eyes benignantly over the turmoil of the scene 
—was to us the higher prototype of Bose. He, with the 
proper slowness of dignity, accepts the greet of our patting 
caresses, with a formal wagging of the tail, which seems to 
say—‘O, I am used to this!’ while, when the young dogs 
leap upon him with obstreperous fawnings, he will correct 
them into propriety with stately snarling. They knew him 
for their leader !—they should be more respectful ! 
Now old Sambo beconies patronizing to us, as is necessary 
and proper in our new relations! From his official posi- 
tion of commander-in-chief, he soon reduces the chaos around 
us into something like subjection, and then in a little time 
comes forth the form of our night’s march. A few stout 
young men who have obeyed his summons have gathered 
around him from the different huts of the Quarter—some with 
axes, and others with torches of pine and bark. The dogs 
become more restless, and we more excited, as these indices 
of immediate action appear. 
Now, with a long blast from the cow’s-horn of Sambo, and 
a deafening clamor of all sizes, high and low—from men, 
women, children and dogs, we take up the line of march 
for the woods. Sambo leads, of course. We are soon trail- 
ing after him in single file, led by the glimmer of the torches 
far ahead. 
Now the open ground of the plantation has been passed, 
and as we approach the deep gloom of the bordering forest— 
“Those perplexed woods, 
The nodding horror of whose shady brows 
Threats the forlorn and wandering passenger”— 
even the yelpings of the excited dogs cease to be heard, and 
they dash on into the darkness as if they were going to work 
—while we with our joyous chattering subsided into silence, 
enter these®“ long-drawn aisles” with a sort of shiver ; the 
torches showing, as we pass in a dim light, the trees—their - 
