Flash the eyes and flow the locks
Of the mystic Vanishers!

And the fisher in his skiff,
And the hunter on the moss,
Hear their call from cape and cliff,
See their hands the birch-leaves toss.

Wistful, longing, through the green
Twilight of the clustered pines,
In their faces rarely seen
Beauty more than mortal shines.

Fringed with gold their mantles flow
On the slopes of westering knolls;
In the wind they whisper low
Of the Sunset Land of Souls.

Doubt who may, O friend of mine!
Thou and I have seen them too;
On before with beck and sign
Still they glide, and we pursue.

More than clouds of purple trail
In the gold of setting day;
More than gleams of wing or sail
Beckon from the sea-mist gray.

Glimpses of immortal youth,
Gleams and glories seen and lost,
Far-heard voices sweet with truth
As the tongues of Pentecost,--

Beauty that eludes our grasp,
Sweetness that transcends our taste,
Loving hands we may not clasp,
Shining feet that mock our haste,--

Gentle eyes we closed below,
Tender voices heard once more,
Smile and call us, as they go
On and onward, still before.

Guided thus, O friend of mine!
Let us walk our little way,
Knowing by each beckoning sign
That we are not quite astray.

Chase we still with baffled feet
Smiling eye and waving hand,
Sought and seeker soon shall meet,
Lost and found, in Sunset Land!

ICE AND ESQUIMAUX.

CHAPTER I.

OFF.

Good bye, Boston! Good bye to State-House and Common, to the "Atlantic
Monthly" and Governor Andrew, memorable institutions all,--to you also,
true Heart of the Commonwealth, and to republican and Saxon America, the
land where a man's a man even in the most inconvenient paucity of pounds
sterling. Still yours, I am weary of work and of war, weary of spinning
out ten yards of strength-fibre to twenty yards' length. And so when an
angel in moustache comes to me out of unknown space, with a card from
the "Atlantic Monthly," on a corner of which is written a mysterious
"Go, if you can," and says, "Come with me to Labrador," what can I do
but accept the omen? Therefore, after due delay, and due warning from
dear friends, and due consultations of the connubial Delphi, not
forgetting to advise with Dr. Oramel, the discreet lip obeys