elpless as a
child when seized by a Bengal tiger; but there is a chance of escape,
and the whole thing is over in a few minutes. You may be lifted into
the air and dropped with only a few broken bones, or, by plunging into
a "cyclone pit," the fury of the sky may glide harmlessly over your
head; but in the case of a blizzard, however, let me tell you the one
woeful experience of my life.

The snow fell steadily for two days and nights, and looking out from my
home in western Kansas I saw that it lay fully three feet on a level.
By a strange providence my wife, who had been my brave and faithful
helper for several years, was away on a visit to her friends in Topeka,
and my only companion was my servant Jack, a middle-aged African, who
in his youth was a slave in Kentucky.

Things had not gone well with us of late. The grasshoppers and drought
played the mischief with out crops, and it was a question with me for
months whether the wisest course to take was not to throw up my hands,
let everything go to the bow-wows and, in the dry-goods firm, that I
knew was returning to St. Louis, resume my situation still open for me.
A man hates to confess himself beaten, and I decided to remain where I
was one more year. Then, if there was no improvement, I would turn my
back on Kansas forever.

"Master Thomas," said Jack, as the dismal December afternoon drew to a
close, "thar isn't a pound ob flour in de house. Shall I go to de
village and get some?"

"No; I will go myself."

It was the sudden realization of the unutterable loneliness I would
feel without any companion that led me to this rash declaration. The
town was only a mile distant, but it would require hours to make the
journey there and back, and I could not bear the thought of being
without the society of any one for that time. I had read everything in
the house; the single horse and cow I owned had been looked after, and
there was absolutely nothing to do but to sit down before the scant
fire, listen to the sifting of the snow against the window panes, and
give way to gloomy reverie.

Anything was preferable to this, and it was with a feeling akin to
relief that I added:

"I might do so had I not noticed this afternoon that he had gone lame."

"Better let de flour go, den, for de snow am too deep and de storm to
heavy for you to tramp all de way to town and back again."

"No; while I haven't much fear of our starving, yet, if the snow-fall
continues, we