Summary

Portrait of Theodore Winthrop Theodore Winthrop The Canoe and the Saddle — Chapter XII

Fire gnaws quicker than the tooth of Time. I was sitting, drowsy and cowering, near my furnace, when a warning noise aroused me. A catastrophe was at hand. Flames grew intenser, and careered with leaps more frantic, as now, with a riving uproar, the giant old trunk cut away at its base, cracked, trembled, swayed, and fell in sublime ruin. At this strange tumult, loud and harsh in the dull dead of night, the horses, affrighted, looked up with the light of the flame in their eyes, and then dashed off furiously.
Fudnun also was startled.
Source: Wikisource

Portrait of Theodore Winthrop Theodore Winthrop The Canoe and the Saddle — Chapter XII

The fire roared, and there was another roaring. Ferdinand snored roaringly from his coiled position among the traps. A snore is the expression of gratitude for sleep, not less genuine for its unconsciousness. Every breath is a plaudit to Morpheus, the burlesque of a sigh of joy. Snoring is to sleep what laughter is to waking. Fudnun’s snore in the solitary woods, among the great inarticulate facts of nature, was society and conversation.
Source: Wikisource

Portrait of Theodore Winthrop Theodore Winthrop The Canoe and the Saddle — Chapter XII

A far forerunner of the gale struck suddenly upon the mountain-front, like an early shot of battle, fired to know the death range. While the roar of this first blast was passing away, and the trees were swaying back to stillness, a fugue of growling winds came following after. The alarmed whispers from leaf to leaf grew thicker now, joining to an undertone of delicate wailing a liquid sound, but sad, like the noise of a waterfall falling all the hours into a sunless pool where one has drowned because his life and soul could bear life and light no longer.
Source: Wikisource

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