I recited to Washburn and Hauser to-night an extract from “The Task,” by the poet Cowper, which, in my younger days, I memorized for declamation, and which, I think, is at once expressive of our experience in the journey around the lake and of our present relief.

  “As one who long in thickets and in brakes
  Entangled, winds now this way and now that,
  His devious course uncertain, seeking home,
  Or having long in miry ways been foiled
  And sore discomfited, from slough to slough
  Plunging, and half despairing of escape,
  If chance at length he finds a green-sward
  Smooth and faithful to the foot, his spirits rise. 
  He chirrups brisk his ear-erecting steed,
  And winds his way with pleasure and with ease.”

It is a source of great regret to us all that we must leave this place and abandon the search for Mr. Everts; but our provisions are rapidly diminishing, and force of circumstances obliges us to move forward.  We still indulge the hope that he may have found and followed down some branch of the Madison river and reached Virginia City, or down Snake river and reached some settlement in that valley; and but for our anxiety to reach home and prove or disprove our expectations, we might have devoted much more time to visiting the objects of interest we have seen, and which we have been obliged to pass by.

Mr. Hauser has eaten nothing to-day, and this evening he told me that he felt sick.  Such an acknowledgment from him means far more than it would coming from many another man, for I know from intimate association with him for eight years that there is no man in our party who will more uncomplainingly reconcile himself to the hardships and privations of such a journey as this, and if he is too ill to travel to-morrow morning, and if the rest of our party think that they ought to take up the journey homeward, I will remain with him here for a day, and as the others will have to search out a path through the fallen timber, we can make their two days’ journey in one by following their beaten trail without obstacles, and overtake them by the time they reach the Firehole river, if they find it at all.

Saturday, September 17, morning.—­We were awakened before daylight this morning by loud roaring sounds proceeding from the hot springs close by our camp, some of which were in violent action, though entirely quiescent yesterday.  Some of them in which the surface of the water, last night, was several feet below the rim, are now overflowing.

My saddle horse broke his lariat, frightened by the roaring of the springs, and plunged along too near one of them, when the surrounding incrustation gave way and he sank down to his body, but frantically extricated himself without standing upon the order of his extrication;—­but he has cut his foot so badly that I do not think it will be prudent to ride him to-day.  In his stead I will ride my smaller pack horse, who has nearly recovered from the effects of the scalding he received on my trip to Brown mountain.  The hair has come off his legs in several places as the result of that mishap, yet his wonderful vitality always leaves him in a cheerful frame of mind and ready for any duty.