3. Every day, at the same hour, the dog left the house, and went to the door of the prison. He was refused admittance; but he constantly passed an hour before it, and then returned. His fidelity, at length, gained upon the porter, and he was one day allowed to enter. The dog saw his master. It was difficult to separate them; but the jailer carried him away, and the dog returned to his retreat.

4. He came back the next morning, and every day; and once each day he was admitted. He licked the hand of his friend, looked at him, licked his hand again, and went away of himself. When the day of sentence arrived, notwithstanding the crowd, and the guard, he penetrated into the hall, and crouched himself at the feet of the unhappy man, whom he was about to lose for ever.

5. They conducted him to the prison, and the dog for that time did not visit the door. The fatal hour arrives ;-the prison opens- -the unfortunate man passes out; it is the dog that receives him at the threshold. He clings upon his hand. Alas! that hand will never be spread upon thy caressing head! he follows him;—the axe falls;—the master dies ;—but the tenderness of the dog cannot cease.

6. The body is carried away, he walks by its side;-the earth receives it; he lays himself upon the grave. There he passes the first night, the next day, and the second night. The neighbor, in the mean time, unhappy at not seeing him, risks himself, searching for the dog, guesses by the extent of his fidelity the asylum he has chosen,-finds him,-caresses him,— brings him back, and gives him food.

7. An hour afterwards the dog escaped, and regained his favorite place. Three months passed away; each morning he came to seek his food, and then returned to the grave of his master; but each day he was more sad, more meagre, more Janguishing, and it was plain that he was gradually reaching nis end. They endeavored, by chaining him up, to wean him; but you cannot triumph over nature! He broke or bit through his bonds; escaping, returned to the grave, and never quitted it more! It was in vain they endeavored to bring him back.

8. They carried him food, but he ate no longer! For four and twenty hours he was seen employing his weakened limbs, in digging up the earth that separated him from the remains of the man he had so much loved. Passion gave him strength. and he gradually approached the body; his labour of affection then vehemently increased; his efforts became convulsive! he

shrieked in his struggles; his faithful heart gave way, and he breathed out his last gasp, as if he knew that he had found his

1. A FRENCH merchant, having some money due from a correspondent,* set out on horseback, accompanied by his dog, on purpose to receive it. Having settled the business to his satisfaction, he tied the bag of money before him, and then set off for home. His faithful dog, as if he entered into his master's feelings, frisked round the horse, barked and jumped, and seemed to participate in his joy.

2. The merchant, after riding some miles, alighted to repose himself under an agreeable shade, and, taking the bag of money in his hand, laid it down by his side under a hedge, and, on remounting, forgot it. The dog perceived his lapse of recollection, and, wishing to rectify it, ran to fetch the bag; but it was too heavy for him to drag along.

3. He then ran to his master, and, by crying, barking, and howling, endeavored to remind him of his mistake. The merchant did not understand his language; but the assiduous creature persevered in his efforts, and, after trying to stop the horse in vain, at last began to bite his heels.

4. The merchant, absorbed in some revery, wholly overlooked the real object of his affectionate attendant's importunity, but awaked to the alarming apprehension that he was gone mad. Full of this suspicion, in crossing a brook, he turned back to see if the dog would drink. The animal was too intent on his master's business to think of himself: he continued to bark and bite with greater violence than before.

5. " Mercy!" cried the afflicted merchant; "it must be so; my poor dog is certainly mad what must I do? I must kill him, lest some greater misfortune befall me; but with what regret! Oh, could I find some one to perform this cruel office for me! but there is no time to lose; I myself may become the victim if I spare him."

6. With these words, he drew a pistol from his pocket, and with a trembling hand, took aim at his faithful servant, turning Correspondent, one with whom an intercourse is carried on either by letters, or messages.

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his face away in agony as he fired; but his aim was too sure. The poor animal feil wounded, and, weltering in his blood, still endeavored to crawl toward his master, as if to tax him with ingratitude.

7. The merchant could not bear the sight; he spurred on his horse, with a heart full of sorrow, and lamented that he had taken a journey which had cost him so dear. Still, however, the money never entered his mind; he thought only of his poor dog, and tried to console himself with the reflection, that he had prevented a greater evil, by despatching a mad animal, than he had suffered by his loss.

8. This opiate to his wounded spirit was ineffectual: "I am most unfortunate," said he to himself; "I would almost rather have lost my money than my dog." Saying this, he stretched out his hand to grasp his treasure. It was missing; no bag was to be found.

9. In an instant, he opened his eyes to his rashness and his folly. "Wretch that I am! I alone am to blame. I could not comprehend the admonition which my innocent and most faithful friend gave me, and I have sacrificed him for his zeal. He wished only to inform me of my mistake, and he has paid for his fidelity with his life."

10. He instantly turned his horse, and went off at full gallop to the place where he had stopped. He saw, with half-averted eyes, the scene where the tragedy was acted; he perceived the traces of blood as he proceeded; he was oppressed and distracted; but in vain did he look for his dog-he was not to be seen on the road.

11. At last, he arrived at the spot where he had alighted. But what were his sensations! His heart was ready to bleed; he raved in the madness of despair. The poor dog, unable to follow his dear, but cruel master, had determined to consecrate his last moments to his service. He had crawled, all bloody as he was, to the forgotten bag, and, in the agonies of death, he lay watching beside it.

12. When he saw his master, he still testified his joy, by the wagging of his tail-he could do no more--he tried to rise. but his strength was gone. The vital tide was ebbing fast; even the caresses of his master could not prolong his life for

a few moments.

13. He stretched out his tongue to lick the hand that was now fondling him in the agonies of regret, as if to seal forgiveness for the deed that had deprived him of life. He then cast a look of kindness on his master, and closed his eyes for ever

LESSON XII.

Running for Life.

1. COLTER came to St. Louis* in May, 1810, in a small canoe, from the head waters of the Missouri, a distance of 3000 miles, which he traversed in 30 days. I saw him, on his arrival, and received from him an account of his adventures, after he had separated from Lewis and Clark's party; one of these, for its singularity, I shall relate.

2. On the arrival of the party at the head waters of the Missouri, Colter, observing an appearance of abundance of beavert being there, got permission to remain and hunt for some time, which he did in company with a man of the name of Dixon, who had traversed the immense tract of country from St. Louis to the head waters of the Missouri alone.

3. Soon after, he separated from Dixon, and trapped in company with a hunter named Potts; and aware of the hostility of the Blackfoot Indians, one of whom had been killed by Lewis, they set their traps at night, and took them up early in the morning, remaining concealed during the day.

4. They were examining their traps early one morning, in a creek about six miles from that branch of the Missouri called Jefferson's Fork, and were ascending in a canoe, when they suddenly heard a great noise, resembling the trampling of animals; but they could not ascertain the fact, as the high perpendicular banks on each side of the river impeded their view.

5. Colter immediately pronounced it to be occasioned by Indians, and advised an instant retreat, but was accused of cowardice by Potts, who insisted that the noise was caused by buffaloes, and they proceeded on.

6. In a few minutes afterwards, their doubts were removed by a party of Indians making their appearance on both sides of the creek, to the amount of five or six hundred, who beckoned them to come ashore.

7. As retreat was now impossible, Colter turned the head of the canoe; and, at the moment of its touching, an Indian seized the rifle belonging to Potts; but Colter, who is a remarkably strong man, immediately retook it, and handed it to Potts, who remained in the canoe, and, on receiving it, pushed off into the river.

* St. Louis, a city in Missouri, situated on the Mississippi river. + Beaver, an amphibious animal, valuable for its fur, and remarkable for its ingenuity in constructing its lodges or habitations.

S. He had scarcely quitted the shore, when an arrow was shot at him, and he cried out, "Colter, I am wounded!" Colter remonstrated with him on the folly of attempting to escape, and urged him to come ashore. Instead of complying, he instantly levelled his rifle at the Indian, and shot him dead on the spot.

9. This conduct, situated as he was, may appear to have been an act of madness, but it was doubtless the effect of sudden but sound reasoning; for, if taken alive, he must have expected to be tortured to death, according to their custom. He was instantly pierced with arrows so numerous, that, to use Colter's words, "He was made a riddle of."

10. They now seized Colter, stripped him entirely naked, and began to consult on the manner in which he should be put to death. They were at first inclined to set him up as a mark to shoot at, but the chief interfered, and, seizing him by the shoulder, asked him if he could run fast.

11. Colter, who had been some time amongst the Keekatso or Crow Indians, had in a considerable degree acquired the Blackfoot language, and was also well acquainted with Indian customs; he knew that he had now to run for his life, with the dreadful odds of five or six hundred against him, and those, armed Indians; he therefore cunningly replied, that he was a very bad runner, although he was considered by the hunters as remarkably swift.

12. The chief now commanded the party to remain stationary, and led Colter out on the prairie,* three or four hundred yards, and released him, bidding him save himself if he could. At this instant the horrid war-hoopt sounded in the ears of poor Colter, who, urged with the hope of preserving his life, ran with a speed at which himself was surprised.

13. He proceeded towards the Jefferson Fork, having to traverse a plain, six miles in breadth, abounding with the prickly pear, on which he was every instant treading with his naked

feet.

14. He ran nearly half way across the plain before he ventured to look over his shoulder, when he perceived that the Indians were very much scattered; and that he had gained ground to a considerable distance from the main body; but one Indian, who carried a spear, was much before all the rest, and not more than one hundred yards from him.

* Pronounced prá-re, an extensive tract of land, mostly level, destitute of trees, and covered with tall coarse grass. They are numerous in the western states and territories, and frequently extend farther than the eye can see + War-hoop, the savage yell of war.