MAGNUS, THE GREAT BUFFALO HUNTER. 175 



nificant swamp-holes or thorns ! And then, as it 

 struck him that he was a father of a family, his voice 

 became weaker and more tremulous, his emotion in- 

 creased, a flood of tears gushed from his eyes, and 

 before I was aware, the little round figure was hanging 

 to my neck. The heavy weight forced from me a 

 sigh, which he took for sympathy, and he began to 

 squeeze so hard that I was afraid I should be suffo- 

 cated, when his two friends, who had been more 

 moderate with the bottle, sprang to my rescue. But 

 tliis was no easy matter, and as he clung to me he 

 cried out, " Let me alone ! he 's my friend he, he will 

 save me ! " I escaped from him by a sudden wrench, 

 and his companions carried him off to bed, he all the 

 while throwing about his little fat arms and legs, and 

 calling them good-for-nothing buffalo dogs. Then he 

 again began to whine and cry, the sounds changing 

 gradually, h'rst into a groan and then into a snore. 



We arrived at the new farm about noon next day, 

 and found the former proprietors loading their wagon. 

 They took their leave in the afternoon, and left as a 

 memorial an incredible quantity of dirt. As soon as 

 our wagon was cleared, and the things under cover, 

 S. returned with the two drivers for another load, 

 leaving me in the house alone. It was in the midst of 

 a thick forest, with a lield of about seven acres, sur- 

 rounded by the large>t trees, lint I had not much 

 time to contemplate the beauties of Nature, for in un- 

 loading and stowing away, the hours had flown on the 

 wings of the wind. The sun had set before; I had 

 collected wood from the forest to keep up a fire for the 

 night, or had had time to prepare my :? upper ; the 



