m 
MOORE’S RURAL NEW-YORKER: AN AGRICULTURAL AND FAMILY NEWSPAPER. 
AUGUST 2. 
1 
aW lotl-jMi 
j. 
CONDUCTED BY AZILE. 
the little wife. 
Frown not, my love I ah, let me chase 
Away the shade of care that lies 
To-night so darkly on your face, 
And mist-like o’er your manly eyes 
Ah, let me try the winning wajs 
You said were mine—the angel art 
To pour at once ten thousand rays 
Of dancing sunlight on your heart 1 
My love, my life 1 
Your little wife 
Must bid these gloomy thoughts depart. 
When love was young and hopes were bright, 
I thought in all that dream of bliss 
That clouds might come like these to night, 
And hours ot sorrow such as this. 
And then, I said, my task shall be 
To soothe his heart so fond and true, 
And he who loves me thus shall see 
How much his little wile can do. 
My heart, my life 1 
Your little wife 
Mast bid you dream that dream anew. 
Then let me lift t’-ose locks that fall 
So wholly o’er your lofty brow, 
And smooth with finders soft and small 
The veins that cord your temnles cow ; 
How oft, when ached your weary head 
From manly care or thought divine, 
You’ve held mo to your heart, and said 
My own, my li r e 1 
Your little wife, 
That love is all her life’s design. 
And here it is—a love as wild 
As e'er defiod the world's control ; 
The loudness of a teat ful child, 
The passion of a woman’s s >ul, 
All mingled in my breast for thee 
In one hot tide—I cannot speak ; 
But feel my throbbing heart, and see 
Its brightness in my burning cheek— 
My love, my life I 
Your little wife 
Should cheer you, or her heart would break. 
Ah. now the breast I found so cold. 
Grows warm within iny cold embrace ; 
And smiles as sweet as those of old 
Are stealiog softly o'er your faco ; 
And far within your brightening ejes 
My image, trne aud clear, I see ; 
Each shade of care and sorrow flies, 
Aud leaves your heart again to me— 
My love, my life I 
Your little wife 
Its only queen must ever be. 
A SKETCH FBOM BEAL LIFE. 
BY MRS. P1BSLEY. 
“Why did God take your chillens, ma-ma '?" 
lisped a golden haired little girl who had just 
numbered her third summer. Life had dealt 
gently with the little maiden ; she was the 
youngest, the pet aud plaything of the whole 
household. 
“Because He loved them, my darling, and 
wished them to be happy wiih Him in Heaven.” 
“ I want to go to Heaven, too, but,” she added, 
gazing up into the clear blue sky, “ how can I 
get up there, ma-ma ?” and her little arms 
were thrown caressingly rouud her mother’s 
neck. For a few moments the sweet childish 
voice was silent, as if endeavoring to answer 
her own question,—at last she suddenly ex¬ 
claimed, “ God will lilt me up.” 
Blessed child ! God did indeed lift her up ; 
before another week had past they had laid her 
in her coffin, that lit tie voice was hushed in 
death—a tiny baik had safely landed its im¬ 
mortal freight—another gem was added to the 
Savior’s crown—another golden harp was luned 
to His eternal praise. “ God had lifted her up.” 
And safe within those pearly gates 
And ’raid tbe ransom’d throng, 
An Infant voice had caught the strain 
And joined th’angelic song. 
And now when memory brings back to that, 
bereaved mother the sunny laces and cheerful 
tones of those loved ones, whose presence shed 
such a halo around her path,—and as a shadow 
steals over her heait and the tears bedew her 
cheek,—then, as if to dispel her gloom, and to 
raise her thoughts heavenward, these words 
sound upon her ear—“God will lift me up." 
Written for Moore’s Rural New-Y’orker. 
LOVE OF PLEASURE. 
Not to persons or place is the love of pleas¬ 
ure confined, but in every nation and in 
every clime it reigns and governs the minds 
of men. Numberless are the persons who are 
led in its flowery paths, and as infinite 
the number of ways devised to effect this great 
purpose of the thoughtless. From the king on 
his throne to the peasant in his lowly cottage, 
this principle governs the actions and occupies 
the thoughts. How often do we erasp at some¬ 
thing which we thiuk will yield us the pre¬ 
cious boon, but before we can call it our own it 
vanishes like the dew before the morning sun, 
and is gone to return no more. 
We are placed in a world surrounded by ob¬ 
jects calculated to awaken our tenderest sym¬ 
pathies and engage our atieution according to 
their merit. The book of nature is spread out 
before us, on every page of which is presented 
something new, enticing us to proceed until we 
have fathomed its greatest depths aud ascended 
its most lofty eminences. We reflect with 
pleasure upon the perseverance of those who 
have spent their lives, not only in reading this 
book themselves, but have left their discoveries 
on record for the assistance of others. Yet not 
alone to our world has man’s observation hith¬ 
erto been directed. By calculations, which fill 
the mind with wonder, he has determined the 
motion of this globe, accompanied by its sister 
planets, all revolving around the great central 
luminary, which is constantly radiating its lisrht 
and heat upon them. We wonder and admire 
when led to meditate on these truths, until the 
mind, captivated with pleasure, seems for a 
moment borne by fancy’s airy flight to a fairer 
clime to drink of the crystal streams which 
flow through the valleys of pleasure. Aud 
when looking through the vista of succeeding 
years we are ready to exclaim—let man s motio 
be onward until truths now buried in oblivion 
shall be brought to light. If we delight in 
contemplating the advancement of others in 
knowledge, why do we not reflect on our own 
powers of mind and let it urge us to greater 
diligence. In many of the scenes of life we 
become almost persuude’d to abandon the 
thoughts of pleasures and yield ourselves vic¬ 
tims of sadness. And well may we, if our 
prospects of happiness do not extend beyond 
this world. If so, we may indulge the pleasing 
hope that ere long we shall enjoy one unbroken 
circle of pleasure increased by the presence of 
Him who is the giver of every true enjoyment. 
Wilson, June, 1856. Marion. 
THE BOOK OF THANKS. 
“ I feel so vexed and out of temper with 
Ben 1” cried Mark, “that I really must- 
“Do something in revenge?” inquired his 
cousin Cecilia. 
“ No, look over my Book of Thanks.” 
« What’s that ?” said Cecilia, as she saw him 
turning over tbe leaves of a copy-book nearly 
full of writings, in a round text hand. 
“ Here it is,” said Mark, then read aloud :— 
“ March 8. Ben lent me his new hat. Here 
again, June 4. When I lost my shilling, Ben 
made it up to me kindly. Well,” observed the 
boy, turning down the leaf, “ Ben is a good fel¬ 
low, after all 1" 
“ What do you note dowu in that book ?” said 
Cecilia, looking over his shoulder with some 
curiosity. . _ 
“ All the kindnesses that are ever shown me ; 
you would wonder how many there are ! 1 
find a great deal of good from marking them 
down. I do not forget them as I might do if 1 
only trust to my memory, so I hope that I am 
not often ungrateful, and when I am cross or 
out of temper, I almost always feel good humor¬ 
ed again, if I only look over my book.” 
“I wonder what sort of things you put down,” 
said Cecilia, “let me glance over a page.” 
“ Mrs. Wade asked me to spend the -whole 
Hay at her house, and made me very happy in¬ 
deed. 
“ Mrs. Phillips gave me five shillings. 
“ Old Martha Page asked after me every day 
when I was ill.” 
“ Why do you put father and mother at the 
top of every page ?” asked Cecilia. 
“O, they show me so much kindness that I 
cannot put it all down, so I just write their 
uames, to remind myself of my great debt of 
love. 1 know that I never can pay it! And 
see what I have put at the beginning of my 
book, ‘ Every good gift is from above ;’ this is 
to make me remember that all the friends 
whom I have were given to me by the Lord, 
and that while I am grateful to them, I should 
first of all be thankful to Him.” 
I think that such of my readers as have abil¬ 
ity and time would find it a capital plan to keep 
a Book of Thanks; aud may such as cannot 
write them down yet, keep a boek of remem¬ 
brance of past kindnesses in their hearts. 
IMPERIAL COURTSHIP. 
The following amusing account of the court¬ 
ship of the late Emperor Nicholas, is from a 
recent Berlin paper: 
About the year 1816 the Grand Duke Nicho¬ 
las came to Berlin to see if one of the Prussian 
Princesses would suit him, and the Princess 
Charlotte was given to understand by her 
parents that if he should take a fancy to her 
they would have no objection to her returning 
the penchant. The time originally fixed for 
the expiration of the Grand Duke’s stay had 
come, and he was seated at supper on his last 
evening next to the Princess Charlotte, when 
he abruptly told her he must leave Berlin the 
next day. He hoped to surprise her into some 
demonstration of feeling on the occasion, but 
her maidenly pride withheld her from makiug 
more than some very say-nothing remaik in ac¬ 
knowledgment. 
The Grand Duke thereupon soon assumed 
another plan of operations ; knowing that, how¬ 
ever little the eyes of the company might be 
actually fixed on him and his fair neighbor, 
they were nevertheless the object of general 
observation, he commenced telling her, but in 
an apparently unembarrassed manner,and play¬ 
ing with a ring of his the while, that he had 
devoted himself, during his short stay there, to 
make himself acquainted with her character 
and disposition, tfcc, aud that he had found in 
her every quality that he believed best calcu¬ 
lated to make him happy in wedded life, &c. ; 
but, as they two were at that moment the object, 
of scrutiny to many present, he would not press 
her for any reply to his overtures, but if it was 
agreeable to her that he should prolong bis stay 
at her father’s court, she would, perhaps, have 
the goodness to take up the ring he had in his 
hand. This ring, he then, apparently while 
playing with the two objects, thrust into the 
roll of bread lying on the table before him, and 
went on, seemingly in all sang froid, with his 
supper. With an equal appealance of uncon¬ 
cern, the Princess presently put out her hand, 
and took up the roll, as if mistaking it for her 
own bread, and, unnoticed by the companv, 
withdrew the ring, and put it on her own hand. 
The rest requires no narration. 
Neither men nor womeu become what, they 
were intended to he by carpeting their progress 
with velvet; real strength is tested by diffi¬ 
culties. 
©jwitt lljscfllamj. 
my pets. 
HY W. H. C. HOSMKK. 
Dark-eyed Evelyn! four years old, 
With a loot of miry mould, 
And a tone that can beguile 
Like the wood-note of a bird, 
Or the strain Ulysses heard 
Floating from Cal v pso’s iRle, 
.Joy stood, hand in band, with Hope 
When was cast thy horoscope. 
Blue-eyed Florence ! on thy head 
Summers four have blossoms shed, 
And thy cheek puts on a bloom 
That seems caught from sunset-skies ; 
Aud thy soft, love-darting eyes 
Can mao make Grief forget her gloom ; 
Weary of the world, 1 long, 
Daughter for thy voice of song. 
Daik-eyed EvelyD I to thee 
Summer always life will be, 
For thy faucy can invest 
Common thiugs with beauty rare, 
And the raven, dark Despair, 
Near tbee will not build her nest: 
Joy aDd hope a measure light 
Dauced when born tby beauty bright. 
Florence of the radiant face, 
Sunny tress aud neck of grace I 
Often through a happy dream, 
With a rose-wreath rouud thy head, 
Glidest thou with airy tread, 
Shedding an Elysian gleatn ; 
Charmed and holy was the hour 
Of thy birth my peerless flower I 
Written for Moore’s Kural New-Yorker 
INFECTED DISTRICTS. 
What denizen of a town or city has not, at 
some period of his life, observed, fastened upon 
habiiations, signs containing the word Beware, 
and also the appellation of some dreaded con¬ 
tagion ? This is in accordance with a wise 
provision of law to prevent the spread of such 
diseases as would produce deformity or death. 
So in the moral world there are infected dis¬ 
tricts, aud Nature, ever provident, has placed, 
where all can behold, the warning Beware— 
depart, lest ye too become contaminated, aud 
the beauties of mind aud soul be, by contact, 
robbed of their charms or utterly destroyed. 
The calumniator, one whose eagle gaze is 
fastened upon the form or chaiacter, seeking 
for defects in either, anxious to “ pick a flaw” 
somewhere and spread its discovery to the 
world, always resides iu an infected district, 
and iu a moment’s conversation will, to the 
most unobserving, exhibit the sign. Beware, 
you may be possessed of the good or evil desti¬ 
ny of the individual whose moral formation 
you are now so rapidly dissecting—give to 
your fabrication wings aud see how rapidly it 
Hies—speak it only in a whisper and how soon 
it grows to thunder-tones,—your story may be 
born of weakness, yet bow quickly does it de¬ 
velop strength. Let the words perish ere ut¬ 
terance, and banish the' thought to the foul 
region from whence it emanated. How much 
of hope or fear, lofty aspiration or groveling 
design, joy or sorrow, happiness or woe one 
little word may be capable of producing, the 
expression of which would occupy but a second 
of time, yet its effects might require an eternity 
to unravel. 
The covetous, grasping man, he who lives as 
though the world was made for him and not he 
for the world, is to be found within the limits 
of this peculiar section. His rule of action 
“ get wealth, no matter in what way,” will, to 
the thoughtless and unwary, who are dazzled 
by the appearance of acquired possessions, soon 
become an unbridled passion—destroying in its 
fierceness all the finer feelings—all the sympa¬ 
thies weshould hold in common with ourfellow 
men. Sooner or later t idles thus obtiiined cheat 
the getter,—wealth vanishes aud remorse fills 
the weary hour. By zealous guard and a de¬ 
sire to do virtuously, we may overcome a pas¬ 
sion even as base as this, and conscious recti¬ 
tude will give tbe heart a joy and peace not to 
be bartered for gold. 
The indolent are classed among the list whose 
homes are in this district. A Chinese proverb 
says that “Satan tempts only those who have 
nothing to do !” Time hangs heavy on their 
hands—excitement must be had aud streams 
are sought, whose waters contain, as an alloy to 
the gratifications they are capable of impart- 
ing, physical enervation, disease and death.— 
Diligence, occupation, industry, are material 
duties for all. If we are possessed of the best 
abilities, if nature has been lavish in the talents 
endowed upon us, aud still we lack energy to 
cultivate and bring them forth into action, it is 
all in vain. Labor is the true man’s heritage, 
and his patent is from the Most, High. A good 
man cannot live without it. To tbe possession 
of a sound mind in a healthy body it is indis¬ 
pensable. 
But specialit ies are needless. On every band 
the unwary and unsuspecting may he trapped, 
while those so inclined can readily take up 
their abode among the depraved. The period 
of naturalization is short, and tliatof citizenship 
equally brief. The thousand foes to human 
happiness take full possession of the fallen soul 
and dissolution closes the scene. Beware of 
districts that corrupt and destroy. 
KIND words. 
As stars upon a trarquil sea, 
In mimic glory shine, 
So words of kindness in the heart 
Reflect the source divine ; 
O then b» kind, whoe’er thou art, 
That bieathest mortal breath, 
And it shall brighten all thy life, 
And sweeten even death. 
All that is truly good and beautiful in life 
blooms around the altar of domestic love. 
VENTILATION AND CONSUMPTION. 
The heating process of our domes' ic ovens, of 
course is not complete unless every breath ot 
air is diligently excluded, and exceeding care 
is accordingly taken by keeping the windows 
closed, by constiucting double casements and 
other ingenious contrivances, to make the at¬ 
mosphere not only too hot for health, but too 
impute to breathe. A hogshead of pure air is 
computed the necessary allowance for a pair of 
healthy lungs per hour, and we are sure our 
ladies hardly get a thimbleful in the course of 
twenty-four. The excessive furnace so rarities 
the atmosphere, that it becomes as weak in oxy¬ 
gen as the board ing - school beverage was in 
coffee, which we used to believe was made by 
carrying a pot of boiling water through the 
kitchen while the genuine Mocha was being 
roasted for the master's breakfast. This scaut 
supply of oxygen is, of course, soon sucked up 
by the exhausted lungs, and as no fresh air is 
admitted, the poisonous carbonic acid, which is 
thrown off by expiration, must be again taken 
in by inspiration. The result of course, is ill 
health. A Dr. McCormack has just written a 
clever book to prove that consumption, which is 
the most extensively mortal of all known dis¬ 
eases, is caused entirely by the want of pure 
air. We are not prepared to give in our adlier- 
ance to the doctor's views in regard to con¬ 
sumption, but there would be no difficulty in 
pointing out many other diseases in the nosolo¬ 
gy which are undoubtedly caused by a want ol 
proper ventilation .—Harper for June. 
ODDITIES OF GREAT MEN. 
The greatest men are often affected by tbe 
most trivial circumstances, which have no ap¬ 
parent connection with the effects ihey produce. 
An old gentleman, of whom we know some¬ 
thing, felt secure against the cramp when he 
placed liis shoes, on going to bed, so that the 
right shoe was on the left of the left shoe, and 
the toe of the right next to the heel of the left. 
If he did not bring the right shoe around in 
that way, he was liable to the cramp. Dr. 
Johnson used always, in going up Bolt-court, to 
put one foot upon each stone of the pavement; 
if he failed, he felt certain that the day would 
be unlucky. Buffon, tbe celebrated naturalist, 
never wrote but in full dress. Dr. Routb, -of 
Oxford, studied in full canonicals. An eminent 
living writer can never compose without his 
slippers on. A celebrated preacher of the last 
century could never make a sermon with his 
garters on. A great German scholar writes 
with liis braces off. 
“BROTHER JONATHAN.” 
The origin of this term as applied to the 
United States, is as follows :—When General 
Washington, afier being appointed commander 
of the army of the revolutionary war, went to 
Massachusetts to organize it, he found a great 
want of ammunition and other means for its de¬ 
fence ; and on one occasion, it seemed that no 
means could be devised for the necessary safety. 
Jonathan Trumbull, the elder, was then Gov¬ 
ernor of the State of Connecticut; and the 
General, placing the greatest reliance on His 
Excellency's judgment,, remarked, “we must 
consult Brother Jonathan on the subject." The 
General did so, and the Governor was successful 
in supplying many of the wants of the army; 
thenceforth, when difficulties arose, and the 
army was spread over tbe country, it became a 
by-phrase, “ we must consult Brother Jona¬ 
than ;” and the name has now become a desig¬ 
nation for the whole country, as John Bull has 
for England. 
WALKING IS GOOD. 
Walking is good, not stepping from shop to 
shop, or from neighbor to neighbor, but stretch¬ 
ing out into the country, to the freshest fields, 
and highest ridges, and quietest lanes. How¬ 
ever sullen the imagination has been among 
its griefs at home, here it cheers up and smiles. 
However listless tbe limbs may have been when 
sustaining a too heavy heart, here they are 
braced, and the lagging gait becomes buoyant 
a^ain. However perverse the memory may 
have been iu presenting all that was agonizing, 
and insisting only on what cannot be retrieved, 
here it is at first disregarded and then it sleeps ; 
and the sleep of memory is the day in Paradise 
to the unhappy. The mere breathing of the 
eool wind iu the commonest highway is restand 
comfort, which must be felt at such limes to be 
believed. 
Luoikkr. —One of the finest of all names, 
Lucifer, once borne by a bishop, (Lucifer, 
Bishop of Cagliari) and signifying the Light- 
bringer, the Blight aud Morning Siar, is now 
universally disused, chiefly, we suspect, because 
mothers believe that it is the devil’s name, 
which it really is not. It is one of the greatest 
compliments you cay pay any man to call him 
Lucifer, for it is really the brightest of all 
names, and they only are worthy of bearing it 
who bring light inio the world. It is a popular 
error entirely that has excluded it from the 
baptismal font. The name has now been de¬ 
nounced by being applied to phosphoric match¬ 
es, which certaiuly deserve it, but it was a pity 
to lose it as a Christian name of met, aud it is 
not all improbable that it will soon be revived. 
—Household Words. 
Manners. —There is no society or conversa¬ 
tion to be kept up in the world without good 
nature, some! hing of which must bear its ap¬ 
pearance and supply its place. For this reason 
mankind have been forced to invent a kind of 
artificial humanity, which is what we express 
by the word good-breeding.— Addison. 
ADVEiNTUIlE WITH A TIG Ell. 
It was in the cold season that a few of the 
civil and military officers belonging to the sta¬ 
tion of Asscarghur, in India, agreed to make a 
shooting excursion in the vicinity of Agra ; and 
it gave occasion to an animated scene. A con¬ 
venient spot had been selected for the tents, 
beneath the spreading branches of a huge ban¬ 
yan ; peacocks glittered in the sun upon the 
lower boughs, and troops of monkeys grinned 
and chattered above. The horses were fasten¬ 
ed under the surrounding trees, and there fanned 
off the insects with their flowing tails, and 
pawed the ground with their graceful feet; 
farther off stood a stately elephant, watching 
the progress of his evening repast preparing hy 
his driver, and taking under his special protec¬ 
tion the pets of his master, a small dog, a hand¬ 
some bird, six feet high, decked in plumage of 
lilac and black, and a couple of goats, who, 
knowing their safest asylum, kept to his trunk 
or under the shelter of his huge limbs. Be¬ 
yond reposed a group of camels with their 
drivers,—some lying down, others standing or 
kneeling. Numerous white bullocks, their 
companions, in labor rested at their feet; while 
pack-saddles, panniers, and sacks, piled around, 
completed the picture. 
Within the circle of the camp, a lively scene 
was passing, fires blazed in every quarter, and 
sundry operations ol roasting, boiling and fry¬ 
ing were going on in the open air. Every fire 
was surrounded by a busy crowd, all engaged 
in that important office—preparation for the 
evening meal. The interior of the tents also 
presented an animated spectacleas the servants 
were putting them in order for the night; they 
were lighted with lamps, the walls hung with 
chintz or tiger 6kins, carpets were spread upon 
tbe ground, and sofas surrounded by curtains of 
transparent gauze, (a necessary precaution 
against insects.) became commodious beds.— 
Polished swords and daggers, silver mounted 
pistols and guns, with knives, and boar-spears, 
aud the gilded bows, arrows, and quivers, of 
native workmanship, were scattered around.— 
The tables were covered with European books 
and newspapers ; so that it was necessary to be 
continually reminded by some savage object, 
that these temporary abodes were placed in the 
heart of an Indian forest. The vast number of 
persons—the noise, bustle, and many fires about 
the camp, precluded every idea of danger— 
and the gentlemen of the party collected to¬ 
gether in front of the tents, conversed careless¬ 
ly with each other, or amused themselves with 
looking about them. 
While thus indolently beguiling the few 
minutes which had to elapse before they' were 
summoned to dinner, a full-grown tiger, of the 
largest size, sprang suddenly into the center of 
the group, seized one of the party in his ex¬ 
tended jaws, and bore him away into the wood 
with a rapidity that defied pursuit. The loud 
outcries, raised by those whose faculties were 
not entirely paralj zed by terror and consterna¬ 
tion, only served to increase the tiger’s speed. 
Though scarcely a moment had elapsed, not a 
trace of the animal remained, so impenetrable 
was the thicket through which he had retreat¬ 
ed ; but, notwithstanding the apparent hope¬ 
lessness of the case, no means which human 
prudence could suggest was loft untried.— 
Torches were insiautly collected, weapons has¬ 
tily snatched up, and the whole party rushed 
into the forest—some beating the bushes on 
every side, while others pressed tbeir way 
through the tangled underwood, in a state of 
anxiety incapable of description. 
The victim selected by the tiger was an offi¬ 
cer whose presence of mind and dauntless 
courage, iu the midst of the most appalling 
danger, most provideniially enabled him to 
meet the exigencies of his situation. Neither 
the anguish he endured from the wounds al¬ 
ready, the horrible manner iu which he was 
liurried along through brush and brake, and the 
prospect so immediately before him of a dread¬ 
ful death, subdued the firmness of his spirit; 
and meditating with the utmost coolness upon 
the readiest means of effecting his own deliv¬ 
erance, he proceeded cautiously to make the 
attempt. He wore a brace of pistols in his belt, 
aud the tiger having seized him by the waist, 
his arms were consequently left at liberty. Ap¬ 
plying his hand to the monster’s side, be ascer¬ 
tained the exact position of the heart; then, 
drawing out of his pistols, placed the muzzle 
to the part and fired. Perhaps some slight tre¬ 
mor in his own fingers, or a jerk occasioned by 
the rough road aud brisk pace of the animal, 
caused the ball to miss its aim, and a tighter 
gripe and an accelerated trot alone announced 
the wound he had received. A moment of in¬ 
expressible anxiety ensued, yet, undismayed 
by the ill-success of his effort, though painfully 
aware that he now possessed only a single 
chance for life, the heroic individual prepared, 
with more careful deliberation, to make a fresh 
attempt. He felt for the pulsations of the heart 
a second time, placed his remaining pistol fii in¬ 
ly against the vital part, and drew the tiigger 
with a steadier hand, and with nicer precision. 
The jaws suddenly relaxed their grasp, and the 
tiger dropped dead beneath his burden ! The 
triumph of the victor, as he surveyed the life¬ 
less body of the animal stretched upon the 
ground, was subdued by the loss of blood and 
the pain of his wounds. He was uncertain, too, 
whether his failing strength would enable him 
to reach the camp, even if he could be certain 
of finding the way to it; but his anxiety upon 
this point was speedily ended by the shouts 
which met liis ear, those of his friends search¬ 
ing for him. He staggered onward in the di¬ 
rection whence the sound proceeded and issued 
from the thicket, covered with blood and ex¬ 
hausted, bur f.ee from wouuds of a mortal na¬ 
ture.— Sinclair. 
