e closing exhibition of the English
season occurred at Hull, and immediately afterward the company sailed
for home on the "Persian Monarch." An immense crowd gathered on the
quay, and shouted a cordial "bon voyage."

One sad event occurred on the homeward voyage, the death of "Old
Charlie," Will's gallant and faithful horse.

He was a half-blood Kentucky horse, and had been Will's constant and
unfailing companion for many years on the plains and in the "Wild West."

He was an animal of almost human intelligence, extraordinary speed,
endurance, and fidelity. When he was quite young Will rode him on a hunt
for wild horses, which he ran down after a chase of fifteen miles. At
another time, on a wager of five hundred dollars that he could ride him
over the prairie one hundred miles in ten hours, he went the distance in
nine hours and forty-five minutes.

When the "Wild West" was opened at Omaha, Charlie was the star horse,
and held that position at all the exhibitions in this country and in
Europe. In London the horse attracted a full share of attention, and
many scions of royalty solicited the favor of riding him. Grand Duke
Michael of Russia rode Charlie several times in chase of the herd of
buffaloes in the "Wild West," and became quite attached to him.

On the morning of the 14th Will made his usual visit to Charlie, between
decks. Shortly after the groom reported him sick. He grew rapidly worse,
in spite of all the care he received, and at two o'clock on the morning
of the 17th he died. His death cast an air of sadness over the whole
ship, and no human being could have had more sincere mourners than the
faithful and sagacious old horse. He was brought on deck wrapped in
canvas and covered with the American flag. When the hour for the ocean
burial arrived, the members of the company and others assembled on deck.
Standing alone with uncovered head beside the dead was the one whose
life the noble animal had shared so long. At length, with choking
utterance, Will spoke, and Charlie for the first time failed to hear the
familiar voice he had always been so prompt to obey:

"Old fellow, your journeys are over. Here in the ocean you must rest.
Would that I could take you back and lay you down beneath the billows of
that prairie you and I have loved so well and roamed so freely; but it
cannot be. How often at break of day, the glorious sun rising on the
horizon has found us far from human habitation! Yet, obedient to my