M. St. Vrain, who, a comparative stranger to his people, was murdered by
them, in their exasperated fury, at Kellogg's Grove, soon after the
commencement of the campaign.

II.

It seems appropriate to notice in this place the subsequent appearance
before the public of one of the personages casually mentioned in the
foregoing narrative.

In the autumn of 1864 we saw advertised for exhibition at Wood's Museum,
Chicago, "The most remarkable instance of longevity on record--the
venerable Joseph Crely, born on the 13th of September, 1726, and having
consequently reached, at this date, the age of ONE HUNDRED AND
THIRTY-NINE YEARS!" Sundry particulars followed of his life and history,
and, above all, of his recollections.

"Well done for old Crely!" said my husband, when he had gone through the
long array. "Come, let us go over to Wood's Museum and renew our
acquaintance with the venerable gentleman."

I did not need a second invitation, for I was curious to witness the
wonders which the whirligig of time had wrought with our old _employe_.

We chose an early hour for our visit, that we might pay our respects to
both him and the granddaughter who had him in charge, unembarrassed by
the presence of strangers.

In a large room on the second floor of the building, among cages of
birds and animals, some stuffed, others still living, we perceived,
seated by a window, a figure clad in bright cashmere dressing-gown and
gay tasselled cap, tranquilly smoking a tah-nee-hoo-rah, or long Indian
pipe. His form was upright, his face florid, and less changed than might
have been expected by the thirty-one years that had elapsed since we had
last seen him. He was alone, and my husband addressed him at first in
English:--

"Good-morning, M. Crely. Do you remember me?"

He shook his head emphatically. "Je ne comprends pas. Je ne me
ressouviens de rien--je suis vieux, vieux--le treize Septembre, mil sept
cent vingt-six, je suis ne. Non, non," with a few gentle shakes of the
head, "je ne puis rappeler rien--je suis vieux, vieux."[61]

My husband changed his inquiries to the patois which Crely could not
feign not to comprehend.

"Where is your granddaughter? I am acquainted with her, and would like
to speak with her."

The old man sprang up with the greatest alacrity, and, running to a door
in the wooden partition which cut off a corner of the room and thus
furnished an apartment for the ancient phenomenon, he rapped vigoro