ccasion, on the eastern shores of the Vermilion Sea, I
witnessed an estampede, and, returning twelve days afterwards, I found
the animals still lying in every direction on the prairie, although much
recovered from their fatigue. On this last occasion, the prairie had
been burnt for three hundred miles, from east to west, and there is no
doubt but that the animals had estampedoed the whole distance at the
utmost of their speed.

Our horses having quite recovered from their past fatigue, we started at
a brisk canter, under the beams of a genial sun, and soon felt the warm
blood stirring in our veins. We had proceeded about six or seven miles,
skirting the edge of the mass of buffaloes reclining on the prairie,
when we witnessed a scene which filled us with pity. Fourteen hungry
wolves, reeling and staggering with weakness, were attacking a splendid
black stallion, which was so exhausted, that he could not get up upon
his legs. His neck and sides were already covered with wounds, and his
agony was terrible. Now, the horse is too noble an animal not to find a
protector in man against such bloodthirsty foes; so we dismounted and
despatched the whole of his assailants; but as the poor stallion was
wounded beyond all cure, and would indubitably have fallen a prey to
another pack of his prairie foes, we also despatched him with a shot of
a rifle. It was an act of humanity, but still the destruction of this
noble animal in the wilderness threw a gloom over our spirits. The
doctor perceiving this, thought it advisable to enliven us with the
following story:--

"All the New York amateurs of oysters know well the most jovial
tavern-keeper in the world, old Slick Bradley, the owner of the
`Franklin,' in Pearl-street. When you go to New York, mind to call upon
him, and if you have any relish for a cool sangaree, a mint jullep, or a
savoury oyster-soup, none can make it better than Slick Bradley.
Besides, his bar is snug, his little busy wife neat and polite, and if
you are inclined to a spree, his private rooms up-stairs are comfortable
as can be.

"Old Slick is good-humoured and always laughing; proud of his cellar, of
his house, of his wife, and, above all, proud of the sign-post hanging
before his door; that is to say, a yellow head of Franklin, painted by
some bilious chap, who looked in the glass for a model.

"Now Slick has kept house for more than forty years, and though he has
made up a pretty round sum, he don't