violence, before he could bear witness to the ingratitude of civilized man, by long neglect, as poor Argus did. Since his murder, I have an hundred times read the eloquent biography of Argus, and as often made up my mind to pay a humble tribute to my dog Julius Cæsar. This I shall now attempt, after quoting that noble tribute to Argus, which is to be found in the Odyssey. There has never lived a monarch, warrior, philosopher, or statesman in the annals of time, whose fame is so sweetly embalmed by the Muse, as that of Argus; even great Hector's shade might envy the fame of Argus, and the far-darting Apollo, with the rays of wisdom bursting from his head, has never been brought down among mortals with more poetic beauty than was used to give immortality to the faithful dog of Ulysses. The tribute I pay to Julius Cæsar has neither epic dignity nor mellifluous rhyme; but the virtues of the latter hero will place him along side of him of Ithica, not indeed in history, but in the affections of his master.

"Thus near the gates, conferring as they drew,
Argus, the dog, his ancient master knew;
He, not unconscious of the voice and tread,
Lifts to the sound his ear, and rears his head.
Bred by Ulysses, nourished at his board,
But ah! not fated long to please his lord!

To him his swiftness and his strength were vain;
The voice of glory call'd him o'er the main.
Till then in ev'ry sylvan chase renown'd,
With Argus, Argus, rung the woods around;
With him the youth pursu'd the goat or fawn,
Or trac'd the mazy lev'ret o'er the lawn.

Now left to man's ingratitude he lay,
Unhous'd, neglected, in the public way;

And where on heaps the rich manure was spread,
Obscene with reptiles, took his sordid bed.

"He knew his lord; he knew, and strove to meet,
In vain he strove, to crawl, and kiss his feet;
Yet (all he could) his tail, his ears, his eyes
Salute his master, and confess his joys.
Soft pity touch'd the mighty master's soul;
Adown his cheek a tear unbidden stole,
Stole unperceiv'd; he turn'd his head, and dry'd
The drop humane; then thus impassion'd cry'd;
'What noble beast in this abandon'd state
Lies here all helpless at Ulysses' gate?
His bulk and beauty speak no vulgar praise?
If, as he seems, he was in better days,
Some care his age deserves: Or was he priz'd
For worthless beauty! therefore now despis'd?
Such dogs and men there are, mere things of state,
And always cherish'd by their friends, the great.'
'Not Argus so,' (Eumæus thus rejoin'd,)

'But serv'd a master of a nobler kind,
Who never, never shall behold him more!

Long, long since perish'd on a distant shore!
Oh had you seen him, vig'rous, bold, and young,
Swift as a stag, and as a lion strong;
Him no fell savage on the plain withstood;
None 'scap'd him, bosom'd in the gloomy wood;
His eye how piercing, and his scent how true,
To wind the vapor in the tainted dew!
Such, when Ulysses left his natal coast;
Now years unnerve him, and his lord is lost!
The women keep the gen'rous creature bare,
A sleek and idle race is all their care:

The master gone, the servants what restrains!
Or dwells humanity where riot reigns?

Jove fix'd it certain, that whatever day
Makes man a slave, takes half his worth away.'
This said, the honest herdsman strode before:
The musing monarch pauses at the door.
The dog, whom fate had granted to behold
His lord, when twenty tedious years had roll'd,
Takes a last look, and having seen him, dies ;
So clos'd for ever faithful Argus' eyes!"

When I was about thirteen years of age, a schoolboy in the country, one bright winter's morning, an Indian of the Oneida tribe, called at my boarding house, for the purpose of obtaining some refreshment on his journey to Philadelphia, then the seat of government. He bore a memorial for remuneration for the services of his tribe during the revolutionary war, and being a chief, was an object of curiosity to the boys of our school; but the Indian was nothing in my view in comparison with his dog. He was one of the largest I had ever seen; he was tall, and long, broad-chested, and strong, and as fleet as a grey-hound. His color was of a bright yellow, and his head, much larger, but shaped like that of a wolf's. He was grave, although not more than eighteen months old. I made love to the dog at once, and a reciprocal affection seemed to take place; he had found the Indian a hard master. I offered the Indian my silver watch for the dog, which he readily accepted. I took him to my chamber; the Indian told the dog that from henceforth to consider me as his master, and I thought he understood all that was said to him, and rejoiced in being freed from his old master; but however that

might have been, by caressing him and feeding him well, he never showed the slightest wish to stray from me. He was decidedly in favor of civilization, particularly after he had flogged all the dogs in the neighborhood, who had made an attack on him. Sometimes a dozen of them

would come together, but he never regarded them a straw, but sallied out, chastised them for their insolence and temerity, and came quickly back to his bone. When the purchase was made, I was reading Cæsar's Commentaries, and instead of keeping his Indian name, called him Julius Cæsar, after the immortal Roman, and in truth his character was more like his illustrious prototype's, than any other in the catalogue of heroes. He was brave, powerful, magnanimous, intelligent, and full of clemency; for after he had conquered all the dogs of any size in the village, he bore with unruffled magnanimity and composure all the attacks of the smaller ones. I have known him receive a severe bite from a snarling little cur, but disdained to resent the injury; his enemy was too insignificant for him to notice. He walked the lion of the farm; the cattle and hogs obeyed his kingly directions; and the poor sheep so perfectly understood his character, that so far from fleeing from him, they took courage whenever he was near them. It was a new country; and the wolves sometimes sought the sheep cotes, and often their tracks were seen in the snow about the barns. At such times Julius would quietly sleep in the yard with the sheep, inspiring the whole flock with confidence the moment they saw him. When he stood sentry, no dog

dared approach. He was obedient and affectionate to his young master, and to him alone was his whole soul devoted. He would sometimes obey others when he thought them right—but his master's commands he never questioned. They hunted together, they swam together, and were inseparable. Damon and Pythias had not a stronger friendship than Julius and his master. When we had lived together about a year, some of the neighboring farmers came to inform me that some foxes had been seen crossing the field, and making for the woods. A deep light snow had fallen during the night, and it was an excellent time for a fox hunt. Julius took the track with great zeal, and was soon out of sight, taking two of the fox leaps in one. His master followed, but had not sufficient strength to keep up with the hardy yeomen on the track. The morning was rather mild and pleasant for the season, and the depth of the snow made the walking tiresome. About ten o'clock the wind shifted, and it began to grow cold rapidly. The change was so great, that from glowing with perspiration, I became numb and chilly. I sought for a hemlock tree, such as are often found in the woods, torn up by the roots in some tornado, and lying there until the bark separates from the wood, and forms a comfortable place of rest to the traveller. Into such a cradle I crawled to get out of the way of the wind, and refresh myself for returning home. In this place I soon fell asleep, and never should have awaked again, had it not been for my dog. On his return after a very successful hunt, Julius, in a state of great