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 exhausted swiftness. George though he "ought to be put out of misery." And so thought I. But, of the knocking on the head I did not like to remain and be a spectator.

Whither, upon the moonlight, sped that released energy—that self-sacrificing, single-thoughted devotion! Its toil—its forgetfulness of cold and hunger—had been for another's food. The caught game was left untouched for his master. Did so brave a spirit stop there? I will put a head-stone to the grave where he is left behind—since we must pray for worse company to Heaven.

I was in at my friend the blacksmith's, a day or two after, and Torrey rather favored my idea of dog existence lapping over upon man's immortality—(here and there a dog that was better worth saving than some men, that is to say)—mentioning insanity in the animal as a peculiarity which it shared with our species. He said, however, that a wolf had been killed a few nights before, just outside the village; and, by its actions, and a swelling over its brain from some previous blow or bruise, he believed that animal also was insane. The talk ended in our agreement to walk over to neighbor Clark's farm, under the mountain, the next day, and have a look at the fur and phrenology of the "wild critter"—taking our mutual crony, Chatfield the tanner, along with us, to see whether we could bring home the skin and have it dressed for a relic.