is fowling-piece
with an old jack-knife, he heard a distant rumbling sound, which soon
waxed terrible, and caused him to thrust out his head. Thunder and Mars!
what should he do? If he ran, it was all up with him, and he was a dead
man if he staid where he was. A wild bull of the prairies was cutting up
shines at no great distance, tearing up the sod with hoofs and horns, and
threatening to demolish that refuge of lies. Shaw poked out his head, and
drew it in again, clutching his fowling-piece convulsively, and trembling
in an agony of fear. Involuntarily he began to say his prayers. 'Our
Father who art in heaven,' said he, with great fervor. The bull was now
up, bellowing in a tumultuous passion, galloping round and round in
circles which were diminishing with every turn, getting his horns ready to
toss the whole fiction of an ox, box, hide, horns, Plutarch Shaw and all,
into the air. 'Help! help!' shrieked the philosopher; 'I'll come out; I
must, I must, I _must!_' And he _did_ come out, by far the most sneaking
object for miles around on the Big Plains. Some men who were hunting
plover from a wagon, (which is the right way,) saw his fantastic position
with mingled laughter and alarm. They drove to his assistance, but the
horses shyed off at the terrific conduct of the bull, whose onslaught was
now made upon the box, which he attacked hoof and horn. Mr. Shaw had
barely strength to reach the shelter of the wagon, into which he was
taken, much chap-fallen, and resuscitated with brandy-and-water, which
were luckily at hand.

He was an 'odd fish,' unanimously so styled, by those who knew him, nor
did his appearance belie him, as he started forth on a geological
excursion in the month of May last, making poems and tuning pianos by the
way. He strung up the old harpsicords to the satisfaction of the country
girls, who thought he 'played on music' with great skill, but his eyes
were the very wildest. Was Professor Shaw crazy? By no means. As a proof
of it, he had written several poems as voluminous as the Fredoniad; which
were unavailing for the present, but which he _did_ hope that his 'country
would not willingly let die;' added to this, some marches in double quick
time, some intricate and inwoven harmonies in the transcendental style,
stanzas set to music, thrown forth when the excitement was upon him, and
fugitives from justice. Yet all these were nothing, to judge by dark and
mysterious hints which were given out, of so