To prove that I wasn’t, I paused to admire it, and fearlessly laid my hand upon its head. Thereupon, it capered around me, joyfully, and made a succession of springs upon me as though to kiss me. Just then three juvenile canines, that I had not observed before, came running from the kennel; and their resemblance to the adult one was so striking, that I had no difficulty in making out the fact that a near relationship existed between and among them. I stooped down to pat one of the little beauties on the head, and just then, the big one made another playful spring at my face, not with any intention of biting me,—I’ll be sworn to that,—when one of its confounded, awkward teeth struck me just below the eye and penetrated to the cheek-bone; and the crimson “gore” flowed from the incision. It was a most provoking circumstance, for the clerk was looking from the window, and the landlord and another man just then appeared at the stable-door, all thinking that the dog had bitten me; which placed me in a ridiculous light, in the eyes of the clerk, after my boast that dogs were not in the habit of biting me. Although the dog did not purposely hurt me, and was still capering about, playfully, I execrated its awkwardness, and felt that I could have knocked the top of its head off with my crutch—had no one been looking. It was a female dog, too, and I told it so, very concisely, in my vexation: which was all the satisfaction I had. * * * * * Traveling incessantly for forty-eight hours, I reached Philadelphia on a winter night, when the wind was howling and the snow falling fast. I had slept very little on the trains during the last two nights, and it might well be surmised that an individual like John Smith (or “any other man”) would feel like “turning in,” under the circumstances. Such a conclusion would be but rational. But it is said that, “Man is a creature of circumstances;” and that adage was fully exemplified by my remarkable experience on that memorable night. I had already instructed the baggage-agent on the Pennsylvania Central train to send my trunk to my residence, and I was just stepping forth from the depot, at Thirty-first and Market streets, with the view of walking home through the jovial snow-storm, when a familiar voice accosted me with: “Hallo, Smith! Where have you been this long time? Where are you going?” I recognized a young friend named Feeny, who was standing near a sleigh, to which two handsome and spirited horses were attached. In the sleigh sat another friend named Aaron, who also said: “Why, Smith! How do you do? Glad to see you. Where have you been?” “In the West,” I replied. “Going home?” “Yes.” “Not going to walk?” “Yes.” “O, don’t do that! Get into the sleigh with Feeny and me, and ride.” “By all means,” urged Feeny. “Are you going directly home?” They lived near my residence.