“Well, what was in it when you did look?” asked Glenn.

“There was a one thousand dollar note on the Bank of the United States, with the president’s and cashier’s names on it, all genuine.  Oh, I was so happy!  I put it in my vest-pocket and sewed it up.”

“But what have you done with it since?” asked Glenn.

“I—­Hang it! it was only a dream!"[1] said Joe, unconsciously feeling in his empty pocket.

[1] Thousands have had similar dreams about similar notes since Joe’s dream.—­Printer’s Devil.

“But what has that dream to do with the fish?” pursued Glenn.

“I’ll tell you,” said Joe.  “When I got up in the morning and discovered it was a dream, I slipped on my clothes as quickly as possible and set off for the wharf.  When I got there, I walked along slowly with my head down till at length my toe struck against an oyster-shell.  I picked it up, and while I was looking at it, the captain of a schooner invited me on board of his vessel to look at his cargo of oysters, just stolen from Deep Creek, Virginia.  He gave me at least six dozen to eat!”

“And this makes you have faith in such dreams?” asked Glenn, striving in vain to repress his laughter.

“I got something by the dream,” said Joe.  “I had a first rate oyster-breakfast.”

“But what has all this to do with the fish?” continued Glenn; “perhaps, instead of the fish, you expect to catch a frog this time.  You will still be an Irishman, Joe.  Go and try your luck.”

“St. Patrick forbid that I should be any thing else but an Irishman!  I should like to know if an Irishman ain’t as good as anybody else, particularly when he’s born in America, as I was?  But the dream in Philadelphia did have something to do with a fish.  Didn’t I catch a fish?  Isn’t an oyster a fish?  And it had something to do with this fish, too.  I’ve been bothering my head ever since I got up about what kind of bait to catch him with, and I’m sure I never would have thought of the right kind if you hadn’t mentioned that frog just now.  I recollect they say that’s the very best thing in the world to bait with for a catfish.  I’ll go straight to the brook and hunt up a frog!” Saying this, Joe set out to execute his purpose, while Glenn proceeded to Roughgrove’s house to see how William progressed in his studies.

The intelligent youth, under the guidance of Roughgrove, Glenn, and his unwearying and affectionate sister, was now rapidly making amends for the long neglect of his education while abiding with the unlettered Indians.  He had already gone through the English grammar, and was entering the higher branches of study.  The great poets of his own country, and the most approved novelists were his companions during the hours of relaxation; for when the illimitable fields of intellect were opened to his vision, he would scarce for a moment consent to withdraw his admiring gaze.  Thus, when