Produced by Bryan Ness, Chris Logan and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This
book was produced from scanned images of public domain
material from the Google Print project.)









ANECDOTES
OF
DOGS.

BY

EDWARD JESSE, ESQ.


"Histories are more full of examples of
the fidelity of dogs than of friends."
                                      POPE.


With numerous Engravings.


LONDON:
HENRY G. BOHN, YORK STREET, COVENT GARDEN.
MDCCCLVIII.




LONDON:
Printed by G. Barclay, Castle St. Leicester Sq.




PREFACE.


The character, sensibilities, and intellectual faculties of animals
have always been a favourite study, and they are, perhaps, more
strongly developed in the dog than in any other quadruped, from the
circumstance of his being the constant companion of man. I am aware
how much has been written on this subject, but having accumulated many
original and interesting anecdotes of this faithful animal, I have
attempted to enlarge the general stock of information respecting it.
It is a pleasing task, arising from the conviction that the more the
character of the dog is known, the better his treatment is likely to
be, and the stronger the sympathy excited in his behalf.

Let me hope, that the examples which are given in the following pages
will help to produce this effect, and that a friend so faithful, a
protector so disinterested and courageous, will meet with that
kindness and affection he so well deserves.

It is now my grateful duty to express my thanks to those friends who
have so kindly contributed original anecdotes to this work, and
especially to Lady Morgan and Mrs. S. Carter Hall for their remarks on
the Irish wolf-dog.

I have also to acknowledge my obligations for various anecdotes
illustrative of the character of peculiar dogs, extracted from Colonel
Hamilton Smith's volumes in the Naturalist's Library and Captain
Brown's interesting sketches; as well to the Editor of the "Irish
Penny Magazine" for his extremely well-written account of the Irish
wolf-dog; and to other sources too numerous to mention.

The present new edition is considerably enlarged, both in matter and
plates, and, to suit the taste of the age is presented in a cheap and
popular form.

My Publisher has, as usual, lent his aid, and is responsible for some
of the additional anecdotes, for the account of the _Setter_, and for
all after page 458, including the chapter "On Feeding and Management."

EDWARD JESSE.

_East Sheen, Sept. 1858._




ENGRAVINGS ON WOOD.


      TITLE.                         PAINTER.         ENGRAVER.     PAGE

   1. Spaniel & Newfoundland Dogs    W. Harvey        W. Branston      1
   2. Retriever                      W. Harvey        W. Branston     54
   3. Tail-piece                     W. P. Smith      T. Gilks        83
   4. Deer-hounds                    W. Harvey        W. Branston     85
   5. Tail-piece                     W. P. Smith      T. Gilks       132
   6. Newfoundland Dog               W. Harvey        W. Branston    133
   7. Tail-piece                     W. P. Smith      T. Gilks       184
   8. The Colley, or Shepherd's Dog  Stewart          Pearson        185
   9. Tail-piece                     W. P. Smith      T. Gilks       239
  10. St. Bernard Dog                W. P. Smith      T. Gilks       240
  11. Chasseur & Cuba Bloodhounds    Freeman          Whiting        250
  12. Tail-piece                     W. P. Smith      T. Gilks       263
  13. The Terrier                    W. Harvey        W. Branston    264
  14. Tail-piece                     W. P. Smith      T. Gilks       299
  15. The Blenheim Spaniel           W. Harvey        Pearson        300
  16. Tail-piece                     W. P. Smith      T. Gilks       330
  17. The Poodle                     Carpendale       Pearson        331
  18. Tail-piece                     W. P. Smith      T. Gilks       352
  19. Vignette                       W. P. Smith      T. Gilks       353
  20. Otter Hunting                  W. P. Smith      T. Gilks       361
  21. Tail-piece                     W. Harvey        Vizitelly      366
  22. Greyhounds                     W. Harvey        Vizitelly      367
  23. Tail-piece                     C. D. Radcliffe  E. Landells    382
  24. The Pointer                    W. Harvey        W. Branston    383
  25. Tail-piece                     W. P. Smith      T. Gilks       399
  26. The Setter                     W. Harvey        W. Branston    400
  27. Tail-piece                     Bewick           Bewick         411
  28. The Comforter                  W. R. Smith      Pearson        412
  29. A Pugnacious Pair              Cruickshank      Cruickshank    417
  30. The Foxhound                   C. D. Radcliffe  E. Landells    421
  31. Hounds in a Bath               C. D. Radcliffe  E. Landells    437
  32. The Beagle                     W. R. Smith      T. Gilks       438
  33. Tail-piece                     C. D. Radcliffe  E. Landells    439
  34. The Mastiff                    W. Harvey        Whimper        440
  35. Tail-piece                     W. R. Smith      T. Gilks       453
  36. The Bull-dog                   W. Harvey        Vizitelly      454
  37. Tail-piece                     W. R. Smith      T. Gilks       458
  38. Tail-piece                     Seymour          Pearson        481
  39. Feeding Hounds                 C. D. Radcliffe  E. Landells    482
  40. Tail-piece                     W. R. Smith      T. Gilks       490




CONTENTS.


    INTRODUCTION--Value, propensities, and origin of the dog, 1 _et
    passim_--the wolf partially domesticated, 6--wild dogs of Ceylon,
    15--Sir Walter Scott's bull-dog terrier Camp, 16--the dog and the
    pieman, 17--death of a dog from affection for its deceased
    mistress, 18--frozen fowls rescued by a house-dog, 19--Sir R.
    Brownrigg's dog, 19--the author's terrier Phiz, 20--a dog fond of
    travelling by himself, 20--runaway horse caught by a dog, 21--lost
    money guarded by, 21--dogs can reckon time, 22--death of a dog
    from joy at the return of his master, 22--faithfulness of a dog to
    its charge, 24--the dog's character influenced by that of its
    master, 25--sense of smelling, 26--duel about a dog, 28--murder
    prevented by, 29--a faithful dog killed by mistake, 30--sporting
    anecdotes of Smoaker, Bachelor, Blunder, &c., 31--intelligence of
    the dog, 42--tact in cat-hunting, 44--find their way home from
    long distances, 46--bantam rescued from a game cock,
    46--perception of right and wrong, 47--turkey punished for
    gluttony, 48--speaking dogs, 48-9--a singing dog, 50--creatures of
    habit, 50--Caniche and the breeches, 51--distinguishes his
    master's customers, 54--a robber killed by a dog, 55--Dr. Hooper's
    dog, 55--the fireman's dog, Tyke, 56--the fireman's dog, Bill,
    60--dog used as a servant, 61--Mr. Backhouse's dog, 62--the
    post-dog's revenge, 62--dog returns from Bangalore to Pondicherry,
    63--Mr. Decouick's dog, 63--a dog saves human life, 64--guards a
    chair dropped from a waggon, 64--rescues his master from an
    avalanche, 64--spaniel tracks his master to Drury Lane, and
    discovers him in the pit, 65--large dog rescues a small one from
    drowning, 65--a canine messenger, 66--contrivance of a
    Newfoundland to get a bun, 67--dog lost for nine weeks in the dome
    of St. Paul's, 67--support themselves in a wild state,
    69--laughable account of the transmigration of souls in connexion
    with dogs, 71--sheep-dogs in the Pyrenees, 76--Mrs. S. C. Hall's
    dog, 77--musical spaniel of Darmstadt, 77--Lord Grenville's lines
    on the dog, 82.


THE IRISH AND HIGHLAND WOLF-DOG.

    History of the Irish wolf-dog, 86 _et seq. passim_--supposed
    recognition of a wolf-dog of the Irish blood royal, 86--lines on
    the Irish wolf-dog, 88--anecdotes from Plutarch, 89--the dog of
    Montargis, 90--the dog of Aughrim, 93--wolf-hunting in Tyrone,
    94--sheep-killing wolf-dog, 107--Buskar and Bran, 112--incident
    with Lord Ossulton's hounds, 116--Bruno and O'Toole, 117--a
    deer-hound recovers a glove from a boy, 119--Sir W. Scott's dog
    Maida, 120--a deer-hound detains a suspicious person, 120--follows
    a wounded deer for three days, 121--Comhstri drowns a stag,
    122--Scotch dogs much prized in England, 123--Llewellyn and Beth
    Gelert, 124--Lady Morgan on the Irish wolf-dog, 127.


THE NEWFOUNDLAND DOG.

    Character, &c., 133--saves people from drowning, 135--Baby,
    136--saves a child from being run over, 136--saves a spaniel from
    being drowned, 137--saves a gentleman from drowning at Portsmouth,
    138--saves a man in a mill-stream, 138--calculating dogs,
    138--Sabbath party disturbed by a dog, 139--Archdeacon Wix's dog,
    140--a Newfoundland brings away breeches containing money
    belonging to his master, 143--commits suicide, 145--saves a
    coachman in the Thames, 146--tries to drown a spaniel, 147--uses
    his paw as a fishing-bait, 148--in carrying two hats puts one
    inside other, 148--three dogs previously enemies unite against a
    common foe, 149--a dog saves his drowning enemy, 151--releases
    himself and companions from captivity, 152--a swimming-wager
    amusingly lost by a dog's care, 153--the dog as postman,
    153--swims for ten hours in a tempestuous sea, 153--saves his dead
    master's pocket-book, 154--Lord Grenville's lines on the,
    155--Newfoundland dog ducks his aggressor, 157--carries a rope to
    the shore, 158--saves an ungrateful master, 158--guardian of a
    lady's honour, 160--anecdotes of Mr. M'Intyre's dog Dandie,
    160-5--a Newfoundland causes the detection of a dishonest porter,
    165--saves twelve persons from drowning, 166--watches over his
    drunken master, 167--his humanity occasions a disturbance at
    Woolwich Theatre, 167--carries a lanthorn before his master,
    168--saves the lives of all on board the Durham Packet,
    170--drowns a pet lamb out of jealousy, 171--rescues a canary
    which had flown into the sea, 171--saves his old master from
    robbers, 173--St. John's and Labrador dogs, 176--long remembrance
    of injuries, 177--discovers a poacher, 178--discretion and
    revenge, 178--returns from Berwick to London, 179--the Romans had
    some dog of the same kind, 179--liberates a man who had fallen
    into a gravel-pit, 180--Boatswain provides his mistress a dinner,
    181--a trespasser detained, 181--Victor at the Battle of
    Copenhagen, 182--a Newfoundland dog retrieves on the ice,
    182--fetches a coat from the tailor's, 183--lines by Lord Eldon,
    184.


THE COLLEY OR SHEPHERD'S DOG.

    Saves the life of Mr. Satterthwaite, 186--the Ettrick Shepherd's
    dog, Sirrah, collects a scattered flock at midnight, 188--Hector,
    189--points the cat, 191--has an ear for music, 194--hears where
    his master is going, and precedes him, 196--a wonderful sheep-dog,
    199--a bitch having pupped deposits her young in the hills, and
    afterwards fetches them home, 201--cunning of sheep-stealing dogs,
    202-5--a sheep-dog dies of starvation whilst tending his charge,
    206--discrimination of a sheep-dog, 207--a sheep-dog remembers all
    the turnings of a road, 208--follows a young woman who had
    borrowed his mistress's cloak, 211--Drummer saves a cow,
    212--Cæsar rescues his master from an avalanche, 213--a sheep-dog
    snatches away a beggar's stick, 214--a colley conducts the flock
    whilst his master is drinking, 214--dishonesty punished, 215--a
    sporting colley, 216--a colley buries her drowned offspring,
    217--brings assistance to her helpless master, 217--saves his
    master from being frozen to death, 219--his master having broken
    his arm sends home his dog for assistance, 220--a colley punishes
    a tailor's dog for worrying his flock, 221--the sheep-stealing
    colley, 222--a colley distinguishes diseased sheep, 228--the
    Ettrick Shepherd's story of the dog Chieftain, 230--a colley feeds
    his master's lost child on the Grampian Hills, 232--the shepherds'
    dogs of North Wales, 235--training a colley, 238.


THE ST. BERNARD DOG.

    Mrs. Houston's lines on the, 240--peculiar intelligence of,
    241--the monks and their dogs, 242--a dog saves a woman's life,
    243--intuitive foreboding of danger, 244--a dog saves a child,
    245--revenges his ill-treated master, 247--a St. Bernard dog named
    Barry saves forty lives, 248--destruction of a whole party by an
    avalanche, 249.


THE BLOODHOUND.

    Habits of the bloodhound, 251--its remarkable scent, 252--pursuit
    of Wallace with a bloodhound, 253--bloodhounds employed for
    hunting negroes in Cuba, 253--a bloodhound traces a miscreant
    twenty miles, 255--Sir W. Scott's description of a bloodhound,
    255--extract from Wanley's "Wonders," 256--a bloodhound discovers
    a lost child, 257--the Spanish chasseurs and their dogs, 258--a
    sheepstealer discovered by a bloodhound, 260--atrocities of the
    Spaniards, 261.


THE TERRIER.

    Its varieties, 265--Peter, 266--a terrier kills a child from
    jealousy, 268--pines to death from jealousy, 268--guards a lady in
    her walks, 269--affection of a terrier, 269--Sir Walter Scott's
    description of Wasp, 270--brings assistance to his imprisoned
    master, 271--gets a friend to pay his boat-hire, 272--Mrs.
    Grosvenor's dog, 273--a bell-ringing and message-carrying terrier,
    273--a dog knows his mistress's dress, and follows the wearer,
    274--anecdotes of a terrier at Hampton Court, 274--a terrier saves
    his master from being burnt to death, 277--suckles a rat,
    277--tries to prevent his master from beating his son, 278--Pincer
    seeks assistance in dislodging rats, 278--a terrier rescues her
    two drowned pups, 280--seeks assistance in getting a bone,
    281--gets a lady to ring the bell for him, 282--flies at the
    throat of a man who attacks his master, 282--a grateful terrier,
    283--attachment to a cat, 283--clever expedient of two
    affectionate dogs, 284--Snap, 285--the fate of a gentleman
    revealed to his family by means of a terrier, 286--a terrier in
    the Tower follows a soldier to find his master, 288--Snob, 289--a
    terrier suckles fox-cubs, 290--brings assistance to his canine
    friend, 291--returns from York to London, 292--finds a thief in
    the cupboard, 292--friendship between a terrier and bantam,
    293--traces his master to Gravesend, 294--Peter, 295--a terrier
    suckles a kitten, 295--a terrier discovers where his master has
    travelled by the scent, 296--nurses a brood of ducklings and
    chickens, 296--brings his master's wife to the dead body of her
    husband, 297--Keeper recognises his master's vessel after a long
    interval, 298.


THE SPANIEL.

    Sings, 300--affected by a particular air, 301--gathers a
    water-lily, 303--retrieves a wild duck, 303--a grateful spaniel,
    304--faithful to his guillotined master, 304--Dash, her
    intelligence and fidelity, 305--gratitude for surgical assistance,
    306--spaniels in cover, 308--the Clumber spaniels, 308--Lord
    Albemarle's spaniels, 309--suckling, 309--friendship between a dog
    and cat, 310--Rose travels from London to Worcester,
    311--recognition of his master after a long absence,
    312--friendship between a spaniel and partridge, 313--a spaniel
    avoids being left behind, 315--an adept in shoplifting, 316--takes
    up his abode at a grave in St. Bride's churchyard, 317--dies of
    grief for his dam's death, 317--dogs of the poor the most
    affectionate, 318--a spaniel takes up his abode in St. Olave's
    churchyard, 319--causes a man to be executed for murder,
    320--saves the life of Mrs. Alderman Yearsley, 321--a spaniel's
    recognition of his old master by scent, 323--a King Charles
    spaniel alarms his mistress and saves her from being robbed,
    324--a spaniel knocks at the door, 326--opens the gate to release
    other dogs, 326--imitates his master in eating turnips, 327--finds
    his way from Boston to Chepstow, 328--prevents a cat from stealing
    meat, 329--Mrs. Browning's lines on, 329.


THE POODLE.

    The Shoeblack's poodle, 332--two learned poodles exhibited at
    Milan, 332--a poodle reminds the servant that he wants a walk,
    336--hides the whip, 336--performance in a London theatre,
    337--finds his way from London to Inverary, 342--supports himself
    during his master's absence, 342--friendship with a terrier,
    342--discerns a rogue at first sight, and causes him to be
    detected, 343--enjoys a glass of grog, 344--carries three puppies
    a long distance, one at a time, 345--fetches his master's
    slippers, &c., 346--imitates the agonies of death, 346--goes to
    church by habit without the family, the road being overflowed,
    347--watches over the dead body of his master, 347--protects his
    master's body, 348--climbs up a house in Wells Street, Oxford
    Street, 348--anecdote of Froll, 349.


THE ESQUIMAUX DOG.

    Traditions, 353--Capt. Lyons' account of the, 354--Col. Hamilton
    Smith's account of one, 359.


THE OTTER TERRIER.

    Somerville's description of an otter-hunt, 361--otter-hounds
    almost extinct, 362--otter-hunting, 363 to end of chapter.


THE GREYHOUND.

    Match between a Scotch greyhound and Snowball, 368--Match between
    a greyhound and a racehorse, 368--its courage and perseverance,
    369--a coursed hare dies of exhaustion, 369--a hare and two dogs
    die of exhaustion, 370--a wild greyhound, 370--greyhounds coupled
    pursue a hare, 372--a greyhound brings assistance to his drowning
    master, 372--finds his way from Cumnock to Castle Douglas,
    373--canine friendship, 373--King Richard's greyhound,
    375--attachment between St. Leger and his greyhound, 377--the
    Persian greyhound, 379.


THE POINTER.

    Its origin and present breed, 384--a pointer punished by her
    grand-dam, 386--disgust at a bad shot, 387--pointing on the top of
    a wall, 388--steady pointing, 389--a weather-wise pointer,
    389--guards some dropped birds all night, 389--finds his way back
    from America, 390--traces his master four hundred miles, 390--M.
    Léonard's dogs, Brague and Philax, 391--a pointer acts as a
    landing-net, 394--calls the attention of his master to a hare,
    394--an extraordinary pointer, 395--a pointer suckles a hedgehog,
    398.


THE SETTER.

    Its origin and present breed, 400--smells birds a hundred yards
    off, 401--acts as a retriever, 402--traces a wounded deer, and
    brings her master to it next morning, 403--finds a lost whip,
    404--gratitude of a dying setter, 405--friendship with a cat,
    406--a setter angry with his master for missing birds, 406--falls
    in love with a mongrel, 407--effect of imagination on pregnant
    bitches, 408--Médor brings the keys to his shut-out mistress,
    409--sagacity in hunting red-legged partridges, 410.


THE PUG DOG.

    Its history and progress, 412--a pug saves the life of the Prince
    of Orange, 413--a lady incurs a pug's displeasure for preventing
    him from stealing, 414--a pug pronounces the word William,
    415--ditto Elizabeth, 416--the Comforter, 416.


THE TURNSPIT.

    Recollections of it, 418--an industrious dog punishes his lazy
    fellow-labourer, 419--one dog forces another to take his turn at
    the wheel, 420.


THE FOXHOUND.

    Somerville's lines on, 421--friendship between a fox and a pack of
    hounds, 424--dog always attacks the fox's head, 424--a hound finds
    its way back from Lincolnshire to Frogmore, 425--dog found
    swimming across the Channel, 425--dog finds its way back from
    Ireland to Liverpool, 425--three hounds escape from their kennel
    in Ireland and return to Leicestershire, 426--bitch after losing
    her eye continues to follow the fox, 427--three hounds hunt a fox
    alone for seven hours, 428--pack of hounds hunt a fox for eight
    hours, 428--a hound follows a fox for thirty hours, 429--foxhound
    follows with her new-born pup in mouth, 429--hounds follow a fox
    for four days, 430--fox leaps a precipice of sixty yards and is
    followed by the hounds, 433--foxhounds refuse to eat a bag-fox,
    435.


BEAGLE.

    Description of, 438--lines on, by Dryden and Pope, 439.


MASTIFF.

    Description of, 440--detects and kills a housebreaker,
    443--mastiff engages a bear, a leopard, and a lion, 444--prevents
    his master from being murdered by his valet, 446--gentle towards
    children, 448--killed by the wheel of a cart rather than desert
    his charge, 449--attacks a horse which had trodden upon him,
    450--drops a snarling cur into the water, 453.


BULL-DOG.

    Description of, 454--saves a shipwrecked crew, 457.


DALMATIAN OR COACH-DOG.

    Finds its way from France to England, 461--affection for a horse,
    462.


GREAT DANISH DOG.

    Discovers a murderer under the bed, 464--dies of starvation rather
    than eat his master's game within reach, 465--rings a convent bell
    for his dinner, 466.


CUR DOG.

    Prevents a man from stealing a bridle, 468--carries his master's
    dinner to him daily, 470--pursues a pony and conducts him to the
    stable, 474.


LURCHER.

    Hunting rabbits, 477--attacks a fox and is killed by the hounds,
    479.


BAN DOG.

    Gratitude for a favour conferred, 480.




[Illustration: SPANIEL AND NEWFOUNDLAND DOGS.]


A French writer has boldly affirmed, that with the exception of women
there is nothing on earth so agreeable, or so necessary to the comfort
of man, as the dog. This assertion may readily be disputed, but still
it will be allowed that man, deprived of the companionship and
services of the dog, would be a solitary and, in many respects, a
helpless being. Let us look at the shepherd, as the evening closes in
and his flock is dispersed over the almost inaccessible heights of
mountains; they are speedily collected by his indefatigable dog--nor
do his services end here: he guards either the flock or his master's
cottage by night, and a slight caress, and the coarsest food, satisfy
him for all his trouble. The dog performs the services of a horse in
the more northern regions; while in Cuba and some other hot countries,
he has been the scourge and terror of the runaway negroes. In the
destruction of wild beasts, or the less dangerous stag, or in
attacking the bull, the dog has proved himself to possess pre-eminent
courage. In many instances he has died in the defence of his master.
He has saved him from drowning, warned him of approaching danger,
served him faithfully in poverty and distress, and if deprived of
sight has gently led him about. When spoken to, he tries to hold
conversation with him by the movement of his tail or the expression of
his eyes. If his master wants amusement in the field or wood, he is
delighted to have an opportunity of procuring it for him; if he finds
himself in solitude, his dog will be a cheerful and agreeable
companion, and maybe, when death comes, the last to forsake the grave
of his beloved master.

There are a thousand little facts connected with dogs, which many, who
do not love them as much as I do, may not have observed, but which
all tend to develope their character. For instance, every one knows
the fondness of dogs for warmth, and that they never appear more
contented than when reposing on the rug before a good fire. If,
however, I quit the room, my dog leaves his warm berth, and places
himself at the door, where he can the better hear my footsteps, and be
ready to greet me when I re-enter. If I am preparing to take a walk,
my dog is instantly aware of my intention. He frisks and jumps about,
and is all eagerness to accompany me. If I am thoughtful or
melancholy, he appears to sympathise with me; and, on the contrary,
when I am disposed to be merry, he shows by his manner that he
rejoices with me. I have often watched the effect which a change in my
countenance would produce. If I frown or look severe, but without
saying a word or uttering a sound, the effect is instantly seen by the
ears dropping, and the eyes showing unhappiness, together with a
doubtful movement of the tail. If I afterwards smile and look pleased,
the tail wags joyously, the eyes are filled with delight, and the ears
even are expressive of happiness. Before a dog, however, arrives at
this knowledge of the human countenance, he must be the companion of
your walks, repose at your feet, and receive his food from your hands:
treated in this manner, the attachment of the dog is unbounded; he
becomes fond, intelligent, and grateful. Whenever Stanislas, the
unfortunate King of Poland, wrote to his daughter, he always
concluded his letter with these words--"Tristan, my companion in
misfortune, licks your feet:" thus showing that he had still one
friend who stuck to him in his adversity. Such is the animal whose
propensities, instincts, and habits, I propose to illustrate by
various anecdotes.

The propensities of the dog, and some of them are most extraordinary,
appear to be independent of that instinct which Paley calls, "a
propensity previous to experience, and independent of instruction."
Some of these are hereditary, or derived from the habits of the
parents, and are suited to the purposes to which each breed has long
been and is still applied. In fact, their organs have a fitness or
unfitness for certain functions without education;--for instance, a
very young puppy of the St. Bernard breed of dogs, when taken on snow
for the first time, will begin to scratch it with considerable
eagerness. I have seen a young pointer of three or four weeks old
stand steadily on first seeing poultry, and a well-bred terrier puppy
will show a great deal of ferocity at the sight of a rat or mouse.

Sir John Sebright, perhaps the best authority that can be quoted on
this subject, says that he had a puppy of the wild breed of Australia;
that the mother was with young when caught, and the puppy was born in
the ship that brought her over. This animal was so like a wolf, not
only in its appearance, but in all its habits, that Sir John at first
doubted if it really were a dog, but this was afterwards proved by
experiment.

Of all the propensities of the brute creation, the well-known
attachment of the dog to man is the most remarkable, arising probably
from his having been for so many years his constant companion, and the
object of his care. That this propensity is not instinctive is proved,
by its not having existed, even in the slightest degree, in the
Australian dog.

Sir John Sebright kept this animal for about a year, almost always in
his room. He fed him himself, and took every means that he could think
of to reclaim him, but with no effect. He was insensible to caresses,
and never appeared to distinguish Sir John from any other person. The
dog would never follow him, even from one room to another; nor would
he come when called, unless tempted by the offer of food. Wolves and
foxes have shown much more sociability than he did. He appeared to be
in good spirits, but always kept aloof from the other dogs. He was
what would be called tame for an animal in a menagerie; that is, he
was not shy, but would allow strangers to handle him, and never
attempted to bite. If he were led near sheep or poultry, he became
quite furious from his desire to attack them.

Here, then, we see that the propensities that are the most marked, and
the most constant in every breed of domestic dogs, are not to be found
in animals of the same species in their natural state, or even in
their young, although subjected to the same treatment from the moment
of their birth.

Notwithstanding the above-mentioned fact, we may, I think, consider
the domestic dog as an animal _per se_; that is, that it neither owes
its origin to the fox nor wolf, but is sprung from the wild dog. In
giving this opinion, I am aware that some naturalists have endeavoured
to trace the origin of the dog from the fox; while others, and some of
the most eminent ones, are of opinion that it sprung from the wolf. I
shall be able to show that the former is out of the question. The
wolf, perhaps, has some claim to be considered as the parent animal,
and that he is susceptible of as strong attachment as the dog is
proved by the following anecdote, related by Cuvier.

He informs us, that a young wolf was brought up as a dog, became
familiar with every person whom he was in the habit of seeing, and in
particular, followed his master everywhere, evincing evident chagrin
at his absence, obeying his voice, and showing a degree of submission
scarcely differing in any respect from that of the domesticated dog.
His master, being obliged to be absent for a time, presented his pet
to the Ménagerie du Roi, where the animal, confined in a den,
continued disconsolate, and would scarcely eat his food. At length,
however, his health returned, he became attached to his keepers, and
appeared to have forgotten all his former affection; when, after an
absence of eighteen months, his master returned. At the first word he
uttered, the wolf, who had not perceived him amongst the crowd,
recognised him, and exhibited the most lively joy. On being set at
liberty, the most affectionate caresses were lavished on his old
master, such as the most attached dog would have shown after an
absence of a few days.

A second separation was followed by similar demonstrations of sorrow,
which, however, again yielded to time. Three years passed, and the
wolf was living happily in company with a dog, which had been placed
with him, when his master again returned, and again the long-lost but
still-remembered voice was instantly replied to by the most impatient
cries, which were redoubled as soon as the poor animal was set at
liberty; when, rushing to his master, he threw his fore-feet on his
shoulders, licking his face with the most lively joy, and menacing his
keepers, who offered to remove him, and towards whom, not a moment
before, he had been showing every mark of fondness.

A third separation, however, seemed to be too much for this faithful
animal's temper. He became gloomy, desponding, refused his food, and
for a long time his life appeared in great danger. His health at last
returned, but he no longer suffered the caresses of any but his
keepers, and towards strangers manifested the original savageness of
his species.

Mr. Bell, in his "History of Quadrupeds," mentions a curious fact,
which, I think, still more strongly proves the alliance of the dog
with the wolf, and is indeed exactly similar to what is frequently
done by dogs when in a state of domestication. He informs us, that he
"remembers a bitch-wolf at the Zoological Gardens, which would always
come to the front bars of her den to be caressed as soon as he, or any
other person whom she knew, approached. When she had pups, she used to
bring them in her mouth to be noticed; and so eager, in fact, was she
that her little ones should share with her in the notice of her
friends, that she killed all of them in succession by rubbing them
against the bars of her den, as she brought them forwards to be
fondled."

Other instances might be mentioned of the strong attachment felt by
wolves to those who have treated them kindly, but I will now introduce
some remarks on the anatomical affinities between the dog, the fox,
and the wolf, which serve to prove that the dog is of a breed distinct
from either of the last-mentioned animals.

It must, in fact, be always an interesting matter of inquiry
respecting the descent of an animal so faithful to man, and so
exclusively his associate and his friend, as the dog. Accordingly,
this question has been entertained ever since Natural History took the
rank of a science. But the origin of the dog is lost in antiquity. We
find him occupying a place in the earliest pagan worship; his name has
been given to one of the first-mentioned stars of the heavens, and his
effigy may be seen in some of the most ancient works of art. Pliny was
of opinion that there was no domestic animal without its unsubdued
counterpart, and dogs are known to exist absolutely wild in various
parts of the old and new world. The Dingo of New Holland, a
magnificent animal of this kind, has been shown to be susceptible of
mutual attachment in a singular degree, though none of the experiments
yet made have proved that he is capable, like the domestic dog, of a
similar attachment to man. The parentage of the wild dogs has been
assigned to the tame species, strayed from the dominion of their
masters. This, however, still remains a question, and there is reason
to believe that the wild dog is just as much a native of the
wilderness as the lion or tiger. If there be these doubts about an
animal left for centuries in a state of nature, how can we expect to
unravel the difficulties accumulated by ages of domestication? Who
knows for a certainty the true prototype of the goat, the sheep, or
the ox? To the unscientific reader such questions might appear idle,
as having been settled from time immemorial; yet they have never been
finally disposed of. The difficulty, as with the dog, may be connected
with modifications of form and colour, resulting from the
long-continued interference of man with the breed and habits of
animals subjected to his sway.

Buffon was very eloquent in behalf of the claim of the sheep-dog to be
considered as the true ancestor of all the other varieties. Mr. Hunter
would award this distinction to the wolf; supposing also that the
jackal is the same animal a step further advanced towards
civilization, or perhaps the dog returned to its wild state. As the
affinity between wolf, jackal, fox, and dog, cannot fail to attract
the notice of the most superficial observer; so he may ask if they do
not all really belong to one species, modified by varieties of
climate, food, and education? If answered in the negative, he would
want to know what constitutes a species, little thinking that this
question, apparently so simple, involves one of the nicest problems in
natural history. Difference of form will scarcely avail us here, for
the pug, greyhound, and spaniel, are wider apart in this respect, than
many dogs and the wild animals just named. It has often been said that
these varieties in the dog have arisen from artificial habits and
breeding through a long succession of years. This seems very like mere
conjecture. Can the greyhound be trained to the pointer's scent or the
spaniel to the bulldog's ferocity? But admitting the causes assigned
to be adequate to the effects, then the forms would be temporary, and
those of a permanent kind only would serve our purpose. Of this nature
is the shape of the pupil of the eye, which may be noticed somewhat
particularly, not merely to make it plain to those who have never
thought on the subject, but with the hope of leading them to
reflections on this wondrous inlet to half our knowledge, the more
especially as the part in question may be examined by any one in his
own person by the help of a looking-glass. In the front of the eye
then, just behind the transparent surface, there is a sort of curtain
called the _iris_, about the middle of which is a round hole. This is
the pupil, and you will observe that it contracts in a strong light,
and dilates in a weaker one, the object of which is to regulate the
quantity of light admitted into the eye. Now the figure of the pupil
is not the same in all animals. In the horse it is oval; in the wolf,
jackal, and dog, it is round, like our own, however contracted; but in
the fox, as in the cat, the pupil contracts vertically into an
elongated figure, like the section of a lens, and even to a sort of
slit, if the light be very strong.

This is a permanent character, not affected, as far as is at present
known, by any artificial or natural circumstances to which the dog has
been subjected. Naturalists, therefore, have seized upon this
character as the ground for a division of animals of the dog kind, the
great genus _Canis_ of Linnæus, into two groups, the diurnal and
nocturnal; not to imply that these habits necessarily belong to all
the individuals composing either of these divisions, for that would be
untrue, but simply that the figure of the pupils corresponds with that
frequently distinguishing day-roaming animals from those that prowl
only by night. It is remarkable that a more certain and serviceable
specific distinction is thus afforded by a little anatomical point,
than by any of the more obvious circumstances of form, size, or
colour. Whether future researches into the minute structure of animals
may not discover other means to assist the naturalist in
distinguishing nearly allied species, is a most important subject for
inquiry, which cannot be entertained here. But to encourage those who
may be disposed to undertake it, I must mention the curious fact, that
the group to which the camel belongs is not more certainly indicated
by his grotesque and singular figure than by the form of the red
particles which circulate in his blood. And here again the inherent
interest of the matter will lead me to enter a little into
particulars, which may engage any one who has a good microscope in a
most instructive course of observations, not the least recommendation
of which is, that a just and pleasing source of recreation may be thus
pursued by evening parties in the drawing-room, since the slightest
prick of the finger will furnish blood enough for a microscopic
entertainment, and you may readily procure a little more for
comparison from any animal.

Now the redness of the blood is owing to myriads of minute objects in
which the colour of the vital fluid resides. They were formerly called
globules, but as they are now known to be flattened and disc-like,
they are more properly termed particles or corpuscles. Their form is
wonderfully regular, and so is their size within certain limits; in
birds, reptiles, or fishes, the corpuscles are oval. They are circular
in man, and all other mammalia, except in the camel tribe, in which
the corpuscles are oval, though much smaller than in the lower
animals. Thus, in the minutest drop of blood, any one of the camel
family can be surely distinguished from all other animals, even from
its allies among the ruminants; and what is more to our purpose,
in pursuing this inquiry, Mr. Gulliver has found that the
blood-corpuscles of the dog and wolf agree exactly, while those of all
the true foxes are slightly though distinctly smaller.

These curious facts are all fully detailed in Mr. Gulliver's Appendix
to the English version of Gerber's Anatomy, but I think that they are
now for the first time enlisted into the service of Natural History.

Thus we dismiss the fox as an alien to the dog, or, at all events, as
a distinct species. Then comes the claim of the wolf as the true
original of the dog. Before considering this, let us revert to the
question of what constitutes a species. Mr. Hunter was of opinion that
it is the power of breeding together and of continuing the breed with
each other; that this is partially the case between the dog and the
wolf is certain, for Lord Clanbrassil and Lord Pembroke proved the
fact beyond a doubt, above half-a-century ago; and the following
epitaph in the garden at Wilton House is a curious record of the
particulars:--

                     Here lies Lupa,
              Whose Grandmother was a Wolf,
    Whose Father and Grandfather were Dogs, and whose
           Mother was half Wolf and half Dog.
         She died on the 16th of October, 1782,
                     Aged 12 years.

Conclusive as this fact may appear, as proving the descent of the dog
from the wolf, it is not convincing, the dog having characters which
do not belong to the wolf.

The dog, for instance, guards property with strictest vigilance, which
has been entrusted to his charge; all his energies seem roused at
night, as though aware that that is the time when depredations are
committed. His courage is unbounded, a property not possessed by the
wolf: he appears never to forget a kindness, but soon loses the
recollection of an injury, if received from the hand of one he loves,
but resents it if offered by a stranger. His docility and mental
pliability exceed those of any other animal; his habits are social,
and his fidelity not to be shaken; hunger cannot weaken, nor old age
impair it. His discrimination is equal, in many respects, to human
intelligence. If he commits a fault, he is sensible of it, and shows
pleasure when commended. These, and many other qualities, which might
have been enumerated, are distinct from those possessed by the wolf.
It may be said that domestication might produce them in the latter.
This may be doubted, and is not likely to be proved; the fact is, the
dog would appear to be a precious gift to man from a benevolent
Creator, to become his friend, companion, protector, and the
indefatigable agent of his wishes. While all other animals had the
fear and dread of man implanted in them, the poor dog alone looked at
his master with affection, and the tie once formed was never broken to
the present hour.

It should also be mentioned, in continuation of my argument, that the
experiment of the wolf breeding with the dog is of no value, because
it has never been carried sufficiently far to prove that the progeny
would continue fertile _inter se_. The wolf has oblique eyes--the eyes
of dogs have never retrograded to that position. If the dog descended
from the wolf, a constant tendency would have been observed in the
former to revert to the original type or species. This is a law in all
other cross-breeds--but amongst all the varieties of dogs, this
tendency has not existed. I may also add, that as far as I have been
able to ascertain the fact, the number of teats of the female wolf
have never been known to vary. With respect to the dog, it is known
that they do vary, some having more, and others a less number.

Having thus brought forward such arguments as have occurred to me to
prove that the dog is a breed _sui generis_, I will give a few
anecdotes to show how different this animal is in his specific
character to the wolf, and that he has a natural tendency to
acknowledge man as his friend and protector, an instinct never shown
by the wolf.

In Ceylon there are a great number of what are called wild dogs, that
is, dogs who have no master, and who haunt villages and jungles,
picking up what food they are able to find. If you meet one of these
neglected animals, and only look at him with an expression of
kindness, from that moment he attaches himself to you, owns you for
his master, and will remain faithful to you for the remainder of his
life.

"Man," says Burns, "is the God of the dog; he knows no other; and see
how he worships him! With what reverence he crouches at his feet, with
what reverence he looks up to him, with what delight he fawns upon
him, and with what cheerful alacrity he obeys him!"

Such is the animal which the brutality of man subjects to so much
ill-treatment; its character depends very much on that of his master,
kindness and confidence produce the same qualities in the dog, while
ill-usage makes him sullen and distrustful of beings far more brutal
than himself.

I have had many opportunities of observing how readily dogs comprehend
language, and how they are aware when they are the subject of
conversation. A gentleman once said in the hearing of an old and
favourite dog, who was at the time basking in the sun,--"I must have
Ponto killed, for he gets old and is offensive." The dog slunk away,
and never came near his master afterwards. Many similar anecdotes
might be brought forward, but I will mention one which Captain Brown
tells us he received himself from Sir Walter Scott.

"The wisest dog I ever had," said Sir Walter, "was what is called the
bulldog terrier. I taught him to understand a great many words,
insomuch that I am positive that the communication betwixt the canine
species and ourselves might be greatly enlarged. Camp once bit the
baker, who was bringing bread to the family. I beat him, and explained
the enormity of his offence; after which, to the last moment of his
life, he never heard the least allusion to the story, in whatever
voice or tone it was mentioned, without getting up and retiring into
the darkest corner of the room, with great appearance of distress.
Then if you said, 'the baker was well paid,' or, 'the baker was not
hurt after all,' Camp came forth from his hiding-place, capered, and
barked, and rejoiced. When he was unable, towards the end of his life,
to attend me when on horseback, he used to watch for my return, and
the servant would tell him 'his master was coming down the hill, or
through the moor,' and although he did not use any gesture to explain
his meaning, Camp was never known to mistake him, but either went out
at the front to go up the hill, or at the back to get down to the
moor-side. He certainly had a singular knowledge of spoken language."
An anecdote from Sir Walter Scott must be always pleasing.

Mr. Smellie, in his "Philosophy of Natural History," mentions a
curious instance of the intellectual faculty of a dog. He states that
"a grocer in Edinburgh had one which for some time amused and
astonished the people in the neighbourhood. A man who went through the
streets ringing a bell and selling pies, happened one day to treat
this dog with a pie. The next time he heard the pieman's bell he ran
impetuously toward him, seized him by the coat, and would not suffer
him to pass. The pieman, who understood what the animal wanted, showed
him a penny, and pointed to his master, who stood at the street-door,
and saw what was going on. The dog immediately supplicated his master
by many humble gestures and looks, and on receiving a penny he
instantly carried it in his mouth to the pieman, and received his pie.
This traffic between the pieman and the grocer's dog continued to be
daily practised for several months."

The affection which some dogs show to their masters and mistresses is
not only very often surprising, but even affecting. An instance of
this lately occurred at Brighton. The wife of a member of the town
council at that place had been an invalid for some time, and at last
was confined to her bed. During this period she was constantly
attended by a faithful and affectionate dog, who either slept in her
room or outside her door. She died, was buried, and the dog followed
the remains of his beloved mistress to her grave. After the funeral
the husband and his friends returned to the house, and while they were
partaking of some refreshment the dog put its paws on his master's
arm, as if to attract his attention, looked wistfully in his face, and
then laid down and instantly expired.

In giving miscellaneous anecdotes in order to show the general
character of the dog, I may mention the following very curious one.

During a very severe frost and fall of snow in Scotland, the fowls did
not make their appearance at the hour when they usually retired to
roost, and no one knew what had become of them; the house-dog at last
entered the kitchen, having in his mouth a hen, apparently dead.
Forcing his way to the fire, the sagacious animal laid his charge down
upon the warm hearth, and immediately set off. He soon came again with
another, which he deposited in the same place, and so continued till
the whole of the poor birds were rescued. Wandering about the
stack-yard, the fowls had become quite benumbed by the extreme cold,
and had crowded together, when the dog observing them, effected their
deliverance, for they all revived by the warmth of the fire.

That dogs possess a faculty nearly allied to reason cannot, I think,
be doubted. Mr. Davy, in his "Angler in the Lake District," (a
charming work), gives one or two anecdotes in proof of this.

When Mr. Davy was at Ceylon, the Governor of that Island, the late Sir
Robert Brownrigg, had a dog of more than ordinary sagacity. He always
accompanied his master, being allowed to do so, except on particular
occasions, such as going to church or council, or to inspect his
troops, when the Governor usually wore his sword; but when the dog saw
the sword girded on, he would only follow to the outer door. Without a
word being said, he would return and wait the coming back of his
master, patiently remaining up-stairs at the door of his private
apartment. So it is with respect to my own pet terrier, Phiz. When he
sees me putting on my walking-shoes, my great-coat, or hat, he is all
eagerness to accompany me, jumping about me and showing his joy. But
on Sundays it is very different. My shoes, great-coat or hat, may be
put on, but he remains perfectly resigned on the rug before the fire,
and never attempts or shows any inclination to follow me. Is the dog
guided in acting thus by instinct or reason?

Let me give another instance from Mr. Davy's work.

Once when he was fishing in the highlands of Scotland, he saw a party
of sportsmen, with their dogs, cross the stream, the men wading, the
dogs swimming, with the exception of one, who stopped on the bank
piteously howling. After a few minutes he suddenly ceased, and started
off full speed for a higher part of the stream. Mr. Davy was able to
keep him in view, and he did not stop till he came to a spot where a
plank connected the banks, on which he crossed dry-footed, and soon
joined his companions.

Dogs have sometimes strange fancies with respect to moving from one
place to another. A Fellow of a College at Cambridge had a dog, which
sometimes took it into his head to visit his master's usual places of
resort in London. He would then return to his home in Suffolk, and
then go to Cambridge, remaining at each place as long as he felt
disposed to do so, and going and returning with the most perfect
indifference and complacency.

The extraordinary sense of a dog was shown in the following instance.
A gentleman, residing near Pontypool, had his horse brought to his
house by a servant. While the man went to the door, the horse ran away
and made his escape to a neighbouring mountain. A dog belonging to the
house saw this, and of his own accord followed the horse, got hold of
the bridle and brought him back to the door.

I have been informed of two instances of dogs having slipped their
collars and put their heads into them again of their own accord, after
having committed depredations in the night, and I have elsewhere
mentioned the fact of a dog, now in my possession, who undid the
collar of another dog chained to a kennel near him. These are curious
instances of sense and sagacity.

Mr. Bell, in his "History of British Quadrupeds," gives us the
following fact of a dog belonging to a friend of his. This gentleman
dropped a louis d'or one morning, when he was on the point of leaving
his house. On returning late at night, he was told by his servant that
the dog had fallen sick, and refused to eat, and, what appeared very
strange, she would not suffer him to take her food away from before
her, but had been lying with her nose close to the vessel, without
attempting to touch it. On Mr. Bell's friend entering the room, the
dog instantly jumped upon him, laid the money at his feet, and began
to devour her victuals with great voracity.

It is a curious fact that dogs can count time. I had, when a boy, a
favourite terrier, which always went with me to church. My mother,
thinking that he attracted too much of my attention, ordered the
servant to fasten him up every Sunday morning. He did so once or
twice, but never afterwards. Trim concealed himself every Sunday
morning, and either met me as I entered the church, or I found him
under my seat in the pew. Mr. Southey, in his "Omniana," informs us
that he knew of a dog, which was brought up by a Catholic and
afterwards sold to a Protestant, but still he refused to eat anything
on a Friday.

Dogs have been known to die from excess of joy at seeing their masters
after a long absence. An English officer had a large dog, which he
left with his family in England, while he accompanied an expedition to
America during the war of the Colonies. Throughout his absence, the
animal appeared very much dejected. When the officer returned home,
the dog, who happened to be lying at the door of an apartment into
which his master was about to enter, immediately recognised him, leapt
upon his neck, licked his face, and in a few minutes fell dead at his
feet. A favourite spaniel of a lady recently died on seeing his
beloved mistress after a long absence.

A gentleman who had a dog of a most endearing disposition, was obliged
to go a journey periodically once a-month. His stay was short, and
his departure and return very regular, and without variation. The dog
always grew uneasy when he first lost his master, and moped in a
corner, but recovered himself gradually as the time for his return
approached; which he knew to an hour, nay, to a minute. When he was
convinced that his master was on the road, at no great distance from
home, he flew all over the house; and if the street door happened to
be shut, he would suffer no servant to have any rest until it was
opened. The moment he obtained his freedom away he went, and to a
certainty met his benefactor about two miles from town. He played and
frolicked about him till he had obtained one of his gloves, with which
he ran or rather flew home, entered the house, laid it down in the
middle of the room, and danced round it. When he had sufficiently
amused himself in this manner, out of the house he flew, returned to
meet his master, and ran before him, or gambolled by his side, till he
arrived with him at home. "I know not (says Mr. Dibdin, who relates
this anecdote), how frequently this was repeated; but it lasted till
the old gentleman grew infirm, and incapable of continuing his
journeys. The dog by this time was also grown old, and became at
length blind; but this misfortune did not hinder him from fondling his
master, whom he knew from every other person, and for whom his
affection and solicitude rather increased than diminished. The old
gentleman, after a short illness, died. The dog knew the
circumstance, watched the corpse, blind as he was, and did his utmost
to prevent the undertaker from screwing up the body in the coffin, and
most outrageously opposed its being taken out of the house. Being past
hope, he grew disconsolate, lost his flesh, and was evidently verging
towards his end. One day he heard a gentleman come into the house, and
he ran to meet him. His master being old and infirm, wore ribbed
stockings for warmth. The gentleman had stockings on of the same kind.
The dog perceived it, and thought it was his master, and began to
exhibit the most extravagant signs of pleasure; but upon further
examination finding his mistake, he retired into a corner, where in a
short time he expired."

Some dogs are so faithful that they will never quit a thing entrusted
to their charge, and will defend it to the utmost of their power. This
may be often observed in the case of a cur, lying on the coat of a
labourer while he is at work in the fields, and in those of carriers'
and bakers' dogs. An instance is on record of a chimney-sweeper having
placed his soot-bag in the street under the care of his dog, who
suffered a cart to drive over and crush him to death, sooner than
abandon his charge. Colonel Hamilton Smith, in the "Cyclopædia of
Natural History," mentions a curious instance of fidelity and sagacity
in a dog. He informs us that "in the neighbourhood of Cupar, in the
county of Fife, there lived two dogs, mortal enemies to each other,
and who always fought desperately whenever they met. Capt. R---- was
the master of one of them, and the other belonged to a neighbouring
farmer. Capt. R----'s dog was in the practice of going messages, and
even of bringing butchers' meat and other articles from Cupar. One
day, while returning charged with a basket containing some pieces of
mutton, he was attacked by some of the curs of the town, who, no
doubt, thought the prize worth contending for. The assault was fierce,
and of some duration; but the messenger, after doing his utmost, was
at last overpowered and compelled to yield up the basket, though not
before he had secured a part of its contents. The piece saved from the
wreck he ran off with, at full speed, to the quarters of his old
enemy, at whose feet he laid it down, stretching himself beside it
till he had eaten it up. A few snuffs, a few whispers in the ear, and
other dog-like courtesies, were then exchanged; after which they both
set off together for Cupar, where they worried almost every dog in the
town; and, what is more remarkable, they never afterwards quarrelled,
but were always on friendly terms."

That society and culture soften and moderate the passions of dogs
cannot be doubted, and they constantly imbibe feelings from those of
their master. Thus, if he is a coward, his dog is generally found to
be one. Dogs are, however, in many respects, rational beings; and some
proofs of this will be given in the present work. They will watch the
countenance of their master--they will understand words, which,
though addressed to others, they will apply to themselves, and act
accordingly. Thus a dog, which, from its mangy state, was ordered to
be destroyed, took the first opportunity of quitting the ship, and
would never afterwards come near a sailor belonging to it. If I desire
the servant to wash a little terrier, who is apparently asleep at my
feet, he will quit the room, and hide himself for some hours. A dog,
though pressed with hunger, will never seize a piece of meat in
presence of his master, though with his eyes, his movements, and his
voice, he will make the most humble and expressive petition. Is not
this reasoning?

But there is one faculty in the dog which would appear perfectly
incomprehensible. It is the sense of smelling. He will not only scent
various kinds of game at considerable distances, but he has been known
to trace the odour of his master's feet through all the winding
streets of a populous city. This extreme sensibility is very
wonderful. It would thus appear that the feelings of dogs are more
exquisite than our own. They have sensations, but their faculty of
comparing them, or of forming ideas, is much circumscribed. A dog can
imitate some human actions, and is capable of receiving a certain
degree of instruction; but his progress soon stops. It is, however, an
animal that should always be loved and treated with kindness. It is a
curious fact, that dogs who have had their ears and tails cut for
many generations, transmit these defects to their descendants.
Drovers' dogs, which may always be seen with short tails, are a proof
of this.

A pleasing character of the dog is given in Smellie's "Philosophy of
Natural History." He says:--

"The natural sagacity and talents of the dog are well known, and
justly celebrated. But when these are improved by association with
man, and by education, he becomes, in some measure, a rational being.
The senses of the dog, particularly that of scenting distant objects,
give him a superiority over every other quadruped. He reigns at the
head of a flock; and his language, whether expressive of blandishment
or of command, is better heard and better understood than the voice of
his master. Safety, order, and discipline, are the effects of his
vigilance and activity. Sheep and cattle are his subjects. These he
conducts and protects with prudence and bravery, and never employs
force against them except for the preservation of peace and good
order. But when in pursuit of his prey, he makes a complete display of
his courage and intelligence. In this situation both natural and
acquired talents are exerted. As soon as the horn or voice of the
hunter is heard, the dog demonstrates his joy by the most expressive
emotions and accents. By his movements and cries he announces his
impatience for combat, and his passion for victory. Sometimes he moves
silently along, reconnoitres the ground, and endeavours to discover
and surprise the enemy. At other times he traces the animal's steps,
and by different modulations of voice, and by the movements,
particularly of his tail, indicates the distance, the species, and
even the age of the fugitive deer. All these movements and
modifications of voice are perfectly understood by experienced
hunters. When he wishes to get into an apartment he comes to the door;
if that is shut, he scratches with his foot, makes a bewailing noise,
and, if his petition is not soon answered, he barks with a peculiar
and humble voice. The shepherd's dog not only understands the language
of his master, but, when too distant to be heard, he knows how to act
by signals made with the hand."

Mr. Brockedon, in his "Journal of Excursions in the Alps," says:--"In
these valleys, the early hours of retirement placed us in the
difficult situation of fighting our way to the inn door at Lanslebourg
against a magnificent Savoyard dog, who barked and howled defiance at
our attempts, for which he stood some chance of being shot. At length
a man, hearing our threats, popped his head out of a window, and
entreated our forbearance. We were soon admitted, and refreshments
amply provided. I had heard a story of a duel fought here from Mr.
N----, in which he was a principal, about a dog; and upon inquiry
learnt that this was the same animal. A party of four young officers,
returning from Genoa, stopped here. Mr. N---- had brought with him a
beautiful little pet dog, which had been presented to him by a lady on
his leaving Genoa. Struck by the appearance of the fine dog at the
inn, one of the officers bought it. He was fairly informed that the
dog had been already sold to an Englishman, who had taken it as far as
Lyons, where the dog escaped, and returned (two hundred miles) to
Lanslebourg. The officer who made the purchase intended to fasten it
in the same place with the little dog. This Mr. N---- objected to;
when his brother-officer made some offensive allusions to the lady
from whom the pet had been received. An apology was demanded, and
refused. Swords were instantly drawn; they fought in the room. Mr.
N---- wounded and disarmed his antagonist; an apology for the
injurious reflections followed, and the party proceeded to England.
The dog was taken safely as far as Paris, where he again escaped, and
returned home (five hundred miles). I was now informed that the dog
had been sold a third time to an Englishman; and again, in spite of
precautions having been taken, he had returned to Lanslebourg from
Calais."

A Scotch grazier, named Archer, having lost his way, and being
benighted, at last got to a lone cottage; where, on his being
admitted, a dog which had left Archer's house four years before
immediately recognised him, fawned upon him, and when he retired for
the night followed him into the chamber where he was to lie, and
there, by his gestures, induced him narrowly to examine it; and then
Archer saw sufficient to assure him that he was in the house of
murderers. Rendered desperate by the terrors of his situation, he
burst into the room where the banditti were assembled, and wounded his
insidious host by a pistol-shot; and in the confusion which the sudden
explosion occasioned, he opened the door; and, notwithstanding he was
fired at, accompanied by his dog Brutus, exerted all the speed which
danger could call forth until daylight, which enabled him to perceive
a house, and the main road, at no great distance. Upon his arrival at
the house, and telling the master of it his story, he called up some
soldiers that were there quartered, and who, by the aid of the dog,
retraced the way back to the cottage. Upon examining the building a
trap-door was found, which opened into a place where, amongst the
mangled remains of several persons, was the body of the owner, who had
received the shot from the grazier's pistol in his neck; and although
not dead, had been, by the wretches his associates, in their quick
retreat, thrown into this secret cemetery. He was, however, cured of
his wound, delivered up to justice, tried, and executed.[A]

A merchant had received a large sum of money; and being fatigued with
riding in the heat of the day, had retired to repose himself in the
shade; and upon remounting his horse, had forgotten to take up the bag
which contained the money. His dog tried to remind his master of his
inadvertency by crying and barking, which so surprised the merchant,
that, in crossing a brook, he observed whether the dog drank, as he
had his suspicions of his being mad; and which were confirmed by the
dog's not lapping any water, and by his increased barking and howling,
and at length by his endeavouring to bite the heels of the horse.
Impressed with the idea of the dog's madness, to prevent further
mischief, he discharged his pistol at him, and the dog fell. After
riding some distance with feelings that will arise in every generous
breast at the destruction of an affectionate animal, he discovered
that his money was missing. His mind was immediately struck that the
actions of the dog, which his impetuosity had construed into madness,
were only efforts to remind him of his loss. He galloped back to where
he had fired his pistol; but the dog was gone from thence with equal
expedition to the spot where he had reposed. But what were the
merchant's feelings when he perceived his faithful dog, in the
struggles of death, lying by the side of the bag which had been
forgotten! The dog tried to rise, but his strength was exhausted. He
stretched out his tongue to lick the hand that was now fondling him
with all the agony of regret for the wound its rashness had inflicted,
and casting a look of kindness on his master, closed his eyes for
ever.[B]

I am indebted to a well-known sportsman for the following interesting
account of some of his dogs. It affords another proof how much
kindness will do in bringing out the instinctive faculties of these
animals; and that, when properly educated, their sense, courage, and
attachment are most extraordinary.

"Smoaker was a deer greyhound of the largest size, but of his pedigree
I know nothing. In speed he was equal to any hare greyhound; at the
same time, in spirit he was indomitable. He was the only dog I ever
knew who was a match for a red stag, single-handed. From living
constantly in the drawing-room, and never being separated from me, he
became acquainted with almost the meaning of every word--certainly of
every sign. His retrieving of game was equal to any of the retrieving
I ever saw in any other dogs. He would leap over any of the most
dangerous spikes at a sign, walk up and come down any ladder, and
catch, without hurting it, any particular fowl out of a number that
was pointed out to him. If he missed me from the drawing-room, and had
doubts about my being in the house, he would go into the hall and look
for my hat: if he found it, he would return contented; but if he did
not find it, he would proceed up-stairs to a window at the very top of
the house, and look from the window each way, to ascertain if I were
in sight. One day in shooting at Cranford, with his late Royal
Highness the Duke of York, a pheasant fell on the other side of the
stream. The river was frozen over; but in crossing to fetch the
pheasant the ice broke, and let Smoaker in, to some inconvenience. He
picked up the pheasant, and instead of trying the ice again, he took
it many hundred yards round to the bridge. Smoaker died at the great
age of eighteen years. His son Shark was also a beautiful dog. He was
by Smoaker out of a common greyhound bitch, called Vagrant, who had
won a cup at Swaffham. Shark was not so powerful as Smoaker; but he
was, nevertheless, a large-sized dog, and was a first-rate deer
greyhound and retriever. He took his father's place on the rug, and
was inseparable from me. He was educated and entered at deer under
Smoaker. When Shark was first admitted to the house, it chanced that
one day he and Smoaker were left alone in a room with a table on which
luncheon was laid. Smoaker might have been left for hours with meat on
the table, and he would have died rather than have touched it; but at
that time Shark was not proof against temptation. I left the room to
hand some lady to her carriage, and as I returned by the window, I
looked in. Shark was on his legs, smelling curiously round the table;
whilst Smoaker had risen to a sitting posture, his ears pricked, his
brow frowning, and his eyes intently fixed on his son's actions. After
tasting several viands, Shark's long nose came in contact with about
half a cold tongue; the morsel was too tempting to be withstood. For
all the look of curious anger with which his father was intently
watching, the son stole the tongue and conveyed it to the floor. No
sooner had he done so, than the offended sire rushed upon him, rolled
him over, beat him, and took away the tongue. Instead, though, of
replacing it on the table, the father contented himself with the
punishment he had administered, and retired with great gravity to the
fire.

"I was once waiting by moonlight for wild ducks on the Ouze in
Bedfordshire, and I killed a couple on the water at a shot. The
current was strong; but Shark, having fetched one of the birds, was
well aware there was another. Instead, therefore, of returning by
water to look for the second, he ran along the banks, as if aware that
the strong stream would have carried the bird further down; looking in
the water till he saw it, at least a hundred yards from the spot where
he had left it in bringing the first; when he also brought that to me.
Nothing could induce either of these dogs to fetch a glove or a stick:
I have often seen game fall close to me, and they would not attempt to
touch it. It seemed as if they simply desired to be of service when
service was to be done; and that when there were no obstacles to be
conquered, they had no wish to interfere. Shark died at a good old
age, and was succeeded by his son Wolfe. Wolfe's mother was a
Newfoundland bitch. He was also a large and powerful dog, but of
course not so speedy as his ancestors. While residing at my country
house, being my constant companion, Wolfe accompanied me two or three
times a-day in the breeding season to feed the young pheasants and
partridges reared under hens. On going near the coops, I put down my
gun, made Wolfe a sign to sit down by it, and fed the birds, with
some caution, that they might not be in any way scared. I mention
this, because I am sure that dogs learn more from the manner and
method of those they love, than they do from direct teaching. In front
of the windows on the lawn there was a large bed of shrubs and
flowers, into which the rabbits used to cross, and where I had often
sent Wolfe in to drive them for me to shoot. One afternoon, thinking
that there might be a rabbit, I made Wolfe the usual sign to go and
drive the shrubs, which he obeyed; but ere he had gone some yards
beneath the bushes, I heard him make a peculiar noise with his jaws,
which he always made when he saw anything he did not like, and he came
softly back to me with a sheepish look. I repeated the sign, and
encouraged him to go; but he never got beyond the spot he had been to
in the first instance, and invariably returned to me with a very odd
expression of countenance. Curiosity tempted me to creep into the
bushes to discover the cause of the dog's unwonted behaviour; when
there, I found, congregated under one of the shrubs, eight or nine of
my young pheasants, who had for the first time roosted at a distance
from their coop. Wolfe had seen and known the young pheasants, and
would not scare them.

"Wolfe was the cause of my detecting and discharging one of my
gamekeepers. I had forbidden my rabbits to be killed until my return;
and the keeper was ordered simply to walk Wolfe to exercise on the
farm. There was a large stone quarry in the vicinity, where there
were a good many rabbits, some parts of which were so steep, that
though you might look over the cliff, and shoot a rabbit below,
neither man nor dog could pick him up without going a considerable way
round. On approaching the edge of the quarry to look over for a
rabbit, I was surprised at missing Wolfe, who invariably stole off in
another direction, but always the same way. At last, on shooting a
rabbit, I discovered that he invariably went to the only spot by which
he could descend to pick up whatever fell to the gun; and by this I
found that somebody had shot rabbits in his presence at times when I
was from home.

"Wolfe accompanied me to my residence in Hampshire, and there I
naturalised, in a wild state, some white rabbits. For the first year
the white ones were never permitted to be killed, and Wolfe saw that
such was the case. One summer's afternoon I shot a white rabbit for
the first time, and Wolfe jumped the garden fence to pick the rabbit
up; but his astonishment and odd sheepish look, when he found it was a
white one, were curious in the extreme. He dropped his stern, made his
usual snap with his jaws, and came back looking up in my face, as much
as to say, 'You've made a mistake, and shot a white rabbit, but I've
not picked him up.' I was obliged to assure him that I intended to
shoot it, and to encourage him before he would return and bring the
rabbit to me. Wolfe died when he was about nine years old, and was
succeeded by my present favourite, Brenda, a hare greyhound of the
highest caste. Brenda won the Oak stakes of her year, and is a very
fast and stout greyhound. I have taught her to retrieve game to the
gun, to drive home the game from dangerous sands, and, in short, to do
everything but speak; and this she attempts, by making a beautiful
sort of bark when she wants her dinner.

"I have the lop-eared rabbit naturalised, and in a half-wild and wild
state, and Brenda is often to be seen with some of the tamest of them
asleep in the sun on the lawn together. When the rabbits have been
going out into a dangerous vicinity, late in the evening, I have often
sent Brenda to drive them home, and to course and kill the wild ones
if she could. I have seen one of the wild-bred lop-ears get up before
her, and I have seen her make a start to course it; but when she saw
that it was not a native of the soil she would stop and continue her
search for others. The next moment I have seen her course and kill a
wild rabbit. She is perfectly steady from hare if I tell her not to
run, and is, without any exception, one of the prettiest and most
useful and engaging creatures ever seen. She is an excellent
rat-killer also, and has an amazing antipathy to a cat. When I have
been absent from home for some time, Mrs. B. has observed that she is
alive to every sound of a wheel, and if the door-bell rings she is the
first to fly to it. When walking on the sea-beach during my absence,
she is greatly interested in every boat she sees, and watches them
with the most intense anxiety, as in the yachting season she has known
me return by sea. Brenda would take my part in a row, and she is a
capital house-dog. If ever the heart of a creature was given to man,
this beautiful, graceful, and clever animal has given me hers, for her
whole existence is either passed in watching for my return, or in
seeking opportunities to please me when I am at home. It is a great
mistake to suppose that severity of treatment is necessary to the
education of a dog, or that it is serviceable in making him steady.
Manner--_marked and impressive manner_--is that which teaches
obedience, and example rather than command forms the desired
character.

"I had two foxhounds when I hunted stag,--my pack were all
foxhounds,--they were named Bachelor and Blunder. We used to play with
them together, and they got to know each other by name. In returning
from hunting, my brother and myself used to amuse ourselves by saying,
in a peculiar tone of voice,--the one we used to use in playing with
them--'Bachelor, where's Blunder?' On hearing this, Bachelor's stern
and bristles rose, and he trotted about among the pack, looking for
Blunder, and when he found him he would push his nose against his ear
and growl at him. Thus Bachelor evidently knew Blunder by name, and
this arose from the way in which we used to play with them. At this
moment, when far away from home, and after an absence of many weeks,
if I sing a particular song, which I always sing to a dog named
Jessie, Brenda, though staying in houses where she had never seen
Jessie, will get up much excited, and look to the door and out of the
window in expectation of her friend. I have a great pleasure in the
society of all animals, and I love to make my house a place where all
may meet in rest and good fellowship. This is far easier to achieve
than people would think for when dogs are kindly used, but impressed
with ideas of obedience.

"The gazelle which came home from Acre in the Thunderer, was one
evening feeding from Mrs. B.'s plate at dessert, when Odion, the great
deerhound, who was beaten in my match against the five deer by an
unlucky stab in the first course, came in by special invitation for
his biscuit. The last deer he had seen previous to the gazelle he had
coursed and pulled down. The strange expression of his dark face was
beautiful when he first saw her; and halting in his run up to me, he
advanced more slowly directly to her, she met him also in apparent
wonder at his great size, and they smelled each others' faces. Odion
then kissed her, and came to me for his biscuit, and never after
noticed her. She will at times butt him if he takes up too much of the
fire; but this she will not do to Brenda, except in play; and if she
is eating from Mrs. Berkeley's hand, Brenda by a peculiar look can
send her away and take her place. Odion, the gazelle, Brenda, and the
rabbits, will all quietly lay on the lawn together, and the gazelle
and Bruiser, an immense house-dog between the bloodhound and mastiff,
will run and play together.

"I had forgotten to mention a bull-and-mastiff dog that I had, called
Grumbo. He was previous to Smoaker, and was indeed the first
four-footed companion established in my confidence. I was then very
young, and of course inclined to anything like a row. Grumbo,
therefore, was well entered in all kinds of strife--bulls, oxen, pigs,
men, dogs, all came in turn as combatants; and Grumbo had the oddest
ways of making men and animals the _aggressors_ I ever knew. He seemed
to make it a point of honour never to begin, but on receiving a hint
from me; some one of his enemies was sure to commence the battle, and
then he or both of us would turn to as an oppressed party. I have seen
him walk leisurely out into the middle of a field where oxen were
grazing, and then throw himself down. Either a bull or the oxen were
sure to be attracted by the novel sight, and come dancing and blowing
round him. All this he used to bear with the most stoical fortitude,
till some one more forward than the rest touched him with the horn.
'War to the knife, and no favour,' was then the cry; and Grumbo had
one of them by the nose directly. He being engaged at odds, I of
course made in to help him, and such a scene of confusion used to
follow as was scarce ever seen. Grumbo tossed in the air, and then
some beast pinned by the nose would lie down and bellow. I should all
this time be swinging round on to some of their tails, and so it would
go on till Grumbo and myself were tired and our enemies happy to beat
a retreat. If he wished to pick a quarrel with a man, he would walk
listlessly before him till the man trod on him, and then the row
began. Grumbo was the best assistant, night or day, for catching
delinquents, in the world. As a proof of his thoughtful sagacity, I
give the following fact. He was my sole companion when I watched two
men steal a quantity of pheasants' eggs: we gave chase; but before I
could come near them, with two hundred yards start of me, they fled.
There was no hope of my overtaking them before they reached the
village of Harlington, so I gave Grumbo the office. Off he went, but
in the chase the men ran up a headland on which a cow was tethered.
They passed the cow; and when the dog came up to the cow he stopped,
and, to my horror, contemplated a grab at the tempting nose. He was,
however, uncertain as to whether or not this would be right, and he
looked back to me for further assurance. I made the sign to go ahead,
and he understood it, for he took up the running again, and
disappeared down a narrow pathway leading through the orchards to the
houses. When I turned that corner, to my infinite delight I found him
placed in the narrow path, directly in front of one of the poachers,
with such an evident determination of purpose, that the man was
standing stock still, afraid to stir either hand or foot. I came up
and secured the offender, and bade the dog be quiet."

It is, I believe, a fact, and if so, it is a curious one, that the dog
in a wild state only howls; but when he becomes the friend and
companion of man, he has then wants and wishes, hopes and fears, joys
and sorrows, to which in his wilder state he appears to have been a
stranger. His vocabulary, if it may be so called, then increases, in
order to express his enlarged and varying emotions. He anticipates
rewards and punishments, and learns to solicit the former and
deprecate the latter. He bounds exultingly forth to accompany his
master in his walks, rides, and sports of the field. He acts as the
faithful guardian of his property. He is his fire-side companion,
evidently discerns days of household mirth or grief, and deports
himself accordingly. Hence, his energies and his sensibilities are all
expanded, and what he feels he seeks to tell in various accents, and
in different ways. For instance, our little dog comes and pulls his
mistress's gown and makes significant whines, if any one is in or
about the premises whom he thinks has no right to be there. I have
seen a dog pick up a stick and bring it in his mouth to his master,
looking at the water first and then at his master, evidently that the
stick might be thrown into it, that he might have the pleasure of
swimming after it. In my younger days, I was in the habit of teazing a
favourite dog by twitching his nose and pretending to pull his ears.
He would snap gently at me, but if, by accident, he gave me rather a
harder bite than he had intended, he became instantly aware of it, and
expressed his regret in a way not to be mistaken. Dogs who have hurt
or cut themselves will submit patiently while the wound is being
dressed, however much the operation may hurt them. They become
instantly sensible that no punishment is intended to be inflicted, and
I have seen them lick the hand of the operator, as if grateful for
what he was doing. Those who are in the habit of having dogs
constantly in the room with them, will have perceived how alive they
are to the slightest change in the countenance of their master; how
gently they will touch him with their paw when he is eating, in order
to remind him of their own want of food; and how readily they
distinguish the movements of any inmate of the house from those of a
stranger. These, and many other circumstances which might be
mentioned, show a marked distinction between a domesticated dog and
one that is wild, or who has lived with people who are in an
uncivilized state, such as the Esquimaux, &c. Both the wild and
domestic dog, however, appear to be possessed of and to exercise
forethought. They will bury or hide food, which they are unable to
consume at once, and return for it. But the domestic dog, perhaps,
gives stronger proofs of forethought; and I will give an instance of
it. A large metal pot, turned on one side, in which a great quantity
of porridge had been boiled, was set before a Newfoundland puppy of
three or four months old. At first, he contented himself by licking
off portions of the oatmeal which adhered to the interior, but finding
this unsatisfactory, he scraped the morsels with his fore-paws into a
heap, and then ate the whole at once. I had a dog, who, having once
scalded his tongue, always afterwards, when I gave him his milk and
water at breakfast, put his paw very cautiously into the saucer, to
see if the liquid was too hot, before he would touch it with his
tongue.

Dogs have frequently been known to hunt in couples; that is, to assist
each other in securing their prey: thus associating together and
admitting of no partnership.

At Palermo, in Sicily, there is an extraordinary quantity of dogs
wandering about without owners. Amongst the number, two more
particularly distinguished themselves for their animosity to cats. One
day they were in pursuit of a cat, which, seeing no other place of
refuge near, made her escape into a long earthen water-pipe which was
lying on the ground. These two inseparable companions, who always
supported each other, pursued the cat to the pipe, where they were
seen to stop, and apparently to consult each other as to what was to
be done to deceive and get possession of the poor cat. After they had
stood a short time they divided, taking post at each end of the pipe,
and began to back alternately, thus giving the cat reason to suppose
that they were both at one end, in order to induce her to come out.
This manoeuvre had a successful result, and the cheated cat left her
hiding-place. Scarcely had she ventured out, when she was seized by
one of the dogs; the other hastened to his assistance, and in a few
moments deprived her of life.[C]

The memory of dogs is quite extraordinary, and only equalled by that
of the elephant. Mr. Swainson, in his work on the instincts of
animals, gives the following proof of this. He says that "A spaniel
belonging to the Rev. H. N., being always told that he must not follow
his master to church on Sundays, used on those days to set off long
before the service, and lie concealed under the hedge, so near the
church, that at length the point was yielded to him." My little
parlour dog never offers to go with me on a Sunday, although on other
days he is perfectly wild to accompany me in my walks.

In my younger days I had a favourite dog, which always accompanied me
to church. My mother, seeing that he attracted too much of my
attention, ordered the servant to shut him every Sunday morning. This
was done once, but never afterwards; for he concealed himself early
every Sunday morning, and I was sure to find him either under my seat
at church, or else at the church-door. That dogs clearly distinguish
the return of Sunday cannot be doubted.

The almost incredible penetration and expedition with which dogs are
known to return to their former homes, from places to which they have
been sent, or carried in such a recluse way as not to retain a trace
of the road, will ever continue to excite the greatest admiration.

A dog having been given by a gentleman at Wivenhoe to the captain of a
collier, he took the dog on board his vessel, and landed him at
Sunderland; but soon after his arrival there the dog was missing, and
in a very few days arrived at the residence of his old master, in
Essex. A still more extraordinary circumstance is upon record, of the
late Colonel Hardy, who, having been sent for express to Bath, was
accompanied by a favourite spaniel bitch in his chaise, which he never
quitted till his arrival there. After remaining there four days, he
accidentally left his spaniel behind him, and returned to his
residence at Springfield, in Essex, with equal expedition; where, in
three days after, his faithful and steady adherent arrived also,
notwithstanding the distance between that place and Bath is 140 miles,
and she had to explore her way through London, to which she had never
been, except in her passage to Bath, and then within the confines of a
close carriage.[D]

In the small town of Melbourne, in Derbyshire, cocks and hens may be
seen running about the streets. One day a game cock attacked a small
bantam, and they fought furiously, the bantam having, of course, the
worst of it. Some persons were standing about looking at the fight,
when my informant's house-dog suddenly darted out, snatched up the
bantam in his mouth, and carried it into the house. Several of the
spectators followed, believing that the poor fowl would be killed and
eaten by the dog; but his intentions were of a more benevolent nature.
After guarding the entrance of the kennel for some time, he trotted
down the yard into the street, looked about to the right and left, and
seeing that the coast was clear, he went back again, and once more
returning with his _protégé_ in his mouth, safely deposited him in the
street, and then walked quietly away. How few human beings would have
acted as this dog had done!

Here is another curious anecdote from Mr. Davy's work. He says that
the cook in the house of a friend of his, a lady on whose accuracy he
could rely, and from whom he had the anecdote, missed a marrow-bone.
Suspicion fell on a well-behaved dog--a great favourite, and up to
that time distinguished for his honesty. He was charged with the
theft; he hung down his tail, and for a day or two was altered in his
manner, having become shy, sullen, and sheepish, to use these
expressions for want of better. In this mood he continued, till, to
the amusement of the cook, he brought back the bone and laid it at her
feet. Then, with the restoration of her stolen property, he resumed
his cheerful manner. How can we interpret this conduct of the dog,
better than by supposing that he was aware he had done amiss, and that
the evil doing preyed on him till he had made restitution? Was not
this a kind of moral sense?

If a dog finds a bone while he is accompanying his master in a walk,
he does not stay behind to gnaw it, but runs some distance in
advance, attacks the bone, waits till his master comes up, and then
proceeds forward again with it. By acting in this manner, he never
loses sight of his master.

A dog has been known to convey food to another of his species who was
tied up and pining for want of it. A dog has frequently been seen to
plunge voluntarily into a rapid stream, to rescue another that was in
danger of drowning. He has defended helpless curs from the attacks of
other dogs, and learns to apportion punishment according to the
provocation received, frequently disdaining to exercise his power and
strength on a weaker adversary. Repeated provocation will, however,
excite and revenge. For instance, a Newfoundland dog was quietly
eating his mess of broth and broken scraps. While so employed, a
turkey endeavoured to share the meal with him. The dog growled, and
displayed his teeth. The intruder retired for a moment, but quickly
returned to the charge, and was again "warned off," with a like
result. After three or four attempts of the same kind, the dog became
provoked, gave a sudden ferocious growl, bit off the delinquent's
head, and then quietly finished his meal, without bestowing any
further attention on his victim.

The celebrated Leibnitz related to the French Academy an account of a
dog he had seen which was taught to speak, and could call in an
intelligible manner for tea, coffee, chocolate, &c.

The dog was of a middling size, and the property of a peasant in
Saxony. A little boy, the peasant's son, imagined that he perceived in
the dog's voice an indistinct resemblance to certain words, and was,
therefore, determined to teach him to speak distinctly. For this
purpose he spared neither time nor pains with his pupil, who was about
three years old when his learned education commenced; and at length he
made such progress in language, as to be able to articulate no less
than thirty words. It appears, however, that he was somewhat of a
truant, and did not very willingly exert his talents, being rather
pressed into the service of literature, and it was necessary that the
words should be first pronounced to him each time before he spoke. The
French Academicians who mention this anecdote, add, that unless they
had received the testimony of so great a man as Leibnitz, they should
scarcely have dared to relate the circumstance.

An invalid gentleman, who resided for some years on Ham Common, in
Surrey, had a dog which distinctly pronounced John, William, and two
or three other words. A medical friend of mine, who attended this
gentleman, has frequently heard the animal utter these words; and a
female relative of his, who was often on a visit at his house, assures
me of the fact. Indeed it need not be doubted.

These are the only two instances I have met with of talking dogs, but
my brother had a beautiful little spaniel, named Doll, who was an
indefatigable hunter after woodcocks and snipes. Doll would come home
in the evening after a hard day's sport, wet, tired and dirty, and
then deposit herself on the rug before the fire. Happening one day to
pull her ear gently when in this state, she expressed her dislike to
be disturbed by a sort of singing noise. By repeating this from day to
day, and saying "Sing, Doll," she would utter notes of a somewhat
musical tone, and continue for some time after I had ceased to touch
her ear, to the amusement and surprise of those who heard her. Poor
Doll! I shall never see your like again, either for beauty or
intelligence. If she was affronted she would come to me, at a distance
of four miles, remain some time, and then return to her master.

A small cur, blind of one eye, lame, ugly, old, and somewhat selfish,
yet possessed of great shrewdness, was usually fed with three large
dogs. Watching his opportunity, he generally contrived to seize the
best bit of offal or bone, with which he retreated into a recess, the
opening to which was so small that he knew the other dogs could not
follow him into it, and where he enjoyed his repast without the fear
of molestation.

Early habits predominate strongly in dogs, and indeed in other
animals. At the house of a gentleman in Wexford, out of four dogs kept
to guard the premises, three of them would always wag their tails, and
express what might be called civility, on the approach of any
well-dressed visitors; manifesting, on the other hand, no very
friendly feelings towards vagrants or ill-dressed people. The
fourth,--a sort of fox-hound,--which, as a puppy, had belonged to a
poor man, always seemed to recognise beggars and ill-dressed
passengers as old familiar friends, growling at well-attired
strangers, barking vehemently at gigs, and becoming almost frantic
with rage at a four-wheeled carriage.

The olfactory nerves of a dog are quite extraordinary, and it is said
that, making allowance for difference of corporeal bulk, they are
about four times larger than those of a man. Some dogs, however, seem
to excel in acuteness of hearing, and others in peculiar powers of
vision.

We quote the following from the "Percy Anecdotes:"--

"One day, when Dumont, a tradesman of the Rue St. Denis, was walking
in the Boulevard St. Antoine with a friend, he offered to lay a wager
with the latter, that if he were to hide a six-livre piece in the
dust, his dog would discover and bring it to him. The wager was
accepted, and the piece of money secreted, after being carefully
marked. When the two had proceeded some distance from the spot, M.
Dumont called to his dog that he had lost something, and ordered him
to seek it. Caniche immediately turned back, and his master and his
companion pursued their walk to the Rue St. Denis. Meanwhile a
traveller, who happened to be just then returning in a small chaise
from Vincennes, perceived the piece of money, which his horse had
kicked from its hiding-place; he alighted, took it up, and drove to
his inn, in the Rue Pont-aux-Choux. Caniche had just reached the spot
in search of the lost piece when the stranger picked it up. He
followed the chaise, went into the inn, and stuck close to the
traveller. Having scented out the coin which he had been ordered to
bring back in the pocket of the latter, he leaped up incessantly at
and about him. The traveller, supposing him to be some dog that had
been lost or left behind by his master, regarded his different
movements as marks of fondness; and as the animal was handsome, he
determined to keep him. He gave him a good supper, and on retiring to
bed took him with him to his chamber. No sooner had he pulled off his
breeches, than they were seized by the dog; the owner conceiving that
he wanted to play with them, took them away again. The animal began to
bark at the door, which the traveller opened, under the idea that the
dog wanted to go out. Caniche snatched up the breeches, and away he
flew. The traveller posted after him with his night-cap on, and
literally _sans culottes_. Anxiety for the fate of a purse full of
gold Napoleons, of forty francs each, which was in one of the pockets,
gave redoubled velocity to his steps. Caniche ran full speed to his
master's house, where the stranger arrived a moment afterwards,
breathless and enraged. He accused the dog of robbing him. 'Sir,' said
the master, 'my dog is a very faithful creature; and if he has run
away with your breeches, it is because you have in them money which
does not belong to you.' The traveller became still more exasperated.
'Compose yourself, sir,' rejoined the other, smiling; 'without doubt
there is in your purse a six-livre piece, with such and such marks,
which you have picked up in the Boulevard St. Antoine, and which I
threw down there with the firm conviction that my dog would bring it
back again. This is the cause of the robbery which he has committed
upon you.' The stranger's rage now yielded to astonishment; he
delivered the six-livre piece to the owner, and could not forbear
caressing the dog which had given him so much uneasiness, and such an
unpleasant chase."

A gentleman in Cornwall possessed a dog, which seemed to set a value
on white and shining pebble stones, of which he had made a large
collection in a hole under an old tree. A dog in Regent Street is said
to have barked with joy on hearing the wheels of his master's carriage
driven to the door, when he could not by any possibility see the
vehicle, and while many other carriages were at the time passing and
repassing. This, I believe, is a fact by no means uncommon.

My retriever will carry an egg in his mouth to a great distance, and
during a considerable length of time, without ever breaking or even
cracking the shell. A small bird having escaped from its cage and
fallen into the sea, a dog conveyed it in his mouth to the ship,
without doing it the slightest injury.

[Illustration: RETRIEVER.]

One of the carriers of a New York paper called the "Advocate," having
become indisposed, his son took his place; but not knowing the
subscribers he was to supply, he took for his guide a dog which had
usually attended his father. The animal trotted on a-head of the boy,
and stopped at every door where the paper was in use to be left,
without making a single omission or mistake.

The following is from a newspaper of this year:--

"A most extraordinary circumstance has just occurred at the Hawick
toll-bar, which is kept by two old women. It appears that they had a
sum of money in the house, and were extremely alarmed lest they should
be robbed of it. Their fears prevailed to such an extent, that, when a
carrier whom they knew was passing by, they urgently requested him to
remain with them all night, which, however, his duties would not
permit him to do; but, in consideration of the alarm of the women, he
consented to leave with them a large mastiff dog. In the night the
women were disturbed by the uneasiness of the dog, and heard a noise
apparently like an attempt to force an entrance into the premises,
upon which they escaped by the back-door, and ran to a neighbouring
house, which happened to be a blacksmith's shop. They knocked at the
door, and were answered from within by the smith's wife. She said her
husband was absent, but that she was willing to accompany the
terrified women to their home. On reaching the house, they heard a
savage but half-stifled growling from the dog. On entering they saw
the body of a man hanging half in and half out of their little window,
whom the dog had seized by the throat, and was still worrying. On
examination, the man proved to be their neighbour the blacksmith,
dreadfully torn about the throat, and quite dead."

A dog, belonging to the late Dr. Robert Hooper, had been in the
constant habit of performing various little personal services for his
master, such as fetching his slippers, &c. It happened one day that
Dr. Hooper had been detained by his professional duties much beyond
his usual dinner hour. The dog impatiently waited for his arrival, and
he at last returned, weary and hungry. After showing his pleasure at
the arrival of his master, greeting him with his usual attention, the
animal remained tolerably quiet until he conceived a reasonable time
had elapsed for the preparation of the Doctor's dinner. As it did not,
however, make its appearance, the dog went into the kitchen, seized
with his mouth a half-broiled beefsteak, with which he hastened back
to his master, placing it on the table-cloth before him.

A few years ago, the public were amused with an account given in the
newspapers of a dog which possessed the strange fancy of attending all
the fires that occurred in the metropolis. The discovery of this
predilection was made by a gentleman residing a few miles from town,
who was called up in the middle of the night by the intelligence that
the premises adjoining his house of business were on fire. "The
removal of my books and papers," said he, in telling the story, "of
course claimed my attention; yet, notwithstanding this, and the bustle
which prevailed, my eye every now and then rested on a dog, which,
during the hottest progress of the conflagration, I could not help
noticing running about, and apparently taking a deep interest in what
was going on; contriving to keep himself out of everybody's way, and
yet always present amidst the thickest of the stir. When the fire was
got under, and I had leisure to look about me, I again observed the
dog, which, with the firemen, appeared to be resting from the fatigues
of duty, and was led to make some inquiries respecting him. 'Is this
your dog, my friend?' said I to a fireman. 'No, sir,' answered he; it
does not belong to me, or to any one in particular. We call him the
firemen's dog.' 'The firemen's dog!' I replied. 'Why so? Has he no
master?' 'No, sir,' rejoined the fireman; 'he calls none of us master,
though we are all of us willing enough to give him a night's lodging
and a pennyworth of meat. But he won't stay long with any of us. His
delight is to be at all the fires in London; and, far or near, we
generally find him on the road as we are going along, and sometimes,
if it is out of town, we give him a lift. I don't think there has been
a fire for these two or three years past which he has not been at.'

"The communication was so extraordinary, that I found it difficult to
believe the story, until it was confirmed by the concurrent testimony
of several other firemen. None of them, however, were able to give any
account of the early habits of the dog, or to offer any explanation of
the circumstances which led to this singular propensity.

"Some time afterwards, I was again called up in the night to a fire in
the village in which I resided (Camberwell, in Surrey), and to my
surprise here I again met with 'the firemen's dog,' still alive and
well, pursuing, with the same apparent interest and satisfaction, the
exhibition of that which seldom fails to bring with it disaster and
misfortune, oftentimes loss of life and ruin. Still, he called no man
master, disdained to receive bed or board from the same hand more than
a night or two at a time, nor could the firemen trace out his
resting-place."

Such was the account of this interesting animal as it appeared in the
newspapers, to which were shortly afterwards appended several
circumstances communicated by a fireman at one of the police offices.
A magistrate having asked him whether it was a fact that the dog was
present at most of the fires that occurred in the metropolis, the
fireman replied that he never knew "Tyke," as he was called, to be
absent from a fire upon any occasion that he (the fireman) attended
himself. The magistrate said the dog must have an extraordinary
predilection for fires. He then asked what length of time he had been
known to possess that propensity. The fireman replied that he knew
Tyke for the last nine years; and although he was getting old, yet the
moment the engines were about, Tyke was to be seen as active as ever,
running off in the direction of the fire. The magistrate inquired
whether the dog lived with any particular fireman. The fireman replied
that Tyke liked one fireman as well as another; he had no particular
favourites, but passed his time amongst them, sometimes going to the
house of one, and then to another, and off to a third when he was
tired. Day or night, it was all the same to him; if a fire broke out,
there he was in the midst of the bustle, running from one engine to
another, anxiously looking after the firemen; and, although pressed
upon by crowds, yet, from his dexterity, he always escaped accidents,
only now and then getting a ducking from the engines, which he rather
liked than otherwise. The magistrate said that Tyke was a most
extraordinary animal; and having expressed a wish to see him, he was
shortly after exhibited at the office, and some other peculiarities
respecting him were related. There was nothing at all particular in
the appearance of the dog; he was a rough-looking small animal, of the
terrier breed, and seemed to be in excellent condition, no doubt from
the care taken of him by the firemen belonging to the different
companies. There was some difficulty experienced in bringing him to
the office, as he did not much relish going any distance from where
the firemen are usually to be found, except in cases of attending with
them at a conflagration, and then distance was of no consequence. It
was found necessary to use stratagem for the purpose. A fireman
commenced running. Tyke, accustomed to follow upon such occasions, set
out after him; but this person, having slackened his pace on the way,
the sagacious animal, knowing there was no fire, turned back, and it
was necessary to carry him to the office.

The following striking anecdote, of a similar kind, appeared in the
first number of the new issue of Cassell's "Illustrated Family
Paper." After giving a short account of a fire-escape man, named
Samuel Wood, the writer thus alludes to his dog Bill:--

"As to Bill, he regards him evidently in the light of a friend; he had
him when he was a pup from a poor fellow who died in the service, and
he and his 'Bill' have been on excellent terms ever since.

"The fire-escape man's dog takes after his master in courage and
perseverance. He is of the terrier breed, six years old. An alarm of
fire calls forth all his energy. He is the first to know that
something is wrong--the first to exert himself in setting it right. He
has not been trained to the work--'it is a gift,' as his master says;
and if we all used our gifts as efficiently as the dog Bill, it would
be the better for us. On an alarm of fire Bill barks his loudest,
dashes about in a frantic manner, till his master and the escape are
on their way to it. He, of course, is there first, giving the police
and the crowd to understand that Wood and his fire-escape are coming.
When the escape is fixed, and Wood begins to ascend the ladder, Bill
runs up the canvas; as soon as a window is opened, Bill leaps in and
dashes about to find the occupants, loudly barking for assistance as
soon as he has accomplished his errand of mercy. His watchfulness and
sagacity are never at fault, although on more than one occasion he has
stood a fair chance of losing his life, and has sustained very severe
injury. Not long ago a collar was presented to Bill as a reward for
his services; unfortunately for him, he has since lost this token of
public regard--a misfortune much to be regretted. The following verse
was engraved on the collar:--

    'I am the fire-escape man's dog: my name is Bill.
    When 'fire' is called I am never still:
    I bark for my master, all danger brave,
    To bring the escape--human life to save.'

Collared or collarless, Bill is always ready to lend a helping bark.
May his life be long, and his services properly esteemed!"

The following anecdote shows extraordinary sense, if not reasoning
faculty, in a dog:--

A lady of high rank has a sort of colley, or Scotch sheep-dog. When he
is ordered to ring the bell, he does so; but if he is told to ring the
bell when the servant is in the room whose duty it is to attend, he
refuses, and then the following occurrence takes place. His mistress
says, "Ring the bell, dog." The dog looks at the servant, and then
barks his bow wow, once or twice. The order is repeated two or three
times. At last the dog lays hold of the servant's coat in a
significant manner, just as if he had said to him--"Don't you hear
that I am to ring the bell for you?--come to my lady." His mistress
always had her shoes warmed before she put them on, but one day during
the hot weather her maid was putting them on without their having been
previously placed before the fire. When the dog saw this he
immediately interfered, expressing the greatest indignation at the
maid's negligence. He took the shoes from her, carried them to the
fire, and after they had been warmed as usual, he brought them back to
his mistress with much apparent satisfaction, evidently intending to
say, if he could, "It is all right now."

The dispositions and characters of dogs, as well as their
intelligence, vary very much. Let me give a few instances of this.

When that benevolent man, Mr. Backhouse, went to Australia, in hopes
of doing good among the convicts, he was residing in the house of a
gentleman who had a son about four years of age. This boy strayed one
morning into the bush, and could not be found after a long search had
been made for him. In the evening a little dog, which had accompanied
the child, scratched at the door, and on its being opened showed
unmistakeable signs of wishing to be followed. This was done; and he
led the way to the child, who was at last found sitting by the side of
a river three or four miles from the house.

At Albany in Worcestershire, at the seat of Admiral Maling, a dog went
every day to meet the mail, and brought the bag in his mouth to the
house. The distance was about a half-a-quarter of a mile. The dog
usually received a meal of meat as his reward. The servants having, on
_one day only_, neglected to give him his accustomed meal, the dog on
the arrival of the next mail buried the bag, nor was it found without
considerable search.

M. D'Obsonville had a dog which he had brought up in India from two
months old; and having to go with a friend from Pondicherry to
Bengalore, a distance of more than nine hundred miles, he took the
animal along with him. "Our journey," says M. D'O., "occupied nearly
three weeks; and we had to traverse plains and mountains, and to ford
rivers, and go along by-paths. The animal, which had certainly never
been in that country before, lost us at Bengalore, and immediately
returned to Pondicherry. He went directly to the house of my friend,
M. Beglier, then commandant of artillery, and with whom I had
generally lived. Now the difficulty is not so much to know how the dog
subsisted on the road (for he was very strong, and able to procure
himself food), but how he should so well have found his way after an
interval of more than a month! This was an effort of memory greatly
superior to that which the human race is capable of exerting."

A gentleman residing in Denmark, Mr. Decouick, one of the king's privy
councillors, found that he had a remarkable dog. It was the habit of
Mr. Decouick to leave Copenhagen on Fridays for Drovengourd, his
country seat. If he did not arrive there on the Friday evening, the
dog would invariably be found at Copenhagen on Saturday morning, in
search of his master. Hydrophobia becoming common, all dogs were shot
that were found running about, an exception being made in the case of
Mr. Decouick's dog on account of his sagacity and fidelity, a
distinctive mark being placed upon him.

The following anecdotes are from Daniel's "Rural Sports:"--

Upon the fidelity of dogs, the following facts deserve to be here
recorded: of this property, or other peculiar traits, if they
appertain to any class of sporting dogs, in that class they will be
noticed.

Dr. Beattie, in one of his ingenious and elegant essays, relates a
story, in his own knowledge, of a gentleman's life being saved, who
fell beneath the ice, by his dog's going in quest of assistance, and
almost forcibly dragging a farmer to the spot.

Mr. Vaillant describes the losing of a bitch while travelling in
Africa, when after firing his gun, and fruitlessly searching for her,
he despatched one of his attendants, to return by the way they had
proceeded; when she was found at about two leagues' distance, seated
by the side of a chair and basket, which had dropped unperceived from
his waggon: an instance of attentive fidelity, which must have proved
fatal to the animal, either from hunger or beasts of prey, had she not
been luckily discovered.

As instances of the dog's sagacity, the following are submitted. In
crossing the mountain St. Gothard, near Airola, the Chevalier Gaspard
de Brandenberg and his servant were buried by an avalanche; his dog,
who escaped the heap of snow, did not quit the place where he had lost
his master: this was, fortunately, not far from the convent; the
animal howled, ran to the convent frequently, and then returned.
Struck by his perseverance, the next morning the people from the house
followed him; he led them directly to the spot, scratched the snow,
and after thirty-six hours passed beneath it, the chevalier and his
domestic were taken out safe, hearing distinctly during their
confinement the howling of the dog and the discourse of their
deliverers. Sensible that to the sagacity and fondness of this
creature he owed his life, the gentleman ordered by his will that he
should be represented on his tomb with his dog; and at Zug, in the
church of St. Oswald, where he was buried in 1728, they still show the
monument and the effigy of this gentleman, with the dog lying at his
feet.

In 1792, a gentleman, who lived in Vere Street, Clare Market, went
with his family to the pit of Drury Lane Theatre, at about half-past
five in the evening, leaving a small spaniel, of King Charles's breed,
locked up in the dining-room, to prevent the dog from being lost in
his absence. At eight o'clock his son opened the door, and the dog
immediately went to the playhouse and found out his master, though the
pit was unusually thronged, and his master seated near its centre.

A large dog of Mr. Hilson's, of Maxwelhaugh, on the 21st of October,
1797, seeing a small one that was following a cart from Kelso carried
by the current of the Tweed, in spite of all its efforts to bear up
against the stream, after watching its motions attentively, plunged
voluntarily into the river, and seizing the tired animal by the neck,
brought it safely to land.

The docility of the dog is such, that he may be taught to practise
with considerable dexterity a variety of human actions: to open a door
fastened by a latch, and pull a bell when desirous to be admitted.
Faber mentions one belonging to a nobleman of the Medici family, which
always attended at its master's table, took from him his plates, and
brought him others; carried wine to him in a glass upon a salver,
which it held in its mouth, without spilling; the same dog would also
hold the stirrup in its teeth while its master was mounting his horse.
Mr. Daniel had formerly a spaniel, which he gave the honourable Mr.
Greville, that, beyond the common tricks which dogs trained to fetch
and carry exhibit, would bring the bottles of wine from the corner of
the room to the table by the neck, with such care as never to break
one; and, in fact, was the _boots_ of the mess-room.

Some few years since, the person who lived at the turnpike-house,
about a mile from Stratford-upon-Avon, had trained a dog to go to the
town for any small parcels of grocery, &c. which he wanted. A note,
mentioning the things required, was tied round his neck, and in the
same manner the articles were fastened, and arrived safe to his
master.

Colonel Hutchinson relates the following anecdote:--

"A cousin of one of my brother-officers was taking a walk at Tunbridge
Wells, when a strange Newfoundland snatched her parasol from her hand,
and carried it off. The lady followed the dog, who kept ahead,
constantly looking back to see if she followed. The dog at length
stopped at a confectioner's, and went in, followed by the lady, who,
as the dog would not resign it, applied to the shopman for assistance.
He then told her that it was an old trick of the dog's to get a bun,
and that if she would give him one he would return the property. She
cheerfully did so, and the dog as willingly made the exchange."

The above anecdote proves that dogs are no mean observers of
countenances, and that he had satisfied himself by a previous scrutiny
as to the probability of his delinquencies being forgiven.

Of the abstinence and escape of a dog, the following narrative may not
be uninteresting:--

In 1789, when preparations were making at St. Paul's for the reception
of his majesty, a favourite dog followed its master up the dark stairs
of the dome. Here, all at once, it was missing; and calling and
whistling were to no purpose. Nine weeks after this, all but two days,
some glaziers were at work in the cathedral, and heard a faint noise
amongst the timbers which support the dome. Thinking it might be some
unfortunate human being, they tied a rope round a boy, and let him
down near the place whence the sound came. At the bottom he found a
dog lying on its side, the skeleton of another dog, and an old shoe
half eaten. The humanity of the boy led him to rescue the animal from
its miserable situation, and it was accordingly drawn up. Much
emaciated, and scarce able to stand, the workmen placed it in the
porch of the church, to die or live as it might happen. This was about
ten o'clock in the morning. Some time after, the dog was seen
endeavouring to cross the street at the top of Ludgate Hill; but its
weakness was so great, that, unsupported by a wall, it could not
accomplish it. The miserable appearance of the dog again excited the
compassion of a boy, who carried it over. By the aid of the houses it
was enabled to get to Fleet Market, and over two or three narrow
crossings in its way to Holborn Bridge, and about eight o'clock in the
evening it reached its master's house in Red Lion Street, Holborn, and
laid itself down on the steps, having been ten hours in its journey
from St. Paul's to that place. The dog was so much altered, its eyes
being so sunk in its head as to be scarce discernible, that the master
would not encourage his faithful old companion, who when lost was
supposed to weigh twenty pounds, but now only weighed three pounds
fourteen ounces. The first indication it gave of knowing its master
was by wagging its tail when he mentioned its name, Phillis; for a
long time it was unable to eat or drink, and it was kept alive by the
sustenance it received from its mistress, who used to feed it with a
teaspoon. At length it recovered. It must not be supposed that this
animal existed for nine weeks without food; she was in whelp when
lost, and doubtless ate her young. The remains of another dog, killed
by a similar fall, were likewise found, and were most probably
converted by the survivor to the most urgent of all natural purposes;
and when this treat was done, the shoe succeeded, which was almost
half devoured. What famine and a thousand accidents could not do, was
effected a short time after by the wheels of a coach, which
unfortunately went over her, and ended the life of poor Phillis.

Of dogs that have supported themselves in a wild state, to the great
loss and annoyance of the farmer, there are two instances worthy of
notice, from the cunning with which both these dogs frustrated, for a
length of time, every secret and open attack. In December, 1784, a dog
was left by a smuggling vessel near Boomer, on the coast of
Northumberland. Finding himself deserted, he began to worry sheep, and
did so much damage that he was the terror of the country, within the
circuit of above twenty miles. It is asserted, that when he caught a
sheep, he bit a hole in its right side, and after eating the fat about
the kidneys, left it. Several of them, thus lacerated, were found
alive by the shepherds; and being properly taken care of, some of them
recovered, and afterwards had lambs. From this delicacy of his
feeding, the destruction may in some measure be conceived, as the fat
of one sheep in a day would scarcely satisfy his hunger. Various were
the means used to destroy him: frequently was he pursued with hounds,
greyhounds, &c., but when the dogs came up with him, he laid down on
his back, as if supplicating for mercy, and in that position they
never hurt him; he therefore laid quietly, taking his rest, until the
hunters approached, when he made off without being followed by the
hounds, until they were again excited to the pursuit, which always
terminated unsuccessfully. He was one day pursued from Howick to
upwards of thirty miles' distance, but returned thither and killed
sheep the same evening. His constant residence was upon a rock on the
Heugh Hill, near Howick, where he had a view of four roads that
approached it; and there, in March 1785, after many fruitless
attempts, he was at last shot.

Another wild dog, which had committed similar devastation among the
sheep, near Wooler, in the same county (Northumberland), was, on the
6th of June, 1799, advertised to be hunted on the Wednesday following,
by three packs of hounds, which were to meet at different places; the
aid of men and fire-arms was also requested, with a reward promised of
twenty guineas to the person killing him. This dog was described by
those who had seen him at a distance as a large greyhound, with some
white in his face, neck and one fore-leg white, rather grey on the
back, and the rest of a jet-black. An immense concourse of people
assembled at the time appointed, but the chase was unprosperous; for
he eluded his pursuers among the Cheviot Hills, and, what is singular,
returned that same night to the place from whence he had been hunted
in the morning, and worried an ewe and her lamb. During the whole
summer he continued to destroy the sheep, but changed his quarters,
for he infested the fells, sixteen miles south of Carlisle, where
upwards of sixty sheep fell victims to his ferocity. In September,
hounds and firearms were again employed against him, and after a run
from Carrock Fell, which was computed to be thirty miles, he was shot
whilst the hounds were in pursuit by Mr. Sewel of Wedlock, who laid in
ambush at Moss Dale. During the chase, which occupied six hours, he
frequently turned upon the headmost hounds, and wounded several so
badly as to disable them. Upon examination, he appeared of the
Newfoundland breed, of a common size, wire-haired, and extremely lean.
This description does not tally with the dog so injurious to the
farmers in Northumberland, although, from circumstances, there is
little doubt but it was the same animal.

With a laughably philosophical account of dogs, under the supposition
of a transmigration of souls, and with their general natural history
from Linnæus and Buffon, this introductory chapter will be concluded.

A facetious believer in the art of distinguishing at the sight of any
creature from what class of animals his soul is derived, thus allots
them:--

The souls of deceased bailiffs and common constables are in the
bodies of setting dogs and pointers; the terriers are inhabited by
trading justices; the bloodhounds were formerly a set of informers,
thief-takers, and false evidences; the spaniels were heretofore
courtiers, hangers-on of administrations, and hack journal-writers,
all of whom preserve their primitive qualities of fawning on their
feeders, licking their hands, and snarling and snapping at all who
offer to offend their master; a former train of gamblers and
black-legs are now embodied in that species of dog called lurchers;
bull-dogs and mastiffs were once butchers and drovers; greyhounds and
hounds owe their animation to country squires and foxhunters; little
whiffling, useless lap-dogs, draw their existence from the quondam
beau; macaronies, and gentlemen of the tippy, still being the
playthings of ladies, and used for their diversion. There are also a
set of sad dogs derived from attornies; and puppies, who were in past
time attornies' clerks, shopmen to retail haberdashers, men-milliners,
&c. &c. Turnspits are animated by old aldermen, who still enjoy the
smell of the roast meat; that droning, snarling species, styled Dutch
pugs, have been fellows of colleges; and that faithful, useful tribe
of shepherds' dogs, were, in days of yore, members of parliament, who
guarded the flock, and protected the sheep from wolves and thieves,
although indeed of late some have turned sheep-biters, and worried
those they ought to have defended.

Linnæus informs us, the dog eats flesh, and farinaceous vegetables,
but not greens, (this is a mistake, for they will eat greens when
boiled); its stomach digests bones; it uses the tops of grass as a
vomit; is fond of rolling in carrion; voids its excrements on a stone;
its dung (the _album græcum_) is one of the greatest encouragers of
putrefaction; it laps up its drink with its tongue; makes water
side-ways, by lifting up one of its hind-legs; is most diuretic in the
company of a strange dog, and very apt to repeat it where another dog
has done the same: _Odorat anum alterius, menstruans catulit cum
variis; mordet illa illos; cohæret copula junctus_. Its scent is most
exquisite when its nose is moist; it treads lightly on its toes;
scarce ever sweats, but when hot, lolls out its tongue; generally
walks frequently round the place it intends to lie down on; its sense
of hearing is very quick when asleep; it dreams. It goes with young
sixty-three days, and commonly brings from four to ten; the male
puppies resemble the dog, the female the bitch (an assertion by no
means accurate, any more than the tail always bending to the left is a
common character of the species). It is the most faithful of animals,
is very docile, fawns at his master's approach, runs before him on a
journey, often passing over the same ground; on coming to crossways,
stops and looks back; drives cattle home from the field; keeps herds
and flocks within bounds, protects them from wild beasts; points out
to the sportsman the game; brings the birds that are shot to its
master; will turn a spit; at Brussels, and in Holland, draws little
carts to the herb-market; in more northern regions, draws sledges with
provisions, travellers, &c.; will find out what is dropped; watchful
by night, and when the charge of a house or garden is at such times
committed to him, his boldness increases, and he sometimes becomes
perfectly ferocious; when it has been guilty of a theft, slinks away
with its tail between its legs; eats voraciously, with oblique eyes;
enemy to beggars; attacks strangers without provocation; hates strange
dogs; howls at certain notes in music, and often urines on hearing
them; will snap at a stone thrown at it; is sick at the approach of
bad weather, (a remark vague and uncertain); is afflicted with worms;
spreads its madness; grows blind with age; _sæpe gonorrhæâ infectus_;
driven as unclean from the houses of the Mahometans; yet the same
people establish hospitals for, and allow them daily food.

The dog, says Buffon, like every other animal which produces above one
or two at a time, is not perfectly formed immediately after birth.
Dogs are always brought forth blind; the two eyelids are not simply
glued together, but shut up with a membrane, which is torn off, as
soon as the muscles of the upper eyelids acquire strength sufficient
to overcome this obstacle to vision, which generally happens the tenth
or twelfth day. At this period, the bones of the head are not
completed, the body and muzzle are bloated, and the whole figure is
ill defined; but in less than two months, they learn to use all their
senses; their growth is rapid, and they soon gain strength. In the
fourth month, they lose some of their teeth, which, as in other
animals, are soon replaced, and never again fall out: they have six
cutting and two canine teeth in each jaw, and fourteen grinders in the
upper, and twelve in the under, making in all forty-two teeth; but the
number of grinders sometimes varies in particular dogs.

The time of gestation is nine weeks, or sixty-three days; sometimes
sixty-two or sixty-one, but never less than sixty.

The bitch produces six, seven, and even so far as twelve puppies, and
generally has more at the subsequent litters than she has at the
first; but the observation of Buffon, that a female hound, covered by
a dog of her own kind, and carefully shut up from all others, has been
known to produce a mixed race, consisting of hounds and terriers, is
totally void of foundation. A curious circumstance, in the account of
the setter, will be mentioned, of an impression made upon the mind of
a bitch of that sort by the attention of a cur, which never had access
to her, and yet her whelps were always like him, and possibly this
hound bitch had a violent hankering after some terrier.

Dogs continue to propagate during life, which is commonly limited to
fourteen or fifteen years, yet some have been known to exceed twenty,
but that is rare. The duration of life in this, as in other animals,
bears proportion to the time of his growth, which in the dog is not
completed in less than two years, and he generally lives fourteen. His
age may be discovered by his teeth; when young, they are white, sharp,
and pointed; as he increases in years, they become black, blunt, and
unequal: it may likewise be known by the hair, which turns grey on the
muzzle, front, and round the eyes.

The manner in which the shepherds of the Pyrenees employ their
peculiar breed of dogs, which are large, long-haired, of a tawny white
colour, and a very strong build, with a ferocious temper, exhibits a
vivid instance of the trust they repose in the courage and fidelity of
these animals, and of the virtues by which they merit and reward it.
Attended by three or more dogs, the shepherds will take their numerous
flocks at early dawn to the part of the mountain side which is
destined for their pasture. Having counted them, they descend to
follow other occupations, and commit the guardianship of the sheep to
the sole watchfulness of the dogs. It has been frequently known, that
when wolves have approached, the three sentinels would walk round and
round the flock, gradually compressing them into so small a circle
that one dog might with ease overlook and protect them, and that this
measure of caution being executed, the remaining two would set forth
to engage the enemy, over whom, it is said, they invariably triumph.

The following interesting remarks are extracted from Chambers:--

The educability of the dog's perceptive faculties has been exemplified
in a remarkable manner by his acquired knowledge of musical sounds. On
some dogs fine music produces an apparently painful effect, causing
them gradually to become restless, to moan piteously, and, finally, to
fly from the spot with every sign of suffering and distress. Others
have been seen to sit and listen to music with seeming delight, and
even to go every Sunday to church, with the obvious purpose of
enjoying the solemn and powerful strains of the organ. Some dogs
manifest a keen sense of false notes in music. Mrs. Samuel Carter
Hall, at Old Brompton, possesses an Italian greyhound, which screams
in apparent agony when a jarring combination of notes is produced,
accidentally or intentionally, on the piano. These opposite and
various manifestations show what might be done by education to teach
dogs a critical knowledge of sounds. A gentleman of Darmstadt, in
Germany, as we learn, has taught a poodle dog to detect false notes in
music. We give the account of this remarkable instance of educability
as it appears in a French newspaper.

Mr. S----, having acquired a competency by commercial industry,
retired from business, and devoted himself, heart and soul, to the
cultivation and enjoyment of music. Every member of his little
household was by degrees involved more or less in the same occupation,
and even the housemaid could in time bear a part in a chorus, or
decipher a melody of Schubert. One individual alone in the family
seemed to resist this musical entrancement; this was a small spaniel,
the sole specimen of the canine race in the mansion. Mr. S---- felt
the impossibility of instilling the theory of sounds into the head of
Poodle, but he firmly resolved to make the animal bear _some_ part or
other in the general domestic concert; and by perseverance, and the
adoption of ingenious means, he attained his object. Every time that a
_false note_ escaped either from the instrument or voice--as often as
any blunder, of whatever kind, was committed by the members of the
musical family (and such blunders were sometimes committed
intentionally)--down came its master's cane on the back of the
unfortunate poodle, till she howled and growled again. Poodle
perceived the meaning of these unkind chastisements, and instead of
becoming sulky, showed every disposition to howl on the instant a
false note was uttered, without waiting for the formality of a blow.
By and by, a mere glance of Mr. S----'s eye was sufficient to make the
animal howl to admiration. In the end, Poodle became so thoroughly
acquainted with, and attentive to, false notes and other musical
barbarisms, that the slightest mistake of the kind was infallibly
signalised by a yell from her, forming the most expressive commentary
upon the misperformance.

When extended trials were made of the animal's acquirements, they were
never found to fail, and Poodle became, what she still is, the most
famous, impartial, and conscientious connoisseur in the Duchy of
Hesse. But, as may be imagined, her musical appreciation is entirely
negative; if you sing with expression, and play with ability, she will
remain cold and impassible. But let your execution exhibit the
slightest defect, and you will have her instantly showing her teeth,
whisking her tail, yelping, barking, and growling. At the present
time, there is not a concert or an opera at Darmstadt to which Mr.
S---- and his wonderful dog are not invited; or, at least, _the dog_.
The voice of the prima donna, the instruments of the band--whether
violin, clarionet, hautbois, or bugle--all of them must execute their
parts in perfect harmony, otherwise Poodle looks at its master, erects
its ears, shows its grinders, and howls outright. Old or new pieces,
known or unknown to the dog, produce on it the same effect.

It must not be supposed that the discrimination of the creature is
confined to the mere _execution_ of musical compositions. Whatever may
have been the case at the outset of its training, its present and
perfected intelligence extends even to the secrets of composition.
Thus, if a vicious modulation, or a false relation of parts, occur in
a piece of music, the animal shows symptoms of uneasy hesitation; and
if the error be continued, will infallibly give the grand condemnatory
howl. In short, Poodle is the terror of all the middling composers of
Darmstadt, and a perfect nightmare to the imagination of all poor
singers and players. Sometimes Mr. S---- and his friends take a
pleasure in annoying the canine critic, by emitting all sorts of
discordant sounds from instrument and voice. On such occasions the
creature loses all self-command, its eyes shoot forth fiery flashes,
and long and frightful howls respond to the immelodious concert of the
mischievous bipeds. But the latter must be careful not to go too far;
for when the dog's patience is tried to excess, it becomes altogether
wild, and flies fiercely at the tormentors and their instruments.

This dog's case is a very curious one, and the attendant phenomena not
very easy of explanation. From the animal's power of discerning the
correctness of musical composition, as well as of execution, one would
be inclined to imagine that Mr. S----, in training his dog, had only
called into play faculties existing (but latent) before, and that dogs
have in them the natural germs of a fine musical ear. This seems more
likely to be the case, than that the animal's perfect musical taste
was wholly an acquirement, resulting from the training. However this
may be, the Darmstadt dog is certainly a marvellous creature, and we
are surprised that, in these exhibiting times, its powers have not
been displayed on a wider stage. The operatic establishments of London
and Paris might be greatly the better, perhaps, for a visit from the
critical Poodle.

It is now settled, as a philosophical question, that the instruction
communicated to dogs, as well as various other animals, has an
hereditary effect on the progeny. If a dog be taught to perform
certain feats, the young of that dog will be much easier initiated in
the same feats than other dogs. Thus, the existing races of English
pointers are greatly more accomplished in their required duties than
the original race of Spanish pointers. Dogs of the St. Bernard variety
inherit the faculty of tracking footsteps in the snow. A gentleman of
our acquaintance, and of scientific acquirements, obtained some years
ago a pup, which had been produced in London by a female of the
celebrated St. Bernard breed. The young animal was brought to
Scotland, where it was never observed to give any particular tokens of
a power of tracking footsteps until winter, when the ground became
covered with snow. It _then_ showed the most active inclination to
follow footsteps; and so great was its power of doing so under these
circumstances, that, when its master had crossed a field in the most
curvilinear way, and caused other persons to cross his path in all
directions, it nevertheless followed his course with the greatest
precision. Here was a perfect revival of the habit of its Alpine
fathers, with a degree of specialty as to external conditions at
which, it seems to us, we cannot sufficiently wonder.

Such are some of the qualities of dogs in a state of domestication,
and let me hope that the anecdotes related of them will tend to insure
for them that love and gratitude to which their own fine disposition
and noble character give them a claim from us.

It is pleasing to observe that men of the highest acquirements and
most elevated minds have bestowed their sincere attachment upon their
favourite canine companions; for kindness to animals is, perhaps, as
strong an indication of the possession of generous sentiments as any
that can be adduced. The late Lord Grenville, a distinguished
statesman, an elegant scholar, and an amiable man, affords an
illustration of the opinion: It is thus that he eloquently makes his
favourite Zephyr speak:--

    "Captum oculis, senioque hebetem, morboque gravatum,
      Dulcis here, antiquo me quod amore foves,
    Suave habet et carum Zephyrus tuus, et leviore
      Se sentit mortis conditione premi.
    Interiêre quidem, tibi quæ placuisse solebant,
      Et formæ dotes, et facile ingenium:
    Deficiunt sensus, tremulæ scintillula vitæ
      Vix micat, in cinerem mox abitura brevem.
    Sola manet, vetuli tibi nec despecta ministri,
      Mens grata, ipsaque in morte memor domini.
    Hanc tu igitur, pro blanditiis mollique lepore,
      Et prompta ad nutus sedulitate tuos,
    Pro saltu cursuque levi, lusuque protervo,
      Hanc nostri extremum pignus amoris habe.
    Jamque vale! Elysii subeo loca læta, piorum
      Quæ dat Persephone manibus esse canum."

In the previous pages I have endeavoured to give my readers some idea
of the general character of the dog, and I will now proceed to
illustrate it more fully by anecdotes peculiar to different breeds.
These animals will then be found to deserve the encomiums bestowed
upon them by Buffon, "as possessing such an ardour of sentiment, with
fidelity and constancy in their affection, that neither ambition,
interest, nor desire of revenge, can corrupt them, and that they have
no fear but that of displeasing. They are, in fact, all zeal, ardour,
and obedience. More inclined to remember benefits than injuries; more
docile and tractable than any other animal, the dog is not only
instructed, but conforms himself to the manners, movements, and habits
of those who govern him. He is always eager to obey his master, and
will defend his property at the risk of his own life." Pope says, that
history is more full of examples of fidelity in the dog than in
friends; and Lord Byron characterises him as--

                        "in life the firmest friend,
    The first to welcome, foremost to defend;
    Whose honest heart is still his master's own;
    Who labours, fights, lives, breathes for him alone;"

and truly indeed may he be called

    "The rich man's guardian, and the poor man's friend."

[Illustration]




[Illustration: DEER-HOUNDS.]

    "His bulk and beauty speak no vulgar praise.

       *          *          *          *

    Oh had you seen him, vigorous, bold, and young,
    Swift as a stag, and as a lion strong;
    Him no fell savage in the plain withstood,
    None 'scap'd him, bosomed in the gloomy wood;
    His eye how piercing!"
                                              POPE.

THE IRISH AND HIGHLAND WOLF-DOG.


A certain degree of romance will always be attached to the history of
the Irish wolf-dog, but so contradictory are the accounts handed down
to us respecting it, that, with every disposition to do justice to
the character of this noble animal, the task is one of no small
difficulty.

This dog seems to have flourished, and to have become nearly extinct,
with the ancient kings of Ireland, and, with the harp and shamrock, is
regarded as one of the national emblems of that country. When princely
hospitality was to be found in the old palaces, castles, and baronial
halls of fair Erin, it is hardly possible to imagine anything more
aristocratic and imposing than the aspect of these dogs, while
attending the banquets of their masters. So great, indeed, was their
height, that it has been affirmed, that when their chieftain was
seated at table these dogs could rest their heads on his shoulders.
However this may have been, it is certain that the bold, majestic, and
commanding appearance of the animal, joined to the mild and softened
look with which he regarded those to whom he was attached, and whom he
was always ready to defend, must have rendered him worthy of the
enthusiasm with which the remembrance of him is still cherished by the
warm-hearted people of Ireland.

The following anecdote, which has been communicated to me by an
amiable Irish nobleman, will at all events serve to show the peculiar
instinct which the Irish wolf-dog was supposed to possess.

A gentleman of an ancient family, whose name it is unnecessary to
mention, from his having been engaged in the troubles which agitated
Ireland about fifty or sixty years since, went into a coffee-room at
Dublin during that period, accompanied by a noble wolf-dog, supposed
to be one of the last of the breed. There was only one other gentleman
in the coffee-room, who, on seeing the dog, went up to him, and began
to notice him. His owner, in considerable alarm, begged him to desist,
as the dog was fierce, and would never allow a stranger to touch him.
The gentleman resumed his seat, when the dog came to him, showed the
greatest pleasure at being noticed, and allowed himself to be fondled.
His owner could not disguise his astonishment. "You are the only
person," he said, "whom that dog would ever allow to touch him without
showing resentment. May I beg of you the favour to tell me your
name?"--mentioning his own at the same time. The stranger announced
it, (he was the last of his race, one of the most ancient and noble in
Ireland, and descended from one of its kings.) "I do not wonder," said
the owner of the dog, "at the homage this animal has paid to you. He
recognizes in you the descendant of one of our most ancient race of
gentlemen to whom this breed of dogs almost exclusively belonged, and
the peculiar instinct he possesses has now been shown in a manner
which cannot be mistaken by me, who am so well acquainted with the
ferocity this dog has hitherto shown to all strangers."

Few persons, Sir Walter Scott excepted, would perhaps be inclined to
give credit to this anecdote. So convinced was he of the extraordinary
instinct exhibited by dogs generally, that he has been heard to
declare that he would believe anything of a dog. The anecdote,
however, above related, was communicated to me with the strongest
assurance of its strict accuracy.

In a poem, written by Mrs. Catherine Philips, about the year 1660, the
character of the Irish wolf-hound is well portrayed, and proves the
estimation in which he was held at that period.

     "Behold this creature's form and state!
      Him Nature surely did create,
      That to the world might be exprest
      What mien there can be in a beast;
      More nobleness of form and mind
      Than in the lion we can find:
      Yea, this heroic beast doth seem
      In majesty to rival him.

      Yet he vouchsafes to man to show
      His service, and submission too--
      And here we a distinction have;
      That brute is fierce--the dog is brave.

      He hath himself so well subdued,
      That hunger cannot make him rude;
      And all his manners do confess
      That courage dwells with gentleness.

      War with the wolf he loves to wage,
      And never quits if he engage;
      But praise him much, and you may chance
      To put him out of countenance.
      And having done a deed so brave,
      He looks not sullen, yet looks grave.

      No fondling play-fellow is he;
      His master's guard he wills to be:
      Willing for him his blood be spent,
      His look is never insolent.
    Few men to do such noble deeds have learn'd,
    Nor having done, could look so unconcern'd."

This is one of the finest descriptions of a noble dog which I have yet
met with in English poetry. Courage and modesty are well portrayed,
and contrasted.

The following anecdotes relate to an animal which must have strongly
resembled the Irish wolf-dog:--

Plutarch mentions a certain Roman in the civil wars, whose head nobody
durst cut off for fear of the dog that guarded his body, and fought in
his defence. The same author relates that King Pyrrhus, in the course
of one of his journies, observed a dog watching over a dead body; and
hearing that he had been there three days without meat or drink,
ordered the body to be buried, and the dog taken care of and brought
to him. A few days afterwards there was a muster of the soldiers, so
that every man had to march in order before the king. The dog lay
quiet for some time; but when he saw the murderers of his late master
pass by, he flew upon them with extraordinary fury, barking, and
tearing their garments, and frequently turning about to the king;
which both excited the king's suspicion, and that of all who stood
about him. The men were in consequence apprehended, and though the
circumstances which appeared in evidence against them were very
slight, they confessed the crime, and were accordingly punished.

Montfaucon mentions a similar case of attachment and revenge which
occurred in France, in the reign of Charles V.[E] The anecdote has
been frequently related, and is as follows:--A gentleman named
Macaire, an officer of the king's body-guard, entertained, for some
reason, a bitter hatred against another gentleman, named Aubry de
Montdidier, his comrade in service. These two having met in the Forest
of Bondi, near Paris, Macaire took an opportunity of treacherously
murdering his brother-officer, and buried him in a ditch. Montdidier
was unaccompanied at the moment, excepting by a dog (probably a
wolf-hound), with which he had gone out, perhaps to hunt. It is not
known whether the dog was muzzled, or from what other cause it
permitted the deed to be accomplished without its interference. Be
this as it might, the hound lay down on the grave of its master, and
there remained till hunger compelled it to rise. It then went to the
kitchen of one of Aubry de Montdidier's dearest friends, where it was
welcomed warmly, and fed. As soon as its hunger was appeased the dog
disappeared. For several days this coming and going was repeated, till
at last the curiosity of those who saw its movements was excited, and
it was resolved to follow the animal, and see if anything could be
learned in explanation of Montdidier's sudden disappearance. The dog
was accordingly followed, and was seen to come to a pause on some
newly-turned-up earth, where it set up the most mournful wailings and
howlings. These cries were so touching, that passengers were
attracted; and finally digging into the ground at the spot, they found
there the body of Aubry de Montdidier. It was raised and conveyed to
Paris, where it was soon afterwards interred in one of the city
cemeteries.

The dog attached itself from this time forth to the friend, already
mentioned, of its late master. While attending on him, it chanced
several times to get a sight of Macaire, and on every occasion it
sprang upon him, and would have strangled him had it not been taken
off by force. This intensity of hate on the part of the animal
awakened a suspicion that Macaire had had some share in Montdidier's
murder, for his body showed him to have met a violent death. Charles
V., on being informed of the circumstances, wished to satisfy himself
of their truth. He caused Macaire and the dog to be brought before
him, and beheld the animal again spring upon the object of its hatred.
The king interrogated Macaire closely, but the latter would not admit
that he had been in any way connected with Montdidier's murder.

Being strongly impressed by a conviction that the conduct of the dog
was based on some guilty act of Macaire, the king ordered a combat to
take place between the officer and his dumb accuser, according to the
practice in those days between human plaintiffs and defendants. This
remarkable combat took place on the isle of Notre Dame at Paris, in
presence of the whole court. The king allowed Macaire to have a strong
club, as a defensive weapon; while, on the other hand, the only
self-preservative means allowed to the dog consisted of an empty cask,
into which it could retreat if hard pressed. The combatants appeared
in the lists. The dog seemed perfectly aware of its situation and
duty. For a short time it leapt actively round Macaire, and then, at
one spring, it fastened itself upon his throat, in so firm a manner
that he could not disentangle himself. He would have been strangled
had he not cried for mercy, and avowed his crime. The dog was pulled
from off him; but he was only liberated from its fangs to perish by
the hands of the law. The fidelity of this dog has been celebrated in
many a drama and poem, and there is a monument of him in basso relievo
still to be seen in the castle of Montargis. The dog which attracted
such celebrity has been usually called 'the dog of Montargis,' from
the combat having taken place at the château of that name.

The strength of these dogs must have been very great. A nobleman
informed me, that when he was a boy, and staying on a visit with the
Knight of Kerry, two Irish wolf-dogs made their escape from the place
in which they were confined, and pulled down and killed a horse, which
was in an adjoining paddock.

The following affecting anecdote of an Irish wolf-dog, called "the dog
of Aughrim," affords a proof of the extraordinary fidelity of these
animals to their masters, and puts to shame the vaunted superiority of
many human brutes.

At the hard-fought battle of Aughrim, or Vidconnel, an Irish officer
was accompanied by his wolf-hound. This gentleman was killed and
stripped in the battle, but the dog remained by his body both by day
and night. He fed upon some of the other bodies with the rest of the
dogs, yet he would not allow them or anything else to touch that of
his master. When all the other bodies were consumed, the other dogs
departed, but this used to go in the night to the adjacent villages
for food, and presently to return again to the place where his
master's bones were only then left. This he continued to do from July,
when the battle was fought, until the January following, when a
soldier being quartered near, and going that way by chance, the dog,
fearing he came to disturb his master's bones, flew upon the soldier,
who, being surprised at the suddenness of the thing, unslung his
carbine, he having been thrown on his back, and killed the noble
animal. He expired with the same fidelity to the remains of his
unfortunate master, as that master had shown devotion to the cause of
his unhappy country.

In the "Irish Penny Journal" there is an interesting account of the
Irish wolf-dog, from which the following anecdote is taken.

In the mountainous parts of the county Tyrone, the inhabitants
suffered much from the wolves, and gave from the public fund as much
for the head of one of these animals, as they would now give for the
capture of a notorious robber on the highway. There lived in those
days an adventurer, who, alone and unassisted, made it his occupation
to destroy these ravagers. The time for attacking them was in the
night, and midnight was fixed upon for doing so, as that was their
wonted time for leaving their lairs in search of food, when the
country was at rest and all was still; then, issuing forth, they fell
on their defenceless prey, and the carnage commenced. There was a
species of dog for the purpose of hunting them, called the wolf-dog;
the animal resembled a rough, stout, half-bred greyhound, but was much
stronger. In the county Tyrone there was then a large space of ground
enclosed by a high stone wall, having a gap at each of the two
opposite extremities, and in this were secured the flocks of the
surrounding farmers. But, secure as this fold was deemed, it was often
entered by the wolves, and its inmates slaughtered. The neighbouring
proprietors having heard of the noted wolf-hunter above mentioned, by
name Rory Carragh, sent for him, and offered the usual reward, with
some addition, if he would undertake to destroy the two remaining
wolves that had committed such devastation. Carragh, undertaking the
task, took with him two wolf-dogs, and a little boy twelve years of
age, the only person who would accompany him, and repaired at the
approach of midnight to the fold in question. "Now," said Carragh to
the boy, "as the two wolves usually enter the opposite extremities of
the sheep-fold at the same time, I must leave you and one of the dogs
to guard this one while I go the other. He steals with all the caution
of a cat, nor will you hear him, but the dog will, and will give him
the first fall. If, therefore, you are not active when he is down to
rivet his neck to the ground with this spear, he will rise up and kill
both you and the dog. So good night."

"I'll do what I can," said the little boy, as he took the spear from
the wolf-hunter's hand.

The boy immediately threw open the gate of the fold, and took his seat
in the inner part, close to the entrance, his faithful companion
crouching at his side, and seeming perfectly aware of the dangerous
business he was engaged in. The night was very dark and cold, and the
poor little boy, being benumbed with the chilly air, was beginning to
fall into a kind of sleep, when at that instant the dog, with a roar,
leaped across, and laid his mortal enemy upon the earth. The boy was
roused into double activity by the voice of his companion, and drove
the spear through the wolf's neck as he had been directed, at which
time Carragh appeared, bearing the head of the other.

This anecdote is taken from a biography of a Tyrone family, published
in Belfast in 1829.

It is now time to attempt a description of this celebrated dog, and
here our difficulties commence. Some writers have affirmed that it was
rough-coated, and had the appearance of a greyhound--

   "The greyhound! the great hound! the graceful of limb!
    Rough fellow! tall fellow! &c.;"

while others assert that it was of a mastiff-like appearance, and
smooth, strong, and tall. All we can do is to bring forward the
different evidence we have been able to collect, and then to let our
readers judge for themselves.

In an old print of Patrick Sarsfield, Earl of Lucan, there are two
wolf-dogs, which are represented as smooth, prick-eared, and with
somewhat bushy tails. Lord Lucan distinguished himself in several
engagements, and commanded the second troop of Irish Horse Guards, to
which he was appointed by James II., and received his death wound,
behaving most gallantly at the head of his countrymen, in 1693, when
the allies, under William III., were defeated by Marshal Luxembourg at
the battle of Landen. He was probably attended by his faithful
wolf-dogs on that occasion, when he uttered those sublime words which
no Irishman will ever forget--"Oh that this was for Ireland!" thus
showing his love and affection for his native country as he was
expiring in the arms of victory.

An old and amiable acquaintance, Mr. Aylmer Bourke Lambert, now, alas!
no more, communicated an account of the wolf-hound to the Linnean
Society, which may be found in the third volume of their
"Transactions." He had in his possession an old picture of one of
these dogs, which, at the sale of his effects, was purchased by the
Earl of Derby; the dog is represented as smooth-haired, with a
somewhat wide forehead, and having no appearance of the greyhound, but
more of that of the mastiff.

In February, 1841, Mr. Webber presented to the Royal Irish Academy an
ancient stone, on which was carved a rude bas-relief, supposed to be
the representation of a dog killing a wolf. Mr. Webber accompanied the
present with a communication, to the effect that the stone was taken
from the castle of Ardnaglass, in the barony of Tireragh, and county
of Sligo, and was said to commemorate the destruction of the last wolf
in Ireland. The current tradition in the place from whence it came
was, that some years after it was supposed that the race of wolves was
extinct, the flocks in the county of Leitrim were attacked by a wild
animal, which turned out to be a wolf; that thereupon the chieftains
of Leitrim applied to O'Dowd, the chieftain of Tireragh (who possessed
a celebrated dog of the breed of the ancient Irish wolf-dog), to come
and hunt the wolf. This application having been complied with by
O'Dowd, there ensued a chase, which forms the subject of an ancient
Irish legend, detailing the various districts through which it was
pursued, until at length the wolf was overtaken and killed in a small
wood of pine-trees, at the foot of one of the mountains of Tireragh.
The quarter of land on which the wolf was killed is to this day called
_Carrow na Madhoo_, which means "the dog's quarter." In commemoration
of the event, O'Dowd had a representation of it carved on stone, and
placed in the wall of his baronial residence. It is difficult to form
an opinion of the shape of a dog from so rude a representation, except
that it appears to have had a wide forehead and pricked ears.

A gentleman, who in his youth saw one of these dogs, informs me that
it was smooth, strong, and partaking somewhat of the character and
appearance of a powerful Danish dog. This agrees with the account
given of it by some writers, especially in "The Sportsman's Cabinet,"
a work more remarkable for the truth and fineness of its engravings,
than for the matter contained in it. Buffon also forms much the same
opinion. That great strength must be necessary to enable a dog to
compete with a wolf, cannot be doubted, and perhaps there is no breed
of the rough greyhound now known capable of competing with a wolf
single-handed. Her Majesty has now in her possession one of the finest
specimens of the Highland deer-hound. He has great strength and
height, is rough-coated, wide across the loins, and altogether a noble
animal. Powerful, however as he is, it may be questioned whether such
a dog would be a match for a wolf, which the Irish hounds undoubtedly
were. This circumstance alone would lead us to suppose, that we must
look to a different breed than that of greyhounds as the antagonists
of the wolf.

But it is time to turn to the other side of the question.

In a very agreeable, well-written article in the "Irish Penny Journal"
of May, 1841, the author brings forward strong evidence to prove that
the celebrated Irish wolf-dog resembled a greyhound in form. He will,
I hope, allow me to quote some of his arguments, which show
considerable research and historical information. He says:--

"Public opinion has long been divided respecting the precise
appearance and form of this majestic animal, and so many different
ideas have been conceived of him, that many persons have been induced
to come to the conclusion that no particular breed of dogs was ever
kept for wolf-hunting in Ireland, but that the appellation of
'wolf-dog' was bestowed upon any dog swift enough to overtake and
powerful enough to contend with and overcome that formidable animal.
While some hold this opinion, others suppose that though a particular
breed was used, it was a sort of heavy mastiff-like dog, now extinct.
It is the object of the present paper to show, that not only did
Ireland possess a peculiar race of dogs, exclusively devoted to
wolf-hunting, but that those dogs, instead of being of the mastiff
kind, resembled the greyhound in form; and instead of being extinct
are still to be met with, although they are very scarce. I myself was
once in a very gross error respecting this dog, for I conceived him
to have been a mastiff, and implicitly believed that the dogs of Lord
Altamont, described in the third volume of the Linnean 'Transactions'
by Mr. Lambert, were the sole surviving representatives of the Irish
wolf-dog. An able paper, read by Mr. Haffield about a year ago, before
the Dublin Natural History Society, served to stagger me in my belief,
and subsequent careful inquiry and research have completed my
conversion. I proceed to lay before my readers the result of that
inquiry, and I feel confident that no individual, after reading the
evidence which I shall adduce, will continue to harbour a doubt
respecting the true appearance and form of the ancient Irish wolf-dog.

"We are informed by several disjointed scraps of Celtic verse, that in
the times of old, when Fionn Mac Cumhaill, popularly styled Finn Mac
Cool, wielded the sceptre of power and justice, we possessed a
prodigious and courageous dog, used for hunting the deer and wild
boar, and also the wolf, which ravaged the folds and slaughtered the
herds of our ancestors. We learn from the same source that these dogs
were also frequently employed as auxiliaries in war, and that they
were 'mighty in combat, their breasts like plates of brass, and
greatly to be feared.' We might adduce the songs of Ossian, where the
epithets 'hairy-footed,' 'white-breasted,' and 'bounding,' are
singularly characteristic of some of the striking peculiarities of the
dog in question, and strangely coincide with the descriptions
furnished by other writers respecting him. Mac Pherson must, at all
events, have been at the pains of considerable research if he actually
forged the beautiful poems, which he put forth to the world under
Ossian's name. The word 'Bran,' the name given to Fingal's noble
hound, employed by others than Ossian, is Celtic, and signifies
'Mountain Torrent,' implying that impetuosity of course and headlong
courage which the dog possessed. I have said that many assert the
Irish wolf-dog to be no longer in existence. I have ventured a denial
of this, and refer to the wolf-dog or deer-dog of the Highlands of
Scotland, as his actual and faithful living representative. Perhaps I
am wrong in saying representative. I hold that the Irish wolf-dog and
the Highland deer-dog are one and the same, and I now proceed to cite
a few authorities in support of my position.

"The Venerable Bede, as well as the Scotch historian John Major,
informs us that Scotland was originally peopled from Ireland under the
conduct of Renda, and that one half of Scotland spoke the Irish
language as their mother-tongue. Many persons, also, are doubtless
aware that, even at this present time, the Gaelic and Erse are so much
alike, that a Connaught man finds no difficulty in comprehending and
conversing with a Highlander. Scotland also was called by the early
writers Scotia Minor, and Ireland, Scotia Major. The colonization,
therefore, of Scotland from Ireland admits of little doubt. As the
Irish wolf-dog was at that time in the enjoyment of his most extended
fame, it was not to be expected that the colonists would omit taking
with them such a fine description of dog, and which would prove so
useful to them in a newly established settlement, and that, too, at a
period when hunting was not merely an amusement, but one of their main
occupations, and also their main source of subsistence. The Irish
wolf-dog was thus carried into Scotland, and became the Highland or
Scottish wolf-dog, changing in process of time his name with his
country; and when wolves disappeared from the land, his occupation was
that of deer-hunting, and thus his present name.

"In Ireland the wolves were in existence longer than in Scotland, but
as soon as wolves ceased to exist in the former country, the dogs were
suffered to become extinct also, while in Scotland there was still
abundant employment for them after the days of wolf-hunting were
over--the deer still remained; and useful as they had been as
wolf-dogs, they proved themselves, if possible, still more so as
deer-hounds.

"That the Irish wolf-dog was a tall, rough greyhound, similar in every
respect to the Highland dog of the present day (of which an engraving
is given) cannot be doubted from the following authorities. Strabo
mentions a tall greyhound in use among the Pictish and Celtic nations,
which he states was held in high esteem by our ancestors, and was even
imported into Gaul for the purposes of the chase. Campion expressly
speaks of the Irish wolf-dog as a 'greyhound of great bone and limb.'
Silaus calls it also a greyhound, and asserts that it was imported
into Ireland by the Belgæ, and is the same with the renowned Belgic
dog of antiquity, and that it was, during the days of Roman grandeur,
brought to Rome for the combats of the Amphitheatre. Pliny relates a
combat in which the Irish wolf-dog took a part: he calls them 'Canes
Graii Hibernici,' and describes them as much taller than the mastiff.
Holinshed, in speaking of the Irish, says, 'They are not without
wolves, and greyhounds to hunt them.' Evelyn, speaking of the
bear-garden, says, 'The bull-dogs did exceeding well, but the Irish
wolf-dog exceeded; which was a tall greyhound, a stately creature, and
beat a cruel mastiff.'

"Llewellyn, prince of Wales, was presented by King John with a
specimen of this kind of dog. These animals were in those days
permitted to be kept only by princes and chiefs; and in the Welsh laws
of the ninth century we find heavy penalties laid down for the maiming
or injuring of the Irish greyhound, or, as it was styled in the code
alluded to, 'Canis Graius Hibernicus;' and a value was set on them,
equal to more than double that set on the ordinary greyhound.

"Moryson, secretary to Lord-deputy Mountjoy, says, 'The Irishmen and
greyhounds are of great stature.' Lombard remarks, that the finest
hunting dogs in Europe were produced in Ireland: 'Greyhounds useful to
take the stag, wild boar, or wolf.' Pennant describes these dogs as
scarce, and as being led to the chase in leather slips or thongs, and
calls them 'the Irish greyhound.' Bay mentions him as the greatest dog
he had ever seen. Buffon says, he saw an Irish greyhound, which
measured five feet in height when in a sitting posture, and says that
all other sorts of greyhounds are descended from him, and that in
Scotland it is called the Highland greyhound: that it is very large,
deep-chested, and covered with long rough hair.

"Scottish noblemen were not always content with such specimens of this
dog as their own country produced, but frequently sent for them to
Ireland, conceiving, doubtless, that they would be found better and
purer in their native land. The following is a copy of a letter
addressed by Deputy Falkland to the Earl of Cork, in 1623:--

    'My Lord,

    'I have lately received letters from my Lord Duke of Buccleuch and
    others of my noble friends, who have entreated me to send them
    some greyhound dogs and bitches, out of this kingdom, of the
    largest sort, which I perceive they intend to present unto divers
    princes and other noble persons; and if you can possibly, let them
    be white, which is the colour most in request here. Expecting your
    answer by the bearer, I commit you to the protection of the
    Almighty, and am your Lordship's attached friend,

                                                           'FALKLAND.'

"Smith, in his 'History of Waterford,' says, 'the Irish greyhound is
nearly extinct: it is much taller than a mastiff, but more like a
greyhound, and for size, strength, and shape, cannot be equalled.
Roderick, king of Connaught, was obliged to furnish hawks and
greyhounds to Henry II. Sir Thomas Rue obtained great favour from the
Great Mogul in 1615, for a brace of Irish greyhounds presented by him.
Henry VIII. presented the Marquis of Dessarages, a Spanish grandee,
with two goshawks and four Irish greyhounds.'

"Perhaps sufficient evidence has now been adduced to demonstrate the
identity of the Irish wolf-dog with the Highland deer-hound. I may,
however, in conclusion, give an extract from the excellent paper of
Mr. Haffield, already alluded to, as having been read before the
Dublin Natural History Society, and which was received by that
gentleman from Sir William Betham, Ulster King-at-Arms, an authority
of very high importance on any subject connected with Irish
antiquities. Sir William says,--'From the mention of the wolf-dogs in
the old Irish poems and stories, and also from what I have heard from
a very old person, long since dead, of his having seen them at 'The
Neale,' in the county of Mayo, the seat of Sir John Browne, ancestor
to Lord Kilmaine, I have no doubt they were a gigantic greyhound. My
departed friend described them as being very gentle, and says that Sir
John Browne allowed them to come into his dining-room, where they put
their heads over the shoulders of those who sat at table. They were
not smooth-skinned, like our greyhounds, but rough and curly-haired.
The Irish poets call the wolf-dog 'Cu,' and the common greyhound
'Gayer;' a marked distinction, the word 'Cu' signifying a champion.'

"The colour of these dogs varies, but the most esteemed are dark
iron-grey, with white breast. They are, however, to be found of a
yellowish or sandy hue, brindled, or even white. In former times, as
will be seen from Lord Falkland's letter quoted above, this latter
colour was by many preferred. It is described as a stately, majestic
animal, extremely good-tempered and quiet in his disposition, unless
when irritated or excited, when he becomes furious; and is, in
consequence of his tremendous strength, a truly formidable animal."

Goldsmith asserts that he had seen a dozen of these dogs, and informs
us "that the largest was about four feet high, or as tall as a calf of
a year old. They are generally of a white or cinnamon colour, and more
robust than the greyhound--their aspect mild, and their disposition
gentle and peaceable. It is said that their strength is so great, that
in combat the mastiff or bull-dog is far from equal to them. They
commonly seize their antagonists by the back and shake them to death.
These dogs were never serviceable for hunting, either the stag, the
fox, or the hare. Their chief utility was in hunting wolves, and to
this breed may be attributed the final extirpation of those ferocious
animals in England and Wales in early times in the woody districts."

Having thus given these different accounts of the Irish wolf-dog, I
may add that some persons are of opinion that there were two kinds of
them--one partaking of the shape and disposition of the mastiff, and
the other of the Highland deer-hound. It is not improbable that a
noble cross of dogs might have been made from these two sorts. At all
events I have fairly stated the whole of the information I have been
able to obtain respecting these dogs, and my readers must form their
own opinions. The following anecdote, recently communicated to me, is
given in the words of the writer:--

"Two whelps were made a present to my brother by Harvey Combe, of a
breed between the old Irish wolf-dog and the blood-hound. My brother
gave them to Robert Evatt, of Mount Louise, county Monaghan. One died
young, but the other grew to be a very noble animal indeed.
Unfortunately he took to chasing sheep, and became an incorrigible
destroyer of that inoffensive but valuable stock. Evatt found he could
not afford to keep such a marauder, and as he was going to Dublin he
took up the sheep-killer, in order to present him to the Zoological
Society as a fine specimen of the breed. His servant was holding him
at the door of the hotel when a gig drove up, and the gentleman
alighted. The dog sprung from the servant's hold, and jumping into the
gig with one bound, seized the mat at the bottom of the gig, which was
made of sheepskin, and with another bound made away with his woolly
prize, and was brought back with difficulty, after a long and
fatiguing pursuit."

This is one of the most desperate cases of sheep-hunting in dogs I
ever met with. It is said, that this propensity may be got rid of by
tying a cord covered with wool to the dog's lower jaw, so that the
wool may be kept in the mouth.

I should mention, that in a manuscript of Froissart in the British
Museum, which is highly illuminated, there is a representation of the
grand entrance of Queen Isabel of England into Paris, in the year
1324. She is attended by a noble greyhound, who has a flag, _powdered_
with fleurs-de-lys, bound to his neck.

Greyhounds were a favourite species of dog in the middle ages. In the
ancient pipe-rolls, payments are frequently made in greyhounds. In
Hawes' "Pastime of Pleasure," (written in the time of Henry VII.) Fame
is attended by two greyhounds, on whose golden collars, "Grace" and
"Governaunce" are inscribed in diamond letters.

In the pictures of Rubens, Snyders, and other old masters, some of the
powerful dogs there represented would appear to be a breed between the
greyhound and mastiff. Nothing can exceed the majestic and commanding
appearance of these dogs, and such a breed would be most likely to
produce the sort of animal most capable of contending with the wolf.

The Irish wolf-dogs were formerly placed as the supporters of the arms
of the ancient Monarchs of Ireland. They were collared _or_, with the
motto,

    "Gentle when stroked--fierce when provoked."

Mr. Scrope, in his agreeable book on deer-stalking in Scotland, has
communicated an account from Mr. Macneill, of Colonsay, of the
Highland deer-hound, in which are some interesting remarks relative to
the Irish wolf-dog, and from which I shall make a few extracts.

In making these extracts, it is impossible not to be struck with a
remark in the work referred to, that from modern writers we learn
nothing further respecting the Irish wolf-dog, than that such a race
of dogs at one time existed in Ireland, that they were of a gigantic
size, and that they are now extinct.

One great obstacle in the way of investigating the history of this dog
has arisen from the different appellations given to it, according to
the fancy of the natives in different parts of the country, such as
Irish wolf-dog, Irish greyhound, Highland deer-hound, and Scotch
greyhound, and this circumstance may have produced the confusion in
fixing its identity.

In the fourth century a number of dogs, of a great size, were sent in
iron cages from Ireland to Rome, and it is not improbable that the
dogs so sent were greyhounds, particularly as we learn from the
authority of Evelyn and others, that the Irish wolf-dog was used for
the fights of the bear-garden. "Greyhound" probably means a "great
hound."

Holinshed, in his "Description of Ireland and the Irish," written in
1586, has the following notice:--"They are not without wolves, and
greyhounds to hunt them, bigger of bone and limb than a colt;" and in
a frontispiece to Sir James Ware's "History of Ireland," an
allegorical representation is given of a passage from the Venerable
Bede, in which two dogs are introduced, bearing a strong resemblance
to that given by Gesner, in his "History of Quadrupeds," published in
1560.

The term _Irish_ is applied to Highland dogs, as everything Celtic
(not excepting the language) was designated in England; probably in
consequence of Ireland being, at that period, better known to the
English than Scotland. This is, perhaps, a proof of the similarity of
the Irish and Scotch deer-hounds.

Of the courage of the ancient deer-hound there can be little doubt,
from the nature of the game for which he was used. If any proof were
wanting, an incident mentioned by Evelyn in his Diary, in 1670, when
present at a bull-fight in the bear-garden, is conclusive. He says,
"The bulls (meaning the bull-dogs) did exceeding well, but the Irish
wolf-dog exceeded, which was a tall greyhound, a stately creature,
indeed, who beat a cruel mastiff."

Here, perhaps, is a proof that the Irish wolf-dog was a greyhound; and
there can be little doubt that it is the same dog we find mentioned
under the name of the Irish greyhound.

Buffon remarks that "the Irish greyhounds are of a very ancient race.
They were called by the ancients, dogs of Epirus, and Albanian dogs.
Pliny gives an account of a combat between one of these dogs, first
with a lion, and then with an elephant. In France they are so rare,
that I never saw above one of them, which appeared, when sitting, to
be about five feet high. He was totally white, and of a mild and
peaceable disposition."

The following description of these dogs, translated from a Celtic
poem, is probably an accurate one:--

   "An eye of sloe, with ear not low,
    With horse's breast, with depth of chest,
    With breadth of loin, and curve in groin
    And nape set far behind the head--
    Such were the dogs that Fingal bred."

It is probable that even in Scotland very few of the pure breed of
dogs are left, but those which are show a surprising combination of
speed, strength, size, endurance, courage, sagacity, docility, and it
may be added, dignity. The purest specimens of the deer-hound now to
be met with are supposed to be those belonging to Captain M'Neill of
Colonsay, two of them being called Buskar and Bran. And here let me
give an extract from an interesting and graphic account, published by
Mr. Scrope, of the performance of these dogs in the chase of a stag.
Let us fancy a party assembled over-night in a Highland glen,
consisting of sportsmen, deer-stalkers, a piper and two deer-hounds,
cooking their supper, and concluding it with the never-failing
accompaniment of whisky-toddy. Let us fancy them reposing on a couch
of dried fern and heather, and being awoke in the morning with the
lively air of "Hey, Johnny Cope." While their breakfast is preparing,
they wash and refresh themselves at a pure mountain stream, and are
soon ready to issue forth with Buskar and Bran. The party proceeds up
a rocky glen, where the stalker sees a stag about a mile off. He
immediately prostrates himself on the ground, and in a second the rest
follow his example. We will not follow all the different manoeuvres of
the deer-stalker and his followers, but bring them at once near the
unconscious stag. After performing a very considerable circuit, moving
sometimes forwards and sometimes backwards, the party at length arrive
at the back of a hillock, on the opposite side of which the stalker
said, in a whisper, the deer was lying, and that he was not distant a
hundred yards. The whole party immediately moved forward in silent and
breathless expectation, with the dogs in front straining in the slips.
On reaching the top of the hillock, a full view of the noble stag
presented itself, who, having heard the footsteps, had sprung on his
legs, and was staring at his enemies, at the distance of about sixty
yards.

"The dogs were slipped; a general halloo burst from us all, and the
stag, wheeling round, set off at full speed, with Buskar and Bran
straining after him.

"The brown figure of the deer, with his noble antlers laid back,
contrasted with the light colour of the dogs stretching along the dark
heath, presented one of the most exciting scenes that it is possible
to imagine.

"The deer's first attempt was to gain some rising ground to the left
of the spot where we stood, and rather behind us, but, being closely
pursued by the dogs, he soon found that his only safety was in speed;
and (as a deer does not run well up-hill, nor like a roe, straight
down hill) on the dogs approaching him, he turned, and almost retraced
his footsteps, taking, however, a steeper line of descent than the one
by which he ascended. Here the chase became most interesting--the dogs
pressed him hard, and the deer getting confused, found himself
suddenly on the brink of a small precipice of about fourteen feet in
height, from the bottom of which there sloped a rugged mass of stones.
He paused for a moment, as if afraid to take the leap, but the dogs
were so close that he had no alternative.

"At this time the party were not above one hundred and fifty yards
distant, and most anxiously waited the result, fearing, from the
ruggedness of the ground below, that the deer would not survive the
leap. They were, however, soon relieved from their anxiety, for though
he took the leap, he did so more cunningly than gallantly, dropping
himself in the most singular manner, so that his hind legs first
reached the broken rocks below; nor were the dogs long in following
him. Buskar sprang first, and, extraordinary to relate, did not lose
his legs. Bran followed, and, on reaching the ground, performed a
complete somerset. He soon, however, recovered his legs, and the chase
was continued in an oblique direction down the side of a most rugged
and rocky brae, the deer, apparently more fresh and nimble than ever,
jumping through the rocks like a goat, and the dogs well up, though
occasionally receiving the most fearful falls.

"From the high position in which we were placed, the chase was visible
for nearly half a mile. When some rising ground intercepted our view,
we made with all speed for a higher point, and, on reaching it, we
could perceive that the dogs, having got upon smooth ground, had
gained on the deer, who was still going at speed, and were close up
with him. Bran was then leading, and in a few seconds was at his
heels, and immediately seized his hock with such violence of grasp, as
seemed in a great measure to paralyse the limb, for the deer's speed
was immediately checked. Buskar was not far behind, for soon
afterwards passing Bran, he seized the deer by the neck.
Notwithstanding the weight of the two dogs which were hanging to him,
having the assistance of the slope of the ground, he continued
dragging them along at a most extraordinary rate (in defiance of their
utmost exertions to detain him), and succeeded more than once in
kicking Bran off. But he became at length exhausted--the dogs
succeeded in pulling him down; and though he made several attempts to
rise, he never completely regained his legs.

"On coming up, we found him perfectly dead, with the joints of both
his forelegs dislocated at the knee, his throat perforated, and his
chest and flanks much lacerated.

"As the ground was perfectly smooth for a considerable distance round
the place where he fell, and not in any degree swampy, it is difficult
to account for the dislocation of his knees, unless it happened during
his struggles to rise. Buskar was perfectly exhausted, and had lain
down, shaking from head to foot much like a broken-down horse; but on
our approaching the deer he rose, walked round him with a determined
growl, and would scarcely permit us to get near him. He had not,
however, received any cut or injury, while Bran showed several
bruises, nearly a square inch having been taken off the front of his
fore-leg, so that the bone was visible, and a piece of burnt heather
had passed quite through his foot.

"Nothing could exceed the determined courage displayed by both dogs,
particularly by Buskar, throughout the chase, and especially in
preserving his hold, though dragged by the deer in a most violent
manner."

It is hoped that this account of the high spirit and perseverance of
the Scotch deer-hound will not be found uninteresting. This noble
creature was the pride and companion of our ancestors, and for a long
period in the history of this country, particularly in Ireland, the
only dog used in the sports of the field. When we consider the great
courage, combined with the most perfect gentleness of this animal, his
gigantic, picturesque, and graceful form, it must be a subject of
regret that the breed is likely to become extinct. Where shall we find
dogs possessing such a combination of fine and noble qualities?

       *       *       *       *       *

The following anecdote, which with the accompanying fine engraving is
taken from the New Sporting Magazine for January 1839, presents a
striking example of the same kind:--

"The incident which the artist has made the subject for our
embellishment occurred with Lord Ossulston's stag-hounds, on Tuesday,
the 1st of May, when the stag, after a fast run of an hour, jumped
over a precipice, and broke his neck. The hounds were, at this time,
close to his haunches, and a couple and a half of the leading dogs
went over with the stag. Two of the hounds were so hurt that they
could not move, and the third was found by the greencoat first up,
lying on the dead deer."

       *       *       *       *       *

I am indebted to that clever and intelligent authoress, Mrs. S. Carter
Hall, for her recollections of an Irish wolf-dog and his master, which
I cannot do better than give in her own words:--

"When I was a child, I had a very close friendship with a genuine old
wolf-dog, Bruno by name. He was the property of an old friend of my
grandmother's, who claimed descent from the Irish kings. His name was
O'Toole. His manners were the most courtly you can imagine; as they
might well be, for he had spent much time and fortune at the French
court, when Marie Antoinette was in her prime and beauty. His visits
were my jubilees--there was the kind, dignified old gentleman, who
told me tales--there was his tall, gaunt dog, grey with age, and yet
with me full of play; and there were two rough terriers, whom Bruno
kept in admirable order. He managed the little one by simply placing
his paw upon it when it was too frisky; but Vixen, the large one, like
many ladies, had a will of her own, and entertained some idea of being
mistress. Bruno would bear a good deal from her, giving, however, now
and then, a low deep growl; but when provoked too much, he would
quietly lift the dog off the ground by the strength of his jaws (his
teeth were gone), stand with her in his mouth at the doors until they
were opened, and then deposit her, half strangled as she was, in a
nettle-bed some distance from the house. The dog's discrimination was
curious. If Vixen was thrown upon him, or if we forced her to insult
him, he never punished her; but if she of her own accord teazed him
more than his patience could bear, the punishment was certain to
follow.

"O'Toole and his dogs always occupied the same room, the terriers
being on the bed with their master. No entreaty, however, ever induced
Bruno to sleep on anything softer than stone. He would remove the
hearth-rug and lay on the marble. His master used to instance the
dog's disdain of luxury as a mark of his noble nature.

"I should not omit to tell you, as characteristic of my old friend,
that O'Toole was proud, and never would submit to be called 'Mr.'
Meeting, one day, Lord Arne in Dame Street, Dublin, while the old man
was followed by his three wolf-dogs, of which Bruno was the last, the
young nobleman, who had also his followers in the shape of 'Parliament
men,' said to the descendant of Irish kings, nodding to him familiarly
at the same time, 'How do you do, _Mr._ O'Toole?' The old man paused,
drew himself up, lifted his hat, made his courtly bow, and answered,
'O'Toole salutes Arne.' I can recall nothing more picturesque than
that majestic old gentleman and his dog, both remnants of a bygone
age. Bruno was rough, but not long-coated, very grave, observant,
enduring every one, very fond of children, playing with them gently,
but only crouching and fawning on his master; 'and that,' O'Toole
would say, 'is a proof of my royal blood.' I could fill a volume with
memoirs of that fine old man. He was more than six feet in height, and
his dog always sat with his head on his master's knee."

This is altogether a pretty and interesting picture.

The sagacity of this fine breed is well illustrated in what follows:--

A gentleman walking along the road on Kingston Hill, accompanied by a
friend and a noble deer-hound, which was also a retriever, threw his
glove into a ditch; and having walked on for a mile, sent his dog back
for it. After waiting a considerable time, and the dog not returning,
they retraced their steps. Hearing loud cries in the distance, they
hastened on, and at last saw the dog dragging a boy by his coat
towards them. On questioning the boy, it appeared that he had picked
up the glove and put it into his pocket. The sagacious animal had no
other means of conveying it to his master than by compelling the boy
to accompany him.

       *       *       *       *       *

The following anecdotes are from Capt. Thomas Brown's now scarce work,
"Biographical Sketches and Anecdotes of Dogs." He says:--

"Sir Walter Scott has most obligingly furnished me with the following
anecdotes of his celebrated dog Maida:--

"I was once riding over a field on which the reapers were at work, the
stooks being placed behind them, as is usual. Maida having found a
hare, began to chase her, to the great amusement of the spectators, as
the hare turned very often and very swiftly among the stooks. At
length, being hard pressed, she fairly bolted into one of them. Maida
went in headlong after her, and the stook began to be much agitated in
various directions. At length the sheaves tumbled down; and the hare
and the dog, terrified alike at their overthrow, ran different ways,
to the great amusement of the spectators."

"Among several peculiarities which Maida possessed, one was a strong
aversion to a certain class of artists, arising from the frequent
restraints he was subjected to in having his portrait taken, on
account of his majestic appearance. The instant he saw a pencil and
paper produced he prepared to beat a retreat; and, if forced to
remain, he exhibited the strongest marks of displeasure."

       *       *       *       *       *

Ranaldson Macdonell, Esq. of Glengarry, has most kindly furnished the
following interesting notices and anecdotes of the Scottish Highland
greyhound:--

"Not many years since one of Glengarry's tenants, who had some
business with his chief, happened to arrive at Glengarry House at
rather an early hour in the morning. A deer-hound perceiving this
person sauntering about before the domestics were astir, walked
quietly up to him, took him gently by the wrist with his teeth, and
proceeded to lead him off the ground. The man, finding him forbearing,
attempted resistance; but the dog, instantly seizing his wrist with
redoubled pressure, soon convinced him that his attempt was in vain.
Thus admonished, the man took the hint, and quietly yielded to his
canine conductor, who, without farther injury, led him to the outside
of the gate, and then left him. The whole of the dogs at Glengarry
House were allowed to go at liberty at all times.

"The Highland greyhounds, or deer-hounds as they are called in the
Highlands, have a great antipathy to the sheep-dogs, and never fail to
attack them whenever an opportunity offers. A shepherd, whose colley
had frequently been attacked by the deer-dogs of Glengarry singly, and
always succeeded in beating them off on such occasions, was one day
assailed by them in a body; and his life would have been in
considerable danger, but for one of the keepers, who happened to pass
at the time, and called them off.

"The following circumstance will prove the exquisite sense of smell
possessed by the deer-hound. One of this breed, named Bran, when held
in the leash, followed the track of a wounded stag, and that in most
unfavourable rainy weather, for three successive days, at the end of
which time the game was shot. He was wounded first within nine miles
of Invergarry House, and was traced that night to the estate of
Glenmoriston. At dusk in the evening the deer-stalkers placed a stone
on each side of the last fresh print of his hoof, and another over it;
and this they did each night following. On the succeeding morning they
removed the upper stone, when the dog recovered the scent, and the
deer was that day traced over a great part of Glenmoriston's ground.
On the third day he was retraced to the lands of Glengarry, and there
shot.

"My present dog, Comhstri, to great courage unites the quality of a
gentle disposition, with much fidelity and attachment. Though not so
large as some of his kindred, he is nevertheless as high-spirited and
determined as any of his race, which the following circumstance will
testify: 'About three years ago, a deer from the wood of Derrygarbh,
whose previous hurts had been healed, came out of Glengarry's pass,
who wounded it severely in the body with a rifle bullet. The
deer-hounds were immediately laid on the blood-track. The stag was
started in the course of a few minutes; the dogs were instantly
slipped, and the fine animal ran to bay in a deep pool of water, below
a cascade, on the Garyquulach burn. Comhstri immediately plunged in,
and seized the stag by the throat; both went under water, surrounded
with the white foam, slightly tinged with the deer's blood. The dog
soon came to the surface to recover his breath; and before the other
could do so, Comhstri dived, and again seized him by the throat. The
stag was soon after taken out of the pool dead.

"Comhstri's colour is grey, with a white chest; but we have had them
of different colours at Glengarry, such as pure white, black,
brindled, and sand-colour.

"When the Highlanders dream of a _black_ dog, it is interpreted to
mean one of the clan of Macdonell; but if of a deer-hound, it denotes
a chief, or one of the principal persons of that clan."

       *       *       *       *       *

That the Scottish dogs were much prized in England from the earliest
times, the following interesting account, taken from Holinshed's
Chronicles, 'Historie of Scotland,' p. 71, printed in 1586, will show.
"And shortlie after the return of these ambassadors into their
countrie, divers young gentlemen of the Pictish nobilitie repaired
unto King Crathlint, to hunt and make merie with him; but when they
should depart homewards, perceiving that the Scotish dogs did farre
excell theirs, both in fairnesse, swiftnesse, hardinesse, and also in
long standing up and holding out, they got diverse both dogs and
bitches of the best kinds for breed to be given them by the Scotish
Lords; and yet not so contented, they stole one belonging to the king
from his keeper, being more esteemed of him than all the others which
he had about him. The master of the leash being informed hereof,
pursued after them which had stollen that dog, thinking indeed to
have taken him from them; but they not willing to part with him, fell
at altercation, and in the end chanced to strike the maister of the
leash through with their horsespeares that he died presentlie:
whereupon noise and crie being raised in the countrie by his servants,
diverse of the Scots, as they were going home from hunting, returned,
and, falling upon the Picts to revenge the death of their fellow,
there ensued a shrewd bickering betwixt them, so that of the Scots
there died three score gentlemen, besides a great number of the
commons, not one of them understanding (till all was done) what the
matter meant. Of the Picts there were about an hundred slaine. This
circumstance led to a bloody war betwixt the two nations."

       *       *       *       *       *

The following interesting anecdote, related by Mr. Carr in his
"Stranger in Ireland," there can be no doubt, I think, refers to the
Irish wolf-dog. Mr. Carr says, that while on his journey to Ireland he
"wandered to a little church, which owed its elevation to the
following circumstance. Llewelyn the Great, who resided near the base
of Snowdon, had a beautiful dog named Gelert, which had been presented
to him by King John in 1205. One day, in consequence of the faithful
animal, which at night always 'sentinelled his master's bed,' not
making his appearance in the chase, Llewelyn returned home very angry,
and met the dog, covered with blood, at the door of the chamber of
his child. Upon entering it, he found the bed overturned, and the
coverlet stained with gore. He called to his boy; but receiving no
answer, he rashly concluded that he had been killed by Gelert, and in
his anguish instantly thrust his sword through the poor animal's body.
The Hon. Robert Spencer has beautifully told the remainder of the
story.

   'His suppliant looks, as prone he fell,
      No pity could impart;
    But still his Gelert's dying yell
      Passed heavy on his heart.

    Arous'd by Gelert's dying yell,
      Some slumb'rer waken'd nigh:
    What words the parent's joy could tell,
      To hear his infant's cry?

    Nor scathe had he, nor harm, nor dread:
      But the same couch beneath,
    Lay a gaunt wolf all torn and dead,
      Tremendous still in death.

    Ah! what was then Llewelyn's pain?
      For now the truth was clear:--
    His gallant hound the wolf had slain,
      To save Llewelyn's heir.'[F]

In order to mitigate his offence, Llewelyn built this chapel, and
raised a tomb to poor Gelert; and the spot to this day is called
_Beth-Gelert_, or the Grave of Gelert."

I should not omit to mention, that in Mr. Windle's account of Cork,
Kerry, &c., there is the following notice of the wolf and Irish
wolf-dog.

"The last wolf seen in Ireland was killed in the neighbourhood of
Annascuit, near Dingle, in 1710. The place is still known by the name
of the Wolf's Step. The Irish called the wolf-dog _Sagh cliun_; and
old Campion, speaking of the Irish, says, They are not without wolves,
and greyhounds to hunt them bigger of bone and limne than a colt."

This noble animal is also described as "similar in shape to a
greyhound, larger than a mastiff, and tractable as a spaniel."

The following fact will serve to prove that the deer-hound is
possessed of a fine sense of smelling, a circumstance which has been
doubted by many persons.

The head keeper of Richmond Park is possessed of a famous old
deer-hound bitch, remarkable for her sagacity, and for having taken
five bucks in one day. After a battue in the Park in the winter of
1845, he directed one of the under-keepers to examine the ground
carefully, which had been shot over the day before. He was accompanied
by the old dog, who was to act as retriever. She came to a point in
one of the covers, as was her custom when she seemed to find a rabbit;
but the keeper, finding that it was a hare, called her off. After
going some distance, the dog went back and pointed the hare a second
time. The keeper put her up, and then found that she had been wounded,
having had her hind leg broken. Here the fine sense of smelling was
the more remarkable, as this old dog will not look at a hare, nor
indeed can she be induced to run after one.

One of her progeny ran a wounded buck into the large pond in the Park,
swam after it, killed it in the water, and then seizing it by the
foot, swam with it to the shore.

Having now given my reader all the information I can gather on this
dog of bygone times, I will gratify him with a letter I have received
from a lady whose name is dear to Ireland, and highly placed in the
ranks of English Literature:--

    "Dear Sir,

    "I am much flattered by your compliment to my national erudition,
    a very scanty stock in my best of times, and now nearly used up,
    in 'furnishing forth' the pages of many an idle tale, worked out
    in the 'Irish Interest,' as the mouse nibbled at the lion's
    net,--the same presumption, if not with the same results! However,
    I will rub up my old '_Shannos_,' as Elizabeth said of her Latin,
    and endeavour to recollect the little I have ever known on the
    subject of the Irish wolf-dog.

    "Natural history is too much a matter of fact to have ever
    interested the poetic temperament of the Irish; Schools of Poetry,
    Heraldry, and Music, were opened (says the Irish historians),
    'time immemorial.' St. Patrick found the Academies of Lismore
    and Armagh in a flourishing condition, when he arrived on his
    great mission; and the more modern College of Clonard (founded in
    the fifth century by Bishop Finnan), had a great reputation for
    its learning and learned professors. But it does not appear that
    there was any Chair of Natural History or Philosophy in these
    scholastic Seminaries. Their Transactions recorded the miracles of
    saints rather than the miracles of nature. And had some daring
    Cuvier, or enterprising Lyell or Murchison, opened those spacious
    cabinets, once

                 'In the deep bosom of the ocean buried,'

    or entombed in mountain layers for unnumbered ages, the Druid
    priests would probably have immolated the daring naturalist under
    his highest oak. Is it quite sure that the Prior of Armagh, or the
    founder of the Royal Academy of Clonard, the good Saint Finnan
    himself, would have served them much better? Certain, however, it
    is, that the Druids, Bards, Filiahs, Senachies and Saints of
    Ireland, who left such mighty reputations behind them for
    learning, have not dropped one word on the subject of the natural
    history of their 'Isle of Song;' and though they may have dabbled
    a little in that prosaic pursuit, they probably soon discovered
    its perilous tendency, and sang with the last and most charming of
    Irish Bards,--

                          'No, Science, to you
              We have long bade a last and careless adieu.'

    "Nearly two thousand years after the foundation of the most
    learned Academies of Ireland, a pretty little Zoological Garden
    was opened in the capital of the country; but no living type of
    the Irish wolf-dog is to be found there, nor were any 'fossil
    remains' of the noble animal discovered in the Wicklow Mines,[G]
    which were worked some fifty years back, but which, for want of
    capital or perseverance, only furnished a few Cronobane halfpence,
    and materials for a musical farce to one of the most delightful
    farcical Irish writers of his time;[H] for in Ireland,

                       'Tout finis par un chanson,'

    (as Figaro had it of the France of his age,) when worse results do
    not follow disappointment.

    "The Irish wolf-dog, therefore, it may be asserted, belongs to the
    poetical traditions of Ireland, or to its remote Milesian
    histories. 'Gomer, the eldest son of Japhet, and others, the
    immediate posterity of Noah, after the dispersion of mankind at
    Babel, ventured (it is said), to 'commit themselves by ships upon
    the sea,' to search out the unknown corners of the world, and thus
    found out a western land called Ireland.'--(Dr. Warner.)

    "It is probable they were the first to disturb its tranquillity by
    the introduction of wolves, a fragment of the menagerie of the
    Ark; for all noxious and destructive animals and reptiles were
    brought into Ireland by her invaders. The soil and clime of the
    'woody Morven,' however, though not genial to their
    naturalisation, was long a prey to one of the most ferocious
    animals imported by foreign aggression to increase and multiply.
    Ireland swarmed with wolves, and its colonists and aborigines
    would in time have alike shared the fate of 'little Red Riding
    Hood;' when, lo! up started the noble _Canis familiaris
    Hibernicus_, which, greatly improved by a cross with the wolf
    itself, was found everywhere in fierce antagonism with foreign
    ferocity; and for his eminent services was not only speedily
    adopted by patriot kings and heroes, as part of their courtly and
    warlike parade, but sung by bards and immortalised by poets, as
    worthy of such illustrious companionship. It is thus Bran, the
    famous and beloved hound of Fingal, has become as immortal as his
    master; and a track is still shown on a mountain in Tyrone, near
    New Town Stuart, called 'The Track of the Foot of Bran, the Hound
    of Fionne Mac Cumhall.' So much for poetry and tradition. Modern
    naturalists, however, in their animal biography and prosaic view
    of things, have assigned the introduction of the wolf-dog in
    Ireland to the Danes, who brought it over in their first invasion;
    and its resemblance to '_Le gros Danois_' of Buffon favours the
    supposition. 'When Ireland swarmed with wolves,' says Pennant,
    'these dogs were confined to the chase; but as soon as these
    animals were extirpated, the number of the dogs decreased, and
    from that period were kept chiefly for state.' Goldsmith mentions
    having only seen in his time in Ireland one Irish wolf-hound that
    was four feet high. And though the father of the late Marquis of
    Sligo endeavoured to preserve the breed, his kennels in latter
    years exhibited but a scanty specimen. These majestic and
    beautiful animals are now, I believe, quite extinct in Ireland,
    where their scarcity is accounted for by Mr. Pennant as 'the
    consequence of the late King of Poland having procured from thence
    by his agents as many as could be purchased.' The last notice
    taken of the Irish wolf-dog in fictitious narrative may, I
    believe, be found in one of my own national novels, 'O'Donnel,'
    where the hero and his hound are first introduced to the reader
    together. I borrowed the picture, as I gave it, from living
    originals, which in my earliest youth struck forcibly on my
    imagination, in the person of the celebrated Archibald Hamilton
    Rowan, accompanied by his Irish hound Bran!

    "This is all I know or can recollect of my noble and beautiful
    compatriot; but I remember that when some writer in 'Fraser's
    Magazine' styled me 'that Irish she wolf-dog,' I felt complimented
    by the epithet, since to attack the enemies of Ireland, and to
    worry when they could not destroy them, was the peculiar
    attribute of the species.

                 "I have the honour to be, dear Sir,

                         "Most truly yours,

                                     "SYDNEY MORGAN."

    "_William Street, Albert Gate._"


[Illustration]




[Illustration: NEWFOUNDLAND DOG.]

THE NEWFOUNDLAND DOG.

    "Nor will it less delight th' attentive sage,
    T' observe that instinct which unerring guides
    The brutal race, which mimics reason's lore,
    And oft transcends.

       *          *          *          *

    The dog, whom nothing can mislead,
    Must be a dog of parts indeed.
    Is often wiser than his master."
                                      SOMMERVILLE.


This noble dog may be justly styled the friend and guardian of his
master. I had some doubts in making out my list of dogs, whether he
ought not to take precedence of all others; but, after duly weighing
the matter in my own mind, I have given the palm to the Irish
wolf-hound, and the honest Newfoundland immediately follows him. I not
only think that this precedence will gratify some of my friends in
Ireland, who have called upon me to do justice to one of their
favourite and national emblems, but it is, perhaps, due in strict
justice to an animal who proved himself so great a benefactor to his
native country. There is, moreover, such a degree of romance attached
to the recollection of his fine qualities and imposing appearance,
that I should be sorry to lessen them by appearing to give the
preference to any other dog. At the same time I may be allowed to add,
that I have seen such courage, perseverance, and fidelity in the
Newfoundland dog, and am acquainted with so many well-authenticated
facts of his more than ordinary sense and utility, that I think him
entitled to be considered as little inferior to the Irish wolf-dog.

When we reflect on the docility of the Newfoundland dog, his
affectionate disposition, his aptitude in receiving instruction, and
his instantaneous sense of impending danger, we shall no longer wonder
at his being called the friend of his master, whom he is at all times
ready to defend at the risk of his own life. How noble is his
appearance, and at the same time how serene is his countenance!

   "Sa fierté, sa beauté, sa jeunesse agréable
    Le fit cherir de vous, et il est redoutable
    A vos fiers ennemis par sa courage."

No animal, perhaps, can show more real courage than this dog. His
perseverance in what he undertakes is so great, that he never
relinquishes an attempt which has been enjoined him as long as there
is a chance of success. I allude more particularly to storms at sea
and consequent shipwreck, when his services, his courage, and
indefatigable exertions, have been truly wonderful. Numerous persons
have been saved from a watery grave by these dogs, and ropes have been
conveyed by them from a sinking ship to the shore amidst foaming
billows, by which means whole crews have been saved from destruction.
Their feet are particularly well adapted to enable them to swim, being
webbed very much like those of a duck, and they are at all times ready
to plunge into the water to save a human being from drowning. Some
dogs delight in following a fox, others in hunting the hare, or
killing vermin. The delight of the Newfoundland dog appears to be in
the preservation of the lives of the human race. A story is related on
good authority of one of these dogs being in the habit, when he saw
persons swimming in the Seine at Paris, of seizing them and bringing
them to the shore. In the immediate neighbourhood of Windsor a servant
was saved from drowning by a Newfoundland dog, who seized him by the
collar of his coat when he was almost exhausted, and brought him to
the banks, where some of the family were assembled watching with great
anxiety the exertions of the noble animal.

Those who were much at Windsor, not many years since, must have seen a
fine Newfoundland dog, called Baby, reposing occasionally in front of
the White Hart Hotel. Baby was a general favourite, and he deserved to
be so; for he was mild in his disposition, brave as a lion, and very
sensible. When he was thirsty, and could not procure water at the pump
in the yard, he has frequently been seen to go to the stable, fetch an
empty bucket, and stand with it in his mouth at the pump till some one
came for water. He then, by wagging his tail and expressive looks,
made his want known, and had his bucket filled. Exposed as Baby was to
the attacks of all sorts of curs, as he slumbered in the sun in front
of the hotel, he seemed to think that a pat with his powerful paw was
quite sufficient punishment for them, but he never tamely submitted to
insult from a dog approaching his own size, and his courage was only
equalled by his gentleness.

The following anecdote, which is well authenticated, shows the
sagacity as well as the kindliness of disposition of these dogs. In
the city of Worcester, one of the principal streets leads by a gentle
declivity to the river Severn. One day a child, in crossing the
street, fell down in the middle of it, and a horse and cart, which
were descending the hill, would have passed over it, had not a
Newfoundland dog rushed to the rescue of the child, caught it up in
his mouth, and conveyed it in safety to the foot pavement.

My kind friend, Mr. T----, took a Newfoundland dog and a small spaniel
into a boat with him on the river Thames, and when he got into the
middle of the river, he turned them into the water. They swam
different ways, but the spaniel got into the current, and after
struggling some time was in danger of being drowned. As soon as the
Newfoundland dog perceived the predicament of his companion, he swam
to his assistance, and brought him safe to the shore.

A vessel went down in a gale of wind near Liverpool, and every one on
board perishes. A Newfoundland dog was seen swimming about the place
where the vessel was lost for some time, and at last came on shore
very much exhausted. For three days he swam off to the same spot, and
was evidently trying to find his lost master, so strong was his
affection.

       *       *       *       *       *

I have always been pleased with that charming remark of Sir Edwin
Landseer, that the Newfoundland dog was a "distinguished Member of the
Humane Society." How delightfully has that distinguished artist
portrayed the character of dogs in his pictures! and what justice has
he done to their noble qualities! We see in them honesty, fidelity,
courage, and sense--no exaggeration--no flattery. He makes us feel
that his dogs will love us without selfishness, and defend us at the
risk of their own lives--that though friends may forsake us, they
never will--and that in misfortune, poverty, and death, their
affection will be unchanged, and their gratitude unceasing. But to
return to the Newfoundland dog, and we shall again find him acting his
part as a Member of the Humane Society.

A gentleman bathing in the sea at Portsmouth, was in the greatest
danger of being drowned. Assistance was loudly called for, but no boat
was ready, and though many persons were looking on, no one could be
found to go to his help. In this predicament, a Newfoundland dog
rushed into the sea and conveyed the gentleman in safety to land. He
afterwards purchased the dog for a large sum, treated him as long as
he lived with gratitude and kindness, and had the following words
worked on his table-cloths and napkins--"_Virum extuli mari_."

A person, in crossing a plank at a mill, fell into the stream at
night, and was saved by his Newfoundland dog, and who afterwards
recovered his hat, which had fallen from his head, and was floating
down the stream.

There can be no doubt but that dogs calculate, and almost reason. A
dog who had been in the habit of stealing from a kitchen, which had
two doors opening into it, would never do so if one of them was shut,
as he was afraid of being caught. If both the doors were open, his
chance of escape was greater, and he therefore seized what he could.
This sort of calculation, if I may call it is so, was shown by a
Newfoundland bitch. She had suckled two whelps until they were able to
take care of themselves. They were, however, constantly following and
disturbing her in order to be suckled, when she had little or no milk
to give them. She was confined in a shed, which was separated from
another by a wooden partition some feet high. Into this shed she
conveyed her puppies, and left them there while she returned to the
other to enjoy a night's rest unmolested. This shows that the animal
was capable of reflecting to a degree beyond what would have been the
result of mere instinct.

The late Rev. James Simpson, of the Potterrow congregation, Edinburgh,
had a large dog of the Newfoundland breed. At that time he lived at
Libberton, a distance of two miles from Edinburgh, in a house to which
was attached a garden. One Sacrament Sunday the servant, who was left
at home in charge of the house, thought it a good opportunity to
entertain her friends, as her master and mistress were not likely to
return home till after the evening's service, about nine o'clock.
During the day the dog accompanied them through the garden, and indeed
wherever they went, in the most attentive manner, and seemed well
pleased. In the evening, when the time arrived that the party meant to
separate, they proceeded to do so; but the dog, the instant they went
to the door, interposed, and placing himself before it, would not
allow one of them to touch the handle. On their persisting and
attempting to use force he became furious, and in a menacing manner
drove them back into the kitchen, where he kept them until the arrival
of Mr. and Mrs. Simpson, who were surprised to find the party at so
late an hour, and more so to see the dog standing sentinel over them.
Being thus detected, the servant acknowledged the whole circumstance,
when her friends were allowed to depart, after being admonished by the
worthy divine in regard to the proper use of the Sabbath. They could
not but consider the dog as an instrument in the hand of Providence to
point out the impropriety of spending this holy day in feasting rather
than in the duties of religion.

After the above circumstance, it became necessary for Mr. Simpson, on
account of his children's education, to leave his country residence,
when he took a house in Edinburgh in a common stair. Speaking of this,
one day, to a friend who had visited him, he concluded that he would
be obliged to part with his dog, as he was too large an animal to be
kept in such a house. The animal was present, and heard him say so,
and must have understood what he meant, as he disappeared that
evening, and was never afterwards heard of. These circumstances have
been related to me by an elder of Mr. Simpson's congregation, who had
them from himself.

       *       *       *       *       *

I am indebted to the late amiable Lord Stowell for the following
anecdote, which has since been verified by Mr. Henry Wix, brother of
the archdeacon:--

A Newfoundland dog belonging to Archdeacon Wix, which had never
quitted the island, was brought over to London by him in January
1834, and when he and his family landed at Blackwall the dog was left
on board the vessel. A few days afterwards the Archdeacon went from
the Borough side of the Thames in a boat to the vessel, which was then
in St. Katherine's Docks, to see about his luggage, but did not intend
at that time to take the dog from the ship; however, on his leaving
the vessel the dog succeeded in extricating himself from his
confinement, jumped overboard, and swam after the boat across the
Thames, followed his master into a counting-house on Gun-shot Wharf,
Tooley Street, and then over London Bridge and through the City to St.
Bartholomew's Hospital. The dog was shut within the square whilst the
Archdeacon went into his father's house, and he then followed him on
his way to Russell Square, but strayed somewhere in Holborn; and as
several gentlemen had stopped to admire him in the street, saying he
was worth a great deal of money, the Archdeacon concluded that some
dog-stealer had enticed him away. He however wrote to the captain of
the vessel to mention his loss, and made inquiries on the following
morning at St. Bartholomew's Hospital, when he learnt that the dog had
come to the gates late in the evening, and howled most piteously for
admission, but was driven away. Two days afterwards the captain of the
vessel waited on the Archdeacon with the dog, who had not only found
his way back to the water's edge, on the Borough side, but, what is
more surprising, swam across the Thames, where no scent could have
directed him, and found out the vessel in St. Katherine's Docks.

This sagacious and affectionate creature had, previous to his leaving
Newfoundland, saved his master's life by directing his way home when
lost in a snow-storm many miles from any shelter.

The dog was presented to the Archdeacon's uncle, Thomas Poynder, Esq.,
Clapham Common, in whose possession it continued until its death.

       *       *       *       *       *

Every particular has been faithfully given of this extraordinary
occurrence. Here we see a dog brought for the first time from
Newfoundland, and who can scarcely be said to have put his feet on
ground in England, not only finding his way through a crowded city to
the banks of the river, but also finding the ship he wanted in that
river, and in which he evidently thought he should discover his lost
master. It is an instance of sense of so peculiar a kind that it is
difficult to define it, or the faculty which enables animals to find
their way to a place over ground which they had not previously
traversed.

       *       *       *       *       *

A gentleman of Suffolk, on an excursion with his friend, was attended
by a Newfoundland dog, which soon became the subject of conversation.
The master, after a warm eulogium upon the perfections of his canine
favourite, assured his companion that he would, upon receiving the
order, return and fetch any article he should leave behind, from any
distance. To confirm this assertion, a marked shilling was put under a
large square stone by the side of the road, being first shown to the
dog. The gentlemen then rode for three miles, when the dog received
his signal from the master to return for the shilling he had seen put
under the stone. The dog turned back; the gentlemen rode on, and
reached home; but to their surprise and disappointment the hitherto
faithful messenger did not return during the day. It afterwards
appeared that he had gone to the place where the shilling was
deposited, but the stone being too large for his strength to remove,
he had stayed howling at the place till two horsemen riding by, and
attracted by his seeming distress, stopped to look at him, when one of
them alighting, removed the stone, and seeing the shilling, put it
into his pocket, not at the time conceiving it to be the object of the
dog's search. The dog followed their horses for twenty miles, remained
undisturbed in the room where they supped, followed the chambermaid
into the bedchamber, and secreted himself under one of the beds. The
possessor of the shilling hung his trousers upon a nail by the
bed-side; but when the travellers were both asleep, the dog took them
in his mouth, and leaping out of the window, which was left open on
account of the sultry heat, reached the house of his master at four
o'clock in the morning with the prize he had made free with, in the
pocket of which were found a watch and money, that were returned upon
being advertised, when the whole mystery was mutually unravelled, to
the admiration of all the parties.[I]

Many years ago, I saw a horse belonging to a quartermaster in the 1st
Dragoon Guards, when the regiment was quartered at Ipswich, find a
shilling, which was covered with sawdust, in the riding-school at the
Cavalry Barracks at that place, and give it to his owner. I thought
this a wonderful instance of sagacity as well as docility, but how
very far does this fall short of the intellectual faculty of dogs! I
do not intend to assert that they are endowed with mental powers equal
to those which the human race possess, but to contend that there is
not a faculty of the human mind of which some evident proofs of its
existence may not be found in dogs. Thus we find them possessed of
memory, imagination, the powers of imitation, curiosity, cunning,
revenge, ingenuity, gratitude, devotion, or affection, and other
qualities. They are able to communicate their wants, their pleasures,
and their pains, their apprehensions of danger, and their prospects of
future good, by modulating their voices accordingly, and by
significant gestures. They perfectly comprehend our wishes, and live
with us as friends and companions. When the fear of man and dread of
him were inflicted as a curse on the animal creation, the dog-kind
alone seems an exception, and their sagacity and fidelity to the
human race was an incalculable blessing bestowed upon them. These
remarks are fully borne out in a very interesting article on the dog
in the "Quarterly Review" of September, 1843.

A fine, handsome, and valuable black dog of the Newfoundland species,
belonging to Mr. Floyd, solicitor, Holmfirth, committed suicide by
drowning itself in the river which flows at the back of its owner's
habitation. For some days previous the animal seemed less animated
than usual, but on this particular occasion he was noticed to throw
himself into the water and endeavour to sink by preserving perfect
stillness of the legs and feet. Being dragged out of the stream, the
dog was tied up for a time, but had no sooner been released than he
again hastened to the water and again tried to sink, and was again got
out. This occurred many times, until at length the animal with
repeated efforts appeared to get exhausted, and by dint of keeping his
head determinedly under water for a few minutes succeeded at last in
obtaining his object, for when taken out this time he was indeed dead.
The case is worth recording, as affording another proof of the general
instinct and sagacity of the canine race.

Mr. Nicol, late of Pall Mall, told me he saw an old foxhound
deliberately drown itself, and was ready to make oath of it.

Mrs. Kaye, residing opposite Windsor Park Wall, Datchet, had a
beautiful Newfoundland dog. For the convenience of the family a boat
was kept, that they might at times cross the water without the
inconvenience of going a considerable way round to Datchet Bridge. The
dog was so delighted with the aquatic trips, that he very rarely
permitted the boat to go without him. It happened that the coachman,
who had been but little accustomed to the depths and shallows of the
water, intending a forcible push with the punt pole, which was not
long enough to reach the bottom, fell over the side of the boat in the
deepest part of the water, and in the central part of the current,
which accident was observed by a part of the family then at the front
windows of the house; sudden and dreadful as the alarm was, they had
the consolation of seeing the sagacious animal instantaneously follow
his companion, when after diving, and making two or three abortive
attempts, by laying hold of different parts of his apparel, which as
repeatedly gave way or overpowered his exertions, he then, with the
most determined and energetic fortitude, seized him by the arm, and
brought him to the edge of the bank, where the domestics of the
terrified family were ready to assist in extricating him from his
perilous situation.[J]

I have mentioned that revenge had been shown by dogs, and the
following is an instance of it. A gentleman was staying at Worthing,
where his Newfoundland dog was teased and annoyed by a small cur,
which snapped and barked at him. This he bore, without appearing to
notice it, for some time; but at last the Newfoundland dog seemed to
lose his usual patience and forbearance, and he one day, in the
presence of several spectators, took the cur up by his back, swam with
it into the sea, held it under the water, and would probably have
drowned it, had not a boat been put off and rescued it. There was
another instance communicated to me. A fine Newfoundland dog had been
constantly annoyed by a small spaniel. The former, seizing the
opportunity when they were on a terrace under which a river flowed,
took up the spaniel in his mouth, and dropped it over the parapet into
the river.

Jukes, in his "Excursions in and about Newfoundland," says, "A thin,
short-haired black dog, belonging to George Harvey, came off to us
to-day; this animal was of a breed very different from what we
understand by the term Newfoundland dog in England. He had a thin
tapering snout, a long thin tail, and rather thin but powerful legs,
with a lank body, the hair short and smooth. These are the most
abundant dogs of the country, the long-haired curly dogs being
comparatively rare. They are by no means handsome, but are generally
more intelligent and useful than the others. This one caught his own
fish; he sat on a projecting rock beneath a fish-lake or stage, where
the fish are laid to dry, watching the water, which had a depth of six
or eight feet, the bottom of which was white with fish-bones. On
throwing a piece of codfish into the water, three or four heavy,
clumsy-looking fish, called in Newfoundland sculpins, with great heads
and mouths, and many spines about them, and generally about a foot
long, would swim in to catch it. These he would '_set_' attentively,
and the moment one turned his broadside to him, he darted down like a
fish-hawk, and seldom came up without the fish in his mouth. As he
caught them he carried them regularly to a place a few yards off,
where he laid them down; and they told us that in the summer he would
sometimes make a pile of fifty or sixty a-day just at that place. He
never attempted to eat them, but seemed to be fishing purely for his
own amusement. I watched him for about two hours, and when the fish
did not come I observed he once or twice put his right foot in the
water, and paddled it about. This foot was white, and Harvey said he
did it to _toll_ or entice the fish; but whether it was for that
specific reason, or merely a motion of impatience, I could not exactly
decide."

Extraordinary as the following anecdote may appear to some persons, it
is strictly true, and strongly shows the sense, and I am almost
inclined to add, reason of the Newfoundland dog.

A friend of mine, while shooting wild fowl with his brother, was
attended by a sagacious dog of this breed. In getting near some reeds
by the side of a river, they threw down their hats, and crept to the
edge of the water, when they fired at some birds. They soon afterwards
sent the dog to bring their hats, one of which was smaller than the
other. After several attempts to bring them both together in his
mouth, the dog at last placed the smaller hat in the larger one,
pressed it down with his foot, and thus was able to bring them both at
the same time.

A gentleman residing in Fifeshire, and not far from the city of St.
Andrews, was in possession of a very fine Newfoundland dog, which was
remarkable alike for its tractability and its trustworthiness. At two
other points, each distant about a mile, and at the same distance from
this gentleman's mansion, there were two dogs of great power, but of
less tractable breeds than the Newfoundland one. One of these was a
large mastiff, kept as a watch-dog by a farmer, and the other a stanch
bull-dog, that kept guard over the parish mill. As each of these three
was lord-ascendant of all animals at his master's residence, they all
had a good deal of aristocratic pride and pugnacity, so that two of
them seldom met without attempting to settle their respective
dignities by a wager of battle.

The Newfoundland dog was of some service in the domestic arrangements,
besides his guardianship of the house; for every forenoon he was sent
to the baker's shop in the village, about half-a-mile distant, with a
towel containing money in the corner, and he returned with the value
of the money in bread. There were many useless and not over-civil curs
in the village, as there are in too many villages throughout the
country; but generally the haughty Newfoundland treated this ignoble
race in that contemptuous style in which great dogs are wont to
treat little ones. When the dog returned from the baker's shop, he
used to be regularly served with his dinner, and went peaceably on
house-duty for the rest of the day.

One day, however, he returned with his coat dirtied and his ears
scratched, having been subjected to a combined attack of the curs
while he had charge of his towel and bread, and so could not defend
himself. Instead of waiting for his dinner as usual, he laid down his
charge somewhat sulkily, and marched off; and, upon looking after him,
it was observed that he was crossing the intervening hollow in a
straight line for the house of the farmer, or rather on an embassy to
the farmer's mastiff. The farmer's people noticed this unusual visit,
which they were induced to do from its being a meeting of peace
between those who had habitually been belligerents. After some
intercourse, of which no interpretation could be given, the two set
off together in the direction of the mill; and having arrived there,
they in brief space engaged the miller's bull-dog as an ally.

The straight road to the village where the indignity had been offered
to the Newfoundland dog passed immediately in front of his master's
house, but there was a more private and more circuitous road by the
back of the mill. The three took this road, reached the village,
scoured it in great wrath, putting to the tooth every cur they could
get sight of; and having taken their revenge, and washed themselves in
a ditch, they returned, each dog to the abode of his master; and,
when any two of them happened to meet afterwards, they displayed the
same pugnacity as they had done previous to this joint expedition.

There is a well-authenticated anecdote of two dogs at Donaghadee, in
which the instinctive daring of the one by the other caused a
friendship, and, as it should seem, a kind of lamentation for the
dead, after one of them had paid the debt of nature. This happened
while the Government harbour or pier for the packets at Donaghadee was
in the course of building, and it took place in the sight of several
witnesses. The one dog in this case was also a Newfoundland, and the
other was a mastiff. They were both powerful dogs; and though each was
good-natured when alone, they were very much in the habit of fighting
when they met. One day they had a fierce and prolonged battle on the
pier, from the point of which they both fell into the sea; and as the
pier was long and steep, they had no means of escape but by swimming a
considerable distance. Throwing water upon fighting dogs is an
approved means of putting an end to their hostilities; and it is
natural to suppose that two combatants of the same species tumbling
themselves into the sea would have the same effect. It had; and each
began to make for the land as best he could. The Newfoundland being an
excellent swimmer, very speedily gained the pier, on which he stood
shaking himself; but at the same time watching the motions of his late
antagonist, which, being no swimmer, was struggling exhausted in the
water, and just about to sink. In dashed the Newfoundland dog, took
the other gently by the collar, kept his head above water, and brought
him safely on shore. There was a peculiar kind of recognition between
the two animals; they never fought again; they were always together:
and when the Newfoundland dog had been accidentally killed by the
passage of a stone waggon on the railway over him, the other
languished and evidently lamented for a long time.

A gentleman had a pointer and Newfoundland dog, which were great
friends. The former broke his leg, and was confined to a kennel.
During that time the Newfoundland never failed bringing bones and
other food to the pointer, and would sit for hours together by the
side of his suffering friend.

During a period of very hot weather, the Mayor of Plymouth gave orders
that all dogs found wandering in the public streets should be secured
by the police, and removed to the prison-yard. Among them was a
Newfoundland dog belonging to a shipowner of the port, who, with
several others, was tied up in the yard. The Newfoundland soon gnawed
the rope which confined him, and then hearing the cries of his
companions to be released, he set to work to gnaw the ropes which
confined them, and had succeeded in three or four instances, when he
was interrupted by the entrance of the jailor.

A nearly similar case has frequently occurred in the Cumberland
Gardens, Windsor Great Park. Two dogs of the Newfoundland breed were
confined in kennels at that place. When one of them was let loose, he
has been frequently seen to set his companion free.

A boatman once plunged into the water to swim with another man for a
wager. His Newfoundland dog, mistaking the purpose, and supposing that
his master was in danger, plunged after him, and dragged him to the
shore by his hair, to the great diversion of the spectators.

Mr. Peter Macarthur informs me, that in the year 1821, when opposite
to Falmouth, he was at breakfast with a gentleman, when a large
Newfoundland dog, all dripping with water, entered the room, and laid
a newspaper on the table. The gentleman (who was one of the Society of
Friends) informed the party, that this dog swam regularly across the
ferry every morning, and went to the post-office, and fetched the
papers of the day.

Mr. Blaine, in his "Encyclopædia of Rural Sports," tells the following
story:--A Newfoundland dog, of the small, smooth-haired variety, in
coming to England from his native country, was washed overboard during
a tempestuous night. As daylight appeared the gale ceased, when a
sailor at the mast-head descried something far in the wake of the
vessel, which, by the help of his glass, he was led to believe was the
dog, which was so great a favourite with the crew that it was
unanimously requested of the captain of the vessel to _lie to_, and
wait for the chance of saving the poor brute. The captain, who had
probably lost some time already by the storm, peremptorily refused to
listen to the humane proposal. Whether it was the kindly feeling of
the sailors, or the superstitious dread that if the dog were suffered
to perish nothing would afterwards prosper with them, we are not
informed; but we do know that, as soon as a refusal was made, the
steersman left the helm, roundly asserting that he for one would never
lend a hand to steer away from either Christian or brute in distress.
The feeling was immediately caught by the rest of the crew, and
maintained so resolutely, that the captain was forced to accede to the
general wish; and the poor dog eventually reached the ship in safety,
after having been, as we were informed, and implicitly believe, some
hours in a tempestuous sea.

Bewick mentions an instance which shows the extraordinary sagacity of
these dogs.

In a severe storm, a ship was lost off Yarmouth, and no living
creature escaped, except a Newfoundland dog, which swam to the shore
with the captain's pocket-book in his mouth. Several of the bystanders
attempted to take it from him, but he would not part with it. At
length, selecting one person from the crowd, whose appearance probably
pleased him, he leaped against his breast in a fawning manner, and
delivered the book to his care.

After mentioning this anecdote it will not be displeasing to read Lord
Grenville's lines on his faithful Newfoundland, as they may now be
seen at Dropmore, with the translation of them:--

                        TIPPO.

                       IN VILLA.

    Tippo ego hic jaceo, lapidem ne sperne, viator,
      Qui tali impositus stat super ossa cani.
    Larga mî natura manu dedit omnia, nostrum
      Quæcunque exornant nobilitantque genus:
    Robur erat validum, formæ concinna venustas,
      Ingenui mores, intemerata fides.
    Nec pudet invisi nomen gessisse tyranni,
      Si tam dissimili viximus ingenio.
    Naufragus in nuda Tenbeiæ[K] ejectus arena,
      Ploravi domino me superesse meo,
    Quem mihi, luctanti frustra, frustraque juvanti,
      Abreptum, oceani in gurgite mersit hyems.
    Solus ego sospes, sed quas miser ille tabellas
      Morte mihi in media credidit, ore ferens.
    Dulci me hospitio Belgæ excepere coloni,
      Ipsa etiam his olim gens aliena plagis;
    Et mihi gratum erat in longa spatiarier[L] ora,
      Et quanquam infido membra lavare mari;
    Gratum erat æstivis puerorum adjungere turmis
      Participem lusus me, comitemque viæ.
    Verum ubi, de multis captanti frustula mensis,
      Bruma aderat, seniique hora timenda mei,
    Insperata adeo illuxit fortuna, novique
      Perfugium et requiem cura dedit domini.
    Exinde hos saltus, hæc inter florea rura,
      Et vixi felix, et tumulum hunc habeo.

                        TIPPO.

_Translated by a young Lady, a near Relation of the Author._

    Here, stranger, pause, nor view with scornful eyes
    The stone which marks where faithful Tippo lies.
    Freely kind Nature gave each liberal grace,
    Which most ennobles and exalts our race,
    Excelling strength and beauty joined in me,
    Ingenuous worth, and firm fidelity.
    Nor shame I to have borne a tyrant's name,
    So far unlike to his my spotless fame.
    Cast by a fatal storm on Tenby's coast,
    Reckless of life, I wailed my master lost.
    Whom long contending with the o'erwhelming wave
    In vain with fruitless love I strove to save.
    I, only I, alas! surviving bore,
    His dying trust, his tablets,[M] to the shore.
    Kind welcome from the Belgian race I found,
    Who, once in times remote, to British ground
    Strangers like me came from a foreign strand.
    I loved at large along the extended sand
    To roam, and oft beneath the swelling wave,
    Tho' known so fatal once, my limbs to lave;
    Or join the children in their summer play,
    First in their sports, companion of their way.
    Thus while from many a hand a meal I sought,
    Winter and age had certain misery brought;
    But Fortune smiled, a safe and blest abode
    A new-found master's generous love bestowed,
    And midst these shades, where smiling flow'rets bloom,
    Gave me a happy life and honoured tomb.

Dr. Abell, in one of his lectures on phrenology, related a very
striking anecdote of a Newfoundland dog at Cork. This dog was of a
noble and generous disposition, and when he left his master's house
was often assailed by a number of little noisy dogs in the street. He
usually passed them with apparent unconcern, as if they were beneath
his notice. One little cur, however, was particularly troublesome, and
at length carried his petulance so far as to bite the Newfoundland dog
in the back of his foot. This was too much to be patiently endured. He
instantly turned round, ran after the offender, and seized him by the
skin of his back. In this way he carried him in his mouth to the quay,
and holding him some time over the water, at length dropped him into
it. He did not seem, however, to wish to punish the culprit too much,
for he waited a little while the poor animal, who was unused to that
element, was not only well ducked, but near sinking, when he plunged
in himself, and brought the other safe to land.

An officer, late in the 15th Hussars, informed me that he had
witnessed a similar occurrence at St. Petersburg. These certainly are
instances of a noble and generous disposition, as well as of great
forbearance in not resenting an injury.

I may add the following instance of sagacity from the same quarter.

A vessel was driven by a storm on the beach of Lydd, in Kent. The surf
was rolling furiously. Eight men were calling for help, but not a boat
could be got off to their assistance. At length a gentleman came on
the beach, accompanied by his Newfoundland dog. He directed the
attention of the noble animal to the vessel, and put a short stick
into his mouth. The intelligent and courageous dog at once understood
his meaning, and sprung into the sea, fighting his way through the
foaming waves. He could not, however, get close enough to the vessel
to deliver that with which he was charged, but the crew joyfully made
fast a rope to another piece of wood, and threw it towards him. The
sagacious dog saw the whole business in an instant; he dropped his own
piece, and immediately seized that which had been cast to him; and
then, with a degree of strength and determination almost incredible,
he dragged it through the surge and delivered it to his master. By
this means a line of communication was formed, and every man on board
saved.

The keeper of a ferry on the banks of the Severn had a sagacious
Newfoundland dog. If a dog was left behind by his owner in crossing,
and was afraid of taking to the water, the Newfoundland dog has been
frequently known to take the yelping animal in his mouth and convey it
into the river. A person while rowing a boat, pushed his Newfoundland
dog into the stream. The animal followed the boat for some time, till,
probably finding himself fatigued, he endeavoured to get into it by
placing his feet on the side. His owner repeatedly pushed the dog
away, and in one of his efforts to do so he overbalanced himself and
fell into the river, and would probably have been drowned, had not the
noble and generous animal immediately seized and held him above water
till assistance arrived from the shore.

About twelve years ago a fine dog of a cross-breed, between a
Newfoundland and a pointer, had been left by the captain of a vessel
in the care of Mr. Park, of the White Hart Inn, Greenock. A friend of
his, a gentleman from Argyllshire, took a fancy to this dog; and, when
returning home, requested the loan of him for some time from Mr. Park,
which he granted. This gentleman had some time before married a lady
much to the dissatisfaction of his friends, who, in consequence,
treated her with some degree of coldness and neglect. While he
remained at home, the dog constantly attended him, and paid no
apparent attention to the lady, who, on her part, never evinced any
particular partiality for the dog. One time, however, the gentleman
was called from home on business, and was to be absent several days.
He wished to take the dog with him; but no entreaties could induce him
to follow. The animal was then tied up to prevent his leaving the
house in his absence; but he became quite furious till he was
released, when he flew into the house and found his mistress, and
would not leave her. He watched at the door of whatever room she was
in, and would allow no one to approach without her special permission.
When the gentleman returned home, the dog seemed to take no more
notice of the lady, but returned quietly to his former lodging in the
stable. The whole circumstance caused considerable surprise; and the
gentleman, wishing to try if the dog would again act in the same
manner, left home for a day or two, when the animal actually resumed
the faithful guardianship of his mistress as before; and this he
continued to do whenever his master was absent, all the time he
remained in his possession, which was two years.

The following anecdotes of an astonishing dog called Dandie are
related by Captain Brown:--

"Mr. M'Intyre, patent-mangle manufacturer, Regent Bridge, Edinburgh,
has a dog of the Newfoundland breed, crossed with some other, named
Dandie, whose sagacious qualifications are truly astonishing and
almost incredible. As the animal continues daily to give the most
striking proofs of his powers, he is well known in the neighbourhood,
and any person may satisfy himself of the reality of those feats, many
of which the writer has himself had the pleasure to witness.

"When Mr. M'Intyre is in company, how numerous soever it may be, if he
but say to the dog, 'Dandie, bring me my hat,' he immediately picks
out the hat from all the others, and puts it in his master's hand.

"Should every gentleman in company throw a penknife on the floor, the
dog, when commanded, will select his master's knife from the heap, and
bring it to him.

"A pack of cards being scattered in the room, if his master have
previously selected one of them, the dog will find it out and bring it
to him.

"A comb was hid on the top of a mantel-piece in the room, and the dog
required to bring it, which he almost immediately did, although in the
search he found a number of articles, also belonging to his master,
purposely strewed around, all which he passed over, and brought the
identical comb which he was required to find, fully proving that he is
not guided by the sense of smell, but that he perfectly understands
whatever is spoken to him.

"One evening, some gentlemen being in company, one of them
accidentally dropped a shilling on the floor, which, after the most
careful search, could not be found. Mr. M'Intyre seeing his dog
sitting in a corner, and looking as if quite unconscious of what was
passing, said to him, 'Dandie, find us the shilling, and you shall
have a biscuit.' The dog immediately jumped upon the table and laid
down the shilling, which he had previously picked up without having
been perceived.

"One time, having been left in a room in the house of Mrs. Thomas,
High Street, he remained quiet for a considerable time; but as no one
opened the door, he became impatient, and rang the bell; and when the
servant opened the door, she was surprised to find the dog pulling the
bell-rope. Since that period, which was the first time he was observed
to do it, he pulls the bell whenever he is desired; and what appears
still more remarkable, if there is no bell-rope in the room, he will
examine the table, and if he finds a hand-bell, he takes it in his
mouth and rings it.

"Mr. M'Intyre having one evening supped with a friend, on his return
home, as it was rather late, he found all the family in bed. He could
not find his boot-jack in the place where it usually lay, nor could he
find it anywhere in the room after the strictest search. He then said
to his dog, 'Dandie, I cannot find my bootjack; search for it.' The
faithful animal, quite sensible of what had been said to him,
scratched at the room-door, which his master opened. Dandie proceeded
to a very distant part of the house, and soon returned, carrying in
his mouth the bootjack, which Mr. M. now recollected to have left that
morning under a sofa.

"A number of gentlemen, well acquainted with Dandie, are daily in the
habit of giving him a penny, which he takes to a baker's shop and
purchases bread for himself. One of these gentlemen, who lives in
James's Square, when passing some time ago, was accosted by Dandie, in
expectation of his usual present. Mr. T---- then said to him, 'I have
not a penny with me to-day, but I have one at home.' Having returned
to his house some time after, he heard a noise at the door, which was
opened by the servant, when in sprang Dandie to receive his penny. In
a frolic Mr. T---- gave him a bad one, which he, as usual, carried to
the baker, but was refused his bread, as the money was bad. He
immediately returned to Mr. T----'s, knocked at the door, and when the
servant opened it, laid the penny down at her feet, and walked off,
seemingly with the greatest contempt.

"Although Dandie, in general, makes an immediate purchase of bread
with the money which he receives, yet the following circumstance
clearly demonstrates that he possesses more prudent foresight than
many who are reckoned rational beings.

"One Sunday, when it was very unlikely that he could have received a
present of money, Dandie was observed to bring home a loaf. Mr.
M'Intyre being somewhat surprised at this, desired the servant to
search the room to see if any money could be found. While she was
engaged in this task, the dog seemed quite unconcerned till she
approached the bed, when he ran to her, and gently drew her back from
it. Mr. M. then secured the dog, which kept struggling and growling
while the servant went under the bed, where she found 7½_d._ under a
bit of cloth; but from that time he never could endure the girl, and
was frequently observed to hide his money in a corner of a saw-pit,
under the dust.

"When Mr. M. has company, if he desire the dog to see any one of the
gentlemen home, it will walk with him till he reach his home, and then
return to his master, how great soever the distance may be.

"A brother of Mr. M.'s and another gentleman went one day to Newhaven,
and took Dandie along with them. After having bathed, they entered a
garden in the town; and having taken some refreshment in one of the
arbours, they took a walk around the garden, the gentleman leaving his
hat and gloves in the place. In the meantime some strangers came into
the garden, and went into the arbour which the others had left. Dandie
immediately, without being ordered, ran to the place and brought off
the hat and gloves, which he presented to the owner. One of the
gloves, however, had been left; but it was no sooner mentioned to the
dog than he rushed to the place, jumped again into the midst of the
astonished company, and brought off the glove in triumph.

"A gentleman living with Mr. M'Intyre, going out to supper one
evening, locked the garden-gate behind him, and laid the key on the
top of the wall, which is about seven feet high. When he returned,
expecting to let himself in the same way, to his great surprise the
key could not be found, and he was obliged to go round to the front
door, which was a considerable distance about. The next morning strict
search was made for the key, but still no trace of it could be
discovered. At last, perceiving that the dog followed him wherever he
went, he said to him, 'Dandie, you have the key--go, fetch it.' Dandie
immediately went into the garden and scratched away the earth from the
root of a cabbage, and produced the key, which he himself had
undoubtedly hid in that place.

"If his master place him on a chair, and request him to sing, he will
instantly commence a howling, which he gives high or low as signs are
made to him with the finger.

"About three years ago a mangle was sent by a cart from the warehouse,
Regent Bridge, to Portobello, at which time the dog was not present.
Afterwards, Mr. M. went to his own house, North Back of the Canongate,
and took Dandie with him, to have the mangle delivered. When he had
proceeded a little way the dog ran off, and he lost sight of him. He
still walked forward; and in a little time he found the cart in which
the mangle was, turned towards Edinburgh, with Dandie holding fast by
the reins, and the carter in the greatest perplexity; the man stated
that the dog had overtaken him, jumped on his cart, and examined the
mangle, and then had seized the reins of the horse and turned him
fairly round, and that he would not let go his hold, although he had
beaten him with a stick. On Mr. M.'s arrival, however, the dog quietly
allowed the carter to proceed to his place of destination."

       *       *       *       *       *

The following is another instance of extraordinary sagacity. A
Newfoundland dog, belonging to a grocer, had observed one of the
porters of the house, and who was often in the shop, frequently take
money from the till, and which the man was in the habit of concealing
in the stable. The dog, having witnessed these thefts, became
restless, pulling persons by the skirts of their coats, and
apparently wishing them to follow him. At length, an apprentice had
occasion to go to the stable; the dog followed him, and having drawn
his attention to the heap of rubbish under which the money was buried,
began to scratch till he had brought the booty to view. The apprentice
brought it to his master, who marked the money and restored it to the
place where it had been hidden. Some of the marked money was soon
afterwards found on the porter, who was taken before a magistrate, and
convicted of the theft.

A Newfoundland dog, which was frequently to be seen in a tavern in the
High Street of Glasgow, lay generally at the door. When any person
came to the house, he trotted before them into an apartment, rang the
bell, and then resumed his station at the door.

The great utility and sagacity of the Newfoundland dog, in cases of
drowning, were shown in the following instance. Eleven sailors, a
woman, and the waterman, had reached a sloop of war in Hamoaze in a
shore-boat. One of the sailors, stooping rather suddenly over the side
of the boat to reach his hat, which had fallen into the sea, the boat
capsized, and they were all plunged into the water. A Newfoundland
dog, on the quarter-deck of the sloop, seeing the accident, instantly
leaped amongst the unfortunate persons, and seizing one man by the
collar of his coat, he supported his head above water until a boat had
hastened to the spot and saved the lives of all but the waterman.
After delivering his burden in safety, the noble animal made a wide
circuit round the ship in search of another person; but not finding
one, he took up an oar in his mouth which was floating away, and
brought it to the side of the ship.

A sailor, attended by a Newfoundland dog, became so intoxicated, that
he fell on the pavement in Piccadilly, and was unable to rise, and
soon fell asleep. The faithful dog took a position at his master's
head, and resisted every attempt made to remove him. The man, having
at last slept off the fumes of his intoxicating libations, awoke, and
being told of the care his dog had taken of him, exclaimed, "This is
not the first time he has kept watch over me."

On Thursday evening, January 28, 1858, as the play of "Jessie Vere"
was being performed at Woolwich Theatre, and when a scene in the third
act had been reached, in which a "terrific struggle" for the
possession of a child takes place between the fond mother and two
"hired ruffians," a large Newfoundland dog, which had by some means
gained admittance with its owner into the pit, leaped over the heads
of the musicians in the orchestra, and flew to the rescue, seizing one
of the assassins, and almost dragging him to the ground. It was with
difficulty removed, and dragged off the stage. The dog, which is the
property of the chief engineer of Her Majesty's ship Buffalo, has been
habitually accustomed to the society of children, for whom he has on
many occasions evinced strong proofs of affection.

Mr. Bewick, in his history of Quadrupeds, mentions some instances of
the sagacity and intellect of Newfoundland dogs; and it may not be
uninteresting to the admirers of that celebrated wood-engraver to be
informed, on the authority of his daughters, that the group on the
bridge in his print of the Newfoundland dog represents Mr. Preston, a
Printer of Newcastle, Mr. Vint, of Whittingham, Mr. Bell, House
Steward, and Mr. Bewick. Their initials, P. V. B. and B., are
introduced in the woodcut. The dog was drawn at Eslington, the seat of
Mr. Liddell, the eldest son of Lord Ravensworth.[N]

In Newfoundland, this dog is invaluable, and answers the purpose of a
horse. He is docile, capable of strong attachment, and is easy to
please in the quality of his food, as he will live on scraps of boiled
fish, either salted or fresh, and on boiled potatoes and cabbage. The
natural colour of this dog is black, with the exception of a very few
white spots. Their sagacity is sometimes so extraordinary, as on many
occasions to show that they only want the faculty of speech to make
themselves fully understood.

The Rev. L. Anspach, in his history of the Island of Newfoundland,
mentions some instances of this intelligence.

One of the Magistrates of Harbour-Grace, the late Mr. Garland, had an
old dog, which was in the habit of carrying a lantern before his
master at night, as steadily as the most attentive servant could do;
stopping short when his master made a stop, and proceeding when he saw
him disposed to follow him. If his master was absent from home, on the
lantern being fixed to his mouth, and the command given, "Go, fetch
your master," he would immediately set off and proceed directly to the
town, which lay at the distance of more than a mile from the place of
his master's residence. He would then stop at the door of every house
which he knew his master was in the habit of frequenting, and, laying
down his lantern, would growl and strike the door, making all the
noise in his power until it was opened. If his master was not there,
he would proceed further until he had found him. If he accompanied him
only once into a house, it was sufficient to induce him to take that
house in his round.

The principal use of this animal in Newfoundland, in addition to his
qualities as a good watch-dog and a faithful companion, is to assist
in fetching from the woods the _lumber_ intended either for repairing
the fish stages, or for fuel; and this is done by dragging it on the
snow or ice, or else on sledges, the dog being tackled to it.

These animals bark only when strongly provoked. They are not
quarrelsome, but treat the smaller species with a great degree of
patience and forbearance. They will defend their masters on seeing the
least appearance of an attack on his person. The well-known partiality
of these dogs for the water, in which they appear as if in their
proper element, diving and keeping their heads under the surface for a
considerable time, seems to give them some connexion with the class of
amphibious animals. At the same time, the several instances of their
superior sagacity, and the essential services which they have been
frequently known to render to humanity, give them a distinguished rank
in the scale of the brute creation. I will mention another instance of
this.

The Durham packet of Sunderland was, in 1815, wrecked near Clay, in
Norfolk. A faithful dog was employed to use his efforts to carry the
lead-line on shore from the vessel; but there being a very heavy sea,
and a deep beach, it appeared that the drawback of the surf was too
powerful for the animal to contend with. Mr. Parker, ship-builder, of
Wells, and Mr. Jackson, jun., of Clay, who were on the spot, observing
this, instantly rushed into the sea, which was running very high, and
gallantly succeeded, though at a great risk, in catching hold of the
dog, which was much exhausted, but which had all this time kept the
line in his mouth. The line being thus obtained, a communication with
the vessel was established; and a warp being passed from the ship to
the shore, the lives of all on board, nine in number, including two
children, were saved.

Some dogs are of an extremely jealous disposition; and the following
extraordinary instance of it was communicated to me by Mr. Charles
Davis, the well-known and highly-respected huntsman of Her Majesty's
stag-hounds, a man who has gained many friends, and perhaps never lost
one, by his well-regulated conduct and sporting qualifications.

He informed me that a friend of his had a fine Newfoundland dog, which
was a great favourite with the family. While this dog was confined in
the yard, a pet lamb was given to one of the children, which the
former soon discovered to be sharing a great portion of those caresses
which he had been in the habit of receiving. This circumstance
produced so great an effect on the poor animal, that he refused to
eat, and fretted till he became extremely unwell. Thinking that
exercise might be of use to him, he was let loose. No sooner was this
done, than the dog watched his opportunity, and seized the lamb in his
mouth. He was seen conveying it down a lane, about a quarter of a mile
from his master's house, at the bottom of which the river Thames
flowed. On arriving at it, he held the lamb under water till it was
drowned, and thus effectually got rid of his rival. On examining the
lamb, it did not appear to have been bitten, or otherwise injured; and
it might almost be supposed that the dog had chosen the easiest death
in removing the object of his dislike.

The sense of these animals is, indeed, perfectly wonderful. A
lieutenant in the navy informed me, that while his ship was under sail
in the Mediterranean, a favourite canary bird escaped from its cage,
and flew into the sea. A Newfoundland dog on board witnessed the
circumstance, immediately jumped into the sea, and swam to the bird,
which he seized in his mouth, and then swam back with it to the ship.
On arriving on board and opening the dog's mouth, it was found that
the bird was perfectly uninjured, so tenderly had it been treated, as
though the dog had been aware that the slightest pressure would have
destroyed it.

Mr. Youatt, whose remarks on the usefulness and good qualities of the
inferior animals, in his work on Humanity to Brutes, do him so much
credit, gives the following anecdote as a proof of the reasoning power
of a Newfoundland dog.

Wanting one day to go through a tall iron gate, from one part of his
premises to another, he found a lame puppy lying just within it, so
that he could not get in without rolling the poor animal over, and
perhaps injuring it. Mr. Youatt stood for awhile hesitating what to
do, and at length determined to go round through another gate. A fine
Newfoundland dog, however, who had been waiting patiently for his
wonted caresses, and perhaps wondering why his master did not get in
as usual, looked accidentally down at his lame companion. He
comprehended the whole business in a moment--put down his great paw,
and as gently and quickly as possible rolled the invalid out of the
way, and then drew himself back in order to leave room for the opening
of the gate.

We may be inclined to deny reasoning faculties to dogs; but if this
was not reason, it may be difficult to define what else it could be.

Mr. Youatt also says, that his own experience furnishes him with an
instance of the memory and gratitude of a Newfoundland dog, who was
greatly attached to him. He says, as it became inconvenient to him to
keep the dog, he gave him to one who he knew would treat him kindly.
Four years passed, and he had not seen him; when one day, as he was
walking towards Kingston, and had arrived at the brow of the hill
where Jerry Abershaw's gibbet then stood, he met Carlo and his master.
The dog recollected Mr. Youatt in a moment, and they made much of each
other. His master, after a little chat, proceeded towards Wandsworth,
and Carlo, as in duty bound, followed him. Mr. Youatt had not,
however, got half-way down the hill when the dog was again at his
side, lowly but deeply growling, and every hair bristling. On looking
about, he saw two ill-looking fellows making their way through the
bushes, which occupied the angular space between Roehampton and
Wandsworth roads. Their intention was scarcely questionable, and,
indeed, a week or two before, he had narrowly escaped from two
miscreants like them. "I can scarcely say," proceeds Mr. Youatt, "what
I felt; for presently one of the scoundrels emerged from the bushes,
not twenty yards from me; but he no sooner saw my companion, and heard
his growling, the loudness and depth of which were fearfully
increasing, than he retreated, and I saw no more of him or of his
associate. My gallant defender accompanied me to the direction-post at
the bottom of the hill, and there, with many a mutual and honest
greeting, we parted, and he bounded away to overtake his rightful
owner. We never met again; but I need not say that I often thought of
him with admiration and gratitude."

It is pleasing to record such instances of kindness in a brute. Here
we see a recollection of, and gratitude for, previous good treatment,
and that towards one whom the dog had not seen for four years. There
is a sort of bewilderment in the human mind, when we come to analyse
the feelings, affections, and peculiar instinctive faculties of dogs.
A French writer (Mons. Blaze) has asserted, that the dog most
undoubtedly has all the qualities of a man possessed of good feeling,
and adds that man has not the fine qualities of the dog. We make a
virtue of that gratitude which is nothing more than a duty incumbent
upon us, while it is an inherent quality in the dog.

    "Canis gratus est, et amicitiæ memor."

We repudiate ingratitude, and yet every one is more or less guilty of
it. Indeed, where shall we find the man who is free from it? Take,
however, the first dog you meet with, and the moment he has adopted
you for his master, from that moment you are sure of his gratitude
and affection. He will love you without calculating what he shall gain
by it--his greatest pleasure will be to be near you--and should you be
reduced to beg your bread, no poverty will induce him to abandon you.
Your friends may, and probably will, do so--the object of your love
and attachment will not, perhaps, like to encounter poverty with you.
Your wife, by some possibility (it is a rare case, however, if she has
received kind treatment) may forget her vows, but your dog will never
leave you--he will either die at your feet, or if he should survive
you, will accompany you to the grave.

An intelligent correspondent, to whom I am indebted for some sensible
remarks on the faculties of dogs, has remarked that large-headed dogs
are generally possessed of superior faculties to others. This fact
favours the phrenological opinion that size of brain is evidence of
superior power. He has a dog possessing a remarkably large head, and
few dogs can match him in intelligence. He is a cross with the
Newfoundland breed, and besides his cleverness in the field as a
retriever, he shows his sagacity at home in the performance of several
useful feats. One consists in carrying messages. If a neighbour is to
be communicated with, the dog is always ready to be the bearer of a
letter. He will take orders to the workmen who reside at a short
distance from the house, and will scratch impatiently at their door
when so employed, although at other times, desirous of sharing the
warmth of their kitchen fire, he would wait patiently, and then
entering with a seriousness befitting the imagined importance of his
mission, would carefully deliver the note, never returning without
having discharged his trust. His usefulness in recovering articles
accidentally lost has often been proved. As he is not always allowed
to be present at dinner, he will bring a hat, book, or anything he can
find, and hold it in his mouth as a sort of apology for his intrusion.
He seems pleased at being allowed to lead his master's horse to the
stable.

Newfoundland dogs may readily be taught to rescue drowning persons. In
France, this forms a part of their education, and they are now kept in
readiness on the banks of the Seine, where they form a sort of Humane
Society Corps. By throwing the stuffed figure of a man into a river,
and requiring the dog to fetch it out, he is soon taught to do so when
necessary, and thus he is able to rescue drowning persons. This hint
might not be thrown away on our own excellent Humane Society.

Many dogs are called of the Newfoundland breed who have but small
relationship with that sensible animal. The St. John's and Labrador
dogs are also very different from each other. The former is strong in
his limbs, rough-haired, small in the head, and carries his tail very
high. The other, by far the best for every kind of shooting, is
oftener black than of another colour, and scarcely bigger than a
pointer. He is made rather long in the head and nose, pretty deep in
the chest, very fine in the legs, has short or smooth hair, does not
carry his tail so much curled as the other, and is extremely quick and
active in running, swimming, or fighting. The St. John's breed of
these dogs is chiefly used on their native coast by fishermen. Their
sense of smelling is scarcely to be credited. Their discrimination of
scent, in following a wounded pheasant through a whole covert full of
game, appears almost impossible.

The real Newfoundland dog may be broken into any kind of shooting,
and, without additional instruction, is generally under such command,
that he may be safely kept in, if required to be taken out with
pointers. For finding wounded game of every description there is not
his equal in the canine race, and he is a _sine quâ non_ in the
general pursuit of wildfowl. These dogs should be treated gently, and
much encouraged when required to do anything, as their faults are
easily checked. If used roughly, they are apt to turn sulky. They will
also recollect and avenge an injury. A traveller on horseback, in
passing through a small village in Cumberland, observed a Newfoundland
dog reposing by the side of the road, and from mere wantonness gave
him a blow with his whip. The animal made a violent rush at and
pursued him a considerable distance. Having to proceed through the
same place the next journey, which was about twelve months afterwards,
and while in the act of leading his horse, the dog, no doubt
recollecting his former assailant, instantly seized him by the boot,
and bit his leg. Some persons, however, coming up, rescued him from
further injury.

A gamekeeper had a Newfoundland dog which he used as a retriever.
Shooting in a wood one day, he killed a pheasant, which fell at some
distance, and he sent his dog for it. When half way to the bird, he
suddenly returned, refusing to go beyond the place at which he had
first stopped. This being an unusual circumstance, the man endeavoured
more and more to enforce his command; which being unable to effect,
either by words or his whip, he at last, in a great passion, gave the
dog a violent kick in the ribs, which laid it dead at his feet. He
then proceeded to pick up the bird, and on returning from the spot,
discovered a man concealed in the thicket. He immediately seized him,
and upon examination, several snares were found on his person. This
may be a useful hint to those who are apt to take violent measures
with their dogs.

A gentleman who had a country house near London, discovered on
arriving at it one day that he had brought away a key, which would be
wanted by his family in town. Having an intelligent Newfoundland dog,
which had been accustomed to carry things, he sent him back with it.
While passing with the key, the animal was attacked by a butcher's
dog, against which he made no resistance, but got away from him. After
safely delivering the key, he returned to rejoin his master, but
stopped in the way at the butcher's shop, whose dog again sallied
forth. The Newfoundland this time attacked him with a fury, which
nothing but revenge could have inspired, nor did he quit the aggressor
till he had killed him.

The following fact affords another proof of the extraordinary sagacity
of these dogs.

A Newfoundland dog of the true breed was brought from that country,
and given to a gentleman who resided near Thames Street, in London. As
he had no means of keeping the animal, except in close confinement, he
sent him to a friend in Scotland by a Berwick smack. When he arrived
in Scotland he took the first opportunity of escaping, and though he
certainly had never before travelled one yard of the road, he found
his way back to his former residence on Fishstreet Hill; but in so
exhausted a state, that he could only express his joy at seeing his
master, and then died.

So wonderful is the sense of these dogs, that I have heard of three
instances in which they have voluntarily guarded the bed-chamber doors
of their mistresses, during the whole night, in the absence of their
masters, although on no other occasion did they approach them.

The Romans appear to have had a dog, which seems to have been very
similar in character to our Newfoundland. In the Museum at Naples
there is an antique bronze, discovered amongst the ruins of
Herculaneum, which represents two large dogs dragging from the sea
some apparently drowned persons.

The following interesting fact affords another instance of the
sagacity and good feeling of the Newfoundland dog:--

In the year 1841, as a labourer, named Rake, in the parish of Botley,
near Southampton, was at work in a gravel-pit, the top stratum gave
way, and he was buried up to his neck by the great quantity of gravel
which fell upon him. He was at the same time so much hurt, two of his
ribs being broken, that he found it impossible to make any attempt to
extricate himself from his perilous situation. Indeed, nothing could
be more fearful than the prospect before him. No one was within
hearing of his cries, nor was any one likely to come near the spot. He
must almost inevitably have perished, had it not been for a
Newfoundland dog belonging to his employer. This animal had been
watching the man at his work for some days, as if he had been aware
that his assistance would be required; for no particular attachment to
each other had been exhibited on either side. As soon, however, as the
accident occurred, the dog jumped into the pit, and commenced removing
the gravel with his paws; and this he did in so vigorous and
expeditious a manner, that the poor man was at length able to liberate
himself, though with extreme difficulty. What an example of kindness,
sensibility, and I may add reason, does this instance afford us!

A gentleman in Ireland had a remarkably fine and intelligent
Newfoundland dog, named Boatswain, whose acts were the constant theme
of admiration. On one occasion, an aged lady who resided in the house,
and the mother-in-law of the owner of the dog, was indisposed and
confined to her bed. The old lady was tired of chickens and other
productions of the farmyard, and a consultation was held in her room
as to what could be procured to please her fancy for dinner. Various
things were mentioned and declined, in the midst of which Boatswain,
who was greatly attached to the old lady, entered her room with a fine
young rabbit in his mouth, which he laid at the foot of the bed,
wagging his tail with great exultation. It is not meant to infer that
the dog knew anything of the difficulty of finding a dinner to the
lady's taste, but seeing her distressed in mind and body, it is not
improbable that he had brought his offering in the hopes of pleasing
her.

On another occasion, his master found this dog early one summer's
morning keeping watch over an unfortunate countryman, who was standing
with his back to a wall in the rear of the premises, pale with terror.
He was a simple, honest creature, living in the neighbourhood. Having
to attend some fair or market, about four o'clock in the morning, he
made a short cut through the grounds, which were under the protection
of Boatswain, who drove the intruder to the wall, and kept him there,
showing his teeth, and giving a growl whenever he offered to stir
from the spot. In this way he was kept a prisoner till the owner of
the faithful animal released him.

There was a Newfoundland dog on board H. M. S. Bellona, which kept the
deck during the battle of Copenhagen, running backward and forward
with so brave an anger, that he became a greater favourite with the
men than ever. When the ship was paid off, after the peace of Amiens,
the sailors had a parting dinner on shore. Victor was placed in the
chair, and fed with roast beef and plum-pudding, and the bill was made
out in Victor's name. This anecdote is taken from Southey's "Omniana."

I am indebted to a kind correspondent for the following anecdotes:--

"A friend of mine, who in the time of the war commanded the Sea
Fencibles, in the neighbourhood of Southend, possessed in those days a
magnificent Newfoundland dog, named Venture. This noble creature my
friend was accustomed to take with him in the pursuit of wild fowl.
One cold evening, after having tolerable sport, the dog was suddenly
missed; he had been last seen when in pursuit of a winged bird. As the
ice was floating in the river, and the dog was true to his name, and
would swim any distance for the recovery of wounded game, it was
feared he must have fallen a victim to the hazards of the sport, and
his owner returned home in consequence much dispirited. On his arrival
at his house, what was his extreme surprise, on entering the
drawing-room, to find his wife accompanied by the dog, and a fine
mallard lying on the table: the lady had, on her part, been
overwhelmed with anxiety by the dog's having returned alone some time
before, knowing the frequently perilous amusement in which her husband
had embarked. The dog had straight on his return rushed to the
drawing-room where the lady sat, and had laid the wild duck at her
feet, having brought it safely in his mouth several miles.

"A gentleman once sent a coat to the tailor to be mended--it was left
upon a counter in the shop. His dog had accompanied the servant to the
tailor's. The animal watched his opportunity, pulled the coat down
from the counter, and brought it home in triumph to his master.

"There is a tendency in the pride of man to deny the power of
reasoning in animals, while it is the belief of some that reason is
often a more sure guide to the brute beast, for the purposes designed
by Providence, than that of their detractors. The fact is, I think,
few persons who reflect deny the power, in a degree, to the less
gifted of Nature's works. Certainly not some of the wisest of our
race. Bishop Butler in his 'Analogy,' I think, assumes it; while the
following beautiful inscription, designed for the epitaph of a
favourite Newfoundland dog, was penned by no less a person than the
late wise and venerable Earl of Eldon: from it his views on this
subject may, I fancy, be easily discerned. They are published in the
life of him, written by Horace Twiss:--

   'You who wander hither,
      Pass not unheeded
    The spot where poor Cæsar
      Is deposited.

       *          *          *          *

    To his rank among created beings
    The power of reasoning is denied!
        Cæsar manifested joy,
      For days before his master
        Arrived at Encombe;
        Cæsar manifested grief
    For days before his master left it.
        What name shall be given
          To that faculty,
      Which thus made expectation
          A source of joy,
      Which thus made expectation
          A source of grief?'"

[Illustration]




[Illustration: THE COLLEY, OR SHEPHERD'S DOG.]

THE COLLEY, OR SHEPHERD'S DOG.

   "My dog (the trustiest of his kind)
    With gratitude inflames my mind:
    I mark his true, his faithful way,
    And in my service copy Tray."--GAY.


Who that has seen has not been delighted with the charming picture by
Mr. Landseer of the shepherd's dog, resting his head on the coffin
which contained the body of his dead master! Grief, fidelity, and
affection are so strongly portrayed in the countenance of the poor
dog, that they cannot be mistaken. We may fancy him to have been the
constant companion of the old shepherd through many a dreary day of
rain, and frost, and snow on the neighbouring hills, gathering the
scattered flock with persevering industry, and receiving the reward of
his exertions in the approbation of his master. On returning to the
humble cottage at night, he partakes of the "shepherd's scanty fare;"
and then, coiled up before the flickering light of a few collected
sticks, cold and shivering with wet, he awakes to greet his master at
the first glimmering of morn, and is ready to renew his toils. Poor
dog! what a lesson do you afford to those who are incapable of your
gratitude, fidelity, and affection! and what justice has the charming
artist done to these noble qualities! I trust he will receive this
fanciful description of his dog as a little tribute paid to his
talents, as well as to his good feeling.

The late Mr. Satterthwaite, grandfather of Thomas Rogerson, Esq., of
Liverpool and Ballamillaghyn, Isle of Man, who died some years ago at
Coulthouse, near Hawkshead, soon after his marriage, resided near the
Low Wood Inn, on the borders of Windermere Lake. He left home early
one morning, accompanied by his shepherd's dog, to look after some
sheep on the mountains near Rydal, about four miles distant; and
discovering two at the bottom of a precipice between two rocks he
descended, with the view of extricating them; but when he got to the
bottom, he could neither assist them nor get up himself, and there he
was confined until midnight. The faithful dog remained at the top of
the precipice watching his master; but at nightfall he proceeded home,
scratched the door, and was let in by his mistress, who expressed her
surprise at the barking of the dog and non-arrival of her husband. She
had no sooner sat down than the dog ran barking towards her, and then
went to the door: but as she did not follow, the dog ran to her again,
seized her apron, and endeavoured to pull her to the door; which
circumstance caused her to suppose some accident had befallen her
husband. She immediately called up the servant-man, and told him she
was sure, from the strange conduct of the dog, that something must
have happened to his master. She told the man to take a lantern and
some ropes, and follow the dog, taking care to get assistance at
Ambleside; which he did. No sooner had the man opened the door than
the dog bounded out, leaped up at him, barked, and then ran forward,
but quickly returned, leaped up again, barked, and then ran forward,
as if to hasten the man's speed. The faithful dog led the man and his
companions to the prison of his master. The ropes were instantly
lowered, and Mr. Satterthwaite was providentially released from his
perilous situation. The sheep also were recovered.

How well do I recollect the Ettrick Shepherd descanting on the
sagacity and perseverance of his favourite sheep-dog! His name was
Sirrah, and he told me the following extraordinary anecdote of him,
which I give in his own words:--

"About seven hundred lambs, which were once under my care at weaning
time, broke up at midnight, and scampered off in three divisions
across the hills, in spite of all that I and an assistant lad could do
to keep them together. 'Sirrah, my man!' said I in great affliction,
'they are awa'.' The night was so dark that I could not see Sirrah,
but the faithful animal heard my words--words such as of all others
were sure to set him most on the alert; and without much ado he
silently set off in search of the recreant flock. Meanwhile I and my
companion did not fail to do all in our power to recover our lost
charge. We spent the whole night in scouring the hills for miles
around, but of neither the lambs nor Sirrah could we obtain the
slightest trace. It was the most extraordinary circumstance that had
occurred in my pastoral life. We had nothing for it (day having
dawned), but to return to our master, and inform him that we had lost
his whole flock of lambs, and knew not what had become of them. On our
way home, however, we discovered a body of lambs at the bottom of a
deep ravine, called the Flesh Cleuch, and the indefatigable Sirrah
standing in front of them, looking all around for some relief, but
still standing true to his charge. The sun was then up; and when we
first came in view of them, we concluded that it was one of the
divisions which Sirrah had been unable to manage until he came to
that commanding situation. But what was our astonishment, when we
discovered by degrees that not one lamb of the whole flock was
wanting! How he had got all the divisions collected in the dark, is
beyond my comprehension. The charge was left entirely to himself, from
midnight until the rising of the sun; and if all the shepherds in the
forest had been there to have assisted him, they could not have
effected it with greater propriety. All that I can farther say is,
that I never felt so grateful to any creature below the sun, as I did
to my honest Sirrah that morning."

"I once sent you," says Mr. Hogg, some years later, in a letter to the
Editor of "Blackwood's Edinburgh Magazine," "an account of a notable
dog of my own, named Sirrah, which amused a number of your readers a
great deal, and put their faith in my veracity somewhat to the test;
but in this district, where the singular qualities of the animal were
known, so far from any of the anecdotes being disputed, every shepherd
values himself to this day on the possession of facts far outstripping
any of those recorded by you formerly. With a few of these I shall
conclude this paper. But, in the first place, I must give you some
account of my own renowned Hector, which I promised long ago. He was
the son and immediate successor of the faithful old Sirrah; and though
not nearly so valuable a dog as his father, he was a far more
interesting one. He had three times more humour and whim about him;
and though exceedingly docile, his bravest acts were mostly tinctured
with a grain of stupidity, which showed his reasoning faculty to be
laughably obtuse.

"I shall mention a striking instance of it. I was once at the farm of
Shorthope on Ettrick Head, receiving some lambs that I had bought, and
was going to take to market, with some more, the next day. Owing to
some accidental delay, I did not get final delivery of the lambs till
it was growing late; and being obliged to be at my own house that
night, I was not a little dismayed lest I should scatter and lose my
lambs if darkness overtook me. Darkness did overtake me by the time I
got half-way, and no ordinary darkness for an August evening. The
lambs having been weaned that day, and of the wild black-faced breed,
became exceedingly unruly, and for a good while I lost hopes of
mastering them. Hector managed the point, and we got them safe home;
but both he and his master were alike sore forefoughten. It had become
so dark that we were obliged to fold them with candles; and, after
closing them safely up, I went home with my father and the rest to
supper. When Hector's supper was set down, behold he was awanting! and
as I knew we had him at the fold, which was within call of the house,
I went out and called and whistled on him for a good while, but he did
not make his appearance. I was distressed about this; for, having to
take away the lambs next morning, I knew I could not drive them a
mile without my dog if it had been to save the whole drove.

"The next morning, as soon as it was day, I arose and inquired if
Hector had come home? No; he had not been seen. I knew not what to do;
but my father proposed that he would take out the lambs and herd them,
and let them get some meat to fit them for the road, and that I should
ride with all speed to Shorthope to see if my dog had gone back there.
Accordingly we went together to the fold to turn out the lambs, and
there was poor Hector, sitting trembling in the very middle of the
fold-door, on the inside of the flake that closed it, with his eyes
still steadfastly fixed on the lambs. He had been so hardly set with
them after it grew dark, that he durst not for his life leave them,
although hungry, fatigued, and cold, for the night had turned out a
deluge of rain. He had never so much as lain down; for only the small
spot that he sat on was dry, and there had he kept watch the whole
night. Almost any other colley would have discerned that the lambs
were safe enough in the fold, but honest Hector had not been able to
see through this. He even refused to take my word for it; for he would
not quit his watch, though he heard me calling both at night and
morning.

"Another peculiarity of his was, that he had a mortal antipathy to the
family-mouser, which was ingrained in his nature from his very
puppyhood; yet so perfectly absurd was he, that no impertinence on
her side, and no baiting on, could ever induce him to lay his mouth
on her, or injure her in the slightest degree. There was not a day and
scarcely an hour passed over, that the family did not get some
amusement with these two animals. Whenever he was within doors, his
whole occupation was watching and _pointing_ the cat from morning to
night. When she flitted from one place to another, so did he in a
moment; and then squatting down, he kept his _point_ sedulously, till
he was either called off or fell asleep.

"He was an exceedingly poor eater of meat, always had to be pressed to
it, and often would not take it till we brought in the cat. The
malicious looks that he cast at her from under his eyebrows on such
occasions were exceedingly ludicrous, considering his utter
disinclination to injure her. Whenever he saw her, he drew near his
bicker and looked angry; but still he would not taste till she was
brought to it, and then he cocked his tail, set up his birses, and
began lapping furiously as if in utter desperation. His good nature,
however, was so immovable, that he would never refuse her a share of
what was placed before him; he even lapped close to the one side of
the dish, and left her room,--but mercy! how he did ply!

"It will appear strange to you to hear a dog's reasoning faculty
mentioned as I have done; but I declare I have hardly ever seen a
shepherd's dog do anything without believing that I perceived his
reasons for it. I have often amused myself in calculating what his
motives were for such and such things, and I generally found them very
cogent ones. But Hector had a droll stupidity about him, and took up
forms and rules of his own, for which I could never perceive any
motive that was not even farther out of the way than the action
itself. He had one uniform practice, and a very bad one it was; during
the time of family worship, and just three or four seconds before the
conclusion of the prayer, he started to his feet and ran barking round
the apartment like a crazed beast. My father was so much amused with
this, that he would never suffer me to correct him for it, and I
scarcely ever saw the old man rise from the prayer without his
endeavouring to suppress a smile at the extravagance of Hector. None
of us ever could find out how he knew that the prayer was near done,
for my father was not formal in his prayers; but certes he did
know,--and of that we had nightly evidence. There never was anything
for which I was so puzzled to discover a motive as this, but from
accident I did discover it; and, however ludicrous it may appear, I am
certain I was correct. It was much in character with many of Hector's
feats, and rather, I think, the most _outré_ of any principle he ever
acted on. As I said, his great daily occupation was pointing the cat.
Now, when he saw us kneel all down in a circle, with our faces couched
on our paws, in the same posture with himself, it struck his absurd
head that we were all engaged in pointing the cat. He lay on tenters
all the while, but the acuteness of his ear enabling him, through
time, to ascertain the very moment when we would all spring to our
feet, he thought to himself, 'I shall be first after her, for you
all.'

"He inherited his dad's unfortunate ear for music, not perhaps in so
extravagant a degree, but he ever took care to exhibit it on the most
untimely and ill-judged occasions. Owing to some misunderstanding
between the minister of the parish and the session-clerk, the
precenting in church devolved on my father, who was the senior elder.
Now, my father could have sung several of the old church-tunes
middling well in his own family-circle; but it so happened that, when
mounted in the desk, he never could command the starting notes of any
but one (St. Paul's), which were always in undue readiness at the root
of his tongue, to the exclusion of every other semibreve in the whole
range of sacred melody. The minister gave out psalms four times in the
course of every day's service; consequently the congregation were
treated with St. Paul's in the morning at great length, twice in the
course of the service, and then once again at the close. Nothing but
St. Paul's. And it being itself a monotonous tune, nothing could
exceed the monotony that prevailed in the primitive church of Ettrick.
Out of pure sympathy for my father alone, I was compelled to take the
precentorship in hand; and having plenty of tunes, for a good while I
came on as well as could be expected, as men say of their wives. But,
unfortunately for me, Hector found out that I attended church every
Sunday, and though I had him always closed up carefully at home, he
rarely failed in making his appearance in church at some time of the
day. Whenever I saw him a tremor came over my spirits, for I well knew
what the issue would be. The moment that he heard my voice strike up
the psalm 'with might and majesty,' then did he fall in with such
overpowering vehemence, that he and I seldom got any to join in the
music but our two selves. The shepherds hid their heads, and laid them
down on the backs of their seats rowed in their plaids, and the lasses
looked down to the ground and laughed till their faces grew red. I
despised to _stick_ the tune, and therefore was obliged to carry on in
spite of the obstreperous accompaniment; but I was, time after time,
so completely put out of all countenance with the brute, that I was
obliged to give up my office in disgust, and leave the parish once
more to their old friend, St. Paul.

"Hector was quite incapable of performing the same feats among sheep
that his father did; but, as far as his judgment served him, he was a
docile and obliging creature. He had one singular quality, of keeping
true to the charge to which he was set. If we had been shearing, or
sorting sheep in any way, when a division was turned out and Hector
got the word to attend to them, he would have done it pleasantly for
a whole day without the least symptom of weariness. No noise or hurry
about the fold, which brings every other dog from his business, had
the least effect on Hector, save that it made him a little troublesome
on his own charge, and set him a-running round and round them, turning
them in at corners, from a sort of impatience to be employed as well
as his baying neighbours at the fold. Whenever old Sirrah found
himself hard set in commanding wild sheep on steep ground, where they
are worst to manage, he never failed, without any hint to the purpose,
to throw himself wide in below them, and lay their faces to the hill,
by which means he got the command of them in a minute. I never could
make Hector comprehend this advantage with all my art, although his
father found it out entirely of himself. The former would turn or wear
sheep no other way but on the hill above them; and, though very good
at it, he gave both them and himself double the trouble and fatigue.

"It cannot be supposed that he could understand all that was passing
in the little family circle, but he certainly comprehended a good part
of it. In particular, it was very easy to discover that he rarely
missed aught that was said about himself, the sheep, the cat, or of a
hunt. When aught of that nature came to be discussed, Hector's
attention and impatience soon became manifest. There was one winter
evening I said to my mother that I was going to Bowerhope for a
fortnight, for that I had more conveniency for writing with Alexander
Laidlaw than at home; and I added, 'But I will not take Hector with
me, for he is constantly quarrelling with the rest of the dogs,
singing music, or breeding some uproar.' 'Na, na,' quoth she, 'leave
Hector with me; I like aye best to have him at hame, poor fallow.'

"These were all the words that passed. The next morning the waters
were in a great flood, and I did not go away till after breakfast; but
when the time came for tying up Hector, he was a-wanting. 'The deil's
in that beast,' said I,--'I will wager that he heard what we were
saying yesternight, and has gone off for Bowerhope as soon as the door
was opened this morning.'

"'If that should really be the case, I'll think the beast no canny,'
said my mother.

"The Yarrow was so large as to be quite impassable, so that I had to
walk up by St. Mary's Loch, and go across by the boat; and, on drawing
near to Bowerhope, I soon perceived that matters had gone precisely as
I suspected. Large as the Yarrow was, and it appeared impassable by
any living creature, Hector had made his escape early in the morning,
had swam the river, and was sitting, 'like a drookit hen,' on a knoll
at the east end of the house, awaiting my arrival with great
impatience. I had a great attachment to this animal, who, to a good
deal of absurdity, joined all the amiable qualities of his species. He
was rather of a small size, very rough and shagged, and not far from
the colour of a fox.

"His son Lion was the very picture of his dad, had a good deal more
sagacity, but also more selfishness. A history of the one, however,
would only be an epitome of that of the other. Mr. William
Nicholson[O] took a fine likeness of this latter one, which he still
possesses. He could not get him to sit for his picture in such a
position as he wanted, till he exhibited a singularly fine portrait of
a small dog, on the opposite side of the room. Lion took it for a real
animal, and, disliking its fierce and important look exceedingly, he
immediately set up his ears and his shaggy birses, and, fixing a stern
eye on the picture in manifest wrath, he would then sit for a whole
day and point at it without budging or altering his position.

"It is a curious fact in the history of these animals, that the most
useless of the breed have often the greatest degree of sagacity in
trifling and useless matters. An exceedingly good sheep-dog attends to
nothing else but that particular branch of business to which he is
bred. His whole capacity is exerted and exhausted on it, and he is of
little avail in miscellaneous matters; whereas, a very indifferent
cur, bred about the house, and accustomed to assist in every thing,
will often put the more noble breed to disgrace in those paltry
services. If one calls out, for instance, that the cows are in the
corn, or the hens in the garden, the house-colley needs no other hint,
but runs and turns them out. The shepherd's dog knows not what is
astir; and, if he is called out in a hurry for such work, all that he
will do is to break to the hill, and rear himself up on end to see if
no sheep are running away. A bred sheep-dog, if coming hungry from the
hills, and getting into a milk-house, would most likely think of
nothing else than filling his belly with the cream. Not so his
uninitiated brother; he is bred at home to far higher principles of
honour. I have known such lie night and day among from ten to twenty
pails full of milk, and never once break the cream of one of them with
the tip of his tongue, nor would he suffer cat, rat, or any other
creature to touch it. This latter sort, too, are far more acute at
taking up what is said in a family.

"The anecdotes of these animals are all so much alike, that were I but
to relate the thousandth part of those I have heard, they would often
look very much like repetitions. I shall therefore, in this paper,
only mention one or two of the most singular, which I know to be well
authenticated.

"There was a shepherd lad near Langholm, whose name was Scott, who
possessed a bitch famed over all the West Border for her singular
tractability. He could have sent her home with one sheep, two sheep,
or any given number, from any of the neighbouring farms; and, in the
lambing season, it was his uniform practice to send her home with the
kebbed ewes just as he got them. I must let the town reader understand
this. A kebbed ewe is one whose lamb dies. As soon as such is found,
she is immediately brought home by the shepherd, and another lamb put
to her; and Scott, on going his rounds on the hill, whenever he found
a kebbed ewe, immediately gave her in charge to his bitch to take
home, which saved him from coming back that way again and going over
the same ground he had visited before. She always took them carefully
home, and put them into a fold which was close by the house, keeping
watch over them till she was seen by some one of the family; upon
which she instantly decamped, and hastened back to her master, who
sometimes sent her three times home in one morning with different
charges. It was the custom of the farmer to watch her and take the
sheep in charge from her: but this required a good deal of caution;
for as soon as she perceived that she was seen, whether the sheep were
put into the fold or not, she concluded her charge was at an end, and
no flattery could induce her to stay and assist in folding them. There
was a display of accuracy and attention in this that I cannot say I
have ever seen equalled.

"The late Mr. Steel, flesher in Peebles, had a bitch that was fully
equal to the one mentioned above, and that, too, in the very same
qualification. Her feats in taking sheep from the neighbouring farms
into the Flesh-market at Peebles, form innumerable anecdotes in that
vicinity. But there is one related of her, that manifests so much
sagacity with natural affection, that I do not think the history of
the animal creation furnishes such another.

"Mr. Steel had such implicit dependence on the attention of this
animal to his orders, that, whenever he put a lot of sheep before her,
he took a pride in leaving them to herself, and either remained to
take a glass with the farmer of whom he had made the purchase, or took
another road to look after bargains or other business. But one time he
chanced to commit a drove to her charge at a place called Willenslee,
without attending to her condition as he ought to have done. This farm
is five miles from Peebles, over wild hills, and there is no regularly
defined path to it. Whether Mr. Steel remained behind, or chose
another road, I know not; but, on coming home late in the evening, he
was astonished at hearing that his faithful animal had not made her
appearance with the flock. He and his son, or servant, instantly
prepared to set out by different paths in search of her; but, on their
going out to the street, there was she coming with the drove, no one
missing; and, marvellous to relate, she was carrying a young pup in
her mouth! She had been taken in travail on those hills; and how the
poor beast had contrived to manage the drove in her state of
suffering is beyond human calculation, for her road lay through sheep
the whole way. Her master's heart smote him when he saw what she had
suffered and effected: but she was nothing daunted; and having
deposited her young one in a place of safety, she again set out full
speed to the hills, and brought another and another, till she removed
her whole litter one by one; but the last one was dead.

"The stories related of the dogs of sheep-stealers are fairly beyond
all credibility. I cannot attach credit to some of them without
believing the animals to have been devils incarnate, come to the earth
for the destruction both of the souls and bodies of men. I cannot
mention names, for the sake of families that still remain in the
country; but there have been sundry men executed, who belonged to this
district of the kingdom, for that heinous crime, in my own days; and
others have absconded, just in time to save their necks. There was not
one of these to whom I allude who did not acknowledge his dog to be
the greatest aggressor. One young man in particular, who was, I
believe, overtaken by justice for his first offence, stated, that
after he had folded the sheep by moonlight, and selected his number
from the flock of a former master, he took them out, and set away with
them towards Edinburgh. But before he had got them quite off the farm,
his conscience smote him, as he said (but more likely a dread of that
which soon followed), and he quitted the sheep, letting them go again
to the hill. He called his dog off them, and mounting his pony, he
rode away. At that time he said his dog was capering and playing
around him, as if glad of having got free of a troublesome business;
and he regarded him no more, till, after having rode about three
miles, he thought again and again that he heard something coming up
behind him. Halting, at length, to ascertain what it was, in a few
minutes there comes his dog with the stolen animals, driving them at a
furious rate to keep up with his master. The sheep were all smoking,
and hanging out their tongues, and their guide was fully as warm as
they. The young man was now exceedingly troubled, for the sheep having
been brought so far from home, he dreaded there would be a pursuit,
and he could not get them home again before day. Resolving, at all
events, to keep his hands clear of them, he corrected his dog in great
wrath, left the sheep once more, and taking colley with him, rode off
a second time. He had not ridden above a mile, till he perceived that
his assistant had again given him the slip; and suspecting for what
purpose, he was terribly alarmed as well as chagrined; for daylight
now approached, and he durst not make a noise calling on his dog, for
fear of alarming the neighbourhood, in a place where they were both
well known. He resolved therefore to abandon the animal to himself,
and take a road across the country which he was sure the other did not
know, and could not follow. He took that road, but being on horseback,
he could not get across the enclosed fields. He at length came to a
gate, which he shut behind him, and went about half a mile farther, by
a zigzag course, to a farmhouse, where both his sister and sweetheart
lived; and at that place he remained until after breakfast time. The
people of this house were all examined on the trial, and no one had
either seen the sheep or heard them mentioned, save one man, who came
up to the aggressor as he was standing at the stable-door, and told
him that his dog had the sheep safe enough down at the Crooked Yett,
and he needed not hurry himself. He answered, that the sheep were not
his--they were young Mr. Thomson's, who had left them to his charge,
and he was in search of a man to drive them, which made him come off
his road.

"After this discovery, it was impossible for the poor fellow to get
quit of them; so he went down and took possession of the stolen drove
once more, carried them on, and disposed of them; and, finally, the
transaction cost him his life. The dog, for the last four or five
miles that he had brought the sheep, could have no other guide to the
road his master had gone but the smell of his pony's feet. I appeal to
every unprejudiced person if this was not as like one of the deil's
tricks as an honest colley's.

"It is also well known that there was a notorious sheep-stealer in the
county of Mid-Lothian, who, had it not been for the skins and the
heads, would never have been condemned, as he could, with the
greatest ease, have proved an _alibi_ every time suspicions were
entertained against him. He always went by one road, calling on his
acquaintances, and taking care to appear to everybody by whom he was
known, while his dog went by another with the stolen sheep; and then,
on the two felons meeting again, they had nothing more to do than turn
the sheep into an associate's enclosure, in whose house the dog was
well fed and entertained, and would have soon taken all the fat sheep
on the Lothian edges to that house. This was likewise a female, a
jet-black one, with a deep coat of soft hair, but smooth-headed, and
very strong and handsome in her make. On the disappearance of her
master she lay about the hills and places where he had frequented, but
she never attempted to steal a drove by herself, nor the smallest
thing for her own hand. She was kept some time by a relation of her
master's, but never acting heartily in his service, soon came
privately to an untimely end. Of this there is little doubt, although
some spread the report that one evening, after uttering two or three
loud howls, she instantly vanished! From such dogs as these, good Lord
deliver us!"

The following is, perhaps, a still more extraordinary anecdote of the
fidelity shown by a sheep-dog to its charge. It was communicated by
Robert Murray, shepherd to Mr. Samuel Richmond, Path of Coudie, near
Dunning, in Perthshire.

Murray had purchased for his master four score of sheep at the Falkirk
Tryst, but having occasion to stop another day, and confident in the
faithfulness and sagacity of his colley, which was a female, he
committed the drove to her care, with orders to drive them home,--a
distance of about seventeen miles. The poor animal, when a few miles
on the road, dropped two whelps, but, faithful to her charge, she
drove the sheep on a mile or two further--then, allowing them to stop,
returned for her pups, which she carried for about two miles in
advance of the sheep. Leaving her pups, the colley again returned for
the sheep, and drove them onwards a few miles. This she continued to
do, alternately carrying her own young ones and taking charge of the
flock, till she reached home. The manner of her acting on this
occasion was afterwards gathered by the shepherd from various
individuals, who had observed these extraordinary proceedings of the
dumb animal on the road. However, when the colley reached her home,
and delivered her charge, it was found that the two pups were dead. In
this extremity, the instinct of the poor brute was, if possible, still
more remarkable. She went to a rabbit-brae in the vicinity, and dug
out of the earth two young rabbits, which she deposited on some straw
in a barn, and continued to suckle for some time, until one of the
farm servants unluckily let down a full sack upon them and smothered
them.

The following anecdote is related by Captain Brown:--

A shepherd had driven a part of his flock to a neighbouring farm,
leaving his dog to watch the remainder during that day and the next
night, expecting to revisit them the following morning. Unfortunately,
however, when at the fair, the shepherd forgot both his dog and his
sheep, and did not return home till the morning of the third day. His
first inquiry was, whether his dog had been seen? The answer was, No.
"Then he must be dead," replied the shepherd in a tone of anguish,
"for I know he was too faithful to desert his charge." He instantly
repaired to the heath. The dog had sufficient strength remaining to
crawl to his master's feet, and express his joy at his return, and
almost immediately after expired.

Mr. Blaine relates the following circumstance:--I remember watching a
shepherd boy in Scotland, who was sitting on the bank of a wide but
shallow stream. A sheep had strayed to a considerable distance on the
other side of the water; the boy, calling to his dog, ordered him to
fetch that sheep back, but to do it gently, for she was heavy in lamb.
I do not affect to say that the dog understood the reason for which he
was commanded to perform this office in a more gentle manner than
usual; but that he did understand he was to do it gently was very
evident, for he immediately marched away through the water, came
gently up to the side of the sheep, turned her towards the rest, and
then they both walked quietly side by side to the flock. I was
scarcely ever more pleased at a trifling incident in rural scenery
than this.

The sense and recollection of the sheep-dog were shown in the
following instance:--

When I occupied a small farm in Surrey, I was in the habit of joining
with a friend in the purchase of two hundred Cheviot sheep. The first
year we had them, the shepherd who drove them from the North was asked
by us how he had got on. "Why, very badly," said the man; "for I had a
young dog, and he did not manage well in keeping the sheep from
running up lanes and out-of-the-way places." The next year we had the
same number of sheep brought up, and by the same man. In answer to our
question about his journey, he informed us that he had got on very
well, for his dog had recollected all the turnings of the road which
the sheep had passed the previous year, and had kept them straight the
whole of the way.

It has always appeared to me that the patriarchal flocks, the
shepherds and their dogs, are seen to more advantage on the wild hills
of Cumberland and Westmorland, than in any other situation. When I
have wandered along the sides of some of the beautiful lakes of those
counties, and have witnessed the effects of light and shade at
different times of the day, on the water and distant hills and
valleys, and seen the numerous sheep scattered over the latter, how
delightful has been the prospect! During the early morning the bright
beams of the sun did not produce too much glare and heat, but served
to give a charming glitter to the dew-drops as they besparkled the
grass and flowers. The tracts of the sheep might be seen by the
disappearance of the "gentle dew" from their path as they proceeded to
their pasture, driven by the watchful colley. It was a scene of
cheerfulness, which every lover of nature would admire.

In the evening the calmness of the lake was delightful. The light
hovered over it, and the reflection of the trees in the transparent
water beautified the scene. The beams of the setting sun glowed first
over the valleys, and then illumined the tops of the hills; then
gradually disappeared: but the grey tints of evening still had their
beauty, and a diversity of them was preserved long after the greater
effects of the setting sun had vanished. Deep shade was contrasted
with former splendour, till at last the lovely moon appeared with her
modest light, and formed a streak across the lake, which was
occasionally broken as a ripple, raised by a breeze of the gentlest
kind, passed over it.

While the sun still gleamed on the mountain's side the shepherd might
be observed resting at its foot, while his patient dog ranged about
collecting the flock, and bringing them towards his master.

Dear, lovely lake!--Never shall I forget your beauteous scenery.
Seated in the cool of the evening under one of the noble trees on your
shore, the only sounds I heard were the soft ripple of the water, and
the late warbling of the redbreast--Yes, I forget the humming beetle
as it rapidly passed, and the owl calling to its mate in the distant
wood. How peaceful were my feelings!--

   "Happy the man whose tranquil mind
    Sees Nature in her changes kind,
      And pleased the whole surveys;
    For him the morn benignly smiles,
    And evening shades reward the toils
      That measure out his days.

    The varying year may shift the scene,
    The sounding tempest lash the main,
      And heaven's own thunder roll;
    Calmly he views the bursting storm,
    Tempests nor thunders can deform
      The quiet of his soul."--C. B.

Nor is the scenery from the Lakes the only thing to be admired in this
delightful country. Lanes may be traversed sheltered by the oak, the
ash, and the hazel, and only those who have seen the Cumberland hazels
can form an idea of the beauty of their silvery bark and luxuriant
growth. From these lanes there are occasional openings, through which
a placid lake or a distant range of hills may be seen. And what
picturesque and rugged hills they are! Huge, projecting rocks and
verdant lawns, and deep channels of rugged stone, over which a foaming
torrent forces its way in the rainy season, and is succeeded in dry
weather by a sparkling rivulet, which trickles down to swell a little
brooklet at the foot of the hill, as it winds its way to the
neighbouring lake. These may be seen, and the patches of heather, and
the patient colley watching for a signal to collect the scattered
flock, dotted, as it appears to be, over the almost inaccessible
heights. At some distance it is difficult to see the sheep, at least
by a stranger, partly on account of the dark colour of their fleeces
(for they have not the whiteness of our flocks in the midland downs),
and partly from the shadow on the hills. Separated as they are from
each other, as the evening closes in the sagacious dog receives a hint
from his master, and the sheep are quickly collected from places to
which the shepherd could with difficulty make his way. Snow and frost
are no check to the labours of the colley dog. His exertions are
indefatigable, and the only reward he appears to expect is the
approbation of his master.

The following amusing anecdote of a sort of sheep-dog was communicated
to me by its owner. The dog's name was Hero. His habits were odd
enough, and he gave many instances of his sagacity. The following was
one of them:--

Hero was in the constant habit of accompanying the farm-horses in
their daily labour, pacing the ploughed field regularly aside the
team, and returning with them to and from his meals, always taking
care to scamper home at a certain hour for a more dainty portion when
his mistress dined.

During one of these hasty visits he met a young woman, whom he had
never seen before, wearing his mistress's cloak. After looking at her
with a scrutinising eye, he turned round, and followed her closely, to
her great dismay, to a neighbouring village four miles off, where the
brother of his mistress lived, and into whose house the woman entered.
Probably concluding from this circumstance that she was a privileged
person, he returned quietly back again. Had she passed the house, the
dog would most probably have seized the cloak, in order to restore it
to his mistress.

I trust my readers will begin to feel some interest in this sagacious
and useful animal, and I will add one or two more well-authenticated
anecdotes of him.

Captain Brown says that his friend, Mr. Peter Macarthur, related to
him the following anecdote of a shepherd's dog, which belonged to his
grandfather, who at that time resided in the Island of Mull:--Upon one
occasion a cow had been missed for some days, and no trace of it could
be found; and a shepherd's dog, called Drummer, was also absent. On
the second or third day the dog returned, and taking Mr. Macarthur's
father by the coat, pulled him towards the door, but he did not follow
it; he then went to his grandfather, and pulled him in the same way by
the coat, but without being attended to; he next went to one of the
men-servants, and tugged him also by the coat. Conceiving at last
there was something particular which the dog wanted, they agreed to
follow him: this seemed to give him great pleasure, and he ran
barking and frisking before them, till he led them to a cow-shed, in
the middle of a field. There they found the cow fixed by the horns to
a beam, from which they immediately extricated her and conducted her
home, much exhausted for want of food. It is obvious, that but for the
sagacity of this faithful animal she certainly would have died.

Mr. John Cobb, farmer at Tillybirnie, parish of Lethnot, near Brechin,
during a severe snow-storm in the year 1798, had gone with his dog,
called Cæsar, to a spot on the small stream of Paphry (a tributary of
the North Esk), where his sheep on such occasions used to take shelter
beneath some lofty and precipitous rocks called Ugly Face, which
overhung the stream. While employed in driving them out, an immense
avalanche fell from these rocks, and completely buried him and his
dog. He found all his endeavours to extricate himself from this
fearful situation in vain; and at last, worn out, fell asleep.
However, his dog had contrived to work his way out, and returned home
next day about noon. The dog, by whining and looking in the faces of
the family, and afterwards running to the door, showed that he wished
them to follow him; they accordingly did so, accompanied by a number
of men provided with spades. He led them to the spot where his master
was, and, after scraping away the snow which had fallen from the time
he had quitted the spot, he quickly disappeared in the hole by which
he had effected his escape. They began to dig, and by nightfall they
found Mr. Cobb quite benumbed, standing in an upright posture; but as
life was not quite extinguished he was rolled in warm blankets, and
soon recovered. As may well be conceived, he felt the greatest regard
for his preserver, and treated him ever afterwards with much
tenderness. The colley lived to a great age, and when he died, his
master said it gave him as much pain as the death of a child; and he
would have buried him in a coffin, had he not thought that his
neighbours would turn it into ridicule.

A gentleman of my acquaintance had a sheep-dog, which was generally
kept in a yard by the side of his house in the country. One day a
beggar made his way into the yard armed with a stout stick, with which
he defended himself from the attacks of the dog, who barked at and
attempted to bite him. On the appearance of a servant the dog ceased
barking, and watching his opportunity, he got behind the beggar,
snatched the stick from his hand, and carried it into the road, where
he left it.

A shepherd named Clark, travelling home to Hunt-Law, parish of Minto,
near Jedburgh, with some sheep, had occasion to pass through a small
village, where he went into a public-house to take a dram with some
cronies whom he had met on the road, leaving the sheep in charge of
the dog. His friends and he had indulged in a crack for several hours,
till he entirely forgot his drove. In the meantime the dog had
wearied, and determined to take the sheep home himself, a distance of
about ten miles. The shepherd, on coming to the spot where he had left
the animals, found they were gone, but knowing well that he might
depend on the fidelity of his dog, he followed the straight way to
Hunt-Law. On coming to a gateway which had interrupted their progress,
he perceived the dog and sheep quietly reposing; and had it not been
for that bar to their course he would have taken them home. Two miles
of their way was by a made road, and the rest through an open moor.

"One of the most interesting anecdotes I have known," says Sir Patrick
Walker, who related this anecdote to Captain Brown, and the one which
follows, "relates to a sheep-dog. The names of the parties have
escaped me just now, but I recollect perfectly that it came from an
authentic source. The circumstances were these:--A gentleman sold a
considerable flock of sheep to a dealer, which the latter had not
hands to drive. The seller, however, told him he had a very
intelligent dog, which he would send to assist him to a place about
thirty miles off; and that when he reached the end of his journey, he
had only to feed the dog, and desire him to go home. The dog
accordingly received his orders, and set off with the flock and the
drover; but he was absent for so many days that his master began to
have serious alarms about him, when one morning, to his great
surprise, he found the dog returned with a very large flock of sheep,
including the whole that he had lately sold. The fact turned out to
be, that the drover was so pleased with the colley that he resolved to
steal him, and locked him up until the time when he was to leave the
country. The dog grew sulky, and made various attempts to escape, and
one evening he fortunately succeeded. Whether the brute had discovered
the drover's intention, and supposed the sheep were also stolen, it is
difficult to say; but by his conduct it looked so, for he immediately
went to the field, collected the sheep, and drove them all back to his
master."

"A few years ago, when upon a shooting party in the Braes of Ranoch,
the dogs were so worn out as to be unfit for travel. Our guide said he
knew the shepherd, who had a dog that perhaps might help us. He
called, and the young man came with his little black colley, to which,
as soon as he had conversed with the guide, he said something in Erse.
The dog set off in a sneaking sort of manner up the hill, and, when he
showed any degree of keenness, we hastened to follow, lest he should
set up the birds; but the lad advised us 'to be canny, as it was time
eneuch when Lud came back to tell.' In a short space Lud made his
appearance on a knoll, and sat down, and the shepherd said we might go
up now, for Lud had found the birds. The dog waited till we were
ready, and trotted on at his master's command, who soon cautioned us
to be on the alert, for Lud signified we were in the midst of the
covey. We immediately found this to be the case, and in the course of
the day the same thing occurred frequently."

The following anecdote will serve to show the strong affection of the
sheep-dog; I will give it in the words of a gentleman who witnessed
the fact in the north of England.

"The following instance of canine affection came under my observation
at a farm-steading, where I happened to be. A colley belonging to the
shepherd on the farm appeared very restless and agitated: she
frequently sent forth short howls, and moaned as if in great agony.
'What on earth is the matter with the dog?' I asked. 'Ye see, sur,'
said the shepherd, 'au drownt a' her whelps i' the pond the day, and
she's busy greeting for them.' Of course, I had no objection to offer
to this explanation, but resolved to watch her future operations. She
was not long in setting off to the pond and fishing out her offspring.
One strong brindled pup she seemed to lament over the most. After
looking at it for some time, she again set off at a quick rate to a
new house then in the course of erection, and scooped out a deep hole
among the rubbish. She then, one by one, deposited the remains of her
young in it, and covered them up most carefully. After she had
fulfilled this task, she resumed her labours among her woolly charge
as usual."

In the winter of the year 1795, as Mr. Boulstead's son, of Great
Salkeld, in Cumberland, was attending the sheep of his father upon
Great Salkeld Common, he had the misfortune to fall and break his
leg. He was then at the distance of three miles from home--there was
no chance of any person's coming in so unfrequented a place within
call, and evening was fast approaching. In this dreadful dilemma,
suffering extreme pain from the fracture, and laying upon the damp
ground at so dreary a season of the year, his fearful situation
suggested to him the following expedient. Folding one of his gloves in
his pocket-handkerchief, he fastened it round the neck of the dog, and
rather emphatically ordered him 'home.' These dogs, trained so
admirably to orders and signals during their attendance upon the
flock, are well known to be under the most minute subjection, and to
execute the commands of their masters with an alacrity scarcely to be
conceived.

Perfectly convinced of some inexplicable disquietude from the
situation in which his master lay, he set off at a pace which soon
brought him to the house, where he scratched with great violence at
the door for immediate admittance. This obtained, the parents were in
the utmost alarm and consternation at his appearance, especially when
they had examined the handkerchief and its contents. Instantly
concluding that some accident had befallen their son, they did not
delay a moment to go in search of him. The dog, apparently conscious
that the principal part of his duty was yet to be performed, anxiously
led the way, and conducted the agitated parents to the spot where
their son lay overwhelmed with pain, increased by the awful
uncertainty of his situation. Happily he was removed just at the close
of day; and the necessary assistance being procured, he soon
recovered. He was never more pleasingly engaged than when reciting the
sagacity and affection of his faithful follower, who then became his
constant companion.

Mr. Hawkes, farmer of Halling, returning much intoxicated from
Maidstone market, with his dog, when the whole face of the country was
covered with snow, mistook his path, and passed over a ditch on his
right-hand towards the river; fortunately he was unable to get up the
bank, or he must have fallen into the Medway, at nearly high water.
Overcome with the liquor, Hawkes fell amongst the snow, in one of the
coldest nights ever remembered: turning on his back, he was soon
asleep; his dog scratched the snow about him, and then mounted upon
the body, rolled himself round, and laid him on his master's bosom,
for which his shaggy hide proved a seasonable covering. In this state,
with snow falling all the time, the farmer and his dog lay the whole
of the night; in the morning, a Mr. Finch, who was out with his gun,
perceiving an uncommon appearance, proceeded towards it; at his
approach, the dog got off the body, shook the snow from him, and by
significant actions encouraged Mr. Finch to advance. Upon wiping the
snow from the face, the person was immediately recognised, and was
conveyed to the first house, when a pulsation in the heart being
evident, the necessary means to recover him were employed, and in a
short time Hawkes was able to relate his own story. In gratitude for
his faithful friend, a silver collar was made for his wearing, and
thus inscribed:--

   "In man, true friendship I long strove to find, but missed my aim;
    At length I found it in my dog most kind; man! blush for shame."

The following tale is copied from the "Glasgow Post:"--

"A few days since, while Hector Macalister was on the Aran Hills
looking after his sheep, six miles from home or other habitation, his
two colley dogs started a rabbit, which ran under a large block of
granite. He thrust his arm under the stone, expecting to catch it; but
instead of doing so, he removed the supports of the block, which
instantly came down on his arm, holding him as fast as a vice. His
pain was great; but the pangs he felt were greater when he thought of
home, and the death he seemed doomed to die. In this position he lay
from ten in the morning till four in the afternoon; when, finding that
all his efforts to extricate himself were unavailing, he tried several
times, without effect, to get his knife out of his pocket to cut his
arm off.

"His only chance now was to send home his dogs, with the view of
alarming his friends. After much difficulty, as the faithful creatures
were most unwilling to leave him, he succeeded; and Mrs. Macalister,
seeing them return alone, took the alarm, and collecting the
neighbours, went in search of her husband, led on by the faithful
colleys. When they came to the spot, poor Macalister was speechless
with crying for assistance. It required five strong men to remove the
block from his arm.

"A further instance of reason and self-judgment was shown in the
colley, which, having to collect some sheep from the sides of a gorge,
through which ran a morass, saw one of the animals precipitate itself
into the shifting mass, where it sank immediately up to the neck,
leaving nothing but its small black head visible. The dog looked at
the sheep and then at its master with an embarrassed, what-shall-I-do
kind of expression; but the latter, being too far off to notice the
difficulty or to assist, the dog, with infinite address, seized the
struggling animal by the neck, and dragged it by main force to the dry
land, and then compelled it to join the flock he was collecting."

The care a sheep-dog will take of the sheep committed to his charge is
extraordinary, and he will readily chastise any other dog which
happens to molest them. Col. Hamilton Smith relates that a strange cur
one day bit a sheep in rear of the flock, unseen by the shepherd. The
assault was committed by a tailor's dog, but not unnoticed by the
other, which immediately seized the delinquent by the ear and dragged
him into a puddle, where he kept dabbling him in the mud with the
utmost gravity. The cur yelled. The tailor came slipshod with his
goose to the rescue, and flung it at the sheep-dog, but missed him,
and did not venture to pick it up till the castigation was over.

And here I cannot do better than introduce Dr. Walcot's (Peter Pindar)
charming lines on "The Old Shepherd's Dog:"--

   "The old shepherd's dog, like his master, was grey,
    His teeth all departed, and feeble his tongue;
    Yet where'er Corin went he was follow'd by Tray:
    Thus happy through life did they hobble along.

    When fatigued on the grass the shepherd would lie
    For a nap in the sun, 'midst his slumbers so sweet
    His faithful companion crawl'd constantly nigh,
    Placed his head on his lap, or laid down at his feet.

    When winter was heard on the hill and the plain,
    When torrents descended, and cold was the wind;
    If Corin went forth 'mid the tempest and rain,
    Tray scorn'd to be left in the chimney behind.

    At length, in the straw, Tray made his last bed--
    For vain against death is the stoutest endeavour--
    To lick Corin's hand he rear'd up his weak head,
    Then fell back, closed his eyes, and ah! closed them for ever.

    Not long after Tray did the shepherd remain,
    Who oft o'er his grave with true sorrow would bend;
    And when dying, thus feebly was heard the poor swain,
    'O bury me, neighbours, beside my old friend!'"

There can be little doubt but that the dog I have been describing is
possessed of almost human sagacity. The following is an extraordinary
instance of it. It is related by Dr. Anderson:--

A young farmer in the neighbourhood of Innerleithen, whose
circumstances were supposed to be good, and who was connected with
many of the best store-farming families in the county, had been
tempted to commit some extensive depredations upon the flocks of his
neighbours, in which he was assisted by his shepherd. The pastoral
farms of Tweeddale, which generally consist each of a certain range of
hilly ground, had in those days no enclosures: their boundaries were
indicated only by the natural features of the country. The sheep were,
accordingly, liable to wander, and to become intermixed with each
other; and at every reckoning of a flock a certain allowance had to be
made for this, as for other contingencies. For some time Mr. William
Gibson, tenant in Newby, an extensive farm stretching from the
neighbourhood of Peebles to the borders of Selkirkshire, had remarked
a surprising increase in the amount of his annual losses. He
questioned his shepherds severely, taxed them with carelessness in
picking up and bringing home the dead, and plainly intimated that he
conceived some unfair dealing to be in progress. The men, finding
themselves thus exposed to suspicions of a very painful kind, were as
much chagrined as the worthy farmer himself, and kept their minds
alive to every circumstance which might tend to afford any elucidation
of the mystery. One day, while they were summering their lambs, the
eye of a very acute old shepherd, named Hyslop, was caught by a
black-faced ewe which they had formerly missed (for the shepherds
generally know every particular member of their flocks), and which
was now suckling its own lamb as if it had never been absent. On
inspecting it carefully, it was found to bear an additional birn upon
its face. Every farmer, it must be mentioned, impresses with a hot
iron a particular letter upon the faces of his sheep, as a means of
distinguishing his own from those of his neighbours. Mr. Gibson's birn
was the letter T, and this was found distinctly enough impressed on
the face of the ewe. But above this mark there was an O, which was
known to be the mark of the tenant of Wormiston, the individual
already mentioned. It was immediately suspected that this and the
other missing sheep had been abstracted by that person; a suspicion
which derived strength from the reports of the neighbouring shepherds,
by whom, it appeared, the black-faced ewe had been tracked for a
considerable way in a direction leading from Wormiston to Newby. It
was indeed ascertained that instinctive affection for her lamb had led
this animal across the Tweed, and over the lofty heights between
Cailzie and Newby; a route of very considerable difficulty, and
probably quite different from that by which she had been led away, but
the most direct that could have been taken. Mr. Gibson only stopped to
obtain the concurrence of a neighbouring farmer, whose losses had been
equally great, before proceeding with some of the legal authorities to
Wormiston, where Millar the shepherd, and his master, were taken into
custody, and conducted to the prison of Peebles. On a search of the
farm, no fewer than thirty-three score of sheep belonging to various
individuals were found, all bearing the condemnatory O above the
original birns; and it was remarked that there was not a single ewe
returned to Grieston, the farm on the opposite bank of the Tweed,
which did not minny her lambs--that is, assume the character of mother
towards the offspring from which she had been separated.

The magnitude of this crime, the rareness of such offences in the
district, and the station in life of at least one of the offenders,
produced a great sensation in Tweeddale, and caused the elicitation of
every minute circumstance that could possibly be discovered respecting
the means which had been employed for carrying on such an extensive
system of depredation. The most surprising part of the tale is the
extent to which it appears that the instinct of dumb animals had been
instrumental, both in the crime and in its detection. While the farmer
seemed to have deputed the business chiefly to his shepherd, the
shepherd seemed to have deputed it again, in many instances, to a dog
of extraordinary sagacity, which served him in his customary and
lawful business. This animal, which bore the name of "Yarrow," would
not only act under his immediate direction in cutting off a portion of
a flock, and bringing it home to Wormiston, but is said to have been
able to proceed solitarily, and by night, to a sheepwalk, and there
detach certain individuals previously pointed out by its master,
which it would drive home by secret ways, without allowing one to
straggle. It is mentioned that, while returning home with their stolen
droves, they avoided, even in the night, the roads along the banks of
the river, or those that descend to the valley through the adjoining
glens. They chose rather to come along the ridge of mountains that
separate the small river Leithen from the Tweed. But even here there
was sometimes danger, for the shepherds occasionally visit their
flocks even before day; and often when Millar had driven his prey from
a distance, and while he was yet miles from home, and the
weather-gleam of the eastern hills began to be tinged with the
brightening dawn, he has left them to the charge of his dog, and
descended himself to the banks of the Leithen, off his way, that he
might not be seen connected with their company. Yarrow, although
between three and four miles from his master, would continue, with
care and silence, to bring the sheep onward to Wormiston, where his
master's appearance could be neither a matter of question nor
surprise.

Near to the thatched farmhouse was one of those old square towers, or
peel-houses, whose picturesque ruins were then seen ornamenting the
course of the Tweed, as they had been placed alternately along the
north and south bank, generally from three to six hundred yards from
it--sometimes on the shin, and sometimes in the hollow of a hill. In
the vault of this tower it was the practice of these men to conceal
the sheep they had recently stolen; and while the rest of their
people were absent on Sunday at the church, they used to employ
themselves in cancelling with their knives the ear-marks, and
impressing with a hot iron a large O upon the face, that covered both
sides of the animal's nose, for the purpose of obliterating the brand
of the true owner. While his accomplices were so busied, Yarrow kept
watch in the open air, and gave notice, without fail, by his barking,
of the approach of strangers.

The farmer and his servant were tried at Edinburgh in January 1773,
and the proceedings excited an extraordinary interest, not only in the
audience, but amongst the legal officials. Hyslop, the principal
witness, gave so many curious particulars respecting the instincts of
sheep, and the modes of distinguishing them both by natural and
artificial marks, that he was highly complimented by the bench. The
evidence was so complete, that both culprits were found guilty and
expiated their crime on the scaffold.

The general tradition is, that Yarrow was also put to death, though in
a less ceremonious manner; but this has probably no other foundation
than a _jeu d'esprit_, which was cried through the streets of
Edinburgh as his dying speech. We have been informed that the dog was
in reality purchased, after the execution of Millar, by a sheep-farmer
in the neighbourhood, but did not take kindly to honest courses, and
his new master having no work of a different kind in which to engage
him, he was remarked to show rather less sagacity than the ordinary
shepherd's dog.

An instance of shrewd discrimination in the shepherd's dog, almost as
remarkable as that of poor Yarrow, was mentioned a few years ago in a
Greenock newspaper. In the course of last summer, says the narrator,
it chanced that the sheep on the farm of a friend of ours, on the
water of Stinchar, were, like those of his neighbours, partially
affected with that common disease, maggots in the skin, to cure which
distemper it is necessary to cut off the wool over the part affected,
and apply a small quantity of tobacco juice, or some other liquid. For
this purpose the shepherd set off to the hill one morning, accompanied
by his faithful canine assistant, Ladie. Arrived among the flock, the
shepherd pointed out a diseased animal; and making the accustomed
signal for the dog to capture it, "poor Mailie" was speedily sprawling
on her back, and gently held down by the dog till the arrival of her
keeper, who proceeded to clip off a portion of her wool, and apply the
healing balsam. During the operation, Ladie continued to gaze on the
operator with close attention; and the sheep having been released, he
was directed to capture in succession two or three more of the flock,
which underwent similar treatment. The sagacious animal had now become
initiated into the mysteries of his master's vocation, for off he set
unbidden through the flock, and picked out with unerring precision
those sheep which were affected with maggots in their skin, and held
them down until the arrival of his master; who was thus, by the
extraordinary instinct of Ladie, saved a world of trouble, while the
operation of clipping and smearing was also greatly facilitated.

Often as I have attempted to make acquaintance with a colley-dog, I
have never been able to succeed in producing any degree of
familiarity. On the contrary, he has always regarded me with looks of
shyness and suspicion. His master appears to be the only being to whom
he is capable of showing any degree of attachment; and coiled up on
his great-coat, or reposing at his feet, he eyes a stranger with
distrust, if not with anger. At the same time there is a look of
extraordinary intelligence, which perhaps is possessed by no other
animal in a greater degree. It has been said of him, that although he
has not the noble port of the Newfoundland dog, the affectionate
fondling of the spaniel, nor the fierce attachment which renders the
mastiff so efficient a guard, yet he exceeds them all in readiness and
extent of intelligence, combined with a degree of docility unequalled,
perhaps, by any other animal in existence. There is, if the expression
may be used, a philosophic look about him, which shows thought,
patience, energy, and vigilance. During a recent visit in Cumberland,
I took some pains to make myself acquainted with the character of this
dog, and I am now convinced that too much cannot be said of his
wonderful properties. He protects with indefatigable exertions the
flock committed to his charge. When we consider the dreary wilds, the
almost inaccessible heights, the rugged hills and lofty mountains to
which sheep have access, and to which man could scarcely
penetrate--that some sheep will stray and intermix with other
flocks--that the dog knows the extent of his walk as well as every
individual of his flock, and that he will select his own as well as
drive away intruders, we must admit his utility and admire his
sagacity.

Let me give another instance of this in the words of the Ettrick
Shepherd. It was related to me by himself, and has since been
published in the "Percy Anecdotes."

"I once witnessed a very singular feat performed by a dog belonging to
John Graham, late tenant in Ashiesteel. A neighbour came to his house
after it was dark, and told him that he had lost a sheep on his farm,
and that if he (Graham) did not secure her in the morning early, she
would be lost, as he had brought her far. John said he could not
possibly get to the hill next morning, but if he would take him to the
very spot where he lost the sheep, perhaps his dog Chieftain would
find her that night. On that they went away with all expedition, lest
the traces of the feet should cool; and I, then a boy, being in the
house, went with them. The night was pitch dark, which had been the
cause of the man losing his ewe, and at length he pointed out a place
to John by the side of the water where he had lost her. 'Chieftain,
fetch that!' said John. 'Bring her back, sir!' The dog jumped around
and around, and reared himself up on end; but not being able to see
anything, evidently misapprehended his master, on which John fell to
scolding his dog, calling it a great many hard names. He at last told
the man that he must point out the very track that the sheep went,
otherwise he had no chance of recovering it. The man led him to a grey
stone, and said he was sure she took the brae (hill side) within a
yard of that. 'Chieftain, come hither to my foot, you great numb'd
whelp!' said John. Chieftain came--John pointed with his finger to the
ground, 'Fetch that, I say, sir--bring that back--away!' The dog
scented slowly about on the ground for some seconds, but soon began to
mend his pace, and vanished in the darkness. 'Bring her back!--away,
you great calf!' vociferated John, with a voice of exultation, as the
dog broke to the hill; and as all these good dogs perform their work
in perfect silence, we neither saw nor heard any more of him for a
long time. I think, if I remember right, we waited there about half an
hour, during which time all the conversation was about the small
chance which the dog had to find the ewe, for it was agreed on all
hands that she must long ago have mixed with the rest of the sheep on
the farm. How that was, no man will ever be able to decide. John,
however, still persisted in waiting until his dog came back, either
with the ewe or without her. At last the trusty animal brought the
individual lost sheep to our very feet, which the man took on his
back, and went on his way rejoicing."

The care the shepherds of the north of England take in preserving a
pure breed of these dogs is very great, and the value set upon them is
proportionably high. Nor must the shepherds themselves be passed over
without notice. They are a shrewd, sagacious set of men, many of them
by no means uneducated, as is the case generally with the peasantry in
the north of England. Indeed, it is from this class that many scholars
and mathematicians have done so much credit, and I may add honour, to
the counties of Cumberland and Westmoreland. An anecdote is related of
a shepherd, who was found by a gentleman attending his flock, and
reading a volume of Milton. "What are you reading?" asked the
gentleman. "Why," replied the shepherd, "I am reading an odd sort of a
poet; he would fain rhyme, but does not quite know how to set about
it."

The valleys, or glens, which intersect the Grampian mountains, are
chiefly inhabited by shepherds. The pastures over which each flock is
permitted to range extend many miles in every direction. The shepherd
never has a view of his whole flock at once, except when they are
collected for sale or shearing. His occupation is to make daily
excursions to the different extremities of his pastures in succession,
and to turn back, by means of his dog, any stragglers that may be
approaching the boundaries of his neighbours. In one of these
excursions, a shepherd happened to carry along with him one of his
children, about three years old. This is a usual practice among the
Highlanders, who accustom their children from their earliest infancy
to endure the rigours of the climate. After traversing his pasture for
some time, attended by his dog, the shepherd found himself under the
necessity of ascending a summit at some distance, in order to have a
more extensive view of his range. As the ascent was too fatiguing for
the child, he left him on a small plain at the bottom, with strict
injunctions not to stir from it till his return. Scarcely, however,
had he gained the summit, when the horizon was suddenly darkened by
one of those impenetrable mists which frequently descend so rapidly
amidst these mountains, as almost to turn day into night, and that in
the course of a few minutes. The anxious father instantly hastened
back to find his child, but, owing to the unusual darkness, he missed
his way in the descent. After a search of many hours amongst the
dangerous morasses and cataracts with which these mountains abound, he
was at length overtaken by night. Still wandering on without knowing
whither, he at length came to the verge of the mist, and, by the light
of the moon, discovered that he had reached the bottom of his valley,
and was within a short distance of his cottage. To renew the search
that night was equally fruitless and dangerous. He was, therefore,
obliged to return to his cottage, having lost both his child and his
dog, who had attended him faithfully for years.

Next morning by daybreak, the shepherd, accompanied by a band of his
neighbours, set out in search of the child, but, after a day spent in
fruitless fatigue, he was at last compelled, by the approach of night,
to descend from the mountain. On returning to his cottage he found
that the dog, which he had lost the day before, had been home, and on
receiving a piece of cake, had instantly gone off again. For several
successive days the shepherd renewed the search for his child, but
still, on returning at evening disappointed to his cottage, he found
that the dog had been home, and, on receiving his usual allowance of
cake, had instantly disappeared. Struck with this circumstance, he
remained at home one day, and when the dog, as usual, departed with
his piece of cake, he resolved to follow him, and find out the cause
of his strange procedure. The dog led the way to a cataract, at some
distance from the spot where the shepherd had left his child. The
banks of the cataract almost joined at the top, yet separated by an
abyss of immense depth, presenting that appearance which so often
astonishes and appals travellers who frequent the Grampian Mountains,
and indicates that these stupendous chasms were not the silent work of
time, but the sudden effect of some violent convulsion of the earth.
Down one of these rugged and almost perpendicular descents, the dog
began, without hesitation, to make his way, and at last disappeared
into a cave, the mouth of which was almost on a level with the
torrent. The shepherd with some difficulty followed, but upon entering
the cave, what were his emotions when he beheld his lost child eating
with much satisfaction the cake which the dog had just brought to him,
while the faithful animal stood by, eyeing his young charge with the
utmost complacence.

From the situation in which the child was found, it appears that he
had wandered to the brink of the precipice, and then either fallen or
scrambled down till he reached the cave, which the dread of the
torrent had probably prevented him from quitting. The dog had traced
him to the spot, and afterwards prevented him from starving by giving
up to him the whole, or the greater part of his own daily allowance.
He appears never to have quitted the child by night or day, except
when it was necessary to go for food, and then he was always seen
running at full speed to and from the cottage.

This extraordinary and interesting anecdote is taken from the "Monthly
Magazine" of April, 1802, and bears every appearance of authenticity.
It affords an instance of the sense, affection, and self-denial of a
faithful animal, and is recorded to his honour, and as an example to
the whole race of human beings.

       *       *       *       *       *

Mr. Daniel, in the Supplement to his "Rural Sports," gives the
following account of the shepherds' dogs in North Wales. He says,
"The sheep in this country are the ancient Alpine sort, (how excellent
the mutton is!) and that from their varying mode of life they assume
very different habits to the sheep of an inland country, while those
of the shepherds' dogs are no less conspicuous. The excellency of
these animals renders sheep-pens in a great degree unnecessary. If a
shepherd wishes to inspect his flock in a cursory way, he places
himself in the middle of the field, or the piece of ground they are
depasturing, and giving a whistle or a shout, the dogs and the sheep
are equally obedient to the sound, and draw towards the shepherd, and
are kept within reach by one or more dogs, until the business which
required them to be assembled is finished. In such estimation was this
breed of dogs, when cattle constituted one of the grand sources of
wealth to the country, that in the laws of Hywell Dda, the legal price
of one perfectly broken in for conducting the flocks or herds to or
from their pasturage, was equal to that of an ox, viz. sixty denarii,
while the price of the house-dog was estimated at only four, which was
the value of a sheep. If any doubt arose as to the genuineness of the
breed, or his having been _pastorally_ trained, then the owner and a
neighbour were to make oath that he went with the flocks or herds in
the morning, and drove them, with the stragglers, home in the
evening."

I delight in seeing a shepherd's dog in full activity, anxious to
obey the directions of his master. He runs with his utmost speed,
encompassing a large space of open country in a short time, and brings
those sheep that are wanted to the feet of his master. Indeed the
natural talents and sagacity of this dog are so great, partly by being
the constant companion of his master, and partly by education, that he
may almost be considered a rational being. Mr. Smellie says, "that he
reigns at the head of his flock, and that his _language_, whether
expressive of blandishment or of command, is better heard and better
understood than the voice of his master. Safety, order, and discipline
are the effects of his vigilance and activity. Sheep and cattle are
his subjects. These he conducts and protects with prudence and
bravery, and never employs force against them, except for the
preservation of peace and good order. He not only understands the
language of his master, but, when too distant to be heard, he knows
how to act by signals made with the hand." How well Delille describes
this faithful animal!--

                  "Aimable autant qu'utile,
    Superbe et caressant, courageux et docile,
    Formé pour le conduire et pour le protéger.
    Du troupeau qu'il gouverne il est le vrai berger;
    Le Ciel l'a fait pour nous; et dans leur cours rustique,
    Il fut des rois pasteurs le premier domestique."

Mr. Charles Darwin, in his interesting travels in South America,
informs us, that when riding it is a common thing to meet a large
flock of sheep, guarded by one or two dogs, at the distance of some
miles from any house or man. He often wondered how so firm a
friendship had been established, till he found that the method of
education consisted in separating the puppy, while very young, from
the mother, and in accustoming it to its future companions. In order
to do this, a ewe is held three or four times a-day for the little
thing to suck, and a nest of wool is made for it in the sheep-pen. At
no time is it allowed to associate with other dogs, or with the
children of the family. From this education, it has no wish to leave
the flock, and just as another dog will defend his master, so will
these the sheep. It is amusing to observe, when approaching a flock,
how the dog immediately advances barking, and the sheep all close in
his rear, as if round the oldest ram. These dogs are also easily
taught to bring home the flock at a certain hour in the evening. Their
most troublesome fault, when young, is their desire of playing with
the sheep; for, in their sport, they sometimes gallop their poor
subjects most unmercifully. The shepherd dog comes to the house every
day for some meat, and immediately it is given him he skulks away as
if ashamed of himself. On these occasions the house-dogs are very
tyrannical, and the least of them will attack and pursue the stranger.
The minute, however, the latter has reached the flock, he turns round
and begins to bark, and then all the house-dogs take very quietly to
their heels. In a similar manner, a whole pack of hungry wild dogs
will scarcely ever venture to attack a flock when under the protection
of even one of these faithful shepherds.

[Illustration]




[Illustration: ST. BERNARD DOG.]

THE ST. BERNARD DOG.

   "Thrill sounds are breaking o'er the startled ear,
    The shriek of agony, the cry of fear;--
    And the sad tones of childhood in distress,
    Are echoing through the snow-clad wilderness!
    And who the first to waken to the sound,
    And quickly down the icy path to bound;
    To dare the storm with anxious step and grave,
    The first to answer and the first to save?--
    'T is he--the brave old dog, who many a day
    Hath saved lost wand'rers in that dreary way;
    And now, with head close crouched along the ground,
    Is watching eagerly each coming sound.
    Sudden he starts--the cry is near--
    On, gallant Bruno!--know no fear!
    On!--for that cry may be the last,
    And human life is ebbing fast!
    And now he hurries on with heaving side,
    Dashing the snow from off its shaggy hide;--
    He nears the child!--he hears his gasping sighs,
    And, with a tender care, he bears away the prize."
                                                       MRS. HOUSTOUN.


Sir Walter Scott said that he would believe anything of a St. Bernard
dog. Their natural sagacity is, indeed, so sharpened by long practice
and careful training, that a sort of language is established between
them and the good monks of St. Bernard, by which mutual communications
are made, such as few persons living in situations of less constant
and severe trials can have any just conceptions of. When we look at
the extraordinary sagacity of the animal, his great strength, and his
instinctive faculties, we shall feel convinced how admirably he is
adapted to fulfil the purpose for which he is chiefly employed,--that
of saving lives in snow-storms.

The peculiar faculty of the St. Bernard dogs is shown by the curious
fact, that if a whelp of this breed is placed upon snow for the first
time, it will begin to scratch it, and sniff about as if in search of
something. When they have been regularly trained, they are generally
sent out in pairs during heavy snow-storms in search of travellers,
who may have been overwhelmed by the snow. In this way they pass over
a great extent of country, and by the acuteness of their scent
discover if any one is buried in the snowdrift. When it is considered
that Mount St. Bernard is situated about 8000 feet above the level of
the sea, and that it is the highest habitable spot in Europe, and
that the road which passes across it is constantly traversed, the
great utility of the dogs is sufficiently manifest. Neither is the
kindness, charity, and hospitality of the good monks less to be
admired than the noble qualities of these dogs.

"Under every circumstance," says Mr. Brockedon, "in which it is
possible to render assistance, the worthy religieuses of St. Bernard
set out upon their fearful duty unawed by the storm, and obeying a
higher Power; they seek the exhausted or overwhelmed traveller,
accompanied by their dogs, whose sagacity will generally detect the
victim though buried in the snow. The dogs, also, as if conscious of a
high duty, will roam alone through the day and night in these desolate
regions, and if they discover an exhausted traveller will lie on him
to impart warmth, and bark and howl for assistance."[P]

Mr. Mathews, in his "Diary of an Invalid," gives this testimony in
praise of the inmates of St. Bernard. "The approach," he says, "to the
convent for the last hour of the ascent is steep and difficult. The
convent is not seen till you arrive within a few hundred yards of it;
when it breaks upon the view all at once, at a turn in the rock. Upon
a projecting crag near it stood one of the celebrated dogs, baying at
our advance, as if to give notice of strangers. These dogs are of a
large size, particularly high upon the legs, and generally of a milk
white, or of a tabby colour. They are most extraordinary creatures, if
all the stories the monks tell of them are true. They are used for the
purpose of searching for travellers who may be buried in the snow; and
many persons are rescued annually from death by their means. During
the last winter, a traveller arrived at the convent in the midst of a
snow-storm, having been compelled to leave his wife, who was unable to
proceed further, at about a quarter of a mile's distance. A party of
the monks immediately set out to her assistance, and found her
completely buried under the snow. The sagacity of the dogs alone was
the cause of her deliverance, for there was no visible trace, and it
is difficult to understand how the scent can be conveyed through a
deep covering of snow.

"It is stated that the monks themselves, when out upon search for
travellers, have frequently owed their preservation to their dogs, in
a manner which would seem to show that the dogs are endued with a
presentiment of danger.

"Many stories of this kind have been told, and I was anxious to
ascertain their truth. The monks stated two or three cases where the
dogs had actually prevented them from returning to the convent by
their accustomed route, when it afterwards turned out, that if they
had not followed the guidance of their dog in his deviation, they
would have been overwhelmed by an avalanche. Whether the dog may be
endued with an intuitive foreboding of danger, or whether he may have
the faculty of detecting symptoms not perceptible to our duller
senses, must be determined by philosophers."

That dogs and other animals, especially elephants, have this faculty,
cannot be doubted. There is an instance on record of a dog having, by
his importunity and peculiar gestures, induced his mistress to quit a
washhouse in which she was at work, the roof of which fell in almost
immediately afterwards. Dogs have been known to give the alarm of
fire, by howling and other signs, before it was perceived by any of
the inmates of the house. Their apprehension of danger is indeed very
acute and very extraordinary, and may serve to account for and prove
the accuracy of what has been stated respecting the instinct of the
St. Bernard dogs.

These dogs, however, do not always escape being overwhelmed by a
sudden avalanche, which falls, as is most usual, in the spring of the
year. Two of the domestics of the convent, with two or three dogs,
were escorting some travellers, and were lost in an avalanche. One of
the predecessors of these dogs, an intelligent animal, which had
served the hospital for the space of twelve years, had, during that
time, saved the lives of many individuals. Whenever the mountain was
enveloped in fogs and snow, he set out in search of lost travellers.
He was accustomed to run barking until he lost his breath, and would
frequently venture on the most perilous places. When he found his
strength was insufficient to draw from the snow a traveller benumbed
with cold, he would run back to the hospital in search of the monks.

One day this interesting animal found a child in a frozen state
between the Bridge of Drouaz and the Ice-house of Balsora. He
immediately began to lick him, and having succeeded in restoring
animation, and the perfect recovery of the boy, by means of his
caresses, he induced the child to tie himself round his body. In this
way he carried the poor little creature, as if in triumph, to the
hospital. When old age deprived him of strength, the prior of the
convent pensioned him at Berne by way of reward. He is now dead, and
his body stuffed and deposited in the museum of that town. The little
phial, in which he carried a reviving liquor for the distressed
travellers whom he found among the mountains, is still suspended from
his neck.

The story of this dog has been often told, but it cannot be too
frequently repeated. Its authenticity is well established, and it
affords another proof of the utility and sense of the St. Bernard
dogs. Neither can the benevolence of the good monks be too highly
praised. To those accustomed to behold the habitations of man,
surrounded by flowery gardens, green and pleasing meadows, rivulets
winding and sparkling over their pebbly bottoms, and groves in which
songsters haunt and warble, the sight of a large monastery, situated
on a gigantic eminence, with clouds rolling at its foot, and
encompassed only by beds of ice and snow, must be awfully impressive.
Yet amidst these boundless labyrinths of rugged glens and precipices,
in the very rudest seasons, as often as it snows or the weather is
foggy, do some of those benevolent persons go forth, with long poles,
guided by their sagacious dogs. In this way they seek the high road,
which these animals, with their instinctive faculty, never miss, how
difficult soever to find. If an unfortunate traveller has sunk beneath
the force of the falling snows, or should be immersed among them, the
dogs never fail to find the place of his interment, which they point
out by scratching and snuffing; when the sufferer is dug out, and
carried to the monastery, where means are used for his recovery.

The Count de Monte Veccios had a St. Bernard dog, which, as his master
always had reported, could understand whatever he said to him; and the
following short account deserves to be recorded, as it at once
indicates memory, compassion, love, gratitude, and resentment in the
faithful animal, even if we do not allow it to make good his master's
opinion. The story is this:--

The Count had served long in the wars, and always had this faithful
attendant with him. The republic of Venice had been signally indebted
to his courage, but had not rewarded him. He had a favour to ask of
the then General Morosini; and as that commander was a man of singular
pride and arrogance, he was obliged to wait a favourable opportunity
of presenting his suit. One day when the General himself had a favour
to ask of the Doge (who was a person of high elegance, and celebrated
for his love of expensive entertainments), he laid out half his
fortune on a cold collation, to which he had invited the Doge, to put
him in humour for his suit. Thinking this the most suitable time for
his purpose, as he who was about to ask a favour for himself would
hardly at that instant deny one to another, the Count went to him some
hours before the Doge was expected, and was graciously received in the
room where the table was prepared. Here he began to make his court to
the General, by praising the elegance and pomp of the preparation,
which consisted of many thousands of finely-cut vessels of Venetian
glass, filled with the richest sweetmeats and cold provisions, and
disposed on fine tables, all covered with one vast cloth, with a deep
gold fringe, which swept the ground. The Count said a thousand fine
things about the elegance and richness of the dessert, and
particularly admired the profusion of expense in the workmanship of
the crystal and the weight of the gold fringe. Thus far he was very
courteously treated; and the lord of the feast pompously told him
that all the workmen in Venice had been half a year employed about
them. From this he proceeded to the business of his suit; but this met
with a very different reception, and was not only refused, but the
denial attended with very harsh language. The Count was shocked at the
ill-nature of the General, and went away in a very melancholy mood. As
he went out, he patted his dog upon the head, and, out of the fulness
of his heart, said to him with an afflicted air, "_Tu vois, mon ami,
comme l'on nous traite_,--You see, my friend, how I am used." The dog
looked up wistfully in his face, and returned him an answer with his
tears. He accompanied him till he was at some distance from the
General's, when, finding him engaged in company, he took that
opportunity of leaving him with people who might justify him if
accused. Upon which the dog, returning back to the house of the
haughty officer, entered the great room, and taking hold of the gold
tassel at one of the corners of the cloth, ran forcibly back, and drew
after him the whole preparation, which in a moment lay strewed on the
ground in a vast heap of broken glasses; thus revenging his master's
quarrel, and ensuring as unexpected a reception to the General's
requests as the latter had given to those of the Count.

One of the St. Bernard dogs, named Barry, had a medal tied round his
neck as a badge of honourable distinction, for he had saved the lives
of forty persons. He at length died nobly in his vocation. In the
winter of 1816, a Piedmontese courier arrived at St. Bernard on a
very stormy day, labouring to make his way to the little village of
St. Pierre, in the valley beneath the mountain, where his wife and
children lived. It was in vain that the monks attempted to check his
resolution to reach his family. They at last gave him two guides, each
of whom was accompanied by a dog, one of which was the remarkable
creature whose services had been so valuable. They set forth on their
way down the mountain. In the mean time the anxious family of the poor
courier, alarmed at his long absence, commenced the ascent of the
mountain, in hopes of meeting him, or obtaining some information
respecting him. Thus at the moment he and his guides were descending,
his family were toiling up the icy steep, crowned with the snows of
ages. A sudden crackling noise was heard, and then a thundering roar
echoing through the Alpine heights--and all was still. Courier, and
guides, and dogs, and the courier's family, were at the same moment
overwhelmed by one common destruction--not one escaped. Two avalanches
had broken away from the mountain pinnacles, and swept with impetuous
force into the valley below.




[Illustration: CHASSEUR AND CUBA BLOODHOUNDS.]

THE BLOODHOUND.

        "His snuffling nose, his active tail,
    Attest his joy; then with deep op'ning mouth,
    That makes the welkin tremble, he proclaims
    Th' audacious felon; foot by foot he marks
    His winding way, while all the listening crowd
    Applaud his reasonings. O'er the watery ford,
    Dry sandy heaths, and stony barren hills,
    O'er beaten paths, with men and beasts distain'd,
    Unerring he pursues; till at the cot
    Arriv'd, and seizing by his guilty throat
    The caitiff vile, redeems the captive prey:
    So exquisitely delicate his sense!"--SOMERVILLE.


These noble dogs were also called "Slough dogs," in consequence of
their exploring the sloughs, mosses, and bogs, in pursuit of
offenders, called Moss-troopers. They were used for this purpose as
late as the reign of James the First. In Scotland they are called the
Sleuth-hound. It is the largest of any variety of hound, some of them
having measured from twenty-six to twenty-eight inches to the top of
the shoulder. They are beautifully formed, and have a noble expression
of countenance, so finely portrayed in Sir Edwin Landseer's well-known
and beautiful picture of "Dignity and Impudence." There is, as Colonel
Hamilton Smith has observed, a kind of sagacious, or serious, solemn
dignity about him, admirably calculated to impress the marauder with
dread and awe. Indeed, so much is this the case, that I knew an
instance of a bloodhound having traced a sheep-stealer to his cottage
in Bedfordshire; and so great was the dread afterwards of the peculiar
instinct of this dog, that sheep-stealing, which had before been very
common in the neighbourhood, was put an end to. It has, therefore,
often occurred to me, that if bloodhounds were kept for the general
good in different districts, sheep-stealing would be less frequent
than it is at present. They might also be usefully employed in the
detection of rick-burners. At all events the suggestion is worth
some consideration, especially from insurance offices. In 1803,
the Thrapston Association for the Prosecution of Felons in
Northamptonshire, procured and trained a bloodhound for the detection
of sheep-stealers. In order to prove the utility of the dog, a man was
dispatched from a spot where a great concourse of people were
assembled, at ten o'clock in the forenoon, and an hour afterwards the
hound was laid on the scent. After a chase of an hour and a half, the
hound found him secreted in a tree many miles from the place of
starting. The very knowledge that farmers could readily have recourse
to the assistance of such a dog, would serve to prevent the commission
of much crime.

To try whether a young bloodhound was well instructed, a nobleman
(says Mr. Boyle) caused one of his servants to walk to a town four
miles off, and then to a market-town three miles from thence. The dog,
without seeing the man he was to pursue, followed him by the scent to
the above-mentioned places, notwithstanding the multitude of people
going the same road, and of travellers that had occasion to cross it.
When the hound came to the chief market-town, he passed through the
streets, without noticing any of the people there, till he got to the
house where the man he sought was, and there found him in an upper
room.

A sure way of stopping the dog was to spill blood upon the track,
which destroyed the discriminating fineness of his scent. A captive
was sometimes sacrificed on such occasions. Henry the Minstrel tells
us a romantic story of Wallace, founded on this circumstance. The
hero's little band had been joined by an Irishman named Fawdon, or
Fadzean, a dark, savage, and suspicious character. After a sharp
skirmish at Black Erneside, Wallace was forced to retreat with only
sixteen followers. The English pursued with a border sleuth-bratch, or
bloodhound. In the retreat, Fawdon, tired, or affecting to be so,
would go no farther. Wallace having in vain argued with him, in hasty
anger struck off his head, and continued the retreat. When the English
came up, their hound stayed upon the dead body.

To the present group has been referred by some naturalists a dog of
Spanish descent, termed the Cuban bloodhound. A hundred of these
sagacious but savage dogs were sent, in 1795, from the Havanna to
Jamaica, to extinguish the Maroon war, which at that time was fiercely
raging. They were accompanied by forty Spanish chasseurs, chiefly
people of colour, and their appearance and that of the dogs struck
terror into the negroes. The dogs, muzzled and led in leashes, rushed
ferociously upon every object, dragging along the chasseurs in spite
of all their endeavours. Dallas, in his "History of the Maroons,"
informs us that General Walpole ordered a review of these dogs and the
men, that he might see in what manner they would act. He set out for
a place called Seven Rivers, accompanied by Colonel Skinner, whom he
appointed to conduct the attack. "Notice of his coming having preceded
him, a parade of the chasseurs was ordered, and they were taken to a
distance from the house, in order to be advanced when the general
alighted. On his arrival, the commissioner (who had procured the
dogs), having paid his respects, was desired to parade them. The
Spaniards soon appeared at the end of a gentle acclivity drawn out in
a line, containing upwards of forty men, with their dogs in front
unmuzzled, and held by cotton ropes. On receiving the command, 'Fire!'
they discharged their fusils, and advanced as upon a real attack. This
was intended to ascertain what effect would be produced on the dogs if
engaged under a fire of the Maroons. The volley was no sooner
discharged than the dogs rushed forward with the greatest fury, amid
the shouts of the Spaniards, who were dragged on by them with
irresistible force. Some of the dogs, maddened by the shout of attack
while held back by the ropes, seized on the stocks of the guns in the
hands of their keepers, and tore pieces out of them. Their impetuosity
was so great that they were with difficulty stopped before they
reached the general, who found it necessary to get expeditiously into
the chaise from which he had alighted; and if the most strenuous
exertions had not been made, they would have seized upon his horses."
This terrible exhibition produced the intended effect--the Maroons at
once capitulated, and were subsequently sent to Halifax, North
America.

       *       *       *       *       *

Mr. John Lawrence, says that a servant, discharged by a sporting
country gentleman, broke into his stables by night, and cut off the
ears and tail of a favourite hunter. As soon as it was discovered, a
bloodhound was brought into the stable, who at once detected the scent
of the miscreant, and traced it more than twenty miles. He then
stopped at a door, whence no power could move him. Being at length
admitted, he ran to the top of the house, and, bursting open the door
of a garret, found the object that he sought in bed, and would have
torn him to pieces, had not the huntsman, who had followed him on a
fleet horse, rushed up after him.

       *       *       *       *       *

Colonel Hamilton Smith says, that he was favoured with the following
interesting notice of this dog from Sir Walter Scott, and which agrees
exactly with some I have seen bred by Lord Bagot at Blithfield in
Staffordshire, and some belonging to Her present Majesty.

"The only sleuth-hound I ever saw was one which was kept at Keeldar
Castle. He was like the Spanish pointer, but much stronger, and
untameably fierce,--colour, black and tawny, long pendulous ears,--had
a deep back, broad nostrils, and was strongly made, something like
the old English mastiff, now so rare."

       *       *       *       *       *

Wanley, in his "Wonders of the Little World," relates the following
anecdote:--

"Anno Dom. 867.--Lothbroke, of the blood-royal of Denmark, and father
to Humbar and Hubba, entered with his hawk into a boat alone, and by
tempest was driven upon the coast of Norfolk in England; where being
found, he was detained, and presented to Edmund, at that time King of
the East Angles. The king entertained him at his court; and perceiving
his singular dexterity and activity in hawking and hunting, bore him
particular favour. By this means he fell into the envy of Berick, the
king's falconer, who one day, as they hunted together, privately
murdered and threw him into a bush. It was not long before he was
missed at court. When no tidings could be heard of him, his dog, who
had continued in the wood with the corpse of his master, till famine
forced him thence, at sundry times came to court, and fawned on the
king; so that the king, suspecting some ill matter, at length followed
the trace of the hound, and was led by him to the place where
Lothbroke lay. Inquisition was made; and by circumstance of words, and
other suspicions, Berick, the king's falconer, was pronounced to be
his murderer. The king commanded him to be set alone in Lothbroke's
boat, and committed to the mercy of the sea, by the working of which
he was carried to the same coast of Denmark from whence Lothbroke
came. The boat was well known, and the occupant, Berick, examined by
torments. To save himself, he asserted that Lothbroke had been slain
by King Edmund. And this was the first occasion of the Danes' arrival
in this land."

A planter had fixed his residence at the foot of the Blue Mountains,
in the back settlements of America. One day the youngest of his
family, a child of about four years old, disappeared. The father,
becoming alarmed, explored the woods in every direction, but without
success. On the following day the search was renewed, during which a
native Indian happened to pass, accompanied by his dog, one of the
true bloodhound breed. Being informed of the distress of the planter,
he requested that the shoes and stockings last worn by the child might
be brought to him. He made the dog smell to them, and patted him. The
intelligent animal seemed to comprehend all about it, for he began
immediately to sniff around. The Indian and his dog then plunged into
the wood. They had not been there long before the dog began to bay; he
thought that he had hit upon the scent, and presently afterwards,
being assured of it, he uttered a louder and more expressive note, and
darted off at full speed into the forest. The Indian followed, and
after a considerable time met his dog bounding back, his noble
countenance beaming with animation. The hound turned again into the
wood, his master not being far behind, and they found the child lying
at the foot of a tree, fatigued and exhausted, but otherwise unhurt.

Some of these dogs are kept by the keepers in the royal parks and
forests, and are used to trace wounded deer. An officer in the 1st
Life Guards has two noble dogs of this description, for one of which,
I am informed, he gave fifty pounds. In fact, they are by no means
uncommon in England. One distinguishing trait of purity in the breed
is the colour, which is almost invariably a reddish tan, progressively
darkening to the upper part, with a mixture of black upon the back.

       *       *       *       *       *

"In the Spanish West India Islands," says Bingley, "there are officers
called chasseurs, kept in continual employment. The business of these
men is to traverse the country with their dogs, for the purpose of
pursuing and taking up all persons guilty of murder, or other crimes;
and no activity on the part of the offenders will enable them to
escape. The following is a very remarkable instance, which happened
not many years ago.

"A fleet from Jamaica, under convoy to Great Britain, passing through
the Gulf of Mexico, beat upon the north side of Cuba. One of the
ships, manned with foreigners (chiefly renegado Spaniards), in
standing in with the land at night, was run on shore. The officers,
and the few British seamen on board, were murdered, and the vessel was
plundered by the renegadoes. The part of the coast on which the
vessel was stranded being wild and unfrequented, the assassins retired
with their booty to the mountains, intending to penetrate through the
woods to some remote settlements on the southern side, where they
hoped to secure themselves, and elude all pursuit. Early intelligence
of the crime had, however, been conveyed to Havanna. The assassins
were pursued by a detachment of the Chasseurs del Rey, with their
dogs; and in the course of a very few days they were every one
apprehended and brought to justice.

"The dogs carried out by the Chasseurs del Rey are all perfectly
broken in. On coming up with the fugitive, they bark at him till he
stops; they then crouch near him, terrifying him with a ferocious
growling if he attempts to stir. In this position they continue
barking, to give notice to the chasseurs, who come up and secure their
prisoner.

"Each chasseur can only hunt with two dogs. These people live with
their dogs, and are inseparable from them. At home the animals are
kept chained; and when walking out with their masters, they are never
unmuzzled nor let out of ropes, but for attack.

"Bloodhounds were formerly used in certain districts lying between
England and Scotland, that were much infested by robbers and
murderers; and a tax was laid on the inhabitants for keeping and
maintaining a certain number of these animals. But as the arm of
justice is now extended over every part of the country, and as there
are now no secret recesses where villany can be concealed, their
services in this respect are become no longer necessary.

"Some few of these dogs, however, are yet kept in the northern parts
of the kingdom, and in the lodges of the royal forests, where they are
used in pursuit of deer that have been previously wounded. They are
also sometimes employed in discovering deer-stealers, whom they
infallibly trace by the blood that issues from the wounds of their
victims.

"A very extraordinary instance of this occurred in the New Forest, in
the year 1810, and was related to me by the Right Hon. G. H. Rose. A
person, in getting over a stile into a field near the Forest, remarked
that there was blood upon it. Immediately afterwards he recollected
that some deer had been killed, and several sheep stolen in the
neighbourhood; and that this might possibly be the blood of one that
had been killed in the preceding night. The man went to the nearest
lodge to give information; but the keeper being from home, he was
under the necessity of going to Rhinefield Lodge, which was at a
considerable distance. Toomer, the under-keeper, went with him to the
place, accompanied by a bloodhound. The dog, when brought to the spot,
was laid on the scent; and after following for about a mile the track
which the depredator had taken, he came at last to a heap of furze
fagots belonging to the family of a cottager. The woman of the house
attempted to drive the dog away, but was prevented; and on the fagots
being removed a hole was discovered in the ground, which contained the
body of a sheep that had recently been killed, and also a considerable
quantity of salted meat. The circumstance which renders this account
the more remarkable is, that the dog was not brought to the scent
until more than sixteen hours had elapsed after the man had carried
away the sheep."

       *       *       *       *       *

An old writer--the author of "The History of the Buccaneers"--though
full of prejudice against the Indians, thus describes some of the
atrocities practised by the Spaniards:--

"The Spaniards having possessed themselves of these isles (South
America), found them peopled with Indians, a barbarous people, sensual
and brutish, hating all labour, and only inclined to killing and
making war against their neighbours; not out of ambition, but only
because they agreed not with themselves in some common terms of
language; and perceiving that the dominion of the Spaniards laid great
restrictions upon their lazy and brutish customs, they conceived an
irreconcileable hatred against them, but especially because they saw
them take possession of their kingdoms and dominions. Hereupon they
made against them all the resistance they could, everywhere opposing
their designs to the utmost; and the Spaniards, finding themselves
cruelly hated by the Indians, and nowhere secure from their
treacheries, resolved to extirpate and ruin them, since they could
neither tame them by civility nor conquer them by the sword. But the
Indians, it being their custom to make the woods their chief places of
defence, at present made these their refuge whenever they fled from
the Spaniards: hereupon those first conquerors of the New World made
use of dogs to range and search the intricate thickets of woods and
forests for those their implacable and unconquerable enemies; thus
they forced them to leave their old refuge and submit to the sword,
seeing no milder usage would do it: hereupon they killed some of them,
and quartering their bodies, placed them in the highways, that others
might take warning from such a punishment. But this severity proved of
ill consequence, for instead of frightening them, and reducing them to
civility, they conceived such horror of the Spaniards, that they
resolved to detest and fly their sight for ever; hence the greatest
part died in caves and subterraneous places of woods and mountains, in
which places I myself have often seen great numbers of human bones."

       *       *       *       *       *

It has been already stated, that in the West Indies bloodhounds were
employed to hunt the runaway blacks. I had one of these Cuban
bloodhounds given to me a few years ago, and finding him somewhat more
ferocious than I liked, I made a present of him to a keeper in the
neighbourhood. He was put into a kennel with other dogs, and soon
killed some of them. Keepers, however, in going their rounds at night,
are frequently accompanied by bloodhounds, and poachers are said to
have a great dread of them.

[Illustration]




[Illustration: THE TERRIER.]

THE TERRIER.

   "Little favourite! rest thee here,
    With the tribute of a tear!

       *          *          *          *

    Thou hast fondled at my feet,
    Greeted those I lov'd to greet;
    When in sorrow or in pain,
    On my bosom thou hast lain.
    I have seen thy little eye
    Full as if with sympathy."


There are so many varieties of terriers, and so many celebrated breeds
of these dogs, that it would be a difficult task to give a separate
account of each. Some have a cross of the bull-dog; and these,
perhaps, are unequalled for courage and strength of jaw. In the latter
quality they are superior to the bull-dog. Then there is the
pepper-and-mustard breed, the Isle of Sky, the rough and smooth
English terrier, and a peculiar breed, of which my own sensible little
Judy, now reposing at my feet, is one, besides some others.

Perhaps there is no breed of dogs which attach themselves so strongly
to man as the terrier. They are his companions in his walks, and their
activity and high spirit enable them to keep up with a horse through a
long day's journey. Their fidelity to their master is unbounded, and
their affection for him unconquerable. When he is ill they will repose
for hours by the side of his bed, as still as a mother watching over a
sick and slumbering child; and when he is well they will frisk around
him, as if their pleasure was renewed with his returning health. How
well do I remember this to have been the case with my faithful old dog
Trim! Nothing would induce him to make the slightest noise till I
called him on my bed, when I awoke in the morning. Night or day, he
never left me for many years; and when at last I was obliged to take a
journey without him, his life fell a sacrifice to his affection for
me. Alas, poor Trim!

This breed of dogs, the true English terrier, shows an invincible
ardour in all that he is required to do, as well as persevering
fortitude. In drawing badgers and foxes from their holes, the severe
bites of these animals only seem to animate them to greater
exertions; and they have been known to suffer themselves to be killed
by the former sooner than give over the unequal contest.

The vignette at the end of this notice represents a favourite
wire-haired terrier of mine, called Peter, well known for many years
at Hampton Court. He had wonderful courage and perseverance, and was
the best dog to hunt rabbits in thick hedge-rows I ever met with. He
was also a capital water-dog; and he was frequently enticed by some of
the officers quartered at Hampton Court to accompany them to the
neighbouring lock of the river Thames, in which an unfortunate duck
was to be hunted. I was assured that on these occasions Peter
distinguished himself greatly, diving after the duck whenever it
dived, and beating all the other dogs by his energy and perseverance.
Peter was a general favourite, and perhaps this was partly owing to
his being a great pickle. He was always getting into scrapes. Twice he
broke either his shoulder-bone or his leg by scrambling up a ladder.
He was several times nearly killed by large dogs, of which he was
never known to show the slightest fear; and with those of about his
own size he would fight till he died. He has killed sixty rats in a
barn in about as many minutes; and he was an inveterate foe to cats. I
remember once taking him with me on a rabbit-ferreting excursion.
Before the ferrets were put in the holes, I made Peter quite aware
that he was not to touch them; and he was so sensible a dog that
there was no difficulty in doing this, although it was the first time
he had seen a ferret. If a rabbit bolted from the hole he was
watching, he killed it in an instant; but when the ferret made its
appearance, Peter retreated a step or two, showing his teeth a little
as if he longed to attack it. Towards the end of the day I had gone to
a little distance, leaving Peter watching a hole. Presently I heard a
squeak, and on turning round I saw the ferret dead, and Peter standing
over it, looking exceedingly ashamed at what he had done, and
perfectly conscious that he had disobeyed orders. The temptation,
however, was too great for him to resist. Peter at last got into bad
company, for he suffered himself to be enticed by the ostlers and
others into the taps at Hampton Court, and they indulged him in his
fondness for killing vermin and cats. He was a dog of extraordinary
sense. I once gave him some milk and water at my breakfast, which was
too hot. He afterwards was in the habit of testing the heat by dipping
one of his paws into the basin, preferring rather to scald his foot
than to run the risk of burning his tongue. He had other
peculiarities. When I mounted my horse and wanted him to follow me, he
would come a little distance, and then all at once pretend to be lame.
The more I called the lamer he became. He was, in fact, aware of my
long rides, and was too lazy to follow me. He played this trick very
frequently. If I called him while I had my snuff-box in my hand, he
would come to me, pretending to sneeze the whole of the time. I have
said so much about Peter, because he was a good specimen of one of the
small breed of terriers.

Terriers, more than any other breed of dogs, live so much in our
rooms, and are so generally our companions during our walks and rides,
that they naturally imbibe a great degree of sensibility of the least
look or word of their master. This very sensibility makes them
extremely jealous of any preference or attention shown by their master
to another dog. I had an old terrier who never could bear to see me do
this. He showed it not only by his countenance in a remarkable way,
but would fall upon any dog he saw me caress. Mons. Blaze gives an
instance of a dog having killed a young child, who had been in the
habit of fondling a dog belonging to the same owner, and showing fear
and dislike of him. Another dog was so strongly attached to his master
that he was miserable when he was absent. When the gentleman married,
the dog seemed to feel a diminution of affection towards him, and
showed great uneasiness. Finding, however, that his new mistress grew
fond of him, he became perfectly happy. Somewhat more than a year
after this they had a child. There was now a decided inquietude about
the dog, and it was impossible to avoid noticing that he felt himself
miserable. The attention paid to the child increased his wretchedness;
he loathed his food, and nothing could content him, though he was
treated on this account with the utmost tenderness. At last he hid
himself in the coal-cellar, and every means were used to induce him to
return, but all in vain. He was deaf to entreaty, rejected all
kindness, refused to eat, and continued firm in his resolution, till
exhausted nature yielded to death.

I have seen so much of the sensitiveness and jealousy of dogs, owing
to their unbounded affection for their masters, that I cannot doubt
the truth of this anecdote, which was related by Mr. Dibdin. A lady
had a favourite terrier, whose jealousy of any attentions shown to her
by strangers was so great, that in her walks he guarded her with the
utmost care, and would not suffer any one to touch her. The following
anecdote will prove the unchanging affection of these dogs. It was
communicated to me by the best and most amiable man I have ever met
with, either in public or private life.

He had a small terrier, which was much attached to him. On leaving
this country for America, he placed the dog under the care of his
sister, who resided in London. The dog at first was inconsolable, and
could scarcely be persuaded to eat anything. At the end of three years
his owner returned, and upon knocking at the door of his sister's
house, the dog recognised the well-known knock, ran down-stairs with
the utmost eagerness, fondled his master with the greatest affection;
and when he was in the sitting-room, the faithful animal jumped upon
the piano-forte, that he might get as near to him as possible. The
dog's attachment remained to the last moment of his life. He was taken
ill, and was placed in his master's dressing-room on one of his
cloaks. When he could scarcely move, his kind protector met him
endeavouring to crawl to him up the stairs. He took the dog in his
arms, placed him on his cloak, when the dog gave him a look of
affection which could not be mistaken, and immediately died. There
can, I think, be no doubt but that this affectionate animal, in his
endeavour to get up the steps to his master, was influenced by
sensations of love and gratitude, which death alone could extinguish,
and which the approach of death prompted him to show. How charming are
these instances of the affection of dogs to a kind master! and how
forcibly may we draw forth the strongest testimonials of love from
them, by treating them as they deserve to be treated! Few people
sufficiently appreciate the attachment, fidelity, and sagacity of
these too-often persecuted animals, or are aware how much they suffer
from unkindness or harsh treatment.

Every one is acquainted with the pretty picture Sir Walter Scott has
drawn of the affectionate terrier, which was the companion of his hero
in "Guy Mannering." We see the faithful Wasp "scampering at large in a
thousand wheels round the heath, and come back to jump up to his
master, and assure him that he participated in the pleasures of the
journey." We see him during the fight with the robbers, "annoying
their heels, and repeatedly effecting a moment's diversion in his
master's favour, and pursuing them when they ran away." We hear the
jolly farmer exclaim--"De'il, but your dog's weel entered wi' the
vermin;" and when he goes to see his friend in prison, and brings Wasp
with him, we see the joy of the latter, and hear the remark elicited
by it--"Whisht, Wasp--man! Wow, but he's glad to see you, poor thing."
The whole race of pepper-and-mustard are brought before us--that breed
which are held in such high estimation, not only as vermin-killers,
but for their intelligence and fidelity, and other companionable
qualities.

I could not deny myself the pleasure of introducing this account of
the terrier, as it describes so well their courage, fidelity, and
attachment. "Wasp," we are told, at the close of an eventful day,
"crouched himself on the coverlet at his master's feet, having first
licked his master's hand to ask leave." This is part of the natural
language of the dog, and how expressive it is! They speak by their
eyes, their tail, and by various gestures, and it is almost impossible
to misunderstand their meaning. There is a well-known anecdote of two
terriers who were in the habit of going out together to hunt rabbits.
One of them got so far into a hole that he could not extricate
himself. His companion returned to the house, and by his importunity
and significant gestures induced his master to follow him. He led him
to the hole, made him understand what was the matter, and his
associate was at last dug out.

The following affords another proof of the sagacity of these dogs:--

A respectable farmer, residing in a village near Gosport, had a
terrier dog who was his constant companion. His business frequently
led him across the water to Portsmouth, to which place the dog
regularly attended him. The farmer had a son-in-law, a bookseller at
Portsmouth, to whose house he frequently went, taking the dog with
him. One day, the animal having lost his master in Portsmouth, after
searching for him at his usual haunts, went to the bookseller, and by
various gesticulations gave him to understand that he had lost his
master; his supplications were not in vain, for the bookseller, who
understood his language, immediately called his boy, gave him a penny,
and ordered him to go directly to the beach, and give the ferryman the
money for his passage to the opposite shore. The dog, who seemed to
understand the whole proceeding, was much pleased, and jumped directly
into the boat, and when landed at Gosport, immediately ran home. He
always afterwards went to the bookseller, if he had lost his master at
Portsmouth, feeling sure that his boat-hire would be paid, and which
was always done.

The same dog, when he was wet or dirty, would go into the barn till he
was clean and dry, and then scratch at the parlour-door for
admittance.

The Rev. Leonard Jenyns, in his "Observations in Natural History,"
records the following.--

"A lady,[Q] living in the neighbourhood of my own village, had some
years back a favourite Scotch terrier, which always accompanied her in
her rides, and was also in the habit of following the carriage to
church every Sunday morning. One summer day the lady and her family
were from home several weeks, the dog being left behind. The latter,
however, continued to come to church by itself for several Sundays in
succession, galloping off from the house at the accustomed hour, so as
to arrive at the time of service commencing. After waiting in the
churchyard a short time, it was seen to return home quiet and
dispirited. The distance from the house to the church is three miles,
and beyond that at which the ringing of the bells could be ordinarily
heard. This was probably an instance of the force of habit, assisted
by some association of recollections connected with the movements of
the household on that particular day of the week."

An old house being under repair, the bells on the ground-floor were
taken down. The mistress of the house had an old favourite terrier,
and when she wanted her servants, sent the dog to ring the bell in her
dressing-room, having previously attached a bit of wood to the
bell-rope. When the dog pulled at the rope, he listened, and if the
bell did not ring, he pulled till he heard it, and then returned to
the room he had left. If a piece of paper were put into his mouth,
with a message written on it, he would carry it to the person he was
told to go to, and waited to bring back the answer.

Mr. Laing, who was steward to General Sharp, of Houston, near Uphall,
had a terrier dog which gave many proofs of his sagacity. Upon one
occasion his wife lent a white petticoat to a neighbour in which to
attend a christening; the dog observed his mistress make the loan,
followed the woman home who borrowed the article, never quitted her,
but accompanied her to the christening, and leaped several times on
her knee: nor did he lose sight of her till the piece of dress was at
last fairly restored to Mrs. Laing. During the time this person was at
the christening she was much afraid the dog would attempt to tear the
petticoat off her, as she well knew the object of his attendance.

One of the most extraordinary terriers I ever met with belonged to a
man named T----y, well known for many years in the neighbourhood of
Hampton Court. The father of this man had been in a respectable way of
life, but his son wanted steadiness of character, and, indeed, good
conduct, and had it not been for the kindness of his late Majesty,
King William the Fourth, he would have been reduced to poverty long
before he was. T----y, through the interest of the king, then Duke of
Clarence, was tried in several situations, but failed in them all. At
last he was made a postman, but was found drunk one evening with all
his letters scattered about him, and, of course, lost his situation.
He then took up the employment of rat-catcher, for which, perhaps, he
was better qualified than any other. His stock-in-trade consisted of
some ferrets and an old terrier dog, and a more extraordinary dog was
seldom seen. He was rough, rather strongly made, and of a sort of
cinnamon colour, having only one eye; his appearance being in direct
contrast to what Bewick designates the _genteel_ terrier. The other
eye had a fluid constantly exuding from it, which made a sort of
furrow down the side of his cheek. He always kept close to the heels
of his master, hanging down his head, and appearing the
personification of misery and wretchedness. He was, however, a
wonderful vermin-killer, and wherever his master placed him, there he
remained, waiting with the utmost patience and resignation till an
unfortunate rat bolted from the hole, which he instantly killed in a
most philosophical manner. The poor dog had to undergo the
vicissitudes of hard fare, amounting almost to starvation, of cold,
rain, and other evils, but still he was always to be seen at his
master's feet, and his fidelity to him was unshaken. No notice, no
kind word, seemed to have any effect upon him if offered by a
stranger, but he obeyed and understood the slightest signal from his
owner. This man was an habitual drunkard, at least whenever he could
procure the means of becoming one. It was a cold, frosty night in
November, when T----y was returning from a favourite alehouse, along
one of the Thames Ditton lanes, some of which, owing to the flatness
of the country, have deep ditches by their sides. Into one of these
the unfortunate man staggered in a fit of brutal intoxication, and was
drowned. When the body was discovered the next morning, the dog was
seen using his best endeavours to drag it out of the ditch. He had
probably been employed all night in this attempt, and in his efforts
had torn the coat from the shoulders of his master. It should be
mentioned that this faithful animal had saved his master's life on two
former occasions, when he was in nearly similar circumstances.

It may interest some of the readers of this little story to be
informed, that a few years before the event which has been related
took place, the unhappy man's wife died, leaving four very young
children. She was a most industrious woman, of excellent character,
and her great misery on her death-bed was the reflection that these
children--two boys and two girls--would be left to the care of her
drunken husband. She was comforted, however, in her dying moments, by
one whose heart and hand have always been ready to relieve the
distressed, with the assurance that her children should be taken care
of. So when the excellent Queen Adelaide heard of the circumstance,
she immediately sent for the four children, placed them under the
charge of a proper person, educated and maintained them, placed them
in respectable situations in life, and continued to be their friend
till her death. This is one of numerous instances which could be
related by the author of her Majesty's silent, but unbounded
benevolence.

It is time, however, to resume my anecdotes of terriers.

A gentleman of my acquaintance had a favourite dog of this
description, which generally slept in his bed-room. My friend was in
the habit of reading in bed. On calling upon him one morning, he took
me into his bed-room, and showed me his bed-curtains much burnt, and
one of his sheets. The night before he had been reading the newspaper
in bed, with a candle near him, and had gone to sleep. The newspaper
had fallen on the candle, and thus set fire to the curtain. He was
awoke by his dog scratching him violently with his fore-feet, and was
thus in time to call for assistance, and save the house from being
burnt down, and also probably to save his own life.

Another of my acquaintances has a very small pet terrier, a capital
rat-killer, who always evinces great antipathy to those animals. She
lately produced three puppies, two of which were drowned. After
hunting for them in every direction, she returned to her litter, where
she was found the next morning not only suckling her own whelp, but a
young rat; and thus she continued to do till it reached maturity. The
morning on which her puppies were drowned there had been a battue of
rats, some of which were wounded and escaped. One of these latter was
the young rat in question. This, no doubt, was taken possession of for
the purpose of relieving her of her superabundant milk.

A gentleman who had befriended an ill-used terrier acquired such an
influence over the grateful dog, that he was obedient to the least
look or sign of his master, and attached himself to him and his
children in a most extraordinary manner. One of the children having
behaved ill, his father attempted to put the boy out of the room, who
made some resistance. The dog seeing the bustle, supposed his master
was going to beat the boy, and therefore tried to pull him away by the
skirts of his coat, thus showing his affection and sagacity at the
same time.

Captain Brown relates the following:--

Sir Patrick Walker writes me:--"Pincer, in appearance, is of the
English terrier breed, but in manner indicates a good deal of the
Scotch colley, or shepherd's dog. He has a remarkably good nose, is a
keen destroyer of vermin, and is in the habit of coming to the house
for assistance ever since the following occurrence:--He came into the
parlour one evening when some friends were with us, and looking in my
face, by many expressive gestures, evinced great anxiety that I should
follow him. Upon speaking to him, he leaped, and his whine got to a
more determined bark, and pulled me by the collar or sleeve of the
coat, until I was induced to follow him; and when I got up, he began
leaping and gambolling before me, and led the way to an outhouse, to
a large chest filled with pieces of old wood, and which he continued
by the same means to solicit to be moved. This was done, and he took
out a large rat, killed it, and returned to the parlour quite composed
and satisfied.

"Similar occurrences have frequently taken place since, with this
addition, that as I sometimes called the servant, he often leaves me
and runs in the same manner to get his assistance, as soon as he finds
me quitting the room to follow him. In no instance has Pincer ever
been wrong, his scent is so very good. Once, when he had got
assistance, he directed our attention to some loose wood in the yard;
and when part of it was removed, he suddenly manifested
disappointment, and that the object of pursuit was gone. His manner
and look seemed more than instinct, and at once told his story. After
a little pause, and some anxious looks, he dashed up a ladder that
rested against a low out-house, and took a large rat out of the spout,
whither it had apparently escaped whilst Pincer came for assistance."

Terriers appear to have a strong instinctive faculty of finding their
way back to their homes, when removed from them to long distances, and
even when they have seas to cross. There are instances of their having
done this from France, Ireland, and even Germany. Their powers of
endurance, therefore, must be very great, and their energies as well
as affections equally strong. They have also an invincible
perseverance in all they do, to which every fox-hunter will bear his
testimony. In my youth, when following the hounds, I have been
delighted in witnessing the energy of a brace of terriers, who were
sure to make their appearance at the slightest check, running with an
ardour quite extraordinary, and incessant in their exertions to be
with the busiest of the pack in their endeavours to find. If the fox
takes to earth, the little brave terrier eagerly follows, and shows by
his baying whether the fox lays deep or not, so that those who are
employed in digging it out can act accordingly. In rabbit-shooting in
thick furze or breaks, the terrier, as I have often witnessed, will
take covert with the eagerness and impetuosity of a foxhound. On one
of these occasions I saw an enormous wild cat started, which a small
terrier pursued and never quitted, notwithstanding the unequal
contest, till it was shot by a keeper. As vermin-killers, they are
superior to all other dogs. The celebrated terrier Billy was known to
have killed one hundred rats in seven minutes.

Nor are their affections less strong than their courage. A gentleman
in the neighbourhood of Bath had a terrier which produced a litter of
four puppies. He ordered one of them to be drowned, which was done by
throwing it into a pail of water, in which it was kept down by a mop
till it appeared to be dead. It was then thrown into a dust-hole, and
covered with ashes. Two mornings afterwards, the servant discovered
that the bitch had still four puppies, and amongst them was the one
which it was supposed had been drowned. It was conjectured that in the
course of a short time the terrier had, unobserved, raked her whelp
from the ashes, and had restored it to life.

An excellent clergyman, residing close to Brighton, gave me the
following curious anecdote of a dog which his son, the late
greatly-lamented Major R---- brought to England with him from Spain.
This dog was a sort of Spanish terrier, and his disposition and habits
were very peculiar indeed, unlike those of any dog I ever heard of.
One day a teacher of music was going to one of her pupils, and as she
was passing at some little distance from the house of the owner of
this dog, had her attention attracted to him. He first looked at her
very significantly, pulled her by the gown the contrary way to which
she was going, and evidently wanted her to follow him. Partly
instigated by curiosity, but chiefly because he held her gown tight in
his mouth, she suffered herself to be led some distance, when the dog
brought her into a field in which some houses were in the course of
being built. She then became alarmed, and seeing two or three
labourers, she asked them to drive away the dog. Finding, however,
that he would not quit his hold, they advised her to see where the dog
would lead her, promising to accompany and protect her. Thus assured,
she allowed him to lead her where he pleased. The dog brought her to
the houses which were being built. On arriving at them, it was found
that the area had been dug out, and a strong plank placed across it,
one end resting on a heap of earth. At this end the dog began to
scratch eagerly; and on the plank being lifted up, a large beef bone
was discovered, which the dog seized in his mouth, and trotted away
with it perfectly satisfied. My informant said that he had taken some
pains to ascertain the accuracy of this anecdote from the young lady
herself, and that I might depend on its truth.

A somewhat similar occurrence took place in my own neighbourhood, very
recently. A lady, going to make a morning's call, passed the gateway
of a house, when her gown was seized by a dog, who pulled her the
contrary way to which she was going. She at last disengaged herself,
and made her call. On coming out, the dog was waiting for her, and
again took her gown in his mouth, and led her to the gateway she had
previously passed. Here he stopped, and as the dog held a tight hold,
she rang the bell; and on a servant opening the gate the animal,
perfectly satisfied, trotted in, when she found that he belonged to
the house, but had been shut out.

It may be also mentioned as an instance of courage and fidelity in a
terrier, that as a gentleman was returning home, a man armed with a
large stick seized him by the breast, and striking him a violent blow
on the head, desired him instantly to deliver his watch and money. As
he was preparing to repeat the blow, the terrier sprung at him, and
seized him by the throat. His master, at the same time, giving the man
a violent blow, he fell backwards and dropped his stick. The gentleman
took it up, and ran off, followed by his dog, but not before the
animal had torn off and carried away in his mouth a portion of the
man's waistcoat.

The following fact will serve to prove that dogs are capable of
gratitude in no ordinary degree:--

A surgeon at Dover, seeing a terrier in the street which had received
some injury, took it home; and having cured it in a couple of days,
let it go. For many weeks the grateful animal used to pay him a daily
visit of a few minutes, and after a vehement wagging of his tail,
scampered off again to his own home.

A neighbour of mine has a terrier which has shown many odd
peculiarities in his habits. He has contracted a great friendship for
a white cat, and evinced his affection for it the other day in a
curious manner. The dog was observed to scratch a large deep hole in
the garden. When he had finished it he sought out the cat, dragged her
by the neck to the hole, endeavoured to place her in it, and to cover
her with the soil. The cat, not liking this proceeding, at last made
her escape.

While two terriers were hunting together in a wood, one was caught by
the leg in a trap set for foxes. His companion finding that he could
not extricate the other, ran to the house of his owner, and by his
significant gesticulations induced him to follow; and by this means he
was extricated.

Mr. Morritt, well known to the readers of the Life of Sir Walter
Scott, as his intimate and confidential friend, had two terriers of
the pepper-and-mustard breed, or rather, as we prefer him to any other
character Sir Walter Scott has delighted us with, the Dandy Dinmont
breed. These dogs (for we avoid the feminine appellation when we can)
were strongly attached to their excellent master, and he to them. They
were mother and daughter, and each produced a litter of puppies about
the same time. Mr. Morritt was seriously ill at this period, and
confined to his bed. Fond as these dogs were of their puppies, they
had an equal affection for their master, and in order to prove to him
that such was the case, they adopted the following expedient. They
conveyed their two litters of puppies to one place, and while one of
the mothers remained to suckle and take care of them, the other went
into Mr. Morritt's bedroom and continued there from morning until the
evening. When the evening arrived, she went and relieved the other
dog, who then came into the bedroom, and remained quietly all night by
the side of the bed, and this they continued to do day after day in
succession.

This charming anecdote was communicated to me from a quarter which
cannot leave a doubt of its authenticity, and affords an affecting
proof of gratitude and love in animals towards those who have treated
them with kindness, and made them their friends. Such an anecdote as
this should be sufficient to preserve dogs from much of the
ill-treatment they meet with.

I knew a very clever terrier belonging to a friend of mine. His name
was Snap. Now Snap one fine, hot, summer's day, accompanied his
master, who was on horseback, on his way from London to the
neighbourhood of Windsor. The road was very dusty, and, as I have
said, the weather hot, and Snap was very thirsty. No water was met
with until Hounslow had been passed. At last a woman crossed the road
with a bucket of water, which she had drawn from a neighbouring pump.
On arriving at her cottage she placed it outside her door, and left it
there. Snap saw it and lapped up some of the water with evident
satisfaction, his master waiting for him. When he had finished his
lapping, instead of following, he deliberately inserted his
hind-quarters into the bucket--took a good cooling bath--shook himself
in the bucket--jumped out--gave himself another shake, and then
followed his master. If Snap was lost in London, he would go to every
house usually frequented by his master; and if he then could not find
him, would return home. Snap, in fact, was an extraordinary dog.

One night, a gentleman, between fifty and sixty years of age, went
into a house of a particular description near the Admiralty. He had
not been long there when he died suddenly. He had with him a small dog
of the terrier kind, which immediately left the room. There was
nothing found on the gentleman's person to lead to a discovery of his
name or residence. About twelve o'clock, however, on the following
night, three interesting young ladies, of very genteel appearance,
between the ages of sixteen and twenty, arrived at the house in which
the gentleman died, accompanied by the dog. They came in a chaise from
Richmond. It appears that the dog, immediately after the decease of
his master, ran off to Richmond, where he usually resided. As soon as
the door was opened he rushed into the apartment of the young ladies,
who were in the act of dressing themselves. He began to solicit their
attention by whines and cries, and his eyes turned to the door, as if
to invite them to follow him. Failing in this, he became more earnest,
seized their clothes, and pulled them towards the door with so much
violence, that one of their gowns was torn. This excited great alarm;
and from the intelligence shown by the animal, it was resolved by the
young ladies to resign themselves to the dog, which continued to
entice them away. A chaise was accordingly ordered, and they
immediately took their seats in it. The dog led the way, with its head
almost constantly turned back, and his eyes fixed upon the carriage,
until he led them to the house near the Admiralty, where his master
had died. There they alighted; but how great was their grief, horror,
and surprise, to find their father dead in such a situation!

The deceased proved to be Mr. ----, an inhabitant of Lewisham, in
Kent, where he possessed a farm of considerable extent, and followed
the business of an auctioneer, and was greatly respected in his
neighbourhood. That night he dropped down in the house alluded to,
when the people, supposing him dead, immediately gave the alarm, and
the body was conveyed to the Lord Cochrane hotel, within a few doors,
in Spring Gardens. Here it was discovered that the spark of life was
not totally extinguished. He was carried up-stairs and put to bed, and
medical assistance was called in; but in vain,--in a few minutes he
was a corpse. As the people of the house were carrying him up-stairs,
a sum of 1100_l._ fell from his pocket in bank-notes, tied up in a
bundle, and marked on the outside, "To be paid into Snow's,"--a
circumstance sufficient in itself to show that he had not been
dishonestly treated by the female who accompanied him into the house
from which he was brought, or any other person belonging to it. The
interesting little dog, after his return, remained at his post, the
faithful guardian of his beloved master's remains. He lay on the foot
of the bed, with his eyes constantly fixed on the body, with an eager,
anxious, melancholy expression.

The place was crowded with people, led by curiosity to this
interesting scene. The dog never appeared to take any notice of these
strange visitors, and no rude hand attempted to interrupt the little
mourner in his melancholy office. The verdict of the coroner's inquest
was,--"Died by the visitation of God."

Another of the same breed of dogs evinced much sagacity on the
following occasion:--

His master occupied furnished lodgings near the Inns of Court in
London. In the hurry of removing from them, neither he nor his
servants thought of the dog, who was not in the way when they quitted
the house. When the dog returned to it, finding his master gone, he
trotted off to Kensington, where an intimate friend of his master
resided, and very quietly and patiently made himself at home in the
house. As he was well known, he was fed and taken care of, and at the
end of three days his master called, and he then gladly went away with
him.

In this instance it is, I think, evident, that the dog possessed a
sort of reasoning faculty, which induced him to suppose that the best
chance he had of finding his master was by going to a place to which
he had formerly accompanied him; and he was correct in his
calculation.

This faculty was again exercised in the following manner:--

A gentleman residing in the Tower of London had a terrier which he one
day lost, about seven miles from town. The dog attached himself to a
soldier, and notwithstanding the man went to town in an omnibus, the
dog followed the vehicle. When the soldier alighted from it, he went
to the barracks in St. James's Park, the dog continuing close behind
him. On examining the collar, the name and residence of the owner of
the dog were found on it. The soldier therefore brought him to the
Tower, and gave the above particulars. From this account it may be
supposed that the dog, having been familiar with the sight of
Guardsmen at the Tower, had followed one of them in hopes that he
belonged to that place, and therefore would conduct him to it.

I am not aware that any writer upon dogs has noticed one of their
peculiarities, that of curiosity. Let me give a curious and
well-authenticated instance of this property, which was communicated
to me by the owner of the dog. This animal was a Scotch terrier, named
Snob, and certainly a more singular dog has seldom been met with. His
master was commander of the fleet on the South American station, and
Snob embarked with him. He soon began to give proofs of his
extraordinary curiosity, for he liked to see everything that was going
forward in the ship. Snob, in fact, was a sort of Paul Pry. He watched
everything that was to be done. One night the sailors were kept up
aloft for some hours doing something to the sails; Snob remained on
the deck the whole time, looking very wise, and watching the sailors
with one paw lifted up. He would at other times wander between the
decks, looking at everything going forward; and when he had been shut
in the cabin he has frequently been observed standing on his hind legs
looking through the keyhole of the door, in order to watch the
proceedings which were carried on. I have a great respect for Snob,
who is still alive, and I have no doubt his curiosity is as great as
ever.

A curious instance of ferocity and affection in a terrier bitch is
recorded by Mr. Daniel:--After a very severe burst of upwards of an
hour, a fox was, by Mr. Daniel's hounds, run to earth, at Heney
Dovehouse, near Sudbury, in Suffolk. The terriers were lost; but as
the fox went to ground in view of the headmost hounds, and it was the
concluding day of the season, it was resolved to dig him out, and two
men from Sudbury brought a couple of terriers for that purpose. After
considerable labour, the hunted fox was got, and given to the hounds;
whilst they were breaking him, one of the terriers slipped back into
the earth, and again laid. After more digging, a bitch-fox was taken
out, and the terrier killed two cubs in the earth; three others were
saved from her fury, and which were begged by the owner of the bitch,
who said he should make her suckle them. This was laughed at as
impossible; however, the man was positive, and the cubs were given to
him. The bitch-fox was carried away, and turned into an earth in
another county. The terrier had behaved so well at earth, that she was
some days afterwards bought, with the cubs she had fostered, by Mr.
Daniel. The bitch continued regularly to suckle, and reared them until
able to shift for themselves. What adds to this singularity is, that
the terrier's whelp was nearly five weeks old, and the cubs could just
see, when this exchange of progeny was made.

The following is a proof not only of the kind disposition, but the
sense of a terrier.

A gentleman, from whom I received the anecdote, was walking one day
along a road in Lancashire, when he was _accosted_, if the term may be
used, by a terrier dog. The animal's gesticulations were at first so
strange and unusual, that he felt inclined to get out of its way. The
dog, however, at last, by various significant signs and expressive
looks, made his meaning known, and the gentleman, to the dog's great
delight, turned and followed him for a few hundred yards. He was led
to the banks of a canal, which he had not before seen, and there he
discovered a small dog struggling in the water for his life, and
nearly exhausted by his efforts to save himself from drowning. The
sides of the canal were bricked, with a low parapet wall rather higher
than the bank. The gentleman, by stooping down, with some difficulty
got hold of the dog and drew him out, his companion all the time
watching the proceedings. It cannot be doubted, but that in this
instance the terrier made use of the only means in his power to save
the other dog, and this in a way which showed a power of reasoning
equally strong with that of a human being, under a similar
circumstance.

I may here mention another instance of a terrier finding his way back
to his former home.

A gentleman residing near York went to London, and on his return
brought with him a young terrier dog, which had never been out of
London. He brought him to York in one of the coaches, and thence
conveyed him to his residence. Impatient of separation from his former
master, he took the first opportunity of escaping from the stable in
which he had been confined, and was seen running on the turnpike road
towards York by the boy who had him in charge, and who followed him
for some distance. A few days afterwards, the gentleman who had lost
the dog received a letter front London, acquainting him that the dog
was found lying at the door of his lodgings, his feet quite sore, and
in a most emaciated condition.

A few years ago, a blind terrier dog was brought from Cashiobury Park,
near Watford, to Windsor. On arriving at the latter place he became
very restless, and took the first opportunity of making his escape,
and, blind as he was, made his way back to Cashiobury Park, his native
place.

A correspondent informs me, that whilst he was taking a walk one
summer's evening, he observed two rough-looking men, having a bull-dog
with them, annoying a sickly-looking young gentleman, who was
accompanied by a terrier. The bull-dog at last seized the latter, and
would soon have killed it, had not my correspondent interfered. He was
then informed that a few years previous, when his master was in bed,
this little terrier came to his bedroom door, and scratched and
yelled to be admitted. When this had been done, he immediately rushed
to a closet-door in the room, at which he barked most furiously. His
master, becoming alarmed, fastened the door, and having obtained the
assistance of his servants, a notorious thief was discovered in the
closet.

Mr. White, of Selborne, relates a pleasing anecdote of affection,
which existed between two incongruous animals--a horse and a hen, and
which showed a mutual fellowship and kindness for each other. The
following anecdote, communicated to me by a clergyman in Devonshire,
affords another proof of affection between two animals of opposite
natures. I will give it in his own words:--

"Some few months since it was necessary to confine our little terrier
bitch, on account of distemper. The prison-door was constructed of
open bars; and shortly after the dog was placed in durance, we
observed a bantam cock gazing compassionately at the melancholy
inmate, who, doubtless, sadly missed its warm rug by the parlour fire.
At last the bantam contrived to squeeze through the bars, and a
friendship of a most unusual kind commenced. Pylades and Orestes,
Nisus and Euryalus, could not have been bound by closer bonds of
affection. The bantam scarcely forsook the poor prisoner's cell for
its daily food, and when it did the dog became uneasy, whining till
her friend returned, and then it was most amusing to watch the actions
of the biped and quadruped. As the dog became worse, so did the
bantam's attentions redouble; and by way of warming the dog, it took
its place between the forelegs, and then the little animal settled
luxuriously down on the bird, seeming to enjoy the warmth imparted by
the feathers. In this position, and nestled closely side by side, did
this curious pair pass some weeks, till death put an end to the poor
dog and this singular friendship. It must be added for the bantam's
honour, that he was most melancholy for some time afterwards."

The same clergyman also communicated to me the following anecdote
illustrative of the sagacity of terriers.

He says that "his brother-in-law, who has a house in Woburn Place, and
another in the City, had a wire-haired terrier named Bob, of
extraordinary sagacity. The dog's knowledge of London and his
adventures would form a little history. His master was in the habit,
occasionally, of spending a few days at Gravesend, but did not always
take his dog with him. Bob, left behind one day against his liking,
scampered off to London Bridge, and out of the numerous steamers
boarded the Gravesend boat, disembarked at that place, went to the
accustomed inn, and not finding his master there, got on board the
steamer again and returned to town. He then called at several places
usually frequented by his master, and afterwards went home to Woburn
Place. He has frequently been stolen, but always returns, sometimes in
sad plight, with a broken cord round his neck, and with signs of
ill-usage; but still he contrives to escape from the dog-stealers."

I once took a favourite terrier with me to a house I had hired in
Manchester Street. He had never been in London before. While the
carriage was unloading in which the dog had been conveyed, he was
missed, and I could hear nothing of him for nearly a fortnight; at the
end of that time he found his way back to the house, with a short cord
round his neck, which he had evidently gnawed off. How he came to find
his way back is not a little to be wondered at. His joy on seeing me
again I cannot forget. Poor Peter! when he got old, and my rides
became too long for him, he pretended to be lame after accompanying me
a short distance, and would then trot back without any appearance of
lameness.

The following anecdote proves the kind disposition of a terrier. A
kitten, only a few hours old, had been put into a pail of water, in
the stable-yard of an inn, for the purpose of drowning it. It had
remained there for a minute or two, until it was to all appearance
dead, when a terrier bitch, attached to the stables, took the kitten
from the water, and carried it off in her mouth. She suckled and
watched over it with great care, and it throve well. The dog was at
the same time suckling a puppy about ten weeks old, but which did not
seem at all displeased with the intruder.

I had once an opportunity of witnessing the sense of a terrier. I was
riding on Sunbury Common, where many roads diverge, when a terrier
ran up, evidently in pursuit of his master. On arriving at one of the
three roads, he put his nose to the ground and snuffed along it; he
then went to the second, and did the same; but when he came to the
third, he ran along it as fast as he could, without once putting down
his nose to the ground. This fact has been noticed by others, but I
never before witnessed it myself.

At Dunrobin Castle, in Sutherlandshire (then the seat of the Marquis
of Stafford now of the Duke of Sutherland), there was to be seen, in
May 1820, a terrier bitch nursing a brood of ducklings. She had a
litter of whelps a few weeks before, which were taken from her and
drowned. The unfortunate mother was quite disconsolate till she
perceived the brood of ducklings, which she immediately seized and
carried to her lair, where she retained them, following them out and
in with the greatest care, and nursing them, after her own fashion,
with the most affectionate anxiety. When the ducklings, following
their natural instinct, went into the water, their foster-mother
exhibited the utmost alarm; and as soon as they returned to land she
snatched them up in her mouth, and ran home with them. What adds to
the singularity of this circumstance is, that the same animal when
deprived of a litter of puppies the year preceding, seized two
cock-chickens, which she reared with the like care she bestows upon
her present family. When the young cocks began to try their voices,
their foster-mother was as much annoyed as she now seems to be by the
swimming of the ducklings, and never failed to repress their attempts
at crowing.

The foreman of a brickmaker, at Erith in Kent, went from home in
company with his wife, and left her at the Plough at Northend with his
brother, while he proceeded across the fields to inspect some repairs
at a cottage. In about an hour after his departure, his dog, a small
Scotch terrier, which had accompanied him, returned to the Plough,
jumped into the lap of his mistress, pawed her about, and whined
piteously. She at first took no particular notice of the animal, but
pushed him from her. He then caught hold of her clothes, pulled at
them repeatedly, and continued to whine incessantly. He endeavoured,
also, in a similar way to attract the attention of the brother. At
last all present noticed his importunate anxiety, and the wife then
said she was convinced something had happened to her husband. The
brother and the wife, with several others, went out and followed the
dog, who led them through the darkness of the night, which was very
great, to the top of a precipice, nearly fifty feet deep; and standing
on the bank, held his head over, and howled in a most distressing
manner. They were convinced that the poor man had fallen over; and
having gone round to the bottom of the pit, they found him, lying
under the spot indicated by the dog, quite dead.

The following anecdote is copied from a recent number of "The
Field:"--

I well remember, when a boy, at Barton-upon-Humber, a certain "keel"
employed in the Yorkshire corn-trade, on board which the captain had a
dog, possessed of some traces of terrier blood, smooth-coated, and of
a pure white colour, his neck and back adorned with stumpy bristles,
which ruffled up at the slightest provocation--altogether he looked a
mongrel cur enough, but he was an excellent sailor, for he attended
his master on all his trading expeditions, and never deserted his
ship. One day, while the keel lay in Barton Haven, the dog was lost,
and great was the consternation in consequence. Diligent search was
made in the town and neighbourhood, but every effort to discover the
missing animal proved unavailing. Month after month passed away, the
keel went and came on her accustomed avocations, and poor Keeper was
forgotten--considered by his master to be dead. Judge, therefore, the
man's surprise when one day steering with difficulty his vessel into
Goole Harbour, which was crowded with shipping at the time, his glance
suddenly fell upon his faithful and long-lost dog, buffeting the water
at a considerable distance from the keel, but making eagerly towards
her. By the aid of a piece of tar-rope, which was dangling round the
dog's neck, and a friendly boat-hook, he was lifted quite exhausted on
to the deck of his master's craft, when it became at once apparent
that he had long been kept a prisoner, most probably on board a
vessel, by some one who had stolen him at Barton. The cause of the
poor dog's sudden reappearance was undoubtedly his having heard his
master's well-remembered voice; but it is strange he should have been
able to distinguish at so great a distance, and when swelling that
chorus of hoarse bawling which arises from a hundred husky throats
when a Yorkshire keelman is engaged forcing his craft into a crowded
harbour; and it is also equally touching, that when roused by the
distant sound, the poor beast should have plunged, encumbered as he
was with the rope he had just burst asunder, so gallantly into the
water--an element he was ill-adapted to move in, and in which his
master declared he had never seen him before.

[Illustration]




[Illustration: THE BLENHEIM SPANIEL.]

THE SPANIEL.

   "Though once a puppy, and a fop by name,
    Here moulders one whose bones some honour claim;
    No sycophant, although of Spanish race,
    And though no hound, a martyr to the chase.
    Ye pheasants, rabbits, leverets rejoice,
    Your haunts no longer echo to his voice;
    This record of his fate, exulting view--
    He died worn out with vain pursuit of you.
    'Yes,' the indignant shade of _Fop_ replies,
    'And worn with _vain pursuits_, man also dies.'"
                                                    COWPER.


Poor Doll! the very name of spaniel reminds me of you. How well do I
now see your long pendent ears, your black expressive eyes, your
short, well-rounded mouth, your diminutive but strong legs, almost
hidden by the long, silky hair from your stomach, and hear you sing
as you lie on the rug before a good fire in the winter, after a hard
day's cock or snipe-shooting, wet and tired with your indefatigable
exertions! Yes--strange as it may sound, Doll would sing in her way,
as I have stated in a previous page; and such was her sagacity, that
in process of time when I said, "Sing, Doll," she gave vent to the
sounds, and varied them as I exclaimed, "Louder, louder." All this
time she appeared to be fast asleep.--And what a dog she was in thick
cover, or in rushy swamps! No day was too long for her, nor could a
woodcock or snipe escape her "unerring nose:"--

   "Still her unerring nose would wind it--
    If above ground was sure to find it."

Monsieur Blaze also tells us, that a gentleman had a dog which he
taught to utter a particular musical note, and that the animal made a
cry which very much resembled it. He then sounded another note close
to the ear of the dog, saying to him, "Too high, or too low,"
according to the degree of intonation. The animal finished by pretty
correctly giving the note which was required.

An account is given in the "Bibliothèque Universelle," of a spaniel,
who, if he heard any one play or sing a certain air, "L'âne de notre
moulin est mort, la pauvre bête," &c., which is a lamentable ditty, in
the minor key, the dog looked very pitifully, then gaped repeatedly,
showing increasing signs of impatience and uneasiness. He would then
sit upright on his hind-legs, and begin to howl louder and louder till
the music stopped. No other air ever affected him, and he never
noticed any music till the air in question was played or sung. He then
manifested, without exception or variation, the series of actions
which have been described.

I knew a dog which howled whenever it was pitied, and another whose
ear was so sensitive, that it could never bear to hear me make a
moaning noise. I have likewise seen a dog affected by peculiar notes
played on a violoncello.

It is only now and then that such dogs as Doll are to be met with, and
when they are, they are invaluable, either as sporting dogs or as
companions. In the latter capacity Doll was quite delightful. In an
early May morning, when she knew that no shooting was going forward,
she would frisk around me as I strolled in a meadow, gay with my
favourite cowslips, or run before me as I passed along a lane, where
primroses were peeping out of its mossy sides, looking back every now
and then to see if I was following her. There was the dew still
glittering on the flowers, which, from their situation, had not yet
felt the influence of the morning sun, reminding me of some favourite
lines by my favourite poet, Herrick:--

   "Fall on me like a silent dew,
      Or like those maiden showers,
    Which, by the peep of day, do strew
     _A baptism o'er the flowers_."

How delightful it is to think of these bygone walks, and how pleasant
to call to mind these traits of a favourite and faithful animal! The
poet Cowper was never more engaging than when he describes his vain
attempts to reach the flower of a water-lily, as he was strolling
along the banks of a stream attended by his spaniel, and afterwards
discovering that the sagacious animal had been in the river and
plucked it for him.

Another instance of wonderful sagacity in this breed of dogs may be
here noticed.

A gentleman shooting wild fowl one day on a lake in Ireland, was
accompanied by a sagacious spaniel. He wounded a wild duck, which swam
about the lake, and dived occasionally, followed by the dog. The bird
at last got to some distance, and lowered itself in the water, as
ducks are known to do when they are wounded and pursued, leaving
nothing but his head out of it. The dog swam about for some time in
search of his prey, but all scent was lost, and he obeyed his master's
call, and returned to the shore. He had no sooner arrived there,
however, than he ran with the greatest eagerness to the top of some
high ground close to the lake. On arriving there, he was seen looking
round in every direction; and having at last perceived the spot where
the duck was endeavouring to conceal itself, he again rushed into the
water, made directly to the spot he had previously marked, and at last
succeeded in securing the wounded bird.

A spaniel which had been kindly treated and fed, during the absence of
his master, in the kitchen of a neighbour, showed his gratitude not
only by greeting the cook when he met her, but on one occasion he laid
down at her feet a bird which he had caught, wagged his tail and
departed; thus showing that he had not forgotten the favours he had
received.

The following old, but interesting anecdote, is taken from Daniel's
"Rural Sports:"--

"A few days before the overthrow of Robespierre, a revolutionary
tribunal had condemned M. R----, an upright magistrate and a most
estimable man, on a pretence of finding him guilty of a conspiracy.
His faithful dog, a spaniel, was with him when he was seized, but was
not suffered to enter the prison. He took refuge with a neighbour of
his master's, and every day at the same hour returned to the door of
the prison, but was still refused admittance. He, however, uniformly
passed some time there, and his unremitting fidelity won upon the
porter, and the dog was allowed to enter. The meeting may be better
imagined than described. The gaoler, however, fearful for himself,
carried the dog out of the prison; but he returned the next morning,
and was regularly admitted on each day afterwards. When the day of
sentence arrived, the dog, notwithstanding the guards, penetrated into
the hall, where he lay crouched between the legs of his master. Again,
at the hour of execution, the faithful dog is there; the knife of the
guillotine falls--he will not leave the lifeless and headless body.
The first night, the next day, and the second night, his absence
alarmed his new patron, who, guessing whither he had retired, sought
him, and found him stretched upon his master's grave. From this time,
for three months, every morning the mourner returned to his protector
merely to receive food, and then again retreated to the grave. At
length he refused food, his patience seemed exhausted, and with
temporary strength, supplied by his long-tried and unexhausted
affection, for twenty-four hours he was observed to employ his
weakened limbs in digging up the earth that separated him from the
being he had served. His powers, however, here gave way; he shrieked
in his struggles, and at length ceased to breathe, with his last look
turned upon the grave."

The late Rev. Mr. Corsellis, of Wivenhoe, in Essex, had an old
gamekeeper who had reared a spaniel, which became his constant
companion, day and night. Wherever the keeper appeared Dash was close
behind him, and was of infinite use in his master's nocturnal
excursions. The game at night was never regarded, although in the day
no spaniel could find it in better style, or in a greater quantity. If
at night, however, a strange foot entered the coverts, Dash, by a
significant whine, informed his master that an enemy was abroad, and
thus many poachers have been detected. After many years of friendly
companionship the keeper was seized with a disease which terminated
in death. Whilst the slow but fatal progress of his disorder allowed
him to crawl about, Dash, as usual, followed his footsteps; and when
nature was nearly exhausted, and he took to his bed, the faithful
animal unweariedly attended at the foot of it. When he died the dog
would not quit the body, but lay on the bed by its side. It was with
difficulty he could be induced to eat any food; and though after the
burial he was caressed with all the tenderness which so fond an
attachment naturally called forth, he took every opportunity to steal
back to the room where his old master died. Here he would remain for
hours, and from thence he daily visited his grave. At the end,
however, of fourteen days, notwithstanding every kindness and
attention shown him, the poor faithful animal died, a victim of grief
for the loss of his master.

In recording such an instance of affection, it is impossible not to
feel regret that animals capable of so much attachment should ever be
subjected to ill-usage. Whenever they are treated with kindness and
affection, they are ready to return it four-fold. It is generally
ill-treatment which produces ferocity or indifference, and the former
must be very great before the love of their master can be conquered.

Mr. Blaine records the following story of a dog which he had found:--

"I one day picked up in the streets an old spaniel bitch, that some
boys were worrying, from which her natural timidity rendered her
incapable of defending herself. Grateful for the protection, she
readily followed me home, where she was placed among other dogs, in
expectation of finding an owner for her; but which not happening, she
spent the remainder of her life (three or four years) in this asylum.
Convinced she was safe and well treated, I had few opportunities of
particularly noticing her afterwards, and she attached herself
principally to the man who fed her. At a future period, when
inspecting the sick dogs, I observed her in great pain, occasionally
crying out. Supposing her to be affected in her bowels, and having no
suspicion she was in pup, I directed some castor-oil to be given her.
The next day she was still worse, when I examined her more
attentively, and, to my surprise, discovered that a young one
obstructed the passage, and which she was totally unable to bring
forth. I placed her on a table, and, after some difficulty, succeeded
in detaching the puppy from her. The relief she instantly felt
produced an effect I shall never forget; she licked my hands, and when
put on the ground she did the same to my feet, danced round me, and
screamed with gratitude and joy.

"From this time to her death, which did not happen till two years
after, she never forgot the benefit she had received; on the contrary,
whenever I approached, she was boisterous in evincing her gratitude
and regard, and would never let me rest till, by noticing her, I had
convinced her that I was sensible of her caresses. The difference
between her behaviour before this accident and after it was so pointed
and striking, that it was impossible to mistake the grateful sense she
had ever retained of the kindness which had been shown to her."

Spaniels in cover are merry and cheerful companions, all life and
animation. They hunt, they frisk about, watching the movements of
their master, and are indefatigable in their exertions to find game
for him. Their neat shape, their beautiful coats, their cleanly
habits, their insinuating attention, incessant attendance, and
faithful obedience, insure for them general favour. It is almost
impossible, therefore, not to have the greatest attachment and
affection for them, especially as few dogs evince so much sagacity,
sincerity, patience, fidelity, and gratitude. From the time they are
thrown off in the field, as a proof of the pleasure they feel in being
employed, the tail is in perpetual motion, upon the increased
vibration of which the experienced sportsman well knows when he is
getting nearer to the game. As the dog approaches it, the more
energetic he becomes. Tremulous whimpers escape him as a matter of
doubt occurs, and he is all eagerness as he hits again on the scent.
The Clumber breed of spaniels have long been celebrated for their
strength and powers of endurance, their unerring nose, and for hunting
mute--a great qualification where game abounds. This breed has been
preserved in its purity by the successive Dukes of Newcastle, and may
be considered as an aristocratic apanage to their country seats. Nor
should the fine breed of spaniels belonging to the Earl of Albemarle
be passed by in silence. They are black and tan, of a large size, with
long ears, and very much feathered about the legs. They are excellent
retrievers; and those who have seen will not soon forget Sir Edwin
Landseer's charming picture of the late Lord Albemarle's celebrated
dog Chancellor, and one of his progeny, holding a dead rabbit between
them, as if equally eager to bring it to their amiable master. These
dogs, like those of the Clumber breed, hunt mute, and seldom range out
of shot.

While on the subject of Lord Albemarle's breed of dogs, I may mention
an extraordinary fact which I noticed in a former work, and which I
witnessed myself. I allude to the circumstance of a favourite dog
having died after producing a litter of puppies, which were adopted,
suckled, and brought up by a young bitch of the same breed, who never
had any whelps of her own, or indeed was in the way of having any. The
flow of milk of the foster-mother was quite sufficient for the
sustenance of the adopted offspring, and enabled her to support and
bring them up with as much care and affection as if they had been her
own. Here was an absence of that _notus odor_ which enables animals to
distinguish their young from those of others, and also of that
distension of milk which makes the suckling their young so delightful
to them. Indeed it may be observed how beautifully and providentially
it has been ordered, that the process of suckling their young is as
pleasurable to the parent animal as it is essential to the support of
the infant progeny. The mammæ of animals become painful when
over-distended with milk. Drawing off that fluid removes positive
uneasiness and affords positive pleasure. In the present instance,
however, nothing of the sort was the case, and therefore we can only
look to that kindliness of disposition and intelligence with which
many animals are so strongly endowed as the reason of the singular
adoption referred to. I am aware that this fact has been doubted, but
it is too well known and authenticated to admit of the possibility of
any mistake. In this instance it must be allowed that the usually
defined bounds of instinct were exceeded. If so, distress at hearing
the cries of the helpless young must have acted forcibly on the kindly
feelings of a poor brute, and thus induced her to act in the manner I
have described.

Spaniels, like other dogs, possess the power of finding their way to
their homes from distances of considerable extent, and over ground
they have not before traversed.

A lady residing at Richmond (Mrs. Grosvenor) gave the Rev. Leonard
Jenyns the following anecdote of a dog and cat. A little Blenheim
spaniel of hers once accompanied her to the house of a relative, where
it was taken into the kitchen to be fed, when two large favourite cats
flew at it several times, and scratched it severely. The spaniel was
in the habit of following its mistress in her walks in the garden, and
by degrees it formed a friendship with a young cat of the gardener's,
which it tempted into the house,--first into the hall, and then into
the kitchen,--where, on finding one of the large cats, the spaniel and
its ally fell on it together, and, without further provocation, beat
it well; they then waited for the other, which they served in the same
manner, and finally drove both cats from the kitchen. The two friends
continued afterwards to eat off the same plate as long as the spaniel
remained with her mistress in the house.

A gentleman residing at Worcester had a favourite spaniel, which he
brought with him to London inside the coach. After having been in town
a day or two he missed the dog, and wrote to acquaint his family at
Worcester of his loss. He received an answer informing him that he
need not distress himself about "Rose," as she had arrived at her old
house at Worcester five days after she had been lost in London, but
very thin and out of condition. This same dog was a great favourite,
and much domesticated. She formed a friendship with the cat, and when
before the fire the latter would lie down in the most familiar manner
by the side of the dog. When the dog had puppies, the cat was in the
habit of sucking her; and it happened more than once that both had
young ones at the same time, when the cat might be seen sucking the
bitch, and the kittens taking their nourishment from the cat.

A friend of mine, who then resided in South Wales, had a team of
spaniels, which he used for woodcock shooting. As he was leaving the
country for a considerable length of time, he gave permission to some
of his neighbours to take out his spaniels when they wanted them. One
of these was a remarkably good dog, but of rather a surly disposition,
and had, in consequence, been but little petted or noticed by his
master. Notwithstanding this, nothing could induce him either to
follow or hunt with those to whom he was lent. In order, therefore, to
make him of any use, it was necessary to get his feeder to accompany
the shooting party, and the dog would then take to hunt in cover; but
if this man returned home, the dog would find it out and be there
before him. At the end of nearly six years his master returned into
Wales, and near the house discovered his old dog, apparently asleep.
Knowing his ferocious disposition, he did not venture to go close to
him, but called him by name, which did not appear to excite the
animal's attention. No sooner, however, did the dog hear an old
exciting _cover-call_, than he jumped up, sprang to his old master,
and showed his affection for him in every possible way. When the
shooting season came, he proved himself to be as good a dog as ever.

Mons. Blaze says, that a fondness for the chase does not always make a
dog forget his fidelity to his master. He was one day shooting wild
ducks with a friend near Versailles, when, as soon as the first shot
was fired, a fine spaniel dog joined and began to caress them. They
shot during the whole day, and the dog hunted with the greatest zeal
and alacrity. Supposing him to be a stray dog, they began to think of
appropriating him to themselves; but as soon as the sport was over,
the dog ran away. They afterwards discovered that he belonged to one
of the keepers, who was confined to his house by illness. His duty,
however, was to shoot ducks on one particular day of the week, when he
was accompanied by this spaniel; he lived six miles from the spot, and
the dog, knowing the precise day, had come there to enjoy his usual
sport, and then returned to his master.

One of the most extraordinary cases on record of a friendship between
two most dissimilar animals, a spaniel and a partridge, is narrated by
a writer in whom implicit confidence may be placed:--"We were lately
(in 1823) visiting in a house, where a very pleasing and singular
portrait attracted our observation: it was that of a young lady,
represented with a partridge perched upon her shoulder, and a dog with
his feet on her arm. We recognised it as a representation of the lady
of the house; but were at a loss to account for the odd association of
her companions. She observed our surprise, and at once gave the
history of the bird and the spaniel. They were both, some years back,
domesticated in her family. The dog was an old parlour favourite, who
went by the name of Tom; the partridge was more recently introduced
from France, and answered to the equally familiar name of Bill. It
was rather a dangerous experiment to place them together, for Tom was
a lively and spirited creature, very apt to torment the cats, and to
bark at any object which roused his instinct. But the experiment was
tried; and Bill, being very tame, did not feel much alarm at his
natural enemy. They were, of course, shy at first; but this shyness
gradually wore off: the bird became less timid, and the dog less bold.
The most perfect friendship was at length established between them.
When the hour of dinner arrived, the partridge invariably flew on his
mistress's shoulder, calling with that shrill note which is so well
known to sportsmen; and the spaniel leapt about with equal ardour. One
dish of bread and milk was placed on the floor, out of which the
spaniel and bird fed together. After their social meal, the dog would
retire to a corner to sleep, while the partridge would nestle between
his legs, and never stir till his favourite awoke. Whenever the dog
accompanied his mistress out, the bird displayed the utmost
disquietude till his return; and once, when the partridge was shut up
by accident a whole day, the dog searched about the house, with a
mournful cry which indicated the strength of his affection. The
friendship of Tom and Bill was at length fatally terminated. The
beautiful little dog was stolen; and the bird from that time refused
food, and died on the seventh day, a victim to his grief."

A friend of mine has a small spaniel, which very recently showed
great sagacity. This dog, which is much attached to him, was left
under the care of a servant while his master paid a visit of a few
weeks in Hampshire. The poor animal was so miserable during his
absence, that he was informed of it, and directed the dog to be sent
to him in a hamper, which was done. He was overjoyed at the sight of
his kind master, and remained perfectly contented at his new abode.
When preparations were making for his departure, the day before it
took place, the dog was evidently aware of what was going forward, and
showed his dread of being again left behind, by keeping as close as
possible to the feet of his master during the evening. On getting up
very early the next morning, before daylight, he found on opening his
door that the apprehensive animal was lying before it, although it was
winter, and very cold. At breakfast the dog not only nestled against
his feet, but rubbed himself so much against them, that he was at last
turned out of the room. On going into his dressing-room, where the dog
had been in the habit of sleeping in a warm basket before a good fire,
he found him coiled up in his portmanteau, which had been left open
nearly packed.

In this instance, the animal's knowledge of what was going forward was
very evident, and his fear of being left behind could not be more
strongly expressed; thus affording another proof that animals are
possessed of a faculty much beyond mere instinct.

A young gentleman lately residing in Edinburgh was master of a
handsome spaniel bitch, which he had bought from a dealer in dogs. The
animal had been educated to steal for the benefit of its protector;
but it was some time ere his new master became aware of this
irregularity of morals, and he was not a little astonished and teazed
by its constantly bringing home articles of which it had feloniously
obtained possession. Perceiving, at length, that the animal proceeded
systematically in this sort of behaviour, he used to amuse his
friends, by causing the spaniel to give proofs of her sagacity in the
Spartan art of privately stealing; putting, of course, the shopkeepers
where he meant she should exercise her faculty on their guard as to
the issue.

The process was curious, and excites some surprise at the pains which
must have been bestowed to qualify the animal for these practices. As
soon as the master entered the shop, the dog seemed to avoid all
appearance of recognizing or acknowledging any connexion with him, but
lounged about in an indolent, disengaged, and independent sort of
manner, as if she had come into the shop of her own accord. In the
course of looking over some wares, his master indicated by a touch on
the parcel and a look towards the spaniel, that which he desired she
should appropriate, and then left the shop. The dog, whose watchful
eye caught the hint in an instant, instead of following his master out
of the shop, continued to sit at the door, or lie by the fire,
watching the counter, until she observed the attention of the people
of the shop withdrawn from the prize which she wished to secure.
Whenever she saw an opportunity of doing so, as she imagined,
unobserved, she never failed to jump upon the counter with her fore
feet, possess herself of the gloves, or whatever else had been pointed
out to her, and escape from the shop to join her master.

A gentleman lately communicated to me the following fact:--

His avocations frequently took him by the side of St. Bride's
Churchyard, in London. Whenever he passed it, in the course of some
two or three years, he always saw a spaniel at one particular
grave--it was the grave of his master. There, month after month, and
year after year, did this faithful animal remain, as if to guard the
remains of the being he loved. No cold, however severe, no rain,
however violent, no sun, however hot, could drive this affectionate
creature from a spot which was so endeared to him. The good-natured
sexton of the churchyard, (and the fact is recorded to his honour,)
brought food daily to the dog, and then pitying his exposure to the
weather, scooped out a hole by the side of the grave, and thatched it
over.

The following is from the Percy collection of Anecdotes:--

Two spaniels, mother and son, were self-hunting in Mr. Drake's woods,
near Amersham, in Bucks. The gamekeeper shot the mother; the son,
frightened, ran away for an hour or two, and then returned to look
for his mother. Having found her dead body, he laid himself down by
her, and was found in that situation the next day by his master, who
took him home, together with the body of the mother. Six weeks did
this affectionate creature refuse all consolation, and almost all
nutriment. He became, at length, universally convulsed, and died of
grief.

These two anecdotes would form a pretty picture of fidelity and
kindness, and there is one (I need not mention Sir Edwin Landseer) who
would do justice to them.

I may here remark, that the dogs of poor people generally show more
attachment to their masters than those of the rich. Their fidelity
appears greater, and more lasting. Misery would seem to tighten the
cord of affection between them. They both suffer the same privations
together of hunger, cold, and thirst, but these never shake the
affection of a dog for his master. The animal's resignation is
perfect, and his love unbounded. How beautifully has Sir Walter Scott
described the affection of a dog for his master, who fell down a
precipice in a fog near the Helvellyn Mountains, in Cumberland, and
was dashed to pieces. It was not till more than three months
afterwards that his remains were discovered, when his faithful dog was
still guarding them.

   "Dark green was the spot 'mid the brown mountain heather,
      Where the pilgrim of nature lay stretch'd in decay;
    Like the corpse of an outcast abandon'd to weather,
      'Till the mountain winds wasted the tenantless clay.
    Nor yet quite deserted, though lonely extended,
    For faithful in death his mute fav'rite attended,
    The much-lov'd remains of his master defended,
      And chas'd the hill fox and the raven away."

Nor are the preceding anecdotes solitary instances of the affection of
dogs for their departed masters. Mr. Youatt, in his work on "Humanity
to Brutes," which does him so much credit, has recorded the following
fact, very similar to the one already given:--

Opposite to the house of a gentleman, near the churchyard of St.
Olave, Southwark, where the receptacles of humanity are in many parts
dilapidated, was an aperture just large enough to admit a dog. It led
along a kind of sink to a dark cavity, close to which a person had
recently been buried. It was inhabited by his dog, who was to be seen
occasionally moving into or out of the cavern, which he had taken
possession of the day of the funeral. How he obtained any food during
the first two or three months no one knew, but he at length attracted
the attention of a gentleman who lived opposite, and who ordered his
servant regularly to supply the dog with food. He used, after a while,
to come occasionally to this house for what was provided for him. He
was not sullen, but there was a melancholy expression in his
countenance, which, once observed, would never be forgotten. As soon
as he had finished his hasty meal, he would gaze for a moment on his
benefactor. It was an expressive look, but one which could not be
misunderstood. It conveyed all the thanks that a broken heart could
give. He then entombed himself once more for three or four days, when
he crawled out again with his eyes sunk and his coat dishevelled. Two
years he remained faithful to the memory of the being he had lost, and
then, according to the most authentic account of him, having been
missing several days, he was found dead in his retreat.

From a letter written by a gentleman at Dijon in France, to his friend
in London, dated August 15, 1764, we have the following account of a
murder discovered by a dog:--

"Since my arrival here a man has been broken on the wheel, with no
other proof to condemn him than that of a water-spaniel. The
circumstances attending it being so very singular and striking, I beg
leave to communicate them to you. A farmer, who had been to receive a
sum of money, was waylaid, robbed, and murdered, by two villains. The
farmer's dog returned with all speed to the house of the person who
had paid the money, and expressed such amazing anxiety that he would
follow him, pulling him several times by the sleeve and skirt of the
coat, that, at length, the gentleman yielded to his importunity. The
dog led him to the field, a little from the roadside, where the body
lay. From thence the gentleman went to a public-house, in order to
alarm the country. The moment he entered, (as the two villains were
there drinking,) the dog seized the murderer by the throat, and the
other made his escape. This man lay in prison three months, during
which time they visited him once a-week with the spaniel, and though
they made him change his clothes with other prisoners, and always
stand in the midst of a crowd, yet did the animal always find him out,
and fly at him. On the day of trial, when the prisoner was at the bar,
the dog was let loose in the court-house, and in the midst of some
hundreds he found him out (though dressed entirely in new clothes),
and would have torn him to pieces had he been allowed; in consequence
of which he was condemned, and at the place of execution he confessed
the fact. Surely so useful, so disinterestedly faithful an animal,
should not be so barbarously treated as I have often seen them,
particularly in London."

The following anecdote has been well authenticated, and the fact which
it records is still remembered by many individuals yet alive:--

Mr. Alderman Yearsley, of Congleton, in Cheshire, had a favourite
large water-spaniel named Fanny, which, in the hands of Providence,
was the instrument of saving a very valuable life.

In the year 1774 Mr. Yearsley had gone out one evening with a friend
to a tavern, and the dog accompanied him. A short time before he was
expected home, and while Mrs. Yearsley happened to be washing her
hands in the back kitchen, the spaniel returned and scratched at the
door for admittance. Being let in, she followed her mistress into the
kitchen, where she set up a strange sort of whining, or barking, and
turned towards the street-door, as if beckoning her mistress to
follow. This she repeated several times, to the great astonishment of
the lady. At length a thought struck her that Mr. Yearsley might have
met with some accident in the street, and that the spaniel was come to
guide her to her husband. Alarmed at this idea, she hastily followed
the animal, which led her to Mr. Yearsley, whom she found in perfect
health, sitting in the house to which he had gone. She told him the
cause of her coming, and got herself laughed at for her pains. But
what were the feelings of both, when they were informed by their next
neighbours that the kitchen fell in almost the very instant Mrs.
Yearsley had shut the street-door, and that the wash-hand basin she
had left was crushed into a thousand pieces! The animal was ever
afterwards treated with no ordinary attention, and died thirteen years
later, at the age of sixteen. Her death, we regret to add, was
occasioned by the bite of a mad dog.

In the "Notes of a Naturalist," published in Chambers' "Edinburgh
Journal," a work which cannot be too much commended for its agreeable
information, is the following anecdote, which I give with the remarks
of the author upon it:--

"It appears to me, that in the general manifestations of the animal
mind, some one of the senses is employed in preference to the
others--that sense, for instance, which is most acute and perfect in
the animal. In the dog, for example, the sense of smell predominates;
and we accordingly find that, through the medium of this sense, his
mental faculties are most commonly exercised. A gentleman had a
favourite spaniel, which for a long time was in the habit of
accompanying him in all his walks, and became his attached companion.
This gentleman had occasion to leave home, and was absent for more
than a year, during which time he had never seen the dog. On his
return along with a friend, while yet at a little distance from the
house, they perceived the spaniel lying beside the gate. He thought
that this would be a good opportunity of testing the memory of his
favourite; and he accordingly arranged with his companion, who was
quite unknown to the dog, that they should both walk up to the animal,
and express no signs of recognition. As they both approached nearer,
the dog started up, and gazed at them attentively; but he discovered
no signs of recognition, even at their near approach. At last he came
up to the stranger, put his nose close to his clothes, and smelt him,
without any signs of emotion. He then did the same to his old master;
but no sooner had he smelt him, than recognition instantly took place;
he leaped up to his face repeatedly, and showed symptoms of the most
extravagant joy. He followed him into the house, and watched his every
movement, and could by no means be diverted from his person. Here was
an instance of deficient memory through the organs of sight, but an
accurate recollection through the organs of smell." In a preceding
anecdote, I have recorded an instance of a spaniel recognising the
voice of his master after a lapse of six years. In that case, it was
evident that the recollection of a particular sound enabled the dog to
know his master, without having had recourse to the sense of smelling,
which, however, would probably have been equally available had it been
exercised.

About the year 1800, Mrs. Osburn, who lived a few miles out of London,
went to town to receive a large sum of money granted her by Parliament
for discovering a lithontryptic medicine. She received the money, and
returned back with it in her own carriage to the country, without
anything particular happening to her on the road. It was evening when
she arrived at home; and being fatigued with her journey, she retired
early to rest. On her stepping into bed, she was somewhat surprised at
the importunities of a small King Charles's dog, which was a great
pet, and always slept in her bedchamber. He became exceedingly
troublesome, and kept pulling the bedclothes with all his strength.
She chid him repeatedly, and in an angry tone of voice desired him to
lie still, that she might go to sleep. The dog, however, still
persisted in his efforts, and kept pulling the bedclothes; and at
length leaped on the bed, and endeavoured with the most determined
perseverance to pull off the bedclothes. Mrs. Osburn then conceived
there must be some extraordinary cause for this unusual conduct on
the part of her dog, and leaped out of bed; and being a lady of some
courage, put on her petticoat, and placed a brace of pistols by her
side, which she had always ready loaded in a closet adjoining her
bed-room, and proceeded down-stairs. When she had reached the first
landing-place, she saw her coachman coming down the private staircase,
which led to the servants' rooms, with a lighted candle in his hand,
and full dressed. Suspecting his intentions were bad, and with heroic
presence of mind, she presented one of her pistols, and threatened to
lodge the contents of it in him, unless he returned to bed forthwith.
Subdued by her determined courage, he quietly and silently obeyed. She
then went into a back-parlour, when she heard a distant whispering of
voices; she approached the window, and threw it up, and fired one of
her pistols out of it, in the direction from which the noise
proceeded. Everything became silent, and not a whisper was to be
heard. After looking through the different rooms on the lower floor,
and finding all right, she proceeded to bed and secured the door, and
nothing further occurred that night. Next morning she arose at an
early hour, went into the garden, and in the direction which she had
fired the preceding night she discovered drops of blood, which she
traced to the other end of the garden. This left no doubt on her mind
of what had been intended. Thinking it imprudent to keep so large a
sum of money in her house, she ordered her carriage to drive to town,
where she deposited her cash. She then repaired to the house of Sir
John Fielding, and related to him the whole affair, who advised her to
part with her coachman immediately, and that he would investigate the
matter, and, if possible, discover and convict the offenders. But the
parties concerned in this affair were never discovered; for the mere
fact of the coachman being found coming down the stair was not
sufficient to implicate him, although there were strong grounds of
suspicion. Thus, by the instinct and fidelity of this little animal,
was robbery, and most likely murder, prevented.

A spaniel belonging to a medical gentleman, with whom I am acquainted,
residing at Richmond in Surrey, was in the habit of accompanying him
when he went out at night to visit his patients. If he was shut out of
the house of a patient, as was frequently the case, he would return
home; and whatever the hour of the night might be, he would take the
knocker in his mouth, and knock till the door was opened. It should be
mentioned that the knocker was below a half-glazed door, so that it
was easily within the dog's reach.

"In the capital of a German principality," says Capt. Brown, "the
magistrates once thought it expedient to order all dogs that had not
the mark of having been wormed, to be seized and confined for a
certain time in a large yard without the walls of the town. These
dogs, which were of all possible varieties, made a hideous noise while
thus confined together; but a spaniel, which, as the person that had
the care of them observed, sat apart from the rest in a corner of the
yard, seemed to consider the circumstances with greater deliberation.
He attended to the manner in which the gate of the yard was opened and
shut; and, taking a favourable opportunity, leapt with his forepaws
upon the latch, opened the gate, looked round upon the clamorous
multitude, and magnanimously led them the way out of the prison. He
conducted them in triumph through the gate of the town; upon which
every dog ran home exulting to his master."

The following anecdote, which was sent to me by the gentleman who
witnessed the occurrence, proves the sense and observation of a
spaniel. He possessed one which was a great favourite, and a constant
companion in all his rambles. One day, in passing through a field of
young turnips, he pulled up one of them, and after washing it
carefully in a rivulet, he cut off the top, and ate the other part.
During this time the dog eyed him attentively, and then proceeded to
one of the growing turnips, drew it from the earth, went up briskly to
the rivulet, and after dashing it about some time till he caused the
water to froth considerably, he laid it down, and holding the turnip
inverted, and by the top, he deliberately gnawed the whole of it off,
and left the top, thus closely imitating the actions of his master.

A gentleman, who generally resided at Boston in Lincolnshire, had also
a house at Chepstow in Monmouthshire, to which he occasionally went in
the summer. While at the latter place, a small spaniel dog which a
friend at Chepstow had given him was taken on his return in a carriage
to Boston. On the Sunday evening after the arrival at that place, the
spaniel was attacked by a large dog, when out walking with his master
on the river bank, and ran away. Nothing was heard of him until the
receipt of a letter from Chepstow, announcing his arrival at that
place in a famished and travel-worn condition. The distance is one
hundred and eighty-four miles.

The following anecdote is related by Mr. Blaine:--

"I was once called from dinner in a hurry to attend to something that
had occurred; unintentionally I left a favourite cat in the room,
together with a no less favourite spaniel. When I returned I found the
latter, which was not a small figure, extending her whole length along
the table by the side of a leg of mutton which I had left. On my
entrance she showed no signs of fear, nor did she immediately alter
her position. I was sure, therefore, that none but a good motive had
placed her in this extraordinary situation, nor had I long to
conjecture. Puss was skulking in a corner, and though the mutton was
untouched, yet her conscious fears clearly evinced that she had been
driven from the table in the act of attempting a robbery on the meat,
to which she was too prone, and that her situation had been occupied
by this faithful spaniel to prevent a repetition of the attempt. Here
was fidelity united with great intellect, and wholly free from the aid
of instinct. This property of guarding victuals from the cat, or from
other dogs, was a daily practice of this animal; and, while cooking
was going forward, the floor might have been strewed with eatables,
which would have been all safe from her own touch, and as carefully
guarded from that of others. A similar property is common to many
dogs, but to spaniels particularly."

It is impossible in a work on dogs to omit the insertion of some
pretty lines on a spaniel by Mrs. Barrett Browning, and which do so
much credit to her kindly feelings and poetic talents:--

   "Yet, my pretty sportive friend,
    Little is't to such an end
      That I praise thy rareness!
    Other dogs may be thy peers,
    Haply, in those drooping ears,
      And this glossy fairness.

    But of thee it shall be said,
    'This dog watched beside a bed
      Day and night unweary,--
    Watched within a curtained room
    Where no sunbeam broke the gloom
      Round the sick and dreary.

    Roses, gathered for a vase,
    In that chamber died apace,
      Beam and breeze resigning--
    This dog only waited on,
    Knowing that when light is gone
      Love remains for shining.

    Other dogs, in thymy dew,
    Tracked the hares and followed through
      Sunny moor or meadow--
    This dog only crept and crept
    Next a languid cheek that slept,
      Sharing in the shadow.

    Other dogs of loyal cheer
    Bounded at the whistle clear,
      Up the woodside hieing--
    This dog only watched in reach
    Of a faintly uttered speech,
      Or a louder sighing.

    And if one or two quick tears
    Dropped upon his glossy ears,
      Or a sigh came double,--
    Up he sprang in eager haste,
    Fawning, fondling, breathing fast,
      In a tender trouble.'"

[Illustration]




[Illustration: FRENCH POODLE.]

THE POODLE.

   "With all the graces of his fatherland;
    With well-cut coat, and ever ready hand--
    See--the French poodle sports his life away;
    Obedient, wise, affectionate, and gay."
                                             _Chronicles of Animals._


These dogs, like all others, possess many amiable qualities, and are
remarkable for the facility with which they learn several amusing
tricks, and for their extraordinary sagacity. This latter quality has
frequently made them a great source of profit to their masters, so
that it may be said of them, "c'est encore une des plus profitables
manières d'être chien qui existent." A proof of this is related by M.
Blaze in his history of the dog, and was recorded by myself many years
before his work appeared.

A shoe-black on the Pont Neuf at Paris had a poodle dog, whose
sagacity brought no small profit to his master. If the dog saw a
person with well-polished boots go across the bridge, he contrived to
dirty them, by having first rolled himself in the mud of the Seine.
His master was then employed to clean them. An English gentleman, who
had suffered more than once from the annoyance of having his boots
dirtied by a dog, was at last induced to watch his proceedings, and
thus detected the tricks he was playing for his master's benefit. He
was so much pleased with the animal's sagacity, that he purchased him
at a high price and conveyed him to London. On arriving there, he was
confined to the house till he appeared perfectly satisfied with his
new master and his new situation. He at last, however, contrived to
escape, and made his way back to Paris, where he rejoined his old
master, and resumed his former occupation. I was at Paris some years
ago, where this anecdote was related to me, and it is now published in
the records of the French Institute.

Perhaps the most remarkable instance known of what are called "Learned
Dogs," is that of two poodles, which were trained at Milan, and
exhibited at Paris in the spring of 1830. The account of them is given
by a lady, whose veracity is not doubtful, and who herself saw their
performance. "The elder, named Fido," says she, "is white, with some
black patches on his head and back; and the younger, who is called
Bianco, is also white, but with red spots. Fido is a grave and serious
personage, walks with dignity round the circle assembled to see him,
and appears much absorbed in reflection. Bianco is young and giddy,
but full of talent when he chooses to apply it. Owing to his more
sedate disposition, however, Fido is called upon to act the principal
part of the exhibition. A word is dictated to him from the Greek,
Latin, Italian, German, French, or English language, and selected from
a vocabulary where fifty words in each tongue are inscribed, and which
all together make three hundred different combinations. An alphabet is
placed before Fido, and from it he takes the letters which compose the
given word, and lays them in proper order at the feet of his master.
On one occasion he was told to spell the word Heaven, and he quickly
placed the letters till he came to the second e; he stood for an
instant as if puzzled, but in a moment after he took the e out of the
first syllable, and put it into the second. His attainments in
orthography, however, are not so surprising as those in arithmetic. He
practises the four rules with extraordinary facility, arranges the
double ciphers as he did the double vowels in the word Heaven, and
rarely makes an error. When such does occur, his more thoughtless
companion is called in to rectify it, which he invariably does with
the greatest quickness; but as he had rather play than work, and pulls
Fido by the ears to make him as idle as himself, he is quickly
dismissed. One day, the steady Fido spelt the word Jupiter with a _b_
instead of a _p_; Bianco was summoned to his aid, who, after
contemplating the word, pushed out the _b_ with his nose, and seizing
a _p_ between his teeth, put it into the vacancy. Fido is remarkable
for the modest firmness with which he insists upon his correctness
when he feels convinced of it himself; for a lady having struck a
repeating watch in his ear, he selected an 8 for the hour, and a 6 for
the three-quarters. The company present, and his master, called out to
him he was wrong. He reviewed his numbers and stood still. His master
insisted, and he again examined his ciphers; after which he went
quietly, but not in the least abashed, into the middle of the carpet,
and looked at his audience. The watch was then sounded again, and it
was found to have struck two at every quarter; and Fido received the
plaudits which followed with as gentle a demeanour as he had borne the
accusation of error.

"One occupation seems to bring the giddy Bianco to the gravity of the
elder savant; and when the spectators are tired of arithmetic and
orthography, the two dogs either sit down to _écarté_, or become the
antagonists of one of the company. They ask for, or refuse cards, as
their hands require, with a most important look; they cut at the
proper times, and never mistake one suit for another. They have
recourse to their ciphers to mark their points; and on one occasion
Bianco having won, he selected his number, and on being asked what
were the gains of his adversary, he immediately took an O between his
teeth, and showed it to the querist; and both seemed to know all the
terms of the game as thoroughly as the most experienced card-players.
All this passes without the slightest visible or audible sign between
the poodles and their master; the spectators are placed within three
steps of the carpet on which the performance goes forward; people have
gone for the sole purpose of watching the master; everybody visits
them, and yet no one has hitherto found out the mode of communication
established between them and their owner. Whatever this communication
may be, it does not deduct from the wonderful intelligence of these
animals; for there must be a multiplicity of signs, not only to be
understood with eyes and ears, but to be separated from each other in
their minds, or to be combined one with another, for the various
trials in which they are exercised.

"I have seen learned pigs and ponies, and can, after these spectacles,
readily imagine how the extraordinary sagacity of a dog may be brought
to a knowledge of the orthography of three hundred words; but I must
confess myself puzzled by the acquirements of these poodles in
arithmetic, which must depend upon the will of the spectator who
proposes the numbers; but that which is most surprising of all is the
skill with which they play _écarté_. The gravity and attention with
which they carry on their game is almost ludicrous; and the
satisfaction of Bianco when he marks his points is perfectly evident."

Nor is this a solitary instance of the extraordinary sagacity of the
poodle. A lady of my acquaintance had one for many years, who was her
constant companion both in the house and in her walks. When, however,
either from business or indisposition, her mistress did not take her
usual walk on Wimbledon Common, the dog, by jumping on a table, took
down the maid-servant's bonnet, and held it in her month till she
accompanied the animal to the Common.

A friend of mine had a poodle dog, who was not very obedient to his
call when he was taken out to run in the fields. A small whip was
therefore purchased, and the dog one day was chastised with it. The
whip was placed on a table in the hall of the house, and the next
morning it could not be found. It was soon afterwards discovered in
the coal-cellar. The dog was a second time punished with it, and again
the whip was missed. It was afterwards discovered that the dog had
attempted to hide the instrument by which pain had been inflicted on
him. There certainly appears a strong approach to reason in this
proceeding of the dog. _Cause_ and _effect_ seem to have been
associated in his mind, if his mode of proceeding may be called an
effort of it.

In Messrs. Chambers' brochure of amusing anecdotes of dogs we find the
following:--

An aged gentleman has mentioned to us that, about fifty years ago, a
Frenchman brought to London from eighty to a hundred dogs, chiefly
poodles, the remainder spaniels, but all nearly of the same size, and
of the smaller kind. On the education of these animals their
proprietor had bestowed an immense deal of pains. From puppyhood
upwards they had been taught to walk on their hind-legs, and maintain
their footing with surprising ease in that unnatural position. They
had likewise been drilled into the best possible behaviour towards
each other; no snarling, barking, or indecorous conduct took place
when they were assembled in company. But what was most surprising of
all, they were able to perform in various theatrical pieces of the
character of pantomimes, representing various transactions in heroic
and familiar life, with wonderful fidelity. The object of their
proprietor was, of course, to make money by their performances, which
the public were accordingly invited to witness in one of the minor
theatres.

Amongst their histrionic performances was the representation of a
siege. On the rising of the curtain there appeared three ranges of
ramparts, one above the other, having salient angles and a moat, like
a regularly-constructed fortification. In the centre of the fortress
arose a tower, on which a flag was flying; while in the distance
behind appeared the buildings and steeples of a town. The ramparts
were guarded by soldiers in uniform, each armed with a musket or
sword, of an appropriate size. All these were dogs, and their duty
was to defend the walls from an attacking party, consisting also of
dogs, whose movements now commenced the operations of the siege. In
the foreground of the stage were some rude buildings and irregular
surfaces, from among which there issued a reconnoitring party; the
chief, habited as an officer of rank, with great circumspection
surveyed the fortification; and his sedate movements, and his
consultations with the troops that accompanied him, implied that an
attack was determined upon. But these consultations did not pass
unobserved by the defenders of the garrison. The party was noticed by
a sentinel and fired upon; and this seemed to be the signal to call
every man to his post at the embrasures.

Shortly after, the troops advanced to the escalade; but to cross the
moat, and get at the bottom of the walls, it was necessary to bring up
some species of pontoon, and, accordingly, several soldiers were seen
engaged in pushing before them wicker-work scaffoldings, which moved
on castors, towards the fortifications. The drums beat to arms, and
the bustle of warfare opened in earnest. Smoke was poured out in
volleys from shot-holes; the besieging forces pushed forward in
masses, regardless of the fire; the moat was filled with the crowd;
and, amid much confusion and scrambling, scaling-ladders were raised
against the walls. Then was the grand tug of war. The leaders of the
forlorn hope who first ascended were opposed with great gallantry by
the defenders; and this was, perhaps, the most interesting part of
the exhibition. The chief of the assailants did wonders; he was seen
now here, now there, animating his men, and was twice hurled, with
ladder and followers, from the second gradation of ramparts: but he
was invulnerable, and seemed to receive an accession of courage on
every fresh repulse. The rattle of the miniature cannon, the roll of
the drums, the sound of trumpets, and the heroism of the actors on
both sides, imparted an idea of reality to the scene.

After numerous hairbreadth escapes, the chief surmounted the third
line of fortifications, followed by his troops; the enemy's standard
was hurled down, and the British flag hoisted in its place; the
ramparts were manned by the conquerors; and the smoke cleared away, to
the tune of "God save the King."

It is impossible to convey a just idea of this performance, which
altogether reflected great credit on its contriver, as also on the
abilities of each individual dog. We must conclude that the firing
from the embrasures, and some other parts of the _méchanique_, were
effected by human agency; but the actions of the dogs were clearly
their own, and showed what could be effected with animals by dint of
patient culture.

Another specimen of these canine theatricals was quite a contrast to
the bustle of the siege. The scene was an assembly-room, on the sides
and the further end of which seats were placed; while a music-gallery,
and a profusion of chandeliers, gave a richness and truth to the
general effect. Livery-servants were in attendance on a few of the
company, who entered and took their seats. Frequent knockings now
occurred at the door, followed by the entrance of parties attired in
the fashion of the period. These were, of course, the same individuals
who had recently been in the deadly breach; but now all was
tranquillity, elegance, and ease. Parties were formally introduced to
each other with an appearance of the greatest decorum. The dogs
intended to represent ladies were dressed in silks, gauzes, laces, and
gay ribbons. Some wore artificial flowers, with flowing ringlets;
others wore the powdered and pomatumed head-dress, with caps and
lappets, in ludicrous contrast to the features of the animals. The
animals which represented gentlemen were judiciously equipped; some as
youthful and others as aged beaux, regulated by their degrees of
proficiency, since those most youthfully dressed were most attentive
to the ladies. The frequent bow and return of curtsey produced great
mirth in the audience. On a sudden the master of the ceremonies
appeared; he wore a superb court-dress, and his manners were in
agreement with his costume. To some of the gentlemen he gave merely a
look of recognition; to the ladies he was generally attentive; to some
he projected his paw familiarly, to others he bowed with respect; and
introduced one to another with an air of elegance that surprised and
delighted the spectators.

As the performance advanced the interest increased. The music was
soon interrupted by a loud knocking, which announced the arrival of
some important visitor. Several livery servants entered, and then a
sedan-chair was borne in by appropriately dressed dogs; they removed
the poles, raised the head, and opened the door of the sedan; forth
came a lady, splendidly attired in spangled satin and jewels, and her
head decorated with a plume of ostrich feathers! She made a great
impression, and appeared as if conscious of her superior attraction;
meanwhile the chair was removed, the master of the ceremonies, in his
court-dress, was in readiness to receive the _élégante_, and the bow
and curtsey were admirably interchanged. The band now struck up an air
of the kind to which ball-room companies are accustomed to promenade,
and the company immediately quitted their seats and began to walk
ceremoniously in pairs round the room. Three of the ladies placed
their arms under those of their attendant gentlemen. On seats being
resumed, the master of the ceremonies and the lady who came in the
sedan-chair arose; he led her to the centre of the room; Foote's
minuet struck up; the pair commenced the movements with an attention
to time; they performed the crossings and turnings, the advancings,
retreatings, and obeisances, during which there was a perfect silence,
and they concluded amid thunders of applause. What ultimately became
of the ingenious manager with his company, our informant never heard.

The following anecdotes prove the strong affection and perseverance
of the poodle. The late Duke of Argyll had a favourite dog of this
description, who was his constant companion. This dog, on the occasion
of one of the Duke's journeys to Inverary Castle, was, by some
accident or mistake, left behind in London. On missing his master, the
faithful animal set off in search of him, and made his way into
Scotland, and was found early one morning at the gate of the castle.
The anecdote is related by the family, and a picture shown of the dog.

A poor German artist, who was studying at Rome, had a poodle dog, who
used to accompany him, when his funds would allow it, to an ordinary
frequented by other students. Here the dog got scraps enough to
support him. His master, not being able to keep up the expense,
discontinued his visits to the ordinary. The dog fared badly in
consequence, and at last his master returned to his friends in
Germany, leaving the dog behind him. The poor animal slept at the top
of the stairs leading to his master's room, but watched in the day
time at the door of the ordinary, and when he saw his former
acquaintances crowding in, he followed at their heels, and thus
gaining admittance was fed till his owner came back to resume his
studies.

A gentleman possessed a poodle dog and a terrier, between whom a great
affection existed. When the terrier was shut up, as was sometimes the
case, the poodle always hid such bones or meat as he could procure,
and afterwards brought the terrier to the spot where they were
concealed. He was constantly watched, and observed to do this act of
kindness.

The sagacity of the poodle is strongly shown by the following fact.
Mr. B----t, who was constantly in the habit of making tours on the
Continent, was always accompanied by a poodle dog. In one of his
journeys he was seated at a table-d'hôte next to a person whose
conversation he found so agreeable, that a sort of intimacy sprung up
between them. The dog, however, for the first time he had ever done so
to any one, showed a dislike to the stranger, and so much so, that Mr.
B----t could not help remarking it. In the course of his tour he again
fell in with the stranger, when the intimacy was renewed, and Mr.
B----t offered him a seat in his carriage as they were both going the
same way. No sooner, however, had the stranger entered the carriage,
than the dog showed an increased dislike of him, which continued
during the course of the journey. At night they slept at a small inn,
in a wild and somewhat unfrequented country, and on separating in the
evening to go to their respective beds, the poodle evinced the
greatest anger, and was with difficulty restrained from attacking the
stranger. In the middle of the night Mr. B----t was awoke by a noise
in his room, and there was light enough for him to perceive that his
dog had seized his travelling companion, who, upon being threatened,
confessed that he had entered the room for the purpose of
endeavouring to purloin Mr. B----t's money, of which he was aware
that he possessed a considerable quantity. This is not a solitary
instance of an instinctive faculty which enables dogs to discriminate,
by showing a strong dislike, the characters of particular individuals.

A friend has sent me the following account of a poodle he once had:--

"Many years ago I had a poodle who was an excellent retriever. He was
a middle-sized, active dog, a first-rate waterman, with a nose so
particularly sensitive that no object, however minute, could escape
its 'delicate investigation.' Philip was the hardiest animal in the
world--no sea would prevent him from carrying a dead bird through the
boiling breakers, and I have seen him follow and secure a wounded
mallard, although in the attempt his legs were painfully scarified in
breaking through a field of ice scarcely the thickness of a
crown-piece. Philip, though of French extraction, had decidedly Irish
partialities. He delighted in a glass of grog; and no matter with what
labour and constancy he had returned from retrieving, he still enjoyed
a glass of punch. When he had drunk it, he was in high glee, running
round and round to try and catch his own tail, and even then allowing
the cat to approach him, which he was by no means disposed to do at
other times."

When my daughter was in Germany, she sent me the following interesting
anecdote of a poodle, the accuracy of which she had an opportunity of
ascertaining.

An inhabitant of Dresden had a poodle that he was fond of, and had
always treated kindly. For some reason or another he gave her to a
friend of his, a countryman in Possenderf, who lived three leagues
from Dresden. This person, who well knew the great attachment of the
dog to her former master, took care to keep her tied up, and would not
let her leave the house till he thought she had forgotten him. During
this time the poodle had young ones, three in number, which she
nourished with great affection, and appeared to bestow upon them her
whole attention, and to have entirely given up her former uneasiness
at her new abode. From this circumstance her owner thought she had
forgotten her old master, and therefore no longer kept her a close
prisoner. Very soon, however, the poodle was missing, and also the
three young ones, and nothing was heard of her for several days. One
morning his friend came to him from Dresden, and informed him that the
preceding evening the poodle had come to his house with one of the
puppies in her mouth, and that another had been found dead on the road
to Possenderf. It appeared that the dog had started in the night,
carrying the puppies (who were not able to walk) one after the other,
a certain distance on the road to Dresden, with the evident intention
of conveying them all to her much-loved home and master. The third
puppy was never found, and is supposed to have been carried off by
some wild animal or bird, while the poor mother was in advance with
the others. The dead one had apparently perished from cold.

The late Dr. Chisholm of Canterbury had a remarkable poodle, which a
correspondent informs me he has often seen. On one occasion he was
told, for the first time, by way of trial, to fetch his master's
slippers. He went up-stairs, and brought down one only. He was then
told, "You have brought one only, go and fetch the other;" and the
other was brought. The next evening the dog was again told to bring
the slippers. He went up-stairs, put one slipper within the other, and
brought both down. This dog appeared to understand much of our
language. When dining with Dr. Chisholm and others, his intelligence
was put to the proof by my correspondent. Some one would hide an
article, open the door, and bring in the dog, saying, "Find
so-and-so." The poodle used to look up steadily in the face of the
speaker, until he was told whether the article was hid high or low; he
would then search either on the ground, or on the chairs and
furniture, and bring the article, never taking any notice of any other
thing that was lying about. He would, upon being ordered, go up-stairs
and bring down a snuff-box, stick, pocket-handkerchief, or anything,
understanding as readily what was said to him as if spoken to a
servant.

Another poodle would go through the agonies of dying in a very
systematic manner. When he was ordered to die, he would tumble over on
one side, and then stretch himself out, and move his hind legs in
such a way as expressed that he was in great pain, first slowly and
afterwards very quickly. After a few convulsive throbs, indicated by
putting his head and whole body in motion, he would stretch out all
his limbs and cease to move, lying on his back with his legs turned
upwards, as if he had expired. In this situation he remained
motionless until he had his master's commands to get up.

The following anecdote was communicated to the Rev. Mr. Jenyns by Mrs.
Grosvenor, of Richmond, Surrey:--

A poodle dog belonging to a gentleman in Cheshire was in the habit of
not only going to church, but of remaining quietly in the pew during
service, whether his master was there or not. One Sunday the dam at
the head of a lake in that neighbourhood gave way, so that the whole
road was inundated. The congregation, in consequence, consisted of a
very few, who came from some cottages close by, but nobody attended
from the great house. The clergyman informed the lady, that whilst
reading the Psalms he saw his friend, the poodle, come slowly up the
aisle dripping with wet, having swam above a quarter of a mile to get
to church. He went into the usual pew, and remained quietly there to
the end of the service.

The Marquess of Worcester (the late Duke of Beaufort), who served in
the Peninsular war, had a poodle which was taken from the grave of his
master, a French officer, who fell at the battle of Salamanca, and
was buried on the spot. The dog had remained on the grave until he was
nearly starved, and even then was removed with difficulty; so faithful
are these animals in protecting the remains of those they loved.

A poodle dog followed his master, a French officer, to the wars; the
latter was soon afterwards killed at the battle of Castella, in
Valencia, when his comrades endeavoured to carry the dog with them in
their retreat; but the faithful animal refused to leave the corpse,
and they left him. A military marauder, in going over the field of
battle, discovering the cross of the legion of honour on the dead
officer's breast, attempted to capture it, but the poodle instantly
seized him by the throat, and would have ended his career had not a
comrade run the honest canine guardian through the body.

Mr. Blaine, in his "Account of Dogs," says that, "strange as it may
appear, it is no less true, that a poodle dog actually scaled the high
buildings of my residence in Wells Street, Oxford Street, proceeded
along several roofs of houses, and made his way down by progressive
but very considerable leaps into distant premises; from whence, by
watching and stratagem, he gained the street, and returned home in
order to join his mistress, for whose sake he had encountered these
great risks."

I am always glad to have an opportunity of acknowledging the kindness
of my correspondents, and now do so to the clergyman who very kindly
sent me the following anecdote, which I give in his own words:--

"I have a distinct remembrance of Froll or Frolic, a dog belonging to
an aged relation, once the property of her deceased only son, which
animal, in his earlier days, doubtless gave evidence that his name was
not given him unadvisedly, but during the yearly visits of myself to
that kind and indulgent person, I can remember nothing but a rather
small though fat unwieldy poodle, whose curly, glossy coat (preserved
after his death), long yellow ears, and black nose, the rest of his
body being perfectly white, betokened that he had been a beauty in his
time. Froll was still a prodigious favourite with his mistress,
although I confess my feelings towards him were rather those of fear
than any other, for to touch him was quite sufficient to evoke a
growl, or perchance a snap, from this pet of a dozen years or more. A
cross, snappish fellow he was at best, and well he knew the length of
Trusty the house-dog's chain, which less favoured quadruped was never
let loose by day, from a well-grounded fear that he might, if allowed,
resent, by summary punishment, the constant insults he was doomed to
submit to from this most petted and presumptuous myrmidon of the
drawing-room. With all this, although time and over-feeding had soured
his temper, Froll still retained much of, if not all, his former
intelligence (a trait so peculiar to his species), declared by many
long-past but still vaunted proofs of his being a wonder in his way.
One of his peculiarities was a fondness for apples--not indeed all
apples, but those which grew on a particular tree, called 'Froll's
tree,' and no others; this tree was, by the way, the best in the
garden, and the small, sweet, delicate fruit therefrom (my
reminiscence is distinct on this point) were carefully preserved for
this canine favourite. Nothing would entice him to eat any other sort
of apple. And in the season he would constantly urge his mistress into
the garden by repeated barking, and other unmistakable symptoms. His
daily meals, too, of which I think there were three regular ones, were
events in themselves, the careful attention to which tended perhaps to
relieve the monotony of a country life: they are indeed not speedily
to be forgotten by those who witnessed them. He would take food from
no one but his mistress or her maid, which latter person was his chief
purveyor, who had been an inmate of the house contemporary with
himself, or I believe long before; but this feeding was generally a
task of great trouble, such coaxing and humouring on the one hand,
such growling and snarling on the other, has been perhaps seldom
heard. At length, after much beseeching on the part of the maid, and a
few words of entreaty from the mistress, he would condescend to eat;
but never, I believe, without some symptoms of discontent, how savoury
soever the morsel, submitting to that as a favour which is generally
snatched at and devoured with so much gusto and avidity by most others
of his tribe. I should not have entered into these peculiarities,
which are scarcely evidence of any intelligence beyond that of other
dogs, were it not that the circumstances attending his death were
really extraordinary, the more so when the character of the dog is
considered; and as we have so often heard of a presentiment of that
great change being strongly imprinted on human minds, so there were
not wanting some of the then inmates of the house, who attributed his
unwonted behaviour on the eve of his death to the same cause. The dog
slept constantly in his mistress's bed-room, but, contrary to custom
on the night in question, he pertinaciously refused to remain there.
My brother and myself, who were then little boys, were, to our great
surprise, aroused in the course of the night by an unwonted scratching
at the door of our apartment, which we immediately opened, and, to our
equal delight and wonder, were saluted by Froll's jumping up and
licking our hands and faces--certainly he never appeared in better
health and spirits in his life. Whether he did this to atone for his
former uncourteous behaviour towards us, or was urged by some
unaccountable feeling of amiability as well as restlessness, I cannot
say, but certain it is his gentler faculties were that night for once
aroused, for this unaccustomed compliment I can safely affirm we never
personally received at any former period of our acquaintance. After a
time he left us, charmed at experiencing these new and flattering
demonstrations; which joy was, alas! doomed to be sadly and speedily
extinguished. When the morning came, the distressed countenance of
the servant who called us, portended some evil tidings, which was
quickly followed by the unexpected intelligence of the demise of poor
Froll. We hastily accompanied the servant into the coachman's sleeping
apartment, and there, under the bed, lay the poor dog. It had pleased
him to go there to die, having previously aroused every individual in
the house during the night by scratching at their several chambers one
after another, and saluting them in the same amiable manner he had my
brother and myself."

This anecdote could be well authenticated by most of the persons then
in the house, who are still alive.

[Illustration]




[Illustration]

THE ESQUIMAUX DOG.


Dr. Richardson, in his "American Fauna," mentions as a curious fact,
that those Indian nations who still preserve their ancient mode of
life, have dogs which bear a strong resemblance to wolves. Thus it is
with the Esquimaux dogs. They are extremely like the grey wolves of
the Arctic Circle in form and colour, and nearly equal to them in
size. They also bear some resemblance to the Pomeranian breed,
although the latter are much smaller.

It is curious that almost every nation on earth has some particular
traditions regarding the dog. The Esquimaux, a nation inhabiting the
polar regions, have a singular fable amongst them respecting the
origin of the Dog-Rib Indians, a tribe which inhabits the northern
confines of the American continent. It is thus detailed in Captain
Franklin's "Second Journey to the Polar Sea:"--

"For a long time Chapawee's descendants were united as one family, but
at length some young men being accidentally killed in a game, a
quarrel ensued, and a general dispersion of mankind took place. One
Indian fixed his residence on the borders of the lake, taking with him
a dog big with young. The pups in due time were littered, and the
Indian, when he went out to fish, carefully tied them up to prevent
their straying. Several times, as he approached his tent, he heard a
noise of children talking and playing; but on entering it, he only
perceived the pups tied up as usual. His curiosity being excited by
the voices he had heard, he determined to watch; and one day
pretending to go out and fish, according to custom, he concealed
himself in a convenient place. In a short time he again heard voices,
and rushing suddenly into the tent, beheld some beautiful children
sporting and laughing, with the dog-skins lying by their side. He
threw the skins into the fire, and the children, retaining their
proper forms, grew up, and were the ancestors of the Dog-Rib nation."

Captain Lyon, who had so many opportunities of studying the habits of
the Esquimaux dog, has given so interesting an account of it that I
cannot do better than quote his own words:--

"Having myself possessed, during our hard winter, a team of eleven
fine dogs, I was enabled to become better acquainted with their good
qualities than could possibly have been the case by the casual visits
of the Esquimaux to the ships. The form of the Esquimaux dog is very
similar to that of our shepherds' dog in England, but it is more
muscular and broad-chested, owing to the constant and severe work to
which he is brought up. His ears are pointed, and the aspect of the
head is somewhat savage. In size a fine dog is about the height of the
Newfoundland breed, but broad like a mastiff in every part except the
nose. The hair of the coat is in summer, as well as in winter, very
long, but during the cold season a soft, downy under-covering is
found, which does not appear in warm weather. Young dogs are put into
harness as soon as they can walk, and being tied up, soon acquire a
habit of pulling, in their attempts to recover their liberty, or to
roam in quest of their mother. When about two months old, they are put
into the sledge with the grown dogs, and sometimes eight or ten little
ones are under the charge of some steady old animal, where, with
frequent and sometimes severe beatings, they soon receive a competent
education. Every dog is distinguished by a particular name, and the
angry repetition of it has an effect as instantaneous as an
application of the whip, which instrument is of an immense length,
having a lash from eighteen to twenty-four feet, while the handle is
one foot only; with this, by throwing it on one side or the other of
the leader, and repeating certain words, the animals are guided or
stopped. When the sledge is stopped they are all taught to lie down,
by throwing the whip gently over their backs, and they will remain in
this position even for hours, until their master returns to them. A
walrus is frequently drawn along by three or four of these dogs, and
seals are sometimes carried home in the same manner, though I have in
some instances seen a dog bring home the greater part of a seal in
panniers placed across his back. The latter mode of conveyance is
often used in summer, and the dogs also carry skins or furniture
overland to the sledges when their masters are going on any
expedition. It might be supposed that in so cold a climate these
animals had peculiar periods of gestation, like the wild creatures,
but, on the contrary, they bear young at every season of the year, and
seldom exceed five at a litter. Cold has very little effect on them;
for although the dogs at the huts slept within the snow passages, mine
at the ships had no shelter, but lay alongside, with the thermometer
at 42° and 44°, and with as little concern as if the weather had been
mild. I found, by several experiments, that three of my dogs could
draw me on a sledge, weighing one hundred pounds, at the rate of one
mile in six minutes; and as a proof of the strength of a well-grown
dog, my leader drew one hundred and ninety-six pounds singly, and to
the same distance, in eight minutes. At another time seven of my dogs
ran a mile in four minutes, drawing a heavy sledge full of men.
Afterwards, in carrying stores to the Fury, one mile distant, nine
dogs drew one thousand six hundred and eleven pounds in the space of
nine minutes. My sledge was on runners, neither shod nor iced; but had
the runners been iced, at least forty pounds weight would have been
added for each dog."

Captain Lyon, in another passage, observes:--"Our eleven dogs were
large, and even majestic-looking animals; and an old one of peculiar
sagacity was placed at their head by having a longer trace, so as to
lead them through the safest and driest places, these animals having
such a dread of water as to receive a severe beating before they would
swim a foot. The leader was instant in obeying the voice of the
driver, who never beat, but repeatedly called to him by name. When the
dogs slackened their pace, the sight of a seal or bird was sufficient
to put them instantly to their full speed; and even though none of
these might be seen on the ice, the cry of "a seal!"--"a bear!"--or "a
bird!" &c., was enough to give play to the legs and voices of the
whole pack. It was a beautiful sight to observe the two sledges racing
at full speed to the same object, the dogs and men in full cry, and
the vehicles splashing through the holes of water with the velocity
and spirit of rival stage-coaches. There is something of the spirit of
professed whips in these wild races, for the young men delight in
passing each other's sledge, and jockeying the hinder one by crossing
the path. In passing on different routes the right hand is yielded,
and should an inexperienced driver endeavour to take the left, he
would have some difficulty in persuading his team to do so. The only
unpleasant circumstance attending these races is, that a poor dog is
sometimes entangled and thrown down, when the sledge, with perhaps a
heavy load, is unavoidably drawn over his body. The driver sits on the
fore part of the vehicle, from whence he jumps when requisite to pull
it clear of any impediments which may lie in the way, and he also
guides it by pressing either foot on the ice. The voice and long whip
answer all the purposes of reins, and the dogs can be made to turn a
corner as dexterously as horses, though not in such an orderly manner,
since they are constantly fighting; and I do not recollect to have
seen one receive a flogging without instantly wreaking his passion on
the ears of his neighbours. The cries of the men are not more
melodious than those of the animals; and their wild looks and gestures
when animated, give them an appearance of devils driving wolves before
them. Our dogs had eaten nothing for forty-eight hours, and could not
have gone over less than seventy miles of ground; yet they returned,
to all appearance, as fresh and active as when they first set out."

Such is the Esquimaux dog, an animal of the greatest value in the cold
regions of the Arctic circle. In addition to Captain Lyon's very
interesting account of them, it may be mentioned that they are of
great use to their masters in discovering by the scent the winter
retreats which the bears make under the snow. Their endurance, too,
never tires, and their fidelity is never shaken by blows and starving:
they are obstinate in their nature, but the women, who treat them with
more kindness than the men, and who nurse them in their helpless
state, or when they are sick, have an unbounded command over their
affections.

I am indebted to Colonel Hamilton Smith for the following account of
an Esquimaux dog brought to this country, and which he received from
Mr. Cleghorn, the owner of the animal:--

"The Esquimaux dog is possessed of very great sagacity--in some
respects, more than any dog I have ever seen. I may mention an
instance. In coming along a country road a hare started, and in place
of running after the hare in the usual way, the dog pushed himself
through the hedge, crossed the field, and, when past the hare, through
the hedge again, as if to meet her direct. It is needless to remark,
that the hare doubled through the hedge; but had it been in an open
country, there would have been a fine chase. One particular
characteristic of the dog is, that he forms a strong attachment to his
master, and however kind others may be, they never can gain his
affection, even from coaxing with food or otherwise; and, whenever set
at liberty, he rushes to the spot where the individual of his
attachment is. I may give one or two instances among many. One morning
he was let loose by some of the men on the ground, when he instantly
bounded from them to my house, and the kitchen-door being open, found
his way through it; when, to the great amazement of all, he leaped
into the bed where I was sleeping, and fawned in the most affectionate
manner upon me. Another instance was, when the dog was with me going
up the steep bank of the Prince's Street garden, I slipped my foot and
came down, when he immediately seized me by the coat, as if to render
assistance in raising me. Notwithstanding this particular affection to
some, he was in the habit of biting others, without giving the least
warning or indication of anger. He was remarkably cunning, for he was
in the practice of strewing his meat around him, to induce fowls or
rats to come within his reach while he lay watching, as if asleep,
when he instantly pounced upon them, and always with success. He was
swift, and had a noble appearance when running."




[Illustration: OTTER HUNTING.]

THE OTTER TERRIER.

                                  "How greedily
    They snuff the fishy steam, that to each blade
    Rank scenting clings! See! how the morning dews
    They sweep, that from their feet besprinkling drop
    Dispersed, and leave a track oblique behind.
    Now on firm land they range, then in the flood
    They plunge tumultuous; or through reedy pools
    Rustling they work their way; no holt escapes
    Their curious search. With quick sensation now
    The fuming vapour stings; flutter their hearts,
    And joy redoubled bursts from every mouth
    In louder symphonies. Yon hollow trunk,
    That with its hoary head incurv'd salutes
    The passing wave, must be the tyrant's fort
    And dread abode. How these impatient climb,
    While others at the root incessant bay!--
    They put him down."--SOMERVILLE.


The above is an animated and beautiful description of an otter hunt,
an old English sport fast falling into disuse, and the breed of the
real otter-hound is either extinct or very nearly so. In stating this,
I am aware that there are still many dogs which are called
otter-hounds; but it may be doubted whether they possess that peculiar
formation which belongs exclusively to the true breed. Few things in
nature are more curious and interesting than this formation, and it
shows forcibly how beautifully everything has been arranged for the
instincts and several habits of animals. The true otter-hound is
completely web-footed, even to the roots of its claws; thus enabling
it to swim with much greater facility and swiftness than other dogs.
But it has another extraordinary formation; the ear possesses a sort
of flap, which covering the aperture excludes the entrance of the
water, and thus the dog is enabled to dive after the otter without
that inconvenience which it would otherwise experience. The Earl of
Cadogan has, what his Lordship considers, the last of the breed of the
true otter-hound. It was a present from Sir Walter Scott. Lord Cadogan
offered one hundred pounds for another dog of the same breed, but of a
different sex; but I believe without being able to procure one with
those true marks which are confined to the authentic breed. A gipsy
was, indeed, said to have possessed one, but he refused to part with
it.

Those who saw the exhibition of pictures in the Royal Academy in 1844
will recollect a large, interesting, and beautiful picture by Sir
Edwin Landseer of a pack of otter-hounds. The picture describes the
hunt at the time of the termination of the chase and the capture of
the otter. The animal is impaled on the huntsman's spear, while the
rough, shaggy, and picturesque-looking pack are represented with eyes
intently fixed on the amphibious beast, and howling in uncouth chorus
round their agonized and dying prey.

An otter-hunt is a cheerful and inspiriting sport, and it is still
carried on in some of the lakes of Cumberland. Indeed, as lately as
the year 1844, a pack of otter-hounds was advertised in the newspapers
to be sold by private contract. The alleged cause of the owner's
parting with them was in consequence of their having cleared the
rivers of three counties (Staffordshire being one) of all the otters,
and the number captured and killed in the last few years was
mentioned. "Good otter-hounds," as an old writer observes, "will come
chanting, and trail along by the river-side, and will beat every
tree-root, every osier-bed, and tuft of bulrushes; nay, sometimes they
will take the water and beat it like a spaniel, and by these means the
otter can hardly escape you." The otter swims and dives with great
celerity, and in doing the latter it throws up _sprots_, or
air-bubbles, which enable the hunters to ascertain where it is, and to
spear it. The best time to find it is early in the morning. It may
frequently be traced by the dead fish and fish-bones strewed along the
banks of the river. The prints, also, of the animal's feet, called
his _seal_, are of a peculiar formation, and thus it is readily
traced. The otter preys during the night, and conceals himself in the
daytime under the banks of lakes and rivers, where he generally forms
a kind of subterraneous gallery, running for several yards parallel to
the water's edge, so that if he should be assailed from one end, he
flies to the other. When he takes to the water, it is necessary that
those who have otter-spears should watch the bubbles, for he generally
vents near them. When the otter is seized, or upon the point of being
caught by the hounds, he turns upon his pursuers with the utmost
ferocity. Instances are recorded of dogs having been drowned by
otters, which they had seized under water, for they can sustain the
want of respiration for a much longer time than the dog.

Mr. Daniell, in his "Rural Sports," remarks that hunting the otter was
formerly considered as excellent sport, and that hounds were kept
solely for that purpose. The sportsmen went on each side of the river,
beating the banks and sedges with the dogs. If an otter was not soon
found, it was supposed that he had gone to _couch_ more inland, and
was sought for accordingly. If one was found, the sportsmen viewed his
track in the mud, to find which way he had taken.

                              "On the soft sand,
    See there his seal impress'd! And on that bank
    Behold the glitt'ring spoils, half-eaten fish,
    Scales, fins, and bones, the leavings of his feast."

The spears were used in aid of the dogs. When an otter is wounded, he
makes directly to land, where he maintains an obstinate defence:--

                              "Lo! to yon sedgy bank
    He creeps disconsolate; his numerous foes
    Surround him, hounds and men. Pierc'd through and through,
    On pointed spears they lift him high in air;
    Bid the loud horns, in gaily warbling strains,
    Proclaim the spoiler's fate: he dies, he dies."

The male otter never makes any complaint when seized by the dogs, or
even when transfixed with a spear, but the females emit a very shrill
squeal. In the year 1796, near Bridgenorth, on the river Wherfe, four
otters were killed. One stood three, another four hours before the
dogs, and was scarcely a minute out of sight. In April 1804, the
otter-hounds of Mr. Coleman, of Leominster, killed an otter of
extraordinary size. It measured from the nose to the end of the tail,
four feet ten inches, and weighed thirty-four and a half pounds. This
animal was supposed to be eight years old, and to have destroyed for
the last five years a ton of fish annually. The destruction of fish by
this animal is, indeed, very great, for he will eat none unless it be
perfectly fresh, and what he takes himself. By his mode of eating them
he causes a still greater consumption, for so soon as an otter catches
a fish he drags it on shore, devours it to the vent, and, unless
pressed by extreme hunger, always leaves the remainder, and takes to
the water in search of more. In rivers it is always observed to swim
against the stream, in order to meet its prey.

Otters bite very severely, and they will seize upon a dog with the
utmost ferocity, and will shake it as a terrier does a rat. The jaws
of the otter are so constructed, that even when dead it is difficult
to separate them, as they adhere with the utmost tenacity. Otters are
frequently found on the banks of the Thames, and a large one was
caught in an eel-basket, near Windsor, but the hunting of them is
discontinued.

[Illustration]




[Illustration: GREYHOUNDS.]

THE GREYHOUND.

   "Ah! gallant Snowball! what remains,
    Up Fordon's banks, o'er Flixton's plains,
    Of all thy strength--thy sinewy force,
    Which rather flew than ran the course?
    Ah! what remains? Save that thy breed
    May to their father's fame succeed;
    And when the prize appears in view,
    May prove that they are Snowballs too."


The perfection to which the greyhound has been brought by persevering
care and attention to its breed, distinguishes it alike for beauty,
shape, and high spirit, while its habits are mild and gentle in the
extreme. These dogs were brought to this great perfection by the late
Lord Orford, Major Topham, and others. Snowball,--perhaps one of the
best greyhounds that ever ran,--won four cups, couples, and upwards
of thirty matches, at Malton, and upon the wolds of Yorkshire. In
fact, no dog had any chance with him except his own blood. In the
November Malton coursing-meeting in 1799, a Scotch greyhound was
produced, which had beat every opponent in Scotland. It was then
brought to England, and challenged any dog in the kingdom. The
challenge was accepted, and Snowball selected for the trial of speed;
after a course of two miles, the match (upon which considerable sums
were depending) was decided in his favour.

Another dog, which belonged to Sir Henry Bate Dudley, won seventy-four
successive matches, without having been once beaten.

Various have been the opinions upon the difference of speed between a
well-bred greyhound and a racehorse, if opposed to each other. Wishes
had been frequently indulged by the sporting world, that some
criterion could be adopted by which the superiority of speed could be
fairly ascertained, when the following circumstance accidentally took
place, and afforded some information upon what had been previously
considered a matter of great uncertainty. In the month of December,
some years ago, a match was to have been run over Doncaster
race-course for one hundred guineas; but one of the horses having been
drawn, a mare started alone, that by running the ground she might
ensure the wager, when having run about one mile in the four, she was
accompanied by a greyhound bitch, which joined her from the side of
the course, and emulatively entering into the competition, continued
to race with the mare for the other three miles, keeping nearly head
and head, and affording an excellent treat to the field by the
energetic exertions of each. At passing the distance-post, five to
four was betted in favour of the greyhound; when parallel with the
stand, it was even betting, and any person might have taken his choice
from five to ten: the mare, however, had the advantage by a head at
the termination of the course.

The courage and spirit of these dogs is very great. A greyhound ran a
hare single-handed and raced her so hard, that, not having time to run
through an opening at the bottom of some paling, she and the greyhound
made a spring at the same moment at the top of the pales. The dog
seized her at the instant she reached it, and in the momentary
struggle he slipt between two broken pales, each of which ran into the
top of his thighs. In this situation he hung till the horsemen came
up, when, to their great surprise, he had the hare fast in his mouth,
which was taken from him before he could be released.

I saw a hare coursed on the Brighton Downs some years ago by two
celebrated greyhounds. Such was the length of the course, some of it
up very steep hills, that the hare fell dead before the dogs, who were
so exhausted that they only reached to within six feet of her. This
was one of the severest courses ever witnessed.

On another occasion, two dogs ran a hare for several miles, and with
such speed as to be very soon out of sight of the coursing party.
After a considerable search, both the dogs and the hare were found
dead within a few yards of each other; nor did it appear that the
former had touched the hare. Mr. Daniel, in his "Rural Sports," states
that a brace of greyhounds, in Lincolnshire, ran a hare from her seat
to where she was killed, a distance, measuring straight, of upwards of
four miles, in twelve minutes. During the course there was a good
number of turns, which must have very considerably increased the space
gone over. The hare ran till she died before the greyhounds touched
her.

In the year 1798, a brace of greyhounds, the property of Mr. Courtall
of Carlisle, coursed a hare from the Swift, near that city, and killed
her at Clemmell, seven miles distant. Both greyhounds were so
exhausted, that unless the aid of medical men, who happened to be on
the spot, had been immediately given, they would have died, and it was
with difficulty they were recovered.

In the year 1818, a black greyhound bitch, the property of Mr. John
Heaton, of Scarisbrick, in Lancashire, left her master, forsook the
habitation where she had been reared, betook herself to the fields and
thickets, and adopted a life of unlimited freedom, defying all the
restraints of man. In this state she killed a great number of hares
for food, and occasionally made free with the sheep; she, therefore,
very soon became a nuisance in the neighbourhood. She had taken her
station at the distance of two miles from her master's house, and was
generally found near this spot. In consequence of her depredations,
many attempts were made to shoot her, but in vain. She eluded, for
more than six months, the vigilance of her pursuers. At length she was
observed to go into a barn that stood in a field which she frequented.
She entered the building through a hole in the wall, and, by means of
a rope-snare, was caught as she came out. On entering the barn, three
whelps were found about a week old; so that in her savage state she
had evidently been visited by a male of her own species. The whelps
were (foolishly enough) immediately destroyed. As the bitch herself
evinced the utmost ferocity, and, though well secured, vainly
attempted to seize every person that approached, she was taken home,
and treated with the greatest kindness. By degrees her ferocity
abated, and in the course of two months she became perfectly
reconciled to her original abode. The following season she ran several
courses. There continued a wildness in her look; yet, although at
perfect liberty, she did not attempt again to stray away, but seemed
quite reconciled to her domestic life.

Few facts can show the high courage of the greyhound more than the
following:--

As a gamekeeper of Lord Egremont's was leading a brace of greyhounds
in couples, a hare accidentally crossed the road in view. This
temptation proved so irresistible, that the dogs, by a joint effort,
broke suddenly from their conductor, and gave chase, shackled as they
were together. When they got up and gave the hare the first turn, it
was evidently much to her advantage, as the greyhounds were so
embarrassed that it was with great difficulty they could change the
direction. Notwithstanding this temporary delay, they sustained no
diminution of natural energy, but continued the course through and
over various obstructions, till the object of their pursuit fell a
victim to their invincible perseverance, after a run of between three
and four miles.

In addition to the beauty, elegance, high spirit, and speed of the
greyhound, may be mentioned his mild and affectionate disposition, as
well as his fidelity and attachment to those who treat him with
kindness. They will also show sometimes considerable sagacity, of
which the following is an instance:--

Two young gentlemen went to skate, attended only by a greyhound. About
the time they were expected home, the dog arrived at the house full
speed, and by his great anxiety, by laying hold of the clothes of some
of the inmates, and by his significant gestures, he convinced them
that something was wrong. They followed the greyhound, and came to the
pond. A hat was seen on the ice, near which was a fresh aperture. The
bodies of the young gentlemen were soon found, but life was extinct.
In this instance the sagacity of the dog was extraordinary. Had he
possessed the power of speech, he could scarcely have communicated
what had taken place more significantly than he did.

I have received the following anecdote from a friend, on whose
veracity I can depend:--In the year 1816, a greyhound bitch in pup was
sent from the neighbourhood of Edinburgh by a carrier, _viâ_ Dumfries,
to the neighbourhood of Castle Douglas, in the stewartry of
Kirkeudbright. She brought up her litter of pups there, and in the
following year was returned by the same route to Edinburgh, from
whence she was sent by way of Douglas and Muirkirk to the
neighbourhood of Cumnock, in Ayrshire. After remaining there five or
six months, she found her way across the country to the house near
Castle Douglas where she had brought up her pups. The fact of her
crossing the country was ascertained by shepherds, who saw her,
accompanied by a pointer-dog. She arrived, accompanied by this dog,
who left her almost immediately, and found his way home again. The
bitch was bred in East Lothian, and had never been previously either
in Ayrshire or Dumfriesshire.

A small Italian greyhound in Bologna, which used at nights to have a
kind of jacket put on, to guard him from the cold, went out generally
very early in the morning to a neighbouring house, to visit another
dog of the same breed which lived there. He always endeavoured, by
various coaxing gestures, to prevail upon the people of the house to
take off his night-jacket, in order that he might play more at ease
with his companion. It once happened, when he could not get any one to
do him this service, that he found means, by various contortions of
his body, rubbing himself against tables and chairs, and working with
his limbs, to undress himself without any other assistance. After this
trial had succeeded, he continued to practise it for some time, until
his master discovered it, who after that undressed him every morning,
and let him out of the house. At noon, and in the evening, he always
returned home. Sometimes, when he made his morning call, he found the
door of the house in which his friend dwelt not yet open. In these
cases he placed himself opposite to the house, and by loud barking
solicited admittance. But as the noise which he made became
troublesome both to the inhabitants of the house and to the
neighbours, they not only kept the door shut against him, but
endeavoured also to drive him away from the house by throwing stones
at him from the windows. He crept, however, so close to the door, that
he was perfectly secure against the stones, and now they had to drive
him away with a whip. After some time the dog went again to the house,
and waited without barking till the door was opened. He was again
driven away, upon which he discontinued his visits for a long time. At
length, however, he ventured to go once more to the house, and set up
a loud barking; placing himself in a situation where he was both
secure against the stones, and could not be seized by the people of
the house when they opened the door.

After a considerable time, he one morning saw a boy come to the house,
lay hold of the knocker, and strike it against the door, and he
observed that upon this process the door was opened. After the boy had
been let in, the dog crept along the side of the house to the door,
and took his station upon the spot where the boy had stood when he
knocked, and where no one who stood close to the door could be seen
from within. Here he leaped several times at the knocker, till he
raised it and made it strike the door. A person from within
immediately called, "Who is there?" but receiving no answer, opened
the door, upon which the dog ran in with tokens of great delight, and
soon found his way to his friend. Often after this he availed himself
of the fortunate discovery which he had made, and his ingenuity was so
much admired that it procured him thenceforward free access to his
companion's habitation.

While on the subject of greyhounds, I cannot resist the insertion of
the following account of one extracted from Froissart:--

When Richard II. was confined in the Castle of Flint, he possessed a
greyhound, which was so remarkably attached to him, as not to notice
or fawn upon any one else. Froissart says,--"It was informed me Kynge
Richard had a grayhounde, called Mathe, who always waited upon the
kynge, and would know no one else. For whenever the kynge did ryde, he
that kept the grayhounde did let him lose, and he wolde streyght runne
to the kynge and fawne upon him, and leape with his fore-fete upon the
kynge's shoulders. And as the kynge and the Erle of Derby talked
togyder in the courte, the grayhounde, who was wont to leape upon the
kynge, left the kynge and came to the Erle of Derby, duke of
Lancaster, and made to hym the same friendly countenance and chere he
was wont to do the kynge. The Duke, who knew not the grayhounde,
demanded of the kynge what the grayhounde would do. 'Cosin,' quod the
kynge, 'it is a great good token to you, and an evil sygne to me.'
'Sir, how know ye that?' quod the duke. 'I know it well,' quod the
kynge: 'the grayhounde maketh you chere this daye as kynge of
Englande, as ye shall be, and I shall be deposed; the grayhounde hath
this knowledge naturally, therefore take hym to you: he will follow
you and forsake me.' The duke understoode well those words, and
cheryshed the grayhounde, who would never after followe Kynge
Richarde, but followed the Duke of Lancaster." It is not, however,
improbable, that the dog thus mentioned was the Irish wolf-dog, as the
fact related is more characteristic of that noble animal.

The mild, affable, and serene aspect of the greyhound, constitutes no
drawback to its innate sagacity, or grateful attention to its
protector, of which the unfortunate king Charles I. was so observant,
that the remark he made during his troubles is on record, and strictly
just as applicable to the instinctive fidelity of the animal. He said
the greyhound possessed all the good nature of the spaniel without the
fawning.

Washington Irving mentions, that in the course of his reading he had
fallen in with the following anecdote, which illustrates in a
remarkable manner the devoted attachment of these dogs to their
masters:--

"An officer named St. Leger, who was imprisoned in Vincennes (near
Paris) during the wars of St. Bartholomew, wished to keep with him a
greyhound that he had brought up, and which was much attached to him;
but they harshly refused him this innocent pleasure, and sent away the
greyhound to his house in the Rue des Lions Saint Paul. The next day
the greyhound returned alone to Vincennes, and began to bark under the
windows of the tower, where the officer was confined. St. Leger
approached, looked through the bars, and was delighted again to see
his faithful hound, who began to jump and play a thousand gambols to
show her joy. He threw a piece of bread to the animal, who ate it with
great good will; and, in spite of the immense wall which separated
them, they breakfasted together like two friends. This friendly visit
was not the last. Abandoned by his relations, who believed him dead,
the unfortunate prisoner received the visits of his greyhound only,
during four years' confinement. Whatever weather it might be, in
spite of rain or snow, the faithful animal did not fail a single day
to pay her accustomed visit. Six months after his release from prison
St. Leger died. The faithful greyhound would no longer remain in the
house; but on the day after the funeral returned to the castle of
Vincennes, and it is supposed she was actuated by a motive of
gratitude. A jailor of the outer court had always shown great kindness
to this dog, which was as handsome as affectionate. Contrary to the
custom of people of that class, this man had been touched by her
attachment and beauty, so that he facilitated her approach to see her
master, and also insured her a safe retreat. Penetrated with gratitude
for this service, the greyhound remained the rest of her life near the
benevolent jailor. It was remarked, that even while testifying her
zeal and gratitude for her second master, one could easily see that
her heart was with the first. Like those who, having lost a parent, a
brother, or a friend, come from afar to seek consolation by viewing
the place which they inhabited, this affectionate animal repaired
frequently to the tower where St. Leger had been imprisoned, and would
contemplate for hours together the gloomy window from which her dear
master had so often smiled to her, and where they had so frequently
breakfasted together."

The natural simplicity and peaceable demeanour of the greyhound may
have sometimes induced a doubt of its possessing the sagacity,
fidelity, and attachment of other dogs; but when he is kindly treated
and domesticated, he is capable of showing them to an equal degree
with any of the canine race.

Some of the best coursing in England takes place on the Wiltshire
Downs, where it is no uncommon sight to see a hare run away from two
good dogs without a single turn. Nearly three hundred years ago, Sir
Philip Sidney referred to this sport on the Wiltshire Downs in one of
his poems, in which he remarks:--

   "So, on the downs we see, near Wilton fair,
    A hasten'd hare from greedy greyhounds go."

The following account of the Persian greyhound appeared in the "Book
of Sports:"--

"The Persian greyhound is much esteemed in its native country, where
the nobles, who are excessively fond of the chase, keep a great number
of them at a considerable expense, the best and most favoured dogs
frequently having their collars and housings covered with precious
stones and embroidery.

"These greyhounds are employed in coursing hares in the plains, and in
chasing the antelope. As the speed of the antelope is greater than
that of the greyhound, the Persians train hawks for the purpose of
assisting the dog in this kind of chase. The hawks when young are fed
upon the head of a stuffed antelope, and thus taught to fly at that
part of the animal. When the antelope is discovered, the hawk is cast
off, which, fastening its talons in the animal's head, impedes its
progress, and thus enables the greyhounds to overtake it. The chase,
however, in which the Persians chiefly delight, and for which those
greyhounds are most highly valued, is that of the ghoo-khur, or wild
ass. This animal, which generally inhabits the mountainous districts,
is extremely shy, and of great endurance, and is considered by the
Persians as one of the swiftest of all quadrupeds. These qualities,
and the nature of the ground over which it is usually chased, render
the capture of the wild ass very uncertain, and its pursuit extremely
hazardous to the sportsman.

"When the Persians go out to hunt the wild ass, relays of greyhounds
are placed at various distances in the surrounding country, in such
directions as are most likely to be traversed by the object of
pursuit; so that when one relay is tired, there is another fresh to
continue the chase. Such, however, is the speed and endurance of the
ghoo-khur, that it is seldom fairly run down by the greyhounds; its
death generally being achieved by the rifle of some lucky horseman.
The Persians evince great skill and courage in this arduous sport;
riding, rifle in hand, up and down precipitous hills, over stony
paths, and across ravines and mountain streams, which might well daunt
our boldest turf-skimming Meltonians.

"Though several Persian greyhounds have at different times been
brought to this country, the breed can scarcely be considered as
established here. The specimen, however, (a female), from which Mr.
Hamilton painted the picture from which our engraving is taken, was
bred in this country. She was then supposed to be the only Persian
greyhound bitch in England."

The Persian greyhound is very handsome. "One of the finest species of
dog I have ever seen," says an interesting writer, "is a sort of
greyhound which the Persians rear to assist them in the chase. They
have generally long silken hair upon their quarters, shoulders, ears,
and tail; and I think them as handsome, and considerably more powerful
and sagacious, than our own greyhounds. I have sometimes seen a
spirited horse break loose, and run away at full speed, when one of
these dogs has set after him like an arrow, and soon getting ahead of
him, taken an opportunity of seizing the bridle in his teeth, which he
held so firmly, that though he was not strong enough to stop the
horse, yet, as he was dragged along, he continued to pull and confine
the horse, so as to impede him very much, till some person was able to
overtake and secure him."

Col. Hutchinson says, that "In Persia and many parts of the East
greyhounds are taught to assist the falcon in the capture of deer.
When brought within good view of a herd the bird is flown, and at the
same moment the dog is slipped. The rapid sweep of the falcon soon
carries him far in advance. It is the falcon who makes the selection
of the intended victim--which appears to be a matter of chance--and a
properly-trained greyhound will give chase to none other, however
temptingly close the alarmed animals may pass him. The falcon is
instructed to aim at the head only of the gazelle, who soon becomes
bewildered; sometimes receiving considerable injury from the quick
stroke of its daring adversary. Before long the gazelle is overtaken
by the greyhound. It is not always easy to teach a dog to avoid
injuring the bird, which is so intent upon its prey as utterly to
disregard the approach of the hound. Death would probably be the
penalty adjudged to him for so heinous an offence; for a well-trained
falcon is of great value. You can readily imagine that neither it nor
the greyhound could be properly broken unless the instructor possessed
much judgment and perseverance. The sport is very exciting; but the
spectator must be well-mounted, and ride boldly, who would closely
watch the swift, varying evolutions of the assailing party, and the
sudden evasions of the helpless defendant."

[Illustration]




[Illustration: THE POINTER.]

THE POINTER.

   "The subtle dog scours with sagacious nose
    Along the field, and snuffs each breeze that blows;
    Against the wind he takes his prudent way,
    While the strong gale directs him to the prey.
    Now the warm scent assures the covey near;
    He treads with caution, and he points with fear.
    The fluttering coveys from the stubble rise,
    And on swift wing divide the sounding skies;
    The scatt'ring lead pursues the certain sight,
    And death in thunder overtakes their flight."--GAY.


This dog has been crossed and re-crossed so often with the fox-hound,
the setter, and the old Spanish pointer, that the originality of the
present breed may be questioned, especially as the pointer has been
less noticed by writers on dogs than any other of the species. How
well do I recollect in my early youth seeing the slow, heavy,
solemn-looking, and thick-shouldered Spanish pointer, tired with two
or three hours' work in turnips, and so stiff after it the next day,
as to be little capable of resuming his labours. And yet this dog,
fifty years ago, was to be met with all through England. How different
is the breed at the present time! By crossing with the fox-hound, they
have acquired wonderful speed, and a power of endurance equally
surprising, while their shape is beautiful and their sense and
animation strongly marked in their intelligent countenances.

The old pointers were either nearly white or variegated with large
liver-coloured patches. We now see them either completely
liver-coloured, or of a flea-bitten blue or grey, or else black, with
fine sterns showing much blood, and extremely thin ears. There can be
no doubt but that the crosses by which they have obtained the
qualities and appearance I have mentioned, render the task of breaking
them in to point, back, and drop to charge, one of no small
difficulty. These habits, having been acquired in the original breed,
had probably become hereditary; but the mixture with dogs which had
not these inherent qualities, has introduced volatility and impatience
not easily to be overcome. It is also a fact, that if a pointer,
notwithstanding this disposition, should at last become perfectly well
broke in, or, as it is called, highly broke, he loses much of his
natural sagacity. His powers of endurance are, however, very great. A
friend of mine, an ardent sportsman, had a pointer crossed with a
foxhound, and it was the only one he had. Day after day he took this
dog out with him, from day-break till late in the evening, and he
never flagged or showed fatigue. It was calculated that he could not
traverse less than one hundred and twenty miles each day. This dog
showed extraordinary sagacity. While hunting in a large fallow field
he made a point, and then slowly and cautiously proceeded, closely
followed by his master. In this way he led him over a good part of the
field, till it was supposed the dog was drawing on the scent of a
hare, which had stolen away. At last he set off running as hard as he
could, made a large circuit to the left, and then came to a point
immediately opposite to his master, who then advanced and put up a
covey of birds between him and the dog.

The following is a proof of the perfection to which pointers may be
brought. The friend above referred to went out shooting with a
gentleman celebrated for the goodness of his breed. They took the
field with eight of these dogs. If one pointed, all the rest
immediately backed steadily. If a partridge was shot, they all dropped
to charge, and whichsoever dog was called to bring the bird, the rest
never stirred till they were told to do so. Dogs thus broke in are of
great value, and bring large prices; from fifty to a hundred guineas
have been given for a good dog.

Pointers frequently show extraordinary sense, especially in their own
peculiar vocation. Thus a pointer has been known to refuse to hunt for
a person who had previously missed every bird the dog had found. He
left him with every mark of disgust, nor could any coaxing induce him
to continue with his unsportsman-like companion.

Three pointers were taken out grouse-shooting in Ireland. They were
all of the same breed, or rather nearly related to each other, one
being the grandmother, the other her daughter, and the third her
granddaughter. The latter, who could get over the ground quicker than
the others, put up first one pack of grouse, and then another, for
which faults she was flogged again and again. Having done the same
thing the third time, the steady old grandmother was so provoked, that
she ran at the culprit, knocked her over and over, and did not cease
to attack her till she had driven her home. The authenticity of this
anecdote need not be doubted. It is a proof of the extraordinary sense
of a dog, and is corroborated by a fact already mentioned in the
introductory remarks (p. 33), of one dog attacking another for having
misconducted himself.

Some very bad shots went out partridge-shooting, attended by a very
good, old, steady pointer. After shooting for some hours with very
little success, they began to amuse themselves by firing at a piece of
paper stuck on a post. The disgust of the old dog at this proceeding
may be imagined--he ran home.

In further proof of the dislike a pointer will show to a bad shot, I
will adduce the following anecdote mentioned by Captain Brown. A
gentleman, on his requesting the loan of a pointer-dog from a friend,
was informed by him that the dog would behave very well so long as he
could kill his birds; but if he frequently missed them, it would run
home and leave him. The dog was sent, and the following day was fixed
for trial; but, unfortunately, his new master was a remarkably bad
shot. Bird after bird rose and was fired at, but still pursued its
flight untouched, till, at last, the pointer became careless, and
often missed his game. As if seemingly willing, however, to give one
chance more, he made a dead stop at a fern-bush, with his nose pointed
downward, the fore-foot bent, and his tail straight and steady. In
this position he remained firm till the sportsman was close to him,
with both barrels cocked, then moving steadily forward for a few
paces, he at last stood still near a bunch of heather, the tail
expressing the anxiety of the mind by moving regularly backwards and
forwards. At last out sprung a fine old blackcock. Bang, bang, went
both barrels, but the bird escaped unhurt. The patience of the dog was
now quite exhausted; and, instead of dropping to charge, he turned
boldly round, placed his tail between his legs, gave one howl, long
and loud, and set off as fast as he could to his own home.

I have seen a pointer leap on the top of a high gate, in going from
one field to another, and remain steadily there till I came up to him.
He had suddenly come on the scent of birds, and made his point from
his uncomfortable situation on the gate. Captain Brown also relates a
nearly similar instance of the stanchness of a pointer, which he
received from a friend of his. This gentleman was shooting in
Scotland, when one of his dogs, in going over a stone wall, about four
feet high, got the scent of some birds on the other side of the wall,
just as she made the leap. She hung by her fore-legs, appearing at a
distance as if they had got fastened among the stones, and that she
could not extricate herself. In this position she remained until her
master came up. It was then evident that it was her caution for fear
of flushing some birds on the other side of the wall, which prevented
her from taking the leap, or rather, which was the cause of her making
this extraordinary point.

Mr. Daniel, in his "Rural Sports," mentions the circumstance of two
pointers having stood at one point an hour and a quarter, while an
artist took a sketch of them.

A dog of the pointer kind, brought from South Carolina in an English
merchant vessel, was a remarkable prognosticator of bad weather.
Whenever he was observed to prick up his ears, scratch the deck, and
rear himself to look to the windward, whence he would eagerly snuff up
the wind, if it was then the finest weather imaginable, the crew were
sure of a tempest succeeding; and the dog became so useful, that
whenever they perceived the fit upon him, they immediately reefed the
sails, and took in their spare canvas, to prepare for the worst. Other
animals are prognosticators of weather also; and there is seldom a
storm at sea, but it is foretold by some of the natural marine
barometers on board, many hours before the gale.

The following circumstance serves also to prove the extreme stanchness
of a pointer. It is related by Captain Brown:--

"A servant who used to shoot for Mr. Clutterbuck of Bradford, had, on
one occasion, a pointer of this gentleman's, which afforded him an
excellent day's sport. On returning, the night being dark, he dropped,
by some chance, two or three birds out of his bag, and on coming home
he missed them. Having informed a fellow-servant of his loss, he
requested him to get up early the next morning, and seek for them near
the turnpike, being certain that he had brought them as far as that
place. The man accordingly went there, and not a hundred yards from
the spot mentioned by his companion, he, to his surprise, found the
pointer lying near the birds, and where he probably had remained all
night, although the poor animal had been severely hunted the day
before."

For the following instance of the sagacity of a pointer, I am indebted
to Lord Stowell. Mr. Edward Cook, after having lived some time with
his brother at Tugsten, in Northumberland, went to America, and took
with him a pointer-dog, which he lost soon afterwards, while shooting
in the woods near Baltimore. Some time after, Mr. and Mrs. Cook, who
continued to reside at Tugsten, were alarmed at hearing a dog in the
night. They admitted it into the house, and found that it was the same
their brother had taken with him to America. The dog lived with them
until his master returned home, when they mutually recognised each
other. Mr. Cook was never able to trace by what vessel the dog had
left America, or in what part of England it had been landed. This
anecdote confirms others which I have already mentioned relative to
dogs finding their way back to this country from considerable
distances.

Lieutenant Shipp, in his Memoirs, mentions the case of a soldier in
India, who, having presented his dog to an acquaintance, by whom he
was taken a distance of four hundred miles, was surprised to see him
back in a few days afterwards. When the faithful animal returned, he
searched through the whole barracks for his master, and at length
finding him asleep, he awoke him by licking his face.

Pointers have been known to go out by themselves for the purpose of
finding game, and when they have succeeded, have returned to their
master, and by significant signs and gestures have led them directly
to the spot.

The mental faculties of pointers are extremely acute. When once they
become conscious of their own powers, and of what is required of them,
they seldom commit a fault, and do their duty with alacrity and
devotion. Old pointers are apt to hunt the hedgerows of a field before
they begin to quarter the ground. I have seen dogs severely rated and
punished for doing this, but the cause is obvious. They are aware that
game is more frequently to be found in hedgerows than in the open
ground, and therefore very naturally take the readiest way of finding
it.

An interesting exhibition of clever dogs took place in London in the
summer of 1843, under the auspices of M. Léonard, a French gentleman
of scientific attainments and enlightened character, who had for some
years directed his attention to the reasoning powers of animals, and
their cultivation. Two pointers, Braque and Philax, had been the
especial objects of his instruction, and their intellectual capacities
had been excited in an extraordinary degree. A writer in the "Atlas"
newspaper thus speaks of the exhibition of these animals:--M.
Léonard's dogs are not merely clever, well-taught animals, which, by
dint of practice, can pick up a particular letter, or can, by a sort
of instinct, indicate a number which may be asked for; they call into
action powers which, if not strictly intellectual, approximate very
closely to reason. For instance, they exert memory. Four pieces of
paper were placed upon the floor, which the company numbered
indiscriminately, 2, 4, 6, 8. The numbers were named but once, and yet
the dogs were able to pick up any one of them at command, although
they were not placed in regular order. The numbers were then changed,
with a similar result. Again, different objects were placed upon the
floor, and when a similar thing--say a glove--was exhibited, one or
other of the animals picked it up immediately. The dogs distinguish
colours, and, in short, appear to understand everything that is said
to them.

The dog Braque plays a game of dominoes with any one who likes. We are
aware that this has been done before; but when it is considered that
it is necessary to distinguish the number of spots, it must be
admitted that this requires the exercise of a power little inferior to
reason. The dog sits on the chair with the dominoes before him, and
when his adversary plays, he scans each of his dominoes with an air of
attention and gravity which is perfectly marvellous. When he could not
match the domino played, he became restless and shook his head, and
gave other indications of his inability to do so. No human being
could have paid more attention. The dog seemed to watch the game with
deep interest, and what is more, he won.

Another point strongly indicative of the close approach to the
reasoning powers, was the exactness with which the dogs obeyed an
understood signal. It was agreed that when three blows were struck
upon a chair, Philax should do what was requested; and when five were
given, that the task should devolve on Braque. This arrangement was
strictly adhered to. We do not intend to follow the various proofs
which were afforded of the intelligence of the dogs; it is sufficient
to say that a multiplicity of directions given to them were obeyed
implicitly, and that they appeared to understand what their master
said as well as any individual in the room.

M. Léonard entered into a highly-interesting explanation of his theory
regarding the intellectual powers of animals, and the mode he adopts
to train and subdue horses, exhibiting the defects of the system
generally pursued. His principle is, that horses are not vicious by
nature, but because they have been badly taught, and that, as with
children, these defects may be corrected by proper teaching. M.
Léonard does not enter into these inquiries for profit, but solely
with a scientific and humane view, being desirous of investigating the
extent of the reasoning powers of animals.

It does not appear possible that dogs should be educated to the
extent of those of M. Léonard, unless we can suppose that they acquire
a tolerably exact knowledge of language. That they in reality learn to
know the meaning of certain words, not merely when addressed to them,
but when spoken in ordinary conversation, is beyond a doubt; although
the accompanying looks and movements in all likelihood help them in
their interpretation. We have known a small spaniel, for instance,
which thoroughly understood the meaning of "out," or "going out," when
spoken in the most casual way in conversation. A lady of our
acquaintance has a dog which lives at enmity with another dog in the
neighbourhood, called York, and angrily barks when the word York is
pronounced in his hearing.

A well-known angler was in the habit of being attended by a
pointer-dog, who saved him the trouble of a landing-net in his
trout-fishing excursions. When he had hooked a fish and brought it
near the bank, the dog would be in readiness, and taking the fish
behind the head, would bring it out to his master.

A writer, who endeavours to prove the existence of souls analogous to
the human in animals, relates the following remarkable fact, of which
he was himself an eye-witness. He says:--

"I was with a gentleman who resides in the country, in his study, when
a pointer-dog belonging to him came running to the door of the room,
which was shut, scratching and barking till he was admitted. He then
used supplicating gestures of every kind, running from his master to
the stair behind which his gun stood, then again to his master, and
back to the gun. The gentleman now comprehended something of his dog's
meaning, and took up his gun. The dog immediately gave a bark of joy,
ran out at the door, returned, and then ran to the back-door of the
house, from whence he took the road to a neighbouring hill.

"His master and I followed him. The dog ran, highly pleased, a little
distance before us, showing us the way we should take. After we had
proceeded about forty paces, he gave us to understand that we should
turn to the left, by pressing repeatedly against his master, and
pushing him towards the road that turned to the left. We followed his
direction, and he accompanied us a few paces, but suddenly he turned
to the right, running round the whole of the hill. We still proceeded
to the left, slowly up the ascent, till we were nearly arrived at its
summit, the dog in the meantime making the circuit of the hill to the
right. He was now already higher than we were, when he gave a sudden
bark, and that moment a hare ran before the muzzle of his master's
gun, and, of course, met her fate."

A gentleman had a pointer so fleet that he often backed him to find
birds in a ten-acre field within two minutes, if there were birds in
it. On entering the field, he seemed to know by instinct where the
birds would lie, generally going up to them at once. His nose was so
good, that with a brisk wind, he would find his game a hundred and
fifty yards off across the furrows. He could tell whether a bird was
hit, and if so would retrieve it some fields off from where it was
shot. He would never follow a hare unless it was wounded. He would
point water-fowl as well as all birds of game, and has been seen
pointing a duck or a moor-hen with the water running over his back at
the time. Nothing seemed to spoil this dog, not even rat and otter
hunting, in both of which he was an adept, as he knew his business;
and although he would rattle through a wood, he was perfectly steady
the next minute out of cover. He has been known to continue at a point
two hours. In high turnips he would contrive to show his master where
he was, standing sometimes on his hind legs only, so that his head and
fore-quarters might be seen. On one occasion he came at full speed so
suddenly on a hare, that he slipped up, and fell nearly on his back.
In this position he did not move, and it was thought he was in a fit,
till the hare jumped up and was killed, when the dog righted himself.
So steady was he in backing another dog when game was found, that he
once caught sight of a point at the moment of jumping a stile, and
balanced himself on it for several seconds till he fell. Once when
hunting with a young pointer, who had only been taken into the field
two or three times, in order to show him some birds before the
shooting season, the following occurrence took place. The old dog
found some birds in the middle of the field, and pointed them
steadily. The puppy had been jumping and gambolling about, with no
great hunt in him, and upon seeing the old dog stand, ran playfully up
to him. He was, however, seized by the neck, and received a good
shaking, which sent him away howling, and his companion then turned
round and steadied himself on his point, without moving scarcely a
yard. This anecdote is extracted from Hone's "Year Book," and the
writer of it goes on to say,--"What dog is there possessing the
singular self-denial of the pointer or setter? The hound gives full
play to his feelings; chases, and babbles, and kicks up as much riot
as he likes, provided he is true to his game; the spaniel has no
restraint, except being kept within gun-shot; the greyhound has it all
his own way as soon as he is loosed; and the terrier watches at a
rat's hole, because he cannot get into it: but the pointer, at the
moment that other dogs satisfy themselves, and rush upon their game,
suddenly stops, and points with almost breathless anxiety to that
which we might naturally suppose he would eagerly seize. The birds
seen, the dog creeps after them cautiously, stopping at intervals,
lest by a sudden movement he should spring them too soon. And then let
us observe and admire his delight when his anxiety--for it is
anxiety--is crowned with success--when the bird falls, and he lays it
joyfully at his master's feet. A pointer should never be ill-used. He
is too much like one of us. He has more headpiece than all the rest of
the dogs put together. Narrowly watch a steady pointer on his game,
and see how he holds his breath. It is evident he must stand in a
certain degree of pain, for we all know how quickly a dog respires.
And when he comes up to you in the field he puffs and blows, and his
tongue is invariably hanging out of his mouth. We never see this on a
point, and to check it suddenly must give the dog pain. And yet, how
silent he is! how eager he looks! and if a sudden hysteric gasp is
heard, it ceases in a moment. Surely he is the most perfect artist of
the canine race."

Some of my readers may like to know that the best breaker of pointers
I have yet met with is Mr. Lucas, one of the keepers of Richmond Park.
He perfectly understands his business, and turns out his pointers in a
way which few can equal.

In August 1857, a gentleman residing at Ludlow, in Shropshire, had a
pointer bitch, which produced seven puppies. Six of them were drowned,
and one left. On the servant going the next morning to give her some
milk, she found, besides the puppy, a hedgehog, which had been in the
garden some years, most comfortably curled up with them. She took it
away, but my informant being told that it had got back again, he went
to see it. The pointer was licking it, and appeared quite as fond of
it as of her own puppy. He again had it removed, the bitch following,
and whining with evident anxiety to have it restored to her. This was
the more remarkable, as on previous occasions she had tried to kill
the hedgehog. This strange affection can only be accounted for by an
abundant flow of milk, which distended and hurt her, occasioned by her
other puppies having been destroyed, and she, therefore, seized on the
hedgehog to relieve her, however incongruous it might be to her former
feelings towards it.

[Illustration]




[Illustration: THE SETTER.]

THE SETTER.


The old English setter (says Capt. Brown), was originally derived from
a cross between the Spanish pointer and the large water-spaniel, and
was justly celebrated for his fine scent. It is difficult now to say
what a setter really is, as the original breed has been crossed with
springers, stag and blood-hounds. The Irish breed of setters is
considered better than either the English or Scotch, and a fine brace
has been frequently known to fetch fifty guineas. Youatt says that the
setter is evidently the large spaniel improved in size and beauty, and
taught to mark his game by setting or crouching. He is more active
than the pointer, but has not so much patient steadiness. It is
extremely difficult to decide between the merits of the setter and
pointer as dogs for shooting over. Some authors prefer one, some the
other. "Craven" says, that in his opinion Russian setters are better
than English, in nose, sagacity, and every other qualification that a
dog ought to possess.

Col. Hutchinson relates that he was "partridge-shooting the season
before last with an intimate friend. The air was soft, and there was a
good breeze. We came upon a large turnip-field, deeply trenched on
account of its damp situation. A white setter, that habitually carried
a lofty head, drew for awhile, and then came to a point. We got up to
her. She led us across some ridges, when her companion, a jealous dog
(a pointer), which had at first backed correctly, most improperly
pushed on in front, but, not being able to acknowledge the scent, went
off, clearly imagining the bitch was in error. She, however, held on,
and in beautiful style brought us up direct to a covey. My friend and
I agreed that she must have been but little, if at all, less than one
hundred yards off when she first winded the birds; and it was clear to
us that they could not have been running, for the breeze came directly
across the furrows, and she had led us in the wind's eye. We thought
the point the more remarkable, as it is generally supposed that the
strong smell of turnips diminishes a dog's power of scenting birds."

The same able author says, that on one occasion when a near relation
of his was shooting on the banks of the Forth, he killed a partridge
that was flying across the river. As he had no retriever with him, he
almost regretted having fired; but, to his surprise, his setter, Dove,
jumped into the river, although she had never previously (to the
writer's knowledge), attempted to swim, seized it, and deposited it
safely on the bank. She never had retrieved before, and was not
particularly good at "seeking dead."

"During my residence in the country," says M. Huet, "I had a
gamekeeper who was very skilful in the art of training dogs. Among
others of various kinds which he trained was a large old English
setter, with which he had succeeded so well that he could use him both
for hunting and shooting.

"This dog did always as much as could be done by any of his race, in
whatever kind of sport he was employed; he even invented advantageous
manoeuvres himself, which the gamekeeper affirmed he had never taught
him.

"Once, after I had been already several hours returned from hunting
with my people, the dog came running across the yard with a hare upon
his back, which he held by the ear, so as to carry her in the most
convenient manner to the kitchen from the considerable distance where
he must have killed her.

"Upon another occasion he showed an extraordinary degree of judgment
and fidelity. The gamekeeper had, on one of the short days of
December, shot at and wounded a deer. Hoping to run him down before
night, he instantly put the dog upon the track, which followed it at
full speed, and soon was out of sight. At length it grew dark, and the
gamekeeper returned home, thinking he should find the setter arrived
there before him; but he was disappointed, and became apprehensive
that his dog might have lost himself, or fallen a prey to some
ravenous animal. The next morning, however, we were all greatly
rejoiced to see him come running into the yard, whence he directly
hastened to the door of my apartment, and, on being admitted, ran,
with gestures expressive of solicitude and eagerness, to a corner of
the room where guns were placed. We understood the hint, and, taking
the guns, followed him. He led us not by the road which he himself had
taken out of the wood, but by beaten paths half round it, and then by
several wood-cutters' tracks in different directions, to a thicket,
where, following him a few paces, we found the deer which he had
killed. The dog seems to have rightly judged that we should have been
obliged to make our way with much difficulty through almost the whole
length of the wood, in order to come to the deer in a straight
direction, and he therefore led us a circuitous but open and
convenient road. Between the legs of the deer, which he had guarded
during the night against the beasts of prey that might otherwise have
seized upon it, he had scratched a hole in the snow, and filled it
with dry leaves for his bed. The extraordinary sagacity which he had
displayed upon this occasion rendered him doubly valuable to us, and
it therefore caused us very serious regret when, in the ensuing
summer, the poor animal went mad, possibly in consequence of his
exposure to the severe frost of that night, and it became necessary
for the gamekeeper to shoot him, which he could not do without
shedding tears. He said he would willingly have given his best cow to
save him; and I confess myself that I would not have hesitated to part
with my best horse upon the same terms."

Mr. Torry, of Edinburgh, had a setter bitch which possessed great
powers, and especially in finding lost articles, as she would,
whenever she was desired, go in search of anything. On one occasion
his servant lost a favourite whip in the middle of a moor, and he did
not discover or make known this loss till they were about a mile
distant from the spot where it was dropped. Mr. Torry ordered the
servant to go back and bring it, as he stated he was quite certain of
the spot where he had dropped it; but after searching for nearly an
hour, the servant returned and said he could not recover it, upon
which Mr. Torry told his setter to go back for the whip. She started
off instantly, and in less than five minutes the lost article was at
his feet.

The same dog did a great many other curious things: she would ring the
bell, fetch her master's slippers, or bring his youngest son, when
required to do so, from another room; which last she effected by
taking hold of his pinafore with her mouth, and running before him
sideways to his master's chair.

A large setter, ill with the distemper, had been most tenderly nursed
by a lady for three weeks. At length he became so weak as to be placed
on a bed, where he remained three days in a dying situation. After a
short absence, the lady, on re-entering the room, observed him to fix
his eyes attentively on her, and make an effort to crawl across the
bed towards her. This he accomplished evidently for the sole purpose
of licking her hands, which, having done, he expired without a groan.
"I am," says Mr. Blaine, "as convinced that the animal was sensible of
his approaching dissolution, and that this was a last forcible effort
to express his gratitude for the care taken of him, as I am of my own
existence; and had I witnessed this proof of excellence alone, I
should think a life devoted to the amelioration of the condition of
dogs far too little for their deserts."

There is a curious and interesting anecdote related of a setter who
had formed a great friendship with a cat. They were, in fact,
inseparable companions, and evidently had a great love for each other.
As a sporting dog the setter had few equals, but he constantly showed
his disgust when obliged to accompany a bad shot into the fields.
After one of the shooting seasons was over, his master took a house in
London, and carried his setter with him, who was seated with the
footman on the box of the carriage. It appears that the dog had not
forgotten his favourite, the cat, for he disappeared from the house,
and was absent for some days. He at length returned to his master's
house in the country, and brought back the cat with him. How he
contrived to find his way backwards and forward, and how he persuaded
the cat to accompany him, are mysteries which it would be useless to
attempt to solve. The fact, however, would seem to be satisfactorily
vouched for.

Setters are known to be subject to strange freaks. A gentleman had one
which he had shot to for three years. Upon one occasion he took the
dog out, and fired seven or eight times at birds the dog had found
him; but having missed them all, the animal returned home, evidently
disgusted. In the evening his owner took him out again and killed
every shot, which procured a reconciliation between the dog and its
master.

The late Dr. Hugh Smith related the following circumstance of a setter
dog, and maintained that a bitch and a dog may fall passionately in
love with each other. As the doctor was travelling from Midhurst into
Hampshire, the dogs, as usual in country places, ran out barking as he
was passing through a village; and amongst them he observed a little
ugly mongrel, that was particularly eager to ingratiate himself with a
setter bitch that accompanied him. Whilst stopping to water his horse,
he remarked how amorous the mongrel continued, and how courteous the
setter seemed to her admirer. Provoked to see a creature of Dido's
high blood so obsequious to such mean addresses, the doctor drew one
of his pistols and shot the dog; he then had the bitch carried on
horseback for several miles. From that day, however, she lost her
appetite, ate little or nothing, had no inclination to go abroad with
her master, or attend to his call, but seemed to repine like a
creature in love, and express sensible concern for the loss of her
gallant. Partridge season came, but Dido had no nose. Some time after
she was coupled to a setter of great excellence, which with no small
difficulty had been procured to get a breed from, and all the caution
which even the doctor himself could take was strictly exerted, that
the whelps might be pure and unmixed; yet not a puppy did Dido bring
forth but what was the picture and colour of the mongrel that he had
so many months before destroyed. The doctor fumed, and, had he not
personally paid such attention to preserve the intercourse
uncontaminated, would have suspected that some negligence had
occasioned this disappointment; but his views were in many subsequent
litters also defeated, for Dido never produced a whelp which was not
exactly similar to the unfortunate dog which was her first and
murdered lover.

This anecdote may appear strange or untrue to some people; but it is
an undoubted fact, and in some degree corroborates Dr. Smith's account
that the late Sir Gore Ouseley had a Persian mare which produced her
first foal by a zebra in Scotland. She was afterwards a brood-mare in
England, and had several foals, every one of which had the zebra's
stripes on it. That the force of imagination influences some brutes
cannot be doubted. A gentleman had a small spaniel which had one of
her legs broken when pregnant. When she littered, one of the whelps
had one of her hind legs broken--the limb was contracted--a perfect
callus formed, in everything resembling the leg of the dam.

Setters are difficult to break; but when well broken are invaluable as
sporting dogs, for they will work all day if they can occasionally
find water. John Dudley, duke of Northumberland, is said to have been
the first that broke a setter dog to the net, about the year 1555.

Col. Hutchinson says that a French lady, who is fond of animals, at
his request committed the following anecdote to paper:--

"My dear Médor, a beautiful red-and-white setter, was remarkable, I am
told, for many rare qualities as a sporting dog; but, of course, none
of these could be compared, in _my_ eyes, to his faithfulness and
sagacity. I looked upon him as a friend; and I know that our affection
was mutual. I could mention several instances of his intelligence--I
might say, reflection; but one in particular gave me such delight
that, though years have since passed away, all the circumstances are
as fresh in my memory as if they had occurred but yesterday. I was
returning from school at Versailles; and having rang uselessly for a
little time at the front door, I went round to the carriage-gate to
have a chat with my silky-haired favourite. He barked anxiously,
thrust his cold nose through an opening near the ground, scratched
vigorously to increase its size, and in numerous ways testified great
joy at again hearing my voice. I put my hand under the gate to caress
him; and while he was licking it, I said in jest, but in a distinct,
loud voice, 'Dear Médor, I am shut out--go, bring me the keys.' It so
happened that the stable where they usually hung was not closed. Médor
ran off, and in a few seconds returned and placed them in my hands. I
will not attempt to describe _my_ gratification at such a striking
proof of his intelligence, nor _his_ evident pride at seeing me enter
the hall, nor yet the fright of the servant at thinking how long the
street-door must have been carelessly left open. 'Médor deserves that
his life should be written,' said I to my uncle, when afterwards
telling him the whole story; 'I am sure his deeds are as wonderful as
those related of the 'Chiens célèbres' by De Fréville.'

"My setter was immediately declared 'Keeper of the Keys,' and
forthwith invested with all the rights of office. Nor was this
confidence misplaced. He would never give up his charge to any one but
to my uncle or myself; and always seemed fully sensible of the dignity
and responsibility of his new position."

Tolfrey gives, in his "Sportsman in France," so beautiful an instance
of a setter's untutored intelligence leading him to see the advantage
of placing running birds between himself and the gun, that I will
relate it.

"On gaining some high ground, the dog drew and stood. She was walked
up to, but to my astonishment we found no birds. She was encouraged,
and with great difficulty coaxed off her point. She kept drawing on,
but with the same ill success.

"I must confess I was for the moment sorely puzzled; but knowing the
excellence of the animal, I let her alone. She kept drawing on for
nearly a hundred yards--still no birds. At last, of her own accord,
and with a degree of instinct amounting almost to the faculty of
reason, she broke from her point, and dashing off to the right made a
_détour_, and was presently straight before me, some three hundred
yards off, setting the game whatever it might be, as much as to say,
'I'll be ---- if you escape me this time.' We walked steadily on; and
when within about thirty yards of her, up got a covey of red-legged
partridges, and we had the good fortune to kill a brace each.

"It is one of the characteristics of these birds to run for an amazing
distance before they take wing; but the sagacity of my faithful dog
baffled all their efforts to escape. We fell in with several coveys of
these birds during the day, and my dog ever after gave them the
double, and kept them between the gun and herself."

[Illustration]




[Illustration: THE COMFORTER, OR LAP-DOG PUG.]

THE PUG DOG.

   "My pug makes a bad pet; he is useless in the field, is somewhat
    snappish, has little sagacity, and is very cowardly: but there is
    an air of _bon ton_ about him which renders him a fashionable
    appendage to a fine lady."--_Parisian Gossip._


Pugs came into fashion, and probably first into this country, in the
early part of the reign of William the Third, and were then called
Dutch pugs. At that time they were generally decorated with orange
ribbons, and were in great request amongst the courtiers, from the
king being very partial to them.

It is difficult to say how this partiality arose, though it may
perhaps be accounted for by the following anecdote, related in a
scarce old book, called "Sir Roger Williams' Actions in the Low
Countries," printed in 1618.

"The Prince of Orange (father of William III.) being retired into the
camp, Julian Romero, with earnest persuasions, procured license of the
Duke D'Alva to hazard a _camisado_, or night attack, upon the prince.
At midnight Julian sallied out of the trenches with a thousand armed
men, mostly pikes, who forced all the guards that they found in their
way into the place of arms before the Prince's tent, and killed two of
his secretaries. The Prince himself escaped very narrowly, for I have
often heard him say that he thought but for a dog he should have been
taken or slain. The attack was made with such resolution, that the
guards took no alarm until their fellows were running to the place of
arms, with their enemies at their heels, when this dog, hearing a
great noise, fell to scratching and crying, and awakened him before
any of his men; and though the Prince slept armed, with a lacquey
always holding one of his horses ready bridled and saddled, yet, at
the going out of his tent, with much ado he recovered his horse before
the enemy arrived. Nevertheless, one of his equerries was slain
taking horse presently after him, as were divers of his servants. The
Prince, to show his gratitude, until his dying day kept one of that
dog's race, and so did many of his friends and followers. These
animals were not remarkable for their beauty, being little white dogs,
with crooked noses, called _Camuses_ (flat-nosed)."

It is difficult to account for the origin of this breed of dogs. So
far from having any of the courage of the bulldog, which they resemble
somewhat in miniature, they are extremely cowardly. They are also
occasionally treacherous in their disposition, and will take strong
dislikes to particular persons.

The passion of the late Lady Penrhyn for pugs was well known. Two of
these, a mother and daughter, were in the eating-room of Penrhyn
Castle during the morning call of a lady, who partook of luncheon. On
bonnets and shawls being ordered for the purpose of taking a walk in
the grounds, the oldest dog jumped on a chair, and looked first at a
cold fowl, and then at her daughter. The lady remarked to Lady Penrhyn
that they certainly had a design on the tray. The bell was therefore
rung, and a servant ordered to take it away. The instant the tray
disappeared, the elder pug, who had previously played the agreeable
with all her might to the visitor, snarled and flew at her, and during
the whole walk followed her, growling and snapping at her heels
whenever opportunity served. The dog certainly went through two or
three links of inference, from the disappearance of the coveted spoil
to Lady Penrhyn's order, and from Lady Penrhyn's order to the remark
made by her visitor.

Monsieur Blaze, in his "History of Dogs," mentions one who was taught
to pronounce several words. The editor of the "Dumfries Courier" has
declared most solemnly that he "heard a pug repeatedly pronounce the
word 'William,' almost as distinctly as ever it was enunciated by the
human voice. He saw the dog lying on a rug before the fire, when one
of his master's sons, whose name is William, and to whom he is more
obedient than to any one else, happened to give him a shove, when the
animal ejaculated, for the first time, the word 'William.' The whole
party were as much amazed as Balsam was when his ass spoke; and though
they could hardly believe their own ears, one of them exclaimed,
'Could you really find it in your heart to hurt the poor dog after he
has so distinctly pronounced your name?' This led to a series of
experiments, which have been repeated for the satisfaction of various
persons, but still the animal performs with difficulty. When his
master seizes his fore-legs, and commands him to say 'William,' he
treats the hearer With a gurring voluntary; and after this species of
music has been protracted for a longer or a shorter period, his voice
seems to fall a full octave before he comes out with the important
word."

In the "Bibliothèque Germanique," published in 1720, there is an
account of a dog at Berlin, who was made to pronounce a few words, but
the one which he ejaculated most distinctly was "Elizabeth." Sir
William Gell also had a dog which was well known to repeat some words,
but it should be mentioned that he never did this except his master
held his jaws in a peculiar way.[R]

It has been said of the pug dog that he is applicable to no sport,
appropriated to no useful purpose, susceptible of no predominant
passion, and in no way remarkable for any pre-eminent quality. He
seems, indeed, intended to be the patient follower of a ruminating
philosopher, or the adulatory and consolatory companion of an old
maid; but is now gradually becoming discarded as a pet, and is seldom
seen peeping out of a carriage window or basking in a London balcony.

The Comforter, of which a portrait is given at the head of the present
chapter, is a rare and beautiful little dog, apparently a cross
between the Maltese and King Charles spaniel. His colour is generally
white, with black or brown patches; his ears are long, and his head
broad on the upper part, with an acute muzzle; the hair is long over
the whole body, with the fore legs feathered; his tail is curled, and
feathered with very long hairs. This is the smallest of any of the
distinct races of dogs, and is frequently not above a foot from the
tip of the nose to the point of the tail.

[Illustration: "A PUGNACIOUS PAIR."]




THE TURNSPIT.


How well do I recollect, in the days of my youth, watching the
operations of a turnspit at the house of a worthy old Welsh clergyman
in Worcestershire, who taught me to read. He was a good man, wore a
bushy wig, black worsted stockings, and large plated buckles in his
shoes. As he had several boarders, as well as day-scholars, his two
turnspits had plenty to do. They were long-bodied, crooked-legged, and
ugly dogs, with a suspicious, unhappy look about them, as if they were
weary of the task they had to do, and expected every moment to be
seized upon to perform it. Cooks in those days, as they are said to be
at present, were very cross, and if the poor animal, wearied with
having a larger joint than usual to turn, stopped for a moment, the
voice of the cook might be heard rating him in no very gentle terms.
When we consider that a large solid piece of beef would take at least
three hours before it was properly roasted, we may form some idea of
the task a dog had to perform in turning a wheel during that time. A
pointer has pleasure in finding game, the terrier worries rats with
considerable glee, the greyhound pursues hares with eagerness and
delight, and the bull-dog even attacks bulls with the greatest energy,
while the poor turnspit performs his task by compulsion, like a
culprit on a tread-wheel, subject to scolding or beating if he stops a
moment to rest his weary limbs, and is then kicked about the kitchen
when the task is over. There is a story (it is an old one) of the Bath
turnspits, who were in the habit of collecting together in the abbey
church of that town during divine service. It is said, but I will not
vouch for the truth of the story, that hearing one day the word
"spit," which occurred in the lesson for the day, they all ran out of
the church in the greatest hurry, evidently associating the word with
the task they had to perform.

These dogs are still used in Germany, and her Majesty has two or three
of them amongst her collection of these quadrupeds. They are extremely
bandy-legged, so as to appear almost incapable of running, with long
bodies and rather large heads. They are very strong in the jaws, and
are what are called hard-bitten. It is a peculiarity in these dogs
that they generally have the iris of one eye black and the other
white. Their colour varies, but the usual one is a bluish grey,
spotted with black. The tail is generally curled on the back.

As two turnspits were generally kept to do the roasting work of a
family, each dog knew his own day, and it was not an easy task to make
one work two days running. Even on his regular day a dog would
frequently hide himself, so cordially did he hate his prescribed
duties. A story is said to have been related to a gentleman by the
Duke de Liancourt, of two turnspits employed in his kitchen, who had
to take their turns every other day to get into the wheel. One of
them, in a fit of laziness, hid himself on the day he should have
worked, so that his companion was forced to mount the wheel in his
stead, who, when his employment was over, began crying and wagging his
tail, and making signs for those in attendance to follow him. This was
done, and the dog conducted them into a garret, where he dislodged his
idle companion, and killed him immediately.

The following circumstance is said to have taken place in the Jesuits'
College at La Flèche.

After the cook had prepared his meat for roasting, he looked for the
dog whose turn it was to work the spit, but not being able to find
him, he attempted to employ for this service another that happened to
be in the kitchen. The dog, however, resisted, and, having bitten the
cook, ran away. The man, with whom the dog was a particular favourite,
was much astonished at his ferocity. The wound he had received was a
severe one, and bled profusely, so that it was necessary to dress it.
While this was doing, the dog, which had run into the garden, and
found out the one whose turn it was to work the spit, came driving him
before him into the kitchen, when the latter immediately went of his
own accord into the wheel.

Buffon calls the turnspit the _Basset à jambes torses_, but some of
the breed are said to have straight legs. Short as they are, the body
is extremely strong and heavy in proportion to the height of the dog,
and this weight must facilitate the turning of the wheel.




[Illustration: THE FOXHOUND.]

THE FOXHOUND.

   "Warn'd by the streaming light and merry lark,
    Forth rush the jolly clan; with tuneful throats
    They carol loud, and in grand chorus joined,
    Salute the new-born day.

                              Then to the copse
    Thick with entangled grass, or prickly furze,
    With silence lead thy many-coloured hounds
    In all their beauty's pride."--SOMERVILLE.


It is impossible to enter upon a description of the foxhound without
considerable diffidence. Whether we consider the enthusiastic
admiration it excites amongst sportsmen, the undeviating perseverance
and high courage of the animal, its perfect symmetry, and the music of
its tongue, which warms the heart and gives life and spirit to man and
horse, it must be difficult to do justice to his merits. I will,
however, endeavour to do my best; and should I fail, it will not be
for want of admiration of the noble animal whose qualifications I am
about to illustrate with characteristic anecdotes.

In giving a description of the various breeds of dogs, every one must
be aware that by crossing and recrossing them many of those we now see
have but little claim to originality. The foxhound, the old Irish
wolf-dog, and the colley or shepherd's dog, may, perhaps, be
considered as possessing the greatest purity of blood. My opinion
respecting the foxhound is partly founded on the following curious
fact:--

In Wilkinson's "Manners and Customs of the Egyptians," there is a
representation of as varmint a pack of foxhounds as modern eye could
wish to see. It is copied from a painting found in the interior of the
tomb of the Pharaoh under whom Joseph served. Every individual hound
is characteristic of the present breed, with all their courage and
animation. Each dog's tail was as an old Irish huntsman, who used to
glory in seeing his hounds carry their sterns after the hardest day,
once said to his master, "not behind them at all, plaize your honour,
but curling out over their shoulders."

If the copy be correct, and there is no reason to doubt it, the dog of
this breed must be considered of a much more ancient date than is
generally supposed. There is every reason to believe that the first
dogs came from Asia. Indeed, history, both sacred and profane,
confirms this. At all events, the fact just mentioned is sufficiently
curious, and may serve to confirm the supposition I have ventured to
make of the purity of the blood of our modern foxhound.

A volume might be written on the characteristics of these dogs, both
in the kennel and the field, and I will endeavour to illustrate this
by a few anecdotes.

It is well known to those who have lived near a kennel, that every
morning at the first gleam of light the hounds invariably salute the
glorious return of day, by joining simultaneously in a full chorus of
voices, 'a musical discord,' called by huntsmen "their morning hymn."
This concert does not consist of barking and yapping as many may
suppose, but something like the "Hullah system," yet far more sonorous
to a sportsman's ear.

Those who have witnessed the process of feeding hounds cannot but
acknowledge that it is a most pleasing sight. We see the anxiety
depicted in their countenances to detect the huntsman's eye, who calls
them singly by name in a low tone of voice, nor does one offer to stir
till his time comes. Each dog also takes every day the same position,
like children at school, except that all are obedient, and there is
no noise. His late Majesty George IV., in his younger days, was a
constant attendant at the royal kennel at feeding-time, and many of
the royal family have also been to see the hounds fed at that place.

Close to the Duke of Beaufort's kennel at Badmington a tame fox was
confined, and between it and the foxhounds a great friendship existed.
When the hounds were let out they played with the fox, who, on his
part, was equally ready to greet them. This reciprocal kindness had
continued some time, until one day a hunted fox, much exhausted, ran
for shelter into a bush close to the hutch of the tame one. The
hounds, in the eagerness of the chase, ran into the latter, mistaking
him for the other, and instantly killed him. No sooner, however, were
they aware of their having occasioned the death of their old
acquaintance, than each hound slunk away, appearing conscious and
ashamed of what had been done, nor could they be induced to touch the
dead fox when thrown amongst them.

Amongst other curious anecdotes of foxhounds, the following may be
mentioned. Some years ago, Sir John Cope had a hound called Clermont,
which was in the constant habit, when the pack killed a fox, of taking
possession of the animal's head. This he invariably carried in his
mouth, as if it was a trophy, and on arriving at the kennel would put
it down at the kennel door. In this way he must have imposed a severe
task on himself, as the pack had frequently twenty miles to go home
when the chase was over. The weight was not indeed great; but the
dog's mouth being distended the whole time must have made the task
anything but a pleasant one.

Some hounds are possessed of extraordinary instinct, which enables
them to find their way back to their kennels over country which they
had never before traversed. When George III. kept hounds in the Home
Park, Windsor, General Manners, one of the equerries, took a hound
named Bustler with him in his carriage to London. He remained there a
few days, and then travelled to Bloxholm in Lincolnshire, the dog
being still his companion inside the carriage. In less than a month,
however, Bustler found his way back to Frogmore.

The captain of a vessel informed me that he had once picked up a dog
in mid-channel between Brighton and Calais, swimming boldly and
strongly towards the French coast. If this dog was endeavouring to
make his way back to a beloved master, it was an extraordinary
instance of affection.

A few years ago some hounds were embarked at Liverpool for Ireland,
and were safely delivered at a kennel far up in that country. One of
them, not probably liking his quarters, found his way back to the port
at which he had been landed from Liverpool. On arriving at it, some
troops were being embarked in a ship bound to that place. This was a
fortunate circumstance for the old hound, as during the bustle he was
not noticed. He safely arrived at Liverpool, and on his old master, or
huntsman rather, coming down stairs one morning, he recognised his
former acquaintance waiting to greet him.

A similar circumstance happened to some hounds sent by the late Lord
Lonsdale to Ireland. Three of them escaped from the kennel in that
country, and made their appearance again in Leicestershire.

The love of home, or most probably affection for a particular
individual, must be strongly implanted in dogs to induce them to
search over unexplored and unknown regions for the being and home they
love. Hunger, it might be supposed, would alone stop the ardour of
their pursuit, and induce them to seek for nourishment and shelter at
a stranger's door. But such is not the case. Hungry, foot-sore,
fatigued, and exhausted, the noble and faithful animal presses onward,
guided by an instinct which man does not possess, and proving the
strength of his love by his indefatigable and ardent exertions. Poor,
faithful animal! and is it possible that you are subjected to ill
treatment, cruelty, and neglect by those who owe you a large debt of
gratitude? Your exertions procure amusement, your watchfulness and
fidelity give protection, and neither sickness nor misfortune will
induce you to forsake the object of your attachment.

But it is time to resume our anecdotes of foxhounds, and the following
is a proof of the high courage they so often display, as well as
their emulative spirit.

In drawing a strong covert, a young bitch gave tongue very freely,
whilst none of the other hounds challenged. The whipper-in rated to no
purpose, the huntsman insisted she was wrong, and the whip was applied
with great severity, in doing which the lash most unfortunately took
the orb of the eye out of the socket. Notwithstanding the excruciating
pain she must inevitably have laboured under, the poor suffering
animal again flew to the scent, and exultingly proved herself to be
right, for a fox having stole away, she broke covert after him
unheeded, and continued the chase alone. After much delay and cold
hunting the pack at length hit off the chase. At some distance a
farmer made a signal with much vehemence to the company, who, upon
coming up to him, were informed that they were very far behind the
fox, for that a single hound, very bloody about the head, had passed a
field from him, and was running breast-high, and that there was little
chance of getting up to him. The pack, however, at her coming to a
check, did at length get up, and, after some cold hunting, the bitch
again hit off the scent, and the fox was killed after a severe run.
The eye of the poor but high-spirited dog, which had hung pendent
during the chase, was removed by a pair of scissors after the fox was
dead.

The following is another instance of the persevering strength and
spirit of foxhounds:--

A gentleman of the name of Pearson, residing in Essex, had a couple
and a half of young and newly-entered hounds. One day they
accidentally followed him in his ride, and strayed into a large covert
by the roadside, and presently found something which they eagerly
hunted. After trying a long time to halloo them off, Mr. Pearson
proceeded to Colchester, where his business detained him some hours.
Upon his return he heard them in the covert, and found, by some people
at work by the side of it, that they had continued running during his
absence, and had driven a fox over the field in which they were at
work backward and forward several times. Mr. Pearson got as near to
them as possible, continuing to give them every encouragement. After
hunting the fox a long time in the covert he at last broke, and was
killed after a run of some miles. The time these hounds were hunting
was seven hours. Hounds have even been known to have continued a chase
for ten hours, great part of the time being hard running. A fox was
once unkennelled near Boroughbridge in Yorkshire, at twenty-seven
minutes past nine, and except half-an-hour taken up in bolting him
from a rabbit-burrow, the hounds had a continued run until fourteen
minutes past five in the evening, when they killed the fox in good
style. During this space of nearly eight hours of most severe
running, several horses died in the field, and others were severely
injured.

A hound, the property of Mr. Teasdale of Ousby, Cumberland, during a
storm, took the quest of a fox, which he pursued for the extraordinary
space of thirty hours, four of which were run within view of some
miners, who were employed upon Dalton Fell. The dog and fox were at
that time running round the bottom of a hill. The arch dog, still
keeping on the side of Reynard which led to his clift in the rock, at
last came up to him; but being so much exhausted by his toilsome
chase, he was unable to make him his prey for some time, and they lay
as if lifeless together. The miners then made up to his assistance;
but so ardent was his desire to finish Reynard himself, that he would
not suffer them to come near till he had destroyed him.

A foxhound bitch, in the middle of a chase, was taken in labour, and
brought forth a puppy. Ardour for the pursuit, united to attachment
for her progeny, induced her to snatch it up in her mouth, and follow
her companions, with whom she soon came up, and in this interesting
situation she continued the whole day,--a discredit to the huntsman,
and all who joined in the pursuit, to allow the poor animal to undergo
so violent an exercise under such circumstances.

In order to account for the power of endurance which foxhounds are
known to possess, it should be mentioned that their strength is very
great. A well-bred hound has been known to measure as much round the
arm of the fore-leg as a moderate-sized horse does below the knee. I
was assured of this fact by a well-known huntsman, and it may serve in
some measure to account for the following instance of undeviating
perseverance in a foxhound, related by Mr. Daniel in his Supplement to
his "Rural Sports."

The circumstance took place in the year 1808, in the counties of
Inverness and Perth, and perhaps surpasses any length of pursuit known
in the annals of hunting. On the 8th of June in that year, a fox and
hound were seen near Dunkeld in Perthshire, on the high road,
proceeding at a slow trotting pace. The dog was about fifty yards
behind the fox, and each was so fatigued as not to gain on the other.
A countryman very easily caught the fox, and both it and the dog were
taken to a gentleman's house in the neighbourhood, where the fox died.
It was afterwards ascertained that the hound belonged to the Duke of
Gordon, and that the fox was started on the morning of the 4th of
June, on the top of those hills called Monaliadh, which separate
Badenoch from Fort Augustus. From this it appeared that the chase
lasted four days, and that the distance traversed from the place where
the fox was unkennelled to the spot where it was caught, without
making any allowances for doubles, crosses, &c., and as the crow
flies, exceeded seventy miles.

It is a curious fact, that if a foxhound is taken for the first time
into a new and strange country, and he is lost, when he returns to his
kennel he does so across fields where he had never been before, and
not by roads along which he had been taken out. A gentleman who kept
foxhounds had an opportunity of observing this. His house and kennel
were on the banks of a river, and a new hound accompanied the pack,
which went across a bridge near the kennel. He was lost, and came back
over the fields direct upon the kennel, and howled when he arrived on
the banks of the river. We know but little of the peculiar instinct
which thus enables dogs to find their way across a strange country.

Let me here give an anecdote that was communicated to me by the
brother of the gentleman to whom it occurred. This gentleman was a
rigid Roman Catholic, and his constant companion was a foxhound. As
soon as the forty days of Lent began, this dog left his master and
came to the house of my informant, some miles distant, where he found
food to his liking, and stayed with him during Lent, at the end of
which he returned to his owner. He must have measured time very
accurately, and has continued the practice for some years.

In the year 1813 some hounds belonging to his late Majesty, George
III., were sold to Mr. Walker, of Mitchell Grove, near Worthing. A few
weeks after their arrival at that place, one couple of them were sent
in a stage-waggon to Dr. Willis, then living near Stamford in
Lincolnshire. The wagon went through London, and from thence to Dr.
Willis's seat. However surprising it may appear, one of these dogs, in
less than a month after he had left the kennel near Windsor, found his
way back to it. It might be supposed that in this length of time all
recollection would have ceased, but such we have seen was not the
case.

The circumstance which happened to the late Duke of Northumberland's
pack proves the foxhound's eagerness after his game. In 1796 the
hounds ran a fox into a very large furze-cover near Alnwick, called
Bunker's Hill, where he was lost in an earth which no one knew of.
Upon the dogs coming to the kennel two couple and a half of the best
of them were missing, and not returning that night, it was thought
they had found a fox, and had gone off by themselves in pursuit of
him. Several men were sent in search of them to all the earths and
crags for twenty miles round, but no tidings could be gained of them.
The course where the fox was lost was then searched, and the earth
discovered, and in digging about two yards deep, one dog was found;
several yards further three more, fast in the ground; and two yards
deeper the fifth was dug up. They were all dead.

It is well known to those who served in the Peninsular War, that the
late Lord Hill kept a pack of foxhounds while he commanded a division
of the army. During a period of repose a fox was unkennelled in the
neighbourhood of Corja, in Spain. The run was severe for the space of
thirty minutes, when the fox, being sharply pressed by the leading
hounds, leaped down a precipice of sixty yards perpendicular. Seven
couple of the hounds immediately dashed after him, six couple of which
were killed on the spot. The remainder of the pack (twenty-two couple)
would probably have shared the same fate, had not the most forward
riders arrived in time to flog them off, which they did with
difficulty, being scarcely able to restrain their impetuosity. The fox
was found at the bottom, and covered with the bodies of the hounds.

I might have hesitated to mention the following fact, had it not been
witnessed by some well-known sportsmen of the present day.

During a severe chase, and towards the termination of it, when the fox
was in view, another fox was seen, to the astonishment of the forward
riders, running in the middle of the pack of hounds, perfectly
unnoticed by them. It is supposed that the dogs ran over this fox,
who, finding himself in the midst of them, probably thought it the
safest and wisest plan he could pursue to continue with them till he
had an opportunity of making his escape.

In relating anecdotes of foxhounds it is almost unavoidable not to
mention fox-hunters, and we know not how we can give to our readers a
better notion of the stirring spirit and devotion to their sport,
distinguishing them beyond all other sportsmen, than by offering some
extracts from the pen of the late Colonel Cook, a master of hounds,
beloved by all who knew him, and venerated by those who hunted with
him.

Hounds will not work through difficulties, nor will they exert
themselves in that killing sort of manner when they are out of blood.
If after all you should, owing to ill-luck and bad weather, be in want
of it, the best way is to leave an earth open in a country where you
can spare a fox, and where you can without much trouble dig him, give
him to the hounds on the earth, and go home. But whatever you do,
never turn out a bag-fox; it is injurious to your hounds, and makes
them wild and unsteady: besides, nothing is more despicable, or held
in greater contempt by real sportsmen, than the practice of hunting
bag-foxes. It encourages a set of rascals to steal from other hunts;
therefore keep in mind, that if there were no receivers there would be
no thieves. What chiefly contributes to make fox-hunting so very far
superior to other sports is the wildness of the animal you hunt, and
the difficulty in catching him. It is rather extraordinary, but
nevertheless a well-known fact, that a pack of hounds, which are in
sport and blood, will not eat a bag-fox. I remember hearing an
anecdote (when I was in Shropshire many years ago) of the late Lord
Stamford's hounds, which I will relate to you as I heard it. Lord
Forester, and his brother, Mr. Frank Forester, then boys, were at
their uncle's for the holidays. A farmer came to inform them a fox had
just been seen in a tree. All the nets about the premises were
collected, and the fox was caught; but the Squire of Wiley, a
sportsman himself, and a strict preserver of foxes, sent the fox
immediately to Lord Stamford by one of his tenants, that he might be
informed of the real circumstance. The next day the hounds were out,
and also the Squire's tenant; they had drawn some time without
finding, when the farmer reminded his Lordship of the fox caught. 'Do
you think,' said he, 'I will allow my hounds to hunt a bag-fox? I
should never be forgiven by my huntsman!' At last, after drawing
several coverts without finding, his Lordship gave his consent (but it
was to be kept a great secret), and the bag was to be touched upon the
ground in a line for a covert they were going to draw, to have the
appearance of a disturbed fox, and the fox to be turned down in it.

On going to covert, a favourite hound, called Partner, feathered on
the scent. The huntsman exclaimed in ecstacy, 'Old Partner touches on
him; we shall certainly find in the next covert.' They found the
bag-fox, and had a tolerable run; but when they killed him, not a
hound would eat him! 'Now, Sir,' said his lordship to the farmer, 'you
have deceived the huntsman and the field, but you cannot deceive my
hounds.'

Next to turning out bag-men, lifting of hounds is the most
prejudicial. They should seldom be taken 'off their noses,' nothing is
gained by it in the end; hounds that are seldom lifted will kill more
foxes in the course of a season than those that frequently are. Some
years ago, when hunting with the Duke of Grafton's hounds in Suffolk,
they came to a check all in a moment, at a barn near some cross-roads;
they were left alone, and made a fling of themselves, in a perfect
circle, without hitting the scent; many gentlemen exclaimed, 'It is
all over now, Tom; the only chance you have is to make _a wide cast_.'
'No,' answered the huntsman, 'if the fox is not in that barn, my
hounds ought to be hung.'

Dick Foster, the whipper-in, now huntsman to Mr. Villebois (and a very
good one he is), was ordered to dismount and see if he could discover
the fox; he returned and said he was _not_ there.' Tom Rose still was
positive; at last he was viewed on a beam in the barn, and they killed
him, after a further run of about a mile. I mention this trivial
circumstance to show you clearly, that if the hounds had been hurried
up either of the roads on a wide cast, made by an ignorant huntsman,
the fox would inevitably have been lost.

Were I to have some sporting friends coming to see my hounds in the
field, I should prefer going away _close at him_ for twenty minutes,
then a short check, to bring the hounds to a hunting scent, and a
quick thing at last, and run into him, in order that my friends might
be convinced the hounds could _hunt_ as well as run; for of this I am
certain, if they cannot do _both_, they merit not the name of
foxhounds.

[Illustration: HEAD OF A FAVORITE FOX-HOUND.]

[Illustration: HOUNDS IN A BATH.]




[Illustration: THE BEAGLE.]

THE BEAGLE.


The beagle may be mentioned as a sort of foxhound in miniature, and
nothing can well be more perfect than the shape of these small dogs.
But how different are they in their style of hunting! The beagle,
which has always his nose to the ground, will puzzle for a length of
time on one spot, sooner than he will leave the scent. The foxhound,
on the contrary, full of life, spirit, and high courage, is always
dashing and trying forward. The beagle, however, has extraordinary
perseverance, as well as nicety of scent, and also a liveliness of
manner in hunting, which, joined to its musical and melodious note,
will always afford pleasure to the lovers of the chase, or at least to
those who are unable to undertake the more exciting sport of
fox-hunting. In rabbit-shooting, in gorse and thick cover, nothing
can be more cheerful than the beagle; and they have been called
rabbit-beagles from this employment, for which they are peculiarly
qualified, especially those dogs which are somewhat wire-haired.

In the reign of Queen Elizabeth a race of beagles had been bred so
small, that a pack of them could be carried out to the field in a pair
of panniers. That Princess is said to have had little _singing
beagles_, a single one of which could be placed in a man's glove, and
they probably at this time received the name of _lap-dog_ beagles.
Dryden, in his "Fables," alludes to these dogs as follows:--

   "The graceful goddess was array'd in green;
    About her feet were little beagles seen,
    That watch'd with upward eyes the motions of their queen."

Pope also mentions them,--

   "To plains with well-bred beagles we repair,
    And trace the mazes of the circling hare."

[Illustration]




[Illustration: THE MASTIFF.]

THE MASTIFF.

    "Great Brittain was so noted for its Mastiffs, that the Roman
    Emperors appointed an Officer in this Island, with the title of
    Procurator Cynegii, whose sole business was to breed, and transmit
    from hence to the Amphitheatre, such as would prove equal to the
    combats of the place:

               Magnaque taurorum fracturi colla Britanni."


This noble dog, which, like the bull-dog, is supposed to be an
original breed peculiar to this country, is now seldom to be met with
in its pure state, it having been crossed and recrossed with other
dogs. Perhaps the finest specimen now to be found is one at
Chatsworth (where also is to be seen a noble Alpine mastiff). It is a
dog of gigantic size, of a yellowish colour, with a black muzzle.
There is also another at Elvaston Castle in Derbyshire, not so large
as the one at Chatsworth, but apparently of the true breed, and for
which we believe Lord Harrington gave the sum of fifty guineas.

These dogs are brave, faithful to their trust in an extraordinary
degree, and have a noble disposition.

Their strength also is very great, and their bark deep and loud. Sir
Walter Scott's remarks on the character of the dog may be well applied
to the mastiff,--"The Almighty, who gave the dog to be the companion
of our pleasures and our toils, hath invested him with a nature noble
and incapable of deceit. He forgets neither friend nor foe--remembers,
and with accuracy, both benefit and injury. He hath a share of man's
intelligence, but no share of man's falsehood. You may bribe a soldier
to slay a man with his sword, or a witness to take life by false
accusation, but you cannot make a dog tear his benefactor. He is the
friend of man, save when man justly incurs his enmity."

The mastiff, indeed, usually shows a remarkable and peculiar warmth in
his attachments; and, on the other hand, he will evince his dislike in
the strongest manner. It has been observed of him, that if he is once
severely corrected or insulted, it is almost impossible to eradicate
the feeling from his memory, and it is no less difficult to attain a
reconciliation with him. He seems conscious of his own strength,
power, and authority, and will seldom condescend to lower his dignity
by servile fawning; while he appears to consider his services as only
befitting a trust of the highest importance. He is naturally possessed
of strong instinctive sensibility, speedily obtains a knowledge of all
the duties required of him, and discharges them with the most punctual
assiduity. His vigilance is very striking. He makes regular rounds of
the premises committed to his care, examines every part of them, and
sees that everything is in a state of perfect security. During the
night he will give a signal of his presence by repeated barkings,
which are increased upon the least cause of alarm. Unlike the
bull-dog, the mastiff always warns before he attacks. His voice is
deep and powerful in tone.

Such is the animal of which I now propose to give a few characteristic
anecdotes.

About the year 1742, a lady, who resided in a lone house in Cheshire,
permitted all her servants, except one female, to go to a supper and
dance at a Christmas merry-meeting, held at an inn about three miles
distant, and kept by the uncle of the maid who had remained in the
house with her mistress. The servants were not expected back till the
morning; consequently the doors and windows were, as usual, secured,
and the lady and her servant were going to bed, when they were
alarmed by the voice of some persons apparently attempting to break
into the house. Fortunately a great mastiff dog, named Cæsar, was in
the kitchen, and set up a tremendous barking, which, however, had not
the effect of intimidating the robbers. The maid-servant distinctly
heard that the attempt to enter the house was made by the villains
endeavouring to force a way through a hole under the sunk story in the
adjoining back-kitchen or scullery. Being a young woman of courage,
she went towards the spot, accompanied by the dog, and patting him on
the back, exclaimed, "At him, Cæsar!" The dog made a furious attack on
the person who seemed to be at the hole, and gave something a violent
shake, when all became quiet, and the animal returned to her with his
mouth all besmeared with blood. She afterwards heard some little
bustle outside of the house, which soon was stilled. The lady and
servant sat up until morning, without farther molestation, when, on
going into the court, a quantity of blood was found on the outside of
the wall. The other servants, on their return, brought word to the
maid that her uncle, the innkeeper, had died suddenly during the
course of the night--they understood of a fit of apoplexy--and was
intended to be buried that day. The maid got leave to go to the
funeral, and was surprised to find the coffin on her arrival screwed
down. She insisted on taking a last view of the body, which was most
unwillingly granted; when, to her great surprise and horror, she found
his death had been occasioned from his throat being torn open. What
had happened the evening before immediately rushed to her imagination,
and it appeared too evident to her that she had been the innocent
cause of her uncle's death; and, upon further inquiry, it was proved
that he and one of his servants had formed the design of robbing the
house and murdering the lady, in her unprotected condition, during the
absence of her servants; but, by the watchfulness and courage of her
dog, their design was frustrated.

An anecdote is related of a mastiff, who, in the reign of Queen
Elizabeth, when Lord Buckhurst was ambassador at the Court of Charles
the Ninth, alone and unassisted, successively engaged a bear, a
leopard, and a lion, and pulled them all down.

Very extraordinary stories have been told of these and some other
kinds of dogs discovering and circumventing plans to injure the
persons of their masters, in which it is difficult to place implicit
credit. We give one of the most marvellous of these anecdotes, as it
is usually related:--

Sir H. Lee, of Ditchley, in Oxfordshire, ancestor of the late Earls of
Lichfield, had a mastiff which guarded the house and yard, but had
never met with any particular attention from his master. In short, he
was not a favourite dog, and was retained for his utility only, and
not from any partial regard.

One night, as Sir Harry was retiring to his chamber, attended by his
favourite valet, an Italian, the mastiff silently followed them
up-stairs, which he had never been known to do before, and, to his
master's astonishment, presented himself in the bed-room. Being deemed
an intruder, he was instantly ordered to be turned out; which, being
complied with, the poor animal began scratching violently at the door,
and howling loudly for admission. The servant was sent to drive him
away. Discouragement, however, could not check his intended labour of
love; he returned again, and was more importunate to be let in than
before. Sir Harry, weary of opposition, though surprised beyond
measure at the dog's apparent fondness for the society of a master who
had never shown him the least kindness, and wishing to retire to rest,
bade the servant open the door, that they might see what he wanted to
do. This done, the mastiff, with a wag of the tail, and a look of
affection at his lord, deliberately walked up, and crawling under the
bed, laid himself down, as if desirous to take up his night's lodging
there.

To save farther trouble, and not from any partiality for his company,
this indulgence was allowed. The valet withdrew, and all was still.
About the solemn hour of midnight the chamber door opened, and a
person was heard stepping across the room. Sir Harry started from
sleep; the dog sprung from his covert, and seizing the unwelcome
disturber, fixed him to the spot. All was dark: Sir Harry rang his
bell in great trepidation, in order to procure a light. The person
who was pinned to the floor by the courageous mastiff roared for
assistance. It was found to be the favourite valet, who little
expected such a reception. He endeavoured to apologise for his
intrusion, and to make the reasons which induced him to take this step
appear plausible; but the importunity of the dog, the time, the place,
the manner of the valet, raised suspicions in Sir Harry's mind, and he
determined to refer the investigation of the business to a magistrate.

The perfidious Italian, alternately terrified by the dread of
punishment and soothed by the hope of pardon, at length confessed that
it was his intention to murder his master, and then rob the house.
This diabolical design was frustrated solely by the unaccountable
sagacity of the dog and his devoted attachment to his master. A
full-length picture of Sir Harry, with the mastiff by his side, and
the words, "More faithful than favoured," is still preserved among the
family pictures.

Presentiments of approaching danger, such as those now related, are to
be traced only to the animal's close observation and watchful jealousy
of disposition. Looks, signs, and movements are noticed by him which
escape an ordinary observer. The idea that dogs have presentiments of
death, and howl on such occasions, is a superstition now all but
vanished.

In October 1800, a young man going into a place of public
entertainment at Paris, was told that his dog (a fine mastiff) could
not be permitted to enter, and he was accordingly left with the guard
at the door. The young man was scarcely entered into the lobby, when
his watch was stolen. He returned to the guard, and prayed that his
dog might be admitted, as, through his means, he might discover the
thief: the dog was suffered to accompany his master, who intimated to
the animal that he had lost something; the dog set out immediately in
quest of the strayed article, and fastened on the thief, whose guilt
on searching him was made apparent: the fellow had no less than six
watches in his pocket, which being laid before the dog, he
distinguished his master's, took it up by the string, and bore it to
him in safety.

At the castle of a nobleman in Bohemia, a large English mastiff was
kept, that never failed to go every Sunday to the village church. The
other dogs in the neighbourhood used to follow him thither, so that
the church was often full of these animals. This being considered a
nuisance, orders were given by the magistrates, at one of the petty
courts held for regulating the affairs of the village, that the
inhabitants should be enjoined to keep all their dogs locked up every
Sunday during the time of divine service. The magistrate who presided
in this court said, in a loud and authoritative tone of voice, "I will
suffer no dogs in the church; let me not see one there in future." The
mastiff happened to be lying under the table in the court when these
words were spoken, to which he appeared to listen with great
attention. On the ensuing Sunday the dog rose at an early hour, ran
from house to house through the village, barking at the windows, and
at last took his station before the church-door, to see whether any of
his companions would venture to approach it, notwithstanding the
prohibition. Unfortunately one of them appeared. The mastiff
immediately fell upon him with the utmost fury, bit him to death, and
dragged him out into the street. He continued in the same manner for
several subsequent Sundays to stand sentinel, without ever entering
the church.

Captain Brown gives an interesting instance of the gentleness of a
mastiff towards a child. He says that a large and fierce mastiff,
which had broken his chain, ran along a road near Bath, to the great
terror and consternation of those whom he passed. When suddenly
running by a most interesting boy, the child struck him with a stick,
upon which the dog turned furiously on his infant assailant. The
little fellow, so far from being intimidated, ran up to him, and flung
his arms round the neck of the enraged animal, which instantly became
appeased, and in return caressed the child. It is a fact well known,
that few dogs will bite a child, or even a young puppy. Captain Brown
adds, that he possesses a mastiff, which will not allow any one of his
family to take a bone from him except his youngest child.

A chimney-sweeper had ordered his dog, a mastiff crossed with a
bull-dog, to lie down on his soot-bag, which he had placed
inadvertently almost in the middle of a narrow back-street in the town
of Southampton. A loaded coal-cart passing by, the driver desired the
dog to move out of the way. On refusing to do so, he was scolded, then
beaten, first gently, and afterwards with a smart application of the
cart-whip, but all to no purpose. The fellow, with an oath, threatened
to drive over the dog, and he did so, the faithful animal endeavouring
to arrest the progress of the wheel by biting it. He thus allowed
himself to be killed sooner than abandon his trust.

A mastiff-dog, who owed more to the bounty of a neighbour than to his
master, was once locked by mistake in the well-stored pantry of his
benefactor for a whole day, where milk, butter, bread, and meat,
within his reach, were in abundance. On the return of the servant to
the pantry, seeing the dog come out, and knowing the time he had been
confined, she trembled for the devastation which her negligence must
have occasioned; but, on close examination, it was found that the
honest creature had not tasted of anything, although, on coming out,
he fell on a bone that was given to him, with all the voraciousness of
hunger.

These dogs are alive to injuries, and not slow in resenting them.

A carrier had a mastiff remarkable for his sagacity. It happened
unfortunately one day, that one of the waggon-horses trod accidentally
upon him in the yard. The dog became furious, and would have attacked
the horse had he not been prevented. It was usual for the dog to
remain with the horses at night in the stable. After the men had
retired, the mastiff selected out the animal which had trod upon him,
and, no doubt, would have put an end to his existence, had not the
carters, who were at hand, hearing an unusual noise, come to his
assistance.

The widow of a farmer had two mastiffs, which, from their fierceness,
rendered some precaution necessary in approaching the house. Their
mistress was taken suddenly ill and died, and in the afternoon of her
death the benevolent wife of the clergyman of the parish called to see
if she could render any assistance. After knocking in vain at the
front door, she went to the back of the house with fear and trembling.
On entering the kitchen, to her dismay she saw the two dogs on the
hearth. They appeared, however, to be sensible of what had taken
place, for they only lifted up their heads mournfully, looked at the
intruder, and resumed their former attitude.

My neighbour, Mr. Penrhyn, has two noble mastiffs of the Lyme breed,
which I believe is now nearly extinct. It is probably, however,
preserved by Thomas Leigh, Esq. of Lyme Park, in Cheshire, who has
also the wild breed of cattle, now only, I believe, found at Lyme
Park, and at Chillington, in Yorkshire, the seat of Lord Tankerville.
There is a story current at Lyme Park, that some years ago a dog of
the breed in question, whilst walking with the steward in the park,
took offence at one of the wild bulls, and would instantly have
attacked it, but was with difficulty restrained by the steward. The
dog returned home, evidently bearing the offence in mind, and the next
morning, the steward, seeing him covered with blood, suspected
something amiss, and on going into the park, found that not only the
bull, but two cows had been worried by him.

A mastiff belonging to a tanner had taken a great dislike to a man,
whose business frequently brought him to the house. Being much annoyed
at his antipathy and fearful of the consequences, he requested the
owner of the dog to endeavour to remove the dislike of the animal to
him. This he promised to do, and brought it about in the following
manner, by acting on the noble disposition of the dog. Watching his
opportunity, he one day, as if by accident, pushed the dog into a well
in the yard, in which he allowed it to struggle a considerable time.
When the dog seemed to be getting tired, the tanner desired his
companion to pull it out, which he did. The animal, on being
extricated, after shaking himself, fawned upon his deliverer, as if
sensible that he had saved his life, and never molested him again. On
the contrary he received him with kindness whenever they met, and
often accompanied him a mile or two on his way home.

A personal friend of the writer's, some time since, on a visit at a
gentleman's house in the country, was taking a moonlight walk through
the shrubbery and pleasure-grounds, when he was startled by a noise
behind him; on turning his head, he perceived a large mastiff, which
was ordinarily let loose as evening closed, and which had tracked him
through the grounds. The dog with a fierce growl roughly seized him;
our friend wisely deemed passive obedience and non-resistance the most
prudent if not the most courageous part for him to play, and was
unceremoniously led back through the grounds to the hall-door; here he
was relieved by the master of the house. Subsequently assured that he
had no cause to fear, he repeated his walk; the dog was again at his
side, but walked quietly with him, and acknowledged in the usual way
his words of conciliation. On these instances of sagacity (sagacity of
a kind very different from that displayed by the shepherd's dog or the
setter) there needs no comment.

A gentleman in Ireland had a mastiff which was kept to guard his
premises. A small dog, belonging to a poor man who came to the house
on business, had barked at and annoyed him, but he was obliged to
submit to the insult at the time with sullen patience, as his chain
prevented him from taking any immediate revenge. A few evenings
afterwards, however, he contrived to escape from the back-yard, and
immediately made his way to the cabin of the cur's master. Finding the
door open, _more Hibernicorum_, he entered without even a premonitory
growl, to the dismay of the humble inmates, who were eating their
supper of potatoes and milk, seized the offender, and killed it.

Another mastiff behaved in a very different manner. He had also been
annoyed by a little cur as he passed along the streets, which he bore
with great patience for a long time; at last his persecutor became so
troublesome that he could bear it no longer. He, therefore, one day
caught his contemptible adversary by the neck, carried him to the edge
of a wharf, and dropped him gently into the water.[S]

The instinctive appreciation of the nature of property as shown in
dogs is exemplified in the following instance:--A lady at Bath,
walking out one day, was impeded in her progress by a strange mastiff
dog. She became alarmed, and at the same time perceived that she had
lost her veil. Upon retracing her steps, the dog went on before her,
till the lost article was discovered; and as soon as it was picked up,
the animal hastened after his own master.

[Illustration]




[Illustration: THE BULL-DOG.]

THE BULL-DOG.

    "The heroes of a bull-fight, and the champions of a cock-fight, can
    produce but few, if any, disciples brought up under their tuition,
    who have done service to their country, but abundant are the
    testimonies which have been registered at the gallows of her devoted
    victims, trained up to the pursuits of bull-baiting."--DR. BARRY.


The bull-dog has been called the most courageous animal in the world.
He is low in stature, although remarkably deep-chested, strong, and
muscular. From the projection of his under jaw, which occasions his
teeth always to be seen, and from his eyes being distant from each
other, and somewhat prominent, he has an appearance which would
prevent a stranger from attempting any familiarity with him. He is,
however, a dog capable of strong attachment to his master, whom he is
at all times ready to defend. His strength is so great, that in
pinning a bull, one of this breed of dogs has been known, by giving a
strong muscular twist of his body, to bring the bull flat on his side.
In consequence also of his strength, high courage, and perseverance, a
bull-dog has gone a greater distance in swimming than any other dog
has been known to do.

It is universally known amongst the lovers of bull-dogs, that when
once exasperated by an opponent or encouraged by the owner, no pain or
punishment will induce him to swerve from his purpose, or in the least
relax the violence of his endeavours to subdue whatever may be the
object of his dislike or resentment. Amidst the many instances which
might be adduced in support of this assertion, we shall notice one
which is well-authenticated. Some years since, when bull-baiting was
more common than in the present improved state of civilization, a
juvenile amateur, at an entertainment of this kind in the north of
England, confident in the courage and purity of blood in his bull-dog,
laid a wager "that he would at four distinct intervals deprive the
animal of one of his feet by amputation, and that after every
individual deprivation he should still attack the bull with his
previous ferocity; and that, lastly, he should continue to do so upon
his stumps." Shocking as the recital must prove to the feelings of
every reader, the experiment was made, and the dog continued to seize
the bull with the same eagerness as before. In a match which was made
for the purpose, one of these animals fought and beat two powerful
Newfoundland dogs.

It must be a matter of congratulation to every humane person, that the
barbarous and cruel custom of bull-baiting no longer exists in this
country. That it tended to brutalize the working classes, whatever its
advocates may have stated to the contrary, cannot be doubted. In the
part of Staffordshire in which I formerly resided, and where the
custom was extremely prevalent, idleness, drunkenness and profligacy,
were conspicuous amongst those who kept bull-dogs. Even females might
be seen at a bull-baiting, in their working dresses as they came out
of a factory, their arms crossed and covered with their aprons,
standing to enjoy the sport, if such it could be called.

The breed of dogs kept by the persons referred to was said to be of
the purest kind, and large sums were frequently given for them. Lord
Camelford purchased one for eighty guineas; forty and fifty pounds was
no uncommon price for one. These dogs would appear to have a natural
antipathy to the bull, as puppies will attack them when only a few
months old, and if permitted to continue the combat, will suffer
themselves to be destroyed rather than relinquish the contest. A
well-bred dog always attacks the bull in front, and endeavours to
seize on the lip as the most sensitive part.

A nobleman had a favourite bull-dog, which was his constant companion
in his carriage to and from his seat in Scotland for many years. The
dog was strongly attached to his master, and was gentle and
inoffensive. As he grew old, it was determined to leave him in London.
The carriage came to the door, his master entered it, and drove
off, taking another dog for his companion. The packing--the
preparations--had all been witnessed by the faithful bull-dog, who was
evidently aware that he had been deserted by the only being he loved.
From that moment he became melancholy. He refused to eat, and
notwithstanding all the care taken of him, he pined and died.

A bull-dog, not many years since, saved a shipwrecked crew by towing a
rope from the vessel to the shore, after two fine Newfoundland dogs
had perished in the attempt. This success may be attributed to his
indomitable courage, which prevented him from giving up his exertions
while life remained.

I remember many years ago hearing of some robberies, which took place
by means of a bull-dog in the neighbourhood of London, one of which
was near my own residence. A gentleman in riding home one winter's
evening, had one of the hocks of his horse seized, as he was trotting
along the road, by a bull-dog, who kept his hold, and brought the
horse to the ground. A man then came up, and robbed the gentleman of
his purse.

It was common in Staffordshire, before young dogs were able to cope
with a bull, to practise them with a man, who stood proxy for the
bull. On one occasion of this sort, Mr. _Deputy_ Bull being properly
staked, began to perform his part by snorting and roaring lustily. The
dog ran at him, but was repulsed,--the courage of the animal, however,
increased with every struggle, and at last he seized his biped
antagonist by the cheek, who, with rueful countenance, endured it for
some time, till at length he was compelled to cry out to his companion
to take the dog off; but he, unwilling to damp the courage of his
_élève_, vociferated, "_Woot_ spoil the pup, _mun_?--let 'em taste
_bloode_ first!"

Bull-dogs are now much less common than they were. A cross breed
between them and a good terrier is said to produce better fighters and
harder biters than the pure bull-dog. If one of these dogs is crossed
with a greyhound, the offspring is found to be too courageous, and
from this cause in attacking deer they have been frequently killed.

[Illustration]




THE DALMATIAN OR COACH-DOG.


This dog, says Mr. Bewick, has been erroneously called the Danish dog
by some authors, and by Buffon the harrier of Bengal; but his native
country is Dalmatia, a mountainous district on the Adriatic coast. He
has been domesticated in Italy for upwards of two centuries, and is
the common harrier of that country.

The Dalmatian is also used there as a pointer, to which his natural
propensity more inclines him than to be a dog of the chase: he is said
to be easily broken, and to be very staunch. He is handsome in shape,
something between the British foxhound and English pointer; his head
more acute than that of the latter, and something longer: his general
colour white, and his whole body and legs covered with small
irregular-sized black or reddish-brown spots. The pure breed has
tanned cheeks and black ears. He is much smaller than the large Danish
dog. A singular opinion prevailed at one time in this country, that
this beautiful dog was rendered more handsome by having his ears
cropped: this barbarous fancy is now fast dying away.

The only use to which this elegant dog is applied is as an attendant
upon a carriage, for which the symmetry of his form and beauty of his
skin peculiarly fit him. He familiarises readily with horses, and is
therefore invariably entrusted to the stables. A most erroneous notion
has long prevailed that neither this nor the great Danish dog has the
sense of smell. They have been indiscriminately called the Coach-dog.

Mr. Dibdin, in his "Tour through England," says, "I took with me last
summer one of those spotted dogs called Danish, but the breed is
Dalmatian. It was impossible for anything to be more sportive, yet
more inoffensive, than this dog. Throughout the mountainous parts of
Cumberland and Scotland his delight was to chase the sheep, which he
would follow with great alertness even to the summits of the most
rugged steeps; and when he had frightened them, and made them scamper
to his satisfaction (for he never attempted to injure them), he
constantly came back wagging his tail, and appearing very happy at
those caresses which we, perhaps absurdly, bestowed upon him.

"About seven miles on this side of Kinross, in the way from Stirling,
he had been amusing himself playing these pranks, the sheep flying
from him in all directions, when a black lamb turned upon him, and
looked him full in the face; he seemed astonished for an instant, but
before he could rally his resolution, the lamb began to paw and play
with him. It is impossible to describe the effect this had upon him;
his tail was between his legs, he appeared in the utmost dread, and
slunk away confused and distressed: presently his new acquaintance
invited him, by all manner of gambols, to be friendly with him. What a
moment for Pythagoras or Lavater! Gradually overcoming his fears, he
accepted this brotherly challenge, and they raced away together, and
rolled over one another like two kittens. Presently appeared another
object of distress. The shepherd's boy came to reclaim his lamb; but
it paid no attention except to the dog, and they were presently at a
considerable distance. We slackened our pace for the convenience of
the boy, but nothing would do; we could no more call off the dog than
he could catch the lamb. They continued sporting in this manner for
more than a mile and a half. At length, having taken a circuit, they
were in our rear; and after we had crossed a small bridge, the boy
with his pole kept the lamb at bay, and at length caught him; and
having tied his plaid round him, it was impossible for him to escape.
Out of fear of the boy, and in obedience to us, the dog followed
reluctantly; but the situation of the lamb all this time cannot be
pictured; he made every possible attempt to escape from the boy, even
at the risk of tumbling into the river, rather than not follow the
dog. This continued till the prospect closed, and we had lost sight of
our new ally, whose unexpected offer of amity to the Dalmatian seemed
ever after to operate as a friendly admonition, for from that day he
was cured of following sheep."

Lord Maynard, some years since, lost a coach-dog in France, which he
in vain endeavoured to find. He returned to England, where he had not
long arrived before the dog appeared; but the mode of his return
remained for ever unexplained, though it is more than probable that
the dog's sagacity, when he had made his escape from confinement,
prompted him to go to the sea-coast, where he found means to get on
board some vessel bound for the opposite shore.

The late Mr. Thomas Walker, of Manchester, had a small Dalmatian dog,
which was accustomed to be in the stable with two of his
carriage-horses, and to lie in a stall with one of them, to which he
was particularly attached. The servant who took care of the horses was
ordered to go to Stockport (which is distant about seven miles), upon
one of the horses, and took the one above mentioned (the favourite of
the dog), with him, and left the other with the dog in the stable;
being apprehensive lest the dog, which was much valued by his master,
should be lost upon the road. After the man and horse had been gone
about an hour, some person coming accidentally into the stable, the
dog took the opportunity of quitting his confinement, and immediately
set off in quest of his companion. The man, who had finished the
business he was sent upon, was just leaving Stockport, when he was
surprised to meet the dog he had left in the stable, coming with great
speed down the hill into the town, and seemed greatly rejoiced to meet
with his friendly companion, whom he had followed so far by scent. The
friendship between these animals was reciprocal; for the servant,
going one day to water the carriage-horses at a large stone trough,
which was then at one end of the exchange, the dog as usual
accompanying them, was attacked by a large mastiff, and in danger of
being much worried, when the horse (his friend), which was led by the
servant with a halter, suddenly broke loose from him, and went to the
place where the dogs were fighting, and with a kick of one of his
heels struck the mastiff from the other dog clean into a cooper's
cellar opposite; and having thus rescued his companion, returned
quietly with him to drink at the conduit.




THE GREAT DANISH DOG.


Buffon was of opinion that this variety, which is chiefly found in
Denmark, Russia, and Northern Germany, is only the Mâtin (the usual
sheep-dog of France) transported into a northern latitude. The colour
of this dog is generally white, marked all over his body with black
spots and patches, in general larger than those of the Dalmatian, of
which some have supposed him to be a congener. His ears are for the
most part white, while those of the Dalmatian are usually black.

The great Danish dog is a fine sprightly animal, but is of little use
either for sporting or watching. Like the Dalmatian, he is chiefly
used in this country as an attendant on carriages, to which he forms
an elegant appendage.

Mr. Johnson, a traveller from Manchester, on his route through
Scotland on horseback, was benighted, and coming to a small
public-house on the road, he thought it better to take up his
lodgings there, if possible, than to proceed further that night. On
entering the house, he found only an old woman, who, to his inquiries,
answered she would accommodate him with a bed, and provide for the
horse in a small shed, if he would assist her in carrying hay and
litter, as there was no other person then in the house. This was
readily agreed to by Mr. Johnson, who, after having done so, and taken
a little refreshment, was shown by the old woman to his bedroom.

A large Danish dog, which accompanied him on his journey, offered to
go up to the room with him, which the old woman strongly objected to,
but Mr. Johnson firmly persisted in having him admitted. The dog, on
entering the room, began to growl, and was altogether very unruly. His
master in vain attempted to quiet him,--he kept growling and looking
angrily under the bed, which induced Mr. Johnson to look there
likewise, when, to his utter astonishment, he saw a man concealed at
the farther end. On encouraging the dog, he sprang immediately at him,
whilst Mr. Johnson seized his pistols, and presenting one at the
stranger, who had a large knife in his hand, and was struggling with
the dog, declared he would instantly shoot him if he made further
resistance. The man then submitted to be bound, and acknowledged that
his intention was to rob and murder Mr. Johnson, which was thus
providentially prevented by the wonderful sagacity of his faithful
dog. Mr. Johnson, after securely binding the man and fastening the
door, went (accompanied by his dog) to the shed where his horse was
left, which he instantly mounted, and escaped without injury to the
next town, where he gave to a magistrate a full account of the
murderous attempt, and the culprit was taken into custody and
afterwards executed.

A gamekeeper belonging to the castle of Holstein (in Denmark),
returned one evening from a long and fatiguing chase, and deposited
the game in the larder, without being aware that he had locked up his
dog at the same time. Business of importance unexpectedly called him
away immediately afterwards, and he did not return for five days;
when, mindful of his game, he went to the larder, and beheld his dog
stretched dead at the door. The gamekeeper stood extremely affected;
but what were his sensations, when he saw on the table eleven brace of
partridges, and five grouse untouched! This admiration increased his
grief, when he found the poor dog had suffered starvation rather than
transgress his duty.

At a convent in France, twenty paupers were served with a dinner at a
certain hour every day. A mâtin dog belonging to the convent did not
fail to be regularly present at this repast, to receive the scraps
which were now and then thrown to him. The guests, however, were poor
and hungry, and of course not very wasteful, so that their pensioner
did little more than scent the feast, of which he would fain have
partaken. The portions were served by a person at the ringing of a
bell, and delivered out by means of what in religious houses is termed
a _tour_--a machine like the section of a cask, that, by turning round
on a pivot, exhibits whatever is placed on the concave side, without
discovering the person who moves it. One day this dog, who had only
received a few scraps, waited till the paupers were all gone, took the
rope in his mouth, and rang the bell. His stratagem succeeded. He
repeated it the next day with the same good fortune. At length the
cook, finding that twenty-one portions were given out instead of
twenty, was determined to discover the culprit. In doing which he had
no great difficulty; for, lying in wait, and noticing the paupers as
they came for their different portions, and that there was no intruder
except the dog, he began to suspect the truth; which he was confirmed
in when he saw the animal continue with great deliberation till the
visitors were all gone, and then pull the bell. The matter was related
to the community; and to reward him for his ingenuity, the dog was
permitted to ring the bell every day for his dinner, on which a mess
of broken victuals was always afterwards served out to him.




THE CUR DOG.


Almost every dog which is cross-bred is ranked as a cur dog or
mongrel, but that which is specially described by Youatt, is the
shepherd's dog crossed with the terrier, and is nearly smooth; but he
is considerably longer in the legs in proportion to the size of his
body, is stronger in the make, has half-pricked ears, is generally
black and white, although sometimes all black, and has rather a short
tail. In the north of England and southern counties of Scotland great
attention is paid to the breeding of this dog, and to breaking him in
for driving and tending cattle, which he does with great intelligence;
indeed his sagacity in everything is uncommonly great, and he is very
trusty. These dogs bite very keenly, and always make their attack at
the heels of cattle, who, on this account, having no defence against
them, are quickly compelled to run.

The cur has long and somewhat deservedly obtained a very bad name as a
bully and a coward; and certainly his habit of barking at everything
that passes, and flying at the heels of the horse, renders him often a
very dangerous nuisance. He is, however, valuable to the cottager; he
is a faithful defender of his humble dwelling; no bribe can seduce him
from his duty; and he is a useful and an effectual guard over the
clothes and scanty provisions of the labourer, who may be working in
some distant part of the field. All day long he will lie upon his
master's clothes seemingly asleep, but giving immediate warning of the
approach of a supposed marauder. He has a propensity, when at home, to
fly at every horse and every strange dog; and of young game of every
kind there is not a more ruthless destroyer than the village cur.

The following story is strictly authentic:--"Not long ago a young man,
an acquaintance of Lord Fife's coachman, was walking, as he had often
done, in his lordship's stables at Banff. Taking an opportunity when
the servants were not regarding him, he put a bridle into his pocket.
A Highland cur that was generally about the stables observed the
theft, and immediately began to bark at him; and when he got to the
stable door would not let him pass, but held him fiercely by the leg
to prevent him. As the servants had never seen the dog act thus
before, and the same young man had been often with them, they could
not imagine what could be the reason of the dog's conduct. However,
when they perceived the end of a valuable bridle peeping out of the
young man's pocket they were able to account for it, and on his giving
it up the dog let go his hold and allowed him to pass."

"I recollect," says Mr. Hall, "when I passed some time at the Viscount
Arbuthnot's at Hatton, in the parish of Marykirk, one of his
lordship's estates, that when the field-servants went out one morning
they found a man whom they knew, and who lived a few miles' distance,
lying on the road a short way from the stable with a number of
bridles, girths, &c. &c. near him, and the house-dog, which was of the
Highland breed, lying also at his ease, holding the seat of the man's
breeches in his mouth. The man confessed his crime, and told them that
the log had struggled with him, and held him in that position for
five hours; but that immediately after the servants came up he let go
his hold."

The following anecdote is well known. In London, a few years since, a
box, properly directed, was sent to a merchant's shop to lie there all
night, and be shipped off with other goods next morning. A dog, which
accidentally came into the shop with a customer, by smelling the box,
and repeatedly barking in a peculiar way, led to the discovery that it
did not contain goods, but a fellow who intended to admit his
companions and plunder the shop in the night-time.

John Lang, Esq., deputy-sheriff of Selkirk, had a female cur big with
pups, which on one occasion, when out in the fields attending the
cattle, was taken in travail, and pupped on the moor. She concealed
her litter in a whin-bush, brought the cattle home at the usual time
with the utmost care, and, having delivered her charge, returned to
the moor and brought home the puppies one by one. Mr. Lang, with that
humanity which marks his character, preserved the whole litter, that
he might not give the least cause of pain to so faithful and so
affectionate an animal.

In Lambeth Church there is a painting of a man with a dog on one of
the windows. In reference to this, we learn by tradition that a piece
of ground near Westminster Bridge, containing one acre and nineteen
roods (named Pedlar's Acre), was left to this parish by a pedlar, upon
condition that his picture, and that of the dog, should be
perpetually preserved on painted glass on one of the windows of the
church, which the parishioners have carefully performed. The time of
this gift was in 1504, when the ground was let at 2_s._ 8_d._ per
annum; but in the year 1762 it was let on lease at 100_l._ per year,
and a fine of 800_l._; and is now worth more than 250_l._ yearly. The
reason alleged for the pedlar's request is, that being very poor, and
passing the aforementioned piece of ground, he could by no means get
his dog away, which kept scratching a particular spot of earth, until
he attracted his master's notice; who going back to examine the cause,
and pressing with his stick, found something hard, which, on a nearer
inspection, proved to be a pot of gold. With part of this money he
purchased the land, and settled in the parish; to which he bequeathed
it on the conditions aforesaid.

"It was with pleasure," observes Mr. Taylor, in his "General Character
of the Dog," "that I watched the motions of a grateful animal
belonging to one of the workmen employed at Portsmouth dockyard. This
man had a large cur dog, who regularly every day brought him his
dinner upwards of a mile. When his wife had prepared the repast, she
tied it up in a cloth, and put it in a hand-basket; then calling
Trusty (for so he was properly named), desired him to be expeditious,
and carry his master's dinner, and be sure not to stop by the way. The
dog, who perfectly well understood his orders, immediately obeyed, by
taking the handle of the basket in his mouth, and began his journey.
It was laughable to observe that, when tired by the way, he would very
cautiously set the basket on the ground; but by no means would suffer
any person to come near it. When he had sufficiently rested himself,
he again took up his load, and proceeded forward until he came to the
dock gates. Here he was frequently obliged to stop, and wait with
patience until the porter, or some other person, opened the door. His
joy was then visible to every one. His pace increased; and with
wagging tail, expressive of his pleasure, he ran to his master with
the refreshment. The caresses were then mutual; and after receiving
his morsel as a recompense for his fidelity, he was ordered home with
the empty basket and plates, which he carried back with the greatest
precision, to the high diversion of all spectators."

Some years since, a distiller, who lived at Chelsea, in Middlesex, had
a middle-sized brown cur dog, crossed with the spaniel, which had
received so complete an education from the porter, that he was
considered a very valuable acquisition. This porter used generally to
carry out the liquors to the neighbouring customers in small casks,
tied up in a coarse bag, or put in a barrow; and whenever the man
thought proper to refresh himself (which was frequently the case), he
would stop the barrow, and calling Basto (which was the dog's name),
in a very peremptory manner bid him mind the bag; and away he went to
drink; and frequently left the barrow in the middle of the street.
Basto always rested near his trust, and sometimes apparently asleep;
which induced many idle people, who, seeing a bag in the road without
an owner, to attempt stealing the same. But no sooner had they
endeavoured to decamp with the prize, than this vigilant creature flew
at them with such outrage, as obliged them immediately to relinquish
the undertaking; and glad were they to escape with a few bites and
whole bones, and leave the tempting bait to catch other dishonest
rogues, as it had done them.

One day, a person having particular business with the master, which
required dispatch, went to the distillery adjoining the
dwelling-house, thinking it very likely he might meet him there giving
orders to the servant; and finding the outward door open, walked into
the still-room: but no sooner had he gone a few steps than a fierce
growl assailed his ears, and almost imperceptibly he was pinioned by
fear to the wall. The affrighted person called loudly for help; but
the family being at the other part of the house, his cries were
fruitless. The generous animal, however, who had the frightened man
close in custody, scorned to take a mean advantage of his situation by
recommencing hostilities. He remained perfectly quiet, unless the
delinquent attempted to stir--he then became as furious as ever; so
that the prisoner prudently remained like a statue fixed against the
wall, while Basto, like a sentinel on his post, kept a strict guard,
lest he should escape before the family arrived. In about twenty
minutes the master, in coming from the parlour to the counting-house,
beheld the prisoner, and Basto walking backwards and forwards beside
him. The dog, by a thousand gesticulations, seemed to wish a proper
explanation might take place. The master laughed heartily at the poor
fellow's expense, as did he likewise when liberated; but he had ever
after the prudence, when business brought him to the house, to ring
loudly at the door, notwithstanding it frequently stood wide open.

A carrier on his way to Dumfries had occasion to leave his cart and
horse upon the public road, under the protection of a passenger and
his dog Trusty. Upon his return, he missed a led horse belonging to a
gentleman in the neighbourhood, which he had tied to the end of a
cart, and likewise one of the female passengers. On inquiry he was
informed that, during his absence, the female, who had been anxious to
try the mettle of the pony, had mounted it, and that the animal had
set off at full speed. The carrier expressed much anxiety for the
safety of the young woman, casting at the same time an expressive look
at his dog. Trusty observed his master's eye, and aware of its
meaning, instantly set off in pursuit of the pony, which he came up
with soon after he had passed the first toll-bar on the Dalbeattie
road; when he made a sudden spring, seized the bridle, and held the
animal fast. Several people having observed the circumstance, and the
perilous situation of the girl, came to her relief. The dog, however,
notwithstanding their repeated endeavours, would not quit his hold of
the bridle; and the pony was actually led into the stable with the
dog, till such time as the carrier should arrive. Upon the carrier
entering the stable, Trusty wagged his tail in token of satisfaction,
and immediately relinquished the bridle to his master.

A short time ago a large cur, belonging to a gentleman at Richmond, in
Yorkshire, accidentally fell into a well, and for the moment he gave
him up as lost. But as a sort of desperate effort to save the dog, he
directed a boy to let down a rope he had into the well, in the hope
that possibly it might catch around his leg or neck. No sooner,
however, did the rope come within reach, than the dog seized it with
his teeth, and the parties above finding it had secured him, began to
draw up; when, about half-way up, he lost his hold and fell back.
Again the rope was let down, and again the dog seized it, and he was
drawn nearly to the mouth of the well; when his bite gave way, and the
third time he fell into the water. Once more the rope was let down,
and this time the dog took so thorough a hold, that he was brought
triumphantly up; and when set down in safety, shook the water from his
hair, and wagged his tail, apparently as proud of the exploit as the
other parties were gratified with it.




THE LURCHER.


This variety is smaller than the greyhound, with its limbs stronger
and shorter, the head less acute, with short, erect, and half-pricked
ears: the whole body and tail are covered with rough coarse hair; it
is grizzly about the muzzle, of a pale sand-colour, or iron-grey, and
of sullen aspect.

The lurcher is supposed to have been originally a cross between the
greyhound and the shepherd's dog, re-crossed with the terrier; hence
the quickness of his scent, his speed, and intelligence. The habits of
this dog lead him to concealment and cunning, and he is seldom found
in the possession of honourable sportsmen. He is often employed by
poachers in killing hares and rabbits in the obscurity of night; and
when taken to the warren, he lies squat, or steals out with the utmost
precaution, and on seeing or scenting the rabbits, darts upon them
with exceeding quickness or runs them down at a stretch, without
barking or making the least noise. He is trained to bring the booty to
his master, who often waits at some distance to receive it. One of
these dogs will kill a great many rabbits in the course of a night.
Col. Hamilton Smyth says, "The lurcher occasionally makes great havoc
among sheep and deer, and acquires the wild scent of game. Sometimes
these dogs become feral, when their owners happen to be captured and
imprisoned. They have been regularly hunted with hounds, but seldom
destroyed, because when the chase came up with them, the pack seemed
to be surprised at finding that it was only a dog they had followed.
At other times, however, when a lurcher had snapped up, or attacked
the game the pack was hunting, the dogs on coming up have torn him to
pieces, as if he had been a wild beast."

Bewick says that in his time this breed was so destructive that it was
proscribed, and is now almost extinct. "I have seen a dog and bitch of
this kind," he observes, "in the possession of a man who had formerly
used them for the purpose above described. He declared, that by their
means he could procure in an evening as many rabbits as he could carry
home."

"In the year 1809," says Capt. Brown, "I resided for some time on Holy
Island, coast of Northumberland, and had occasion one day to be in
Berwick at an early hour. I left the island on horseback at low-water,
by moonlight. When I reached Goswick-warren, I came upon two men
sitting by the side of a turf-dyke. I spoke to them; and while I was
in the act of doing so, a dog of this breed approached with a rabbit
in his mouth, which he laid down and scampered off. Being convinced
they were engaged in rabbit-stealing, I entered into conversation
respecting the qualities of their dogs, which I was anxious to learn;
and upon my declaring that I was a stranger, and that I would not
divulge their delinquency, they readily gave me a detail of them.
They had scarcely commenced when another dog made his appearance with
a rabbit, and laid it down, but did not, like his companion, make off
when he had done so. One of the men said to him, 'Go off, sir,' when
he immediately left them; and he told me he was a young dog, little
more than a year old. They informed me, that such was the keenness of
the older dog, and another which had shortly before died, for hunting
rabbits and hares, that they would frequently go out of their own
accord, when it was inconvenient for their owners to attend them, and
that they invariably fetched in a hare or rabbit. Indeed, their ardour
was such, that they would sometimes go to a rabbit-warren, at a
distance of eight miles from their dwelling, in pursuit of game; in
consequence of which it became necessary for their masters to chain
them every night when they did not accompany them in this pursuit. The
dogs never attempted to leave home during the day, for which reason
they were allowed to go at full liberty. When the men intended on an
evening to hunt rabbits, they threw down the sacks in which they
carried their booty in a corner of their house, when the dogs lay down
beside them, and would not stir till their masters took them up. These
dogs scarcely ever barked, except on the way either to or from this
plunder; on which occasions they always preceded their owners about
fifty yards. If they met any person coming, they invariably made a
noise, but never were known to bite any one. I asked them if this was
an instinctive property, and they informed me they were trained to it.
As they found it necessary in various places to leave the highway to
avoid villages, their dogs never failed to quit the road at the very
places where they usually deviated, although at that distance before
them. Sometimes one of the dogs would return back to the party while
on the road, and wag his tail, but they seldom or never did so
together; and if he showed a desire to remain by his master, the
latter had only to say, 'Go on, sir,' when he set off at full speed to
his post as one of the advanced guard. During the time I was
conversing with them these dogs brought in seven rabbits."

The following curious relation, in which a lurcher signalised himself
characteristically but fatally, we had from a sporting clergyman of
one of the midland counties. A gentleman kept a pack of
five-and-twenty couple of good hounds, among which were some of the
highest-bred modern foxhounds, and some as near to the old bloodhound
as could be procured. They were high-fed and underworked; of course,
somewhat riotous. One day, after a sharp run of considerable length,
in which the whole field, huntsman, whipper-in, and all, were suddenly
thrown out, Reynard, in running up a hedgerow, was espied by a
lurcher, accompanying the farmer his master. The dog instantly ran at
the chase; and being fresh, chopped upon it as he would have done upon
a rabbit or hare. The fox turned and fought bravely; and whilst the
farmer was contemplating with astonishment this singular combat, he
was destined to behold a spectacle still more remarkable. The hounds
arrived in full cry, and with indiscriminate fury tore both the
combatants to pieces; the whipper-in, and the proprietor of the pack,
and two or three gentlemen the best mounted, arriving in time to whip
the dogs off, obtain the brush, and pick up some scattered remnants of
the limbs and carcase of the poor lurcher.




THE BAN DOG.


This variety, which seems almost extinct, is lighter, smaller, and
more active than the mastiff, from which he is descended by a cross
with the foxhound. He is not nearly so powerful a dog as the former,
but is more fierce in his natural disposition; and from his descent
possesses a finer sense of smelling. His hair is rougher, generally of
a yellowish or sandy grey, streaked with shades of black, or brown,
and semi-curled over his whole body, excepting his legs, which are
smooth. Although he generally attacks his adversary in front, like the
mastiff and bull-dog, it is not his invariable practice, for, he is
sometimes seen to seize cattle by the flank. His bite, says Bewick, is
keen and dangerous.

Two near neighbours in the county of Suffolk, a tanner and a farmer,
entertained great friendship for each other, and kept up a close
intimacy by frequent visits. The tanner had a large ban-dog for
watching his yard, which, from some unknown cause, had conceived such
an inveterate hatred to the farmer, that he could not go with safety
to call on his friend when the dog was loose, and on this account the
tanner loaded him with a heavy clog, that he might not be able to fly
at him.

As the farmer and one of his ploughmen were going about the grounds
together one day, the latter espied at a distance something on a
stile. As they drew near, they perceived it was the tanner's dog,
which, in attempting to leap the wall, had left the clog on the other
side, and was thereby almost strangled. The ploughman, knowing the
enmity which the dog had to his master, proposed to despatch him by
knocking him on the head; but the latter was unwilling to kill a
creature which he knew was useful to his friend. Instead of doing so,
he disengaged the poor beast, laid him down on the grass, watched till
he saw him recover so completely as to be able to get up on his legs,
and then pursued his walk. When the farmer returned to the stile, he
saw the dog standing by it, quite recovered, and expected an attack;
but, to his great astonishment, the creature fawned upon him, and
expressed his gratitude in the most lively manner; and from that time
to the day of his death he attached himself to his benefactor, and
never could be prevailed upon to go back to his former master.

[Illustration]




[Illustration: FEEDING HOUNDS.]

ON THE FEEDING AND MANAGEMENT OF DOGS.

_Gathered from various authorities by H. G. Bohn._


A few words may not be out of place here on the feeding and management
of dogs. For all else which concerns Canine Science the reader cannot
do better than consult, among modern works, "Youatt on the Dog,"
"Blaine's Canine Pathology," the article "Dog" in the Encyclopædia
Britannica or Penny Cyclopædia, "Hutchinson on Dog-Breaking,"
"Radcliffe on Fox-Hunting," "Mayhew on the Dog," or, "Colonel Hamilton
Smith on Dogs," forming two of the vols. of Jardine's Naturalists'
Library.

The natural food of the dog is flesh, and it is found that those in a
wild state prefer it to every other kind of nutriment, but as raw meat
engenders ferocity, it should not be given too freely, especially to
house-dogs and such as are not actively exercised. The dog can subsist
on many kinds of food, and it is a curious fact, that when fed
entirely on flesh he will sometimes get lean; because, as has been
well observed, it is not on what animals eat that they thrive, but on
what they digest. The diet of sporting dogs in full work should, it is
said by some, consist of at least two-thirds of flesh, with a
judicious mixture of farinaceous vegetables; but there is great
diversity of opinion on this subject, and in France they are fed
almost exclusively on soaked bread. Dogs, it is generally said, should
have free access to fresh water, and the pans be cleaned out daily;
but some feeders, we are told, and it seems strange, limit the supply
of water, and substitute moistened food. A piece of rock brimstone
kept in the pan will be found useful.

Although the dog is naturally a voracious animal, he can endure hunger
for a very great length of time, and be brought by habit to subsist on
a very scanty meal. In the Memoirs of the Academy of Sciences it is
stated, that a bitch which was forgotten in a country-house, where she
had access to no other nourishment, lived forty days on the wool of an
old mattress which she had torn to pieces and digested.

An extraordinary instance of a similar kind occurred with a terrier
bitch, named Gipsy. One day, when following her master through a
grass-park near Gilmerton, it happened that she started a hare. During
the pursuit her master suddenly lost sight of her, and in a few days
she was considered either killed or lost. Six weeks afterwards a
person happening to look down an old coal-pit, was surprised to hear a
dog howling. He lost no time in returning to the village, and having
procured a hand-basket, let it down by a rope into the shaft; the dog
immediately leapt into it, and on being brought to the surface, proved
to be Gipsy, worn to perfect skin and bone. How she had existed in
this subterranean abode, and what she had found to support her there,
it is impossible to tell.

Stag-hounds, fox-hounds, harriers, and beagles, are generally fed on
oatmeal,--some add well-boiled flesh to it once in two days,--and the
older the meal is the better. Store sufficient for twelve or eighteen
months' consumption ought, therefore, always to be kept by those who
have a pack; and before used should be well dried, and broken into
grits, but not too fine. It is best kept in bins in a granary, well
trodden down. Some persons are in the habit of using barleymeal
unprepared, but this is thought by many to be less nutritious. Others
are of opinion that oatmeal and barleymeal in equal proportions form a
preferable food. In either case the meal should be made into porridge,
with the addition of a little milk, and occasionally the kitchen
offal, such as remnants of butchers' meat, broth, and soups, the
raspings and refuse of bakers' shops, or hard, coarse, sea-biscuit
(sold as dog-biscuit), well soaked and boiled with bullocks' liver or
horseflesh.

Well-boiled greens--or mangel-wurzel boiled to a jelly--are an
excellent addition to the food of all dogs, and may be given twice
a-week; but they ought to be discontinued during the shooting-season
with pointers, setters, cockers, and greyhounds; and also during the
hunting season with foxhounds, harriers, and beagles, as they are apt
to render the bowels too open for hard work.

Flesh for dogs should be first thoroughly boiled and then taken out
before the oatmeal is added to the broth, and left to cool. Indeed,
some feeders think that the food of a dog should always be perfectly
cold. At any rate, care must be taken not to serve it out "too hot,"
although, in general, dogs are sagacious enough not to scald
themselves, as we see in Landseer's exquisite little picture on the
opposite page.

Dogs which are hard worked are by some said to be the better for
having two meals a-day--a very light one of mixed food in the morning
before going out, and a full meal, principally of flesh, on their
return in the evening; but, as a general rule, one good meal a day,
towards the evening, is sufficient, and they may be left to pick up
what they can: indeed the dealers never give more than one meal a-day.
Bones to pick may be allowed them occasionally, but hard bones in
excess are likely to wear and damage the teeth. Nothing is better than
paunch, tripe, or good wholesome horse or cow-flesh, boiled, and the
liquor mixed well with oatmeal porridge; the quantity of each about
equal. If horse or cow-flesh is not to be had, graves, in moderate
quantity and well scalded, are a tolerable, though not very desirable,
substitute. They are generally broken small, mixed with about one-half
the quantity of oatmeal, then thoroughly soaked in boiling water, and
well stirred; or, a better way still is to boil them together like
porridge.

Dogs, like men, require a change of food, and it has been strongly
asserted that barleymeal and oatmeal, without change, predisposes to
cutaneous disease, and even produces it; therefore, a judicious
feeder, like a good cook, will contrive to vary his bill of fare.
Porridge and milk, dog-biscuit, farinaceous food, the scraps of the
kitchen, the offal of bullocks or sheep, which should be well boiled,
make an excellent variety;--but we would by no means recommend too
frequent a repetition of the latter food. Potatoes are also good, and
although not so nutritious, or easy of digestion, as oatmeal, are less
heating.

Care should be taken never to present more to a dog than he will eat
with a good appetite; and when oatmeal and barleymeal are given mixed,
the former should first be boiled for twenty minutes, and then the
latter added, and boiled only for about eight or ten minutes. This
meal should, however, never be given in the hunting season, as it is
too heating, and occasions the dogs to be perpetually drinking. Their
food ought, as a general rule, to be given to them pretty thick, as
thin porridge does not stay the stomach so well. The feeding-troughs
for hounds should be sufficiently wide at the bottom and carefully
cleaned out and scalded with hot water every second day.

During the hunting season hounds should have sulphur mixed up with
their mess once a-week, in the proportion of 3 drachms to each. At the
end of the season the same quantity of sulphur should be given, with
the addition of 1½ drachms of antimony. After a hard day's work a meal
of horse-flesh may be given them, as fresh-killed as possible, or
bullocks' paunches or sheeps' trotters, all of which should be well
boiled.

_Greyhounds_ should be fed principally on animal food, such as sheeps'
trotters or neats' feet, boiled or stewed down and mixed with bread,
and given moderately in the morning and afternoon, (the dog never
being allowed on any occasion to eat a great quantity at once,) or on
other hand meat, as it will enlarge and strengthen the muscular fibre
without increasing the cellular tissue and adipose substance, which
has an invariable tendency to affect their breathing. The butchers'
meat should be of the best quality, and not over-fat, as greasy
substances of all kinds are apt to render the body gross and the skin
diseased. After they have been coursed they should be well brushed, a
little oil being used in the operation.

The kennels of greyhounds should be kept comfortably warm and dry, be
frequently replenished with dry and clean straw, and properly
ventilated. Indeed, nothing is more essential to the health and
efficiency of all dogs than pure air and cleanliness. Their beds
should, if possible, be placed on a wooden bench, or at least on some
dry position. On attention to cleanliness depends, in some degree, the
dog's exquisite sense of smelling; for, if accustomed to strong or
disagreeable effluvia, he will be but ill-adapted to trace the fall of
a deer, or scent of a fox. Indeed, even animal food too freely given
is said to have a prejudicial effect upon the nose of a sporting dog.

A dog employed in watching premises should not be needlessly exposed
to the damp or cutting night winds; but placed in as dry and sheltered
a situation as possible. If kept in the dwelling-house he should have
a place appropriated to his night's rest; this may be an open box, or
a basket, with a piece of carpet or blanket, or clean straw at the
bottom: if either of the former it should be often beaten, to free it
from fleas or nits, which soon infest it, and frequently washed and
dried.

Damp is exceedingly injurious to dogs, and is very likely to produce
diseased lungs, rheumatism, and lameness in the shoulder and limbs.

To the preceding instructions, for which the compiler is chiefly
indebted to the works of Capt. Thomas Brown, Youatt, and Blaine, and
to the practical information obtained from Mr. Herring of the New
Road, and Mr. William George, an extensive dog-fancier at Kensall New
Town, may be appropriately subjoined a lively chapter from the recent
work of Mr. Francis Butler, a leading American authority on the
subject.

       *       *       *       *       *

"It is more important to understand the management of a dog, than to
be possessed of a thousand nominal remedies for the cure of his
various ailments; inasmuch as the antidote is at all times preferable
to the cure.

"I shall first throw out a few hints on the Management of Pets. Whilst
many are sacrificed for lack of necessary attendance, there are
thousands who perish prematurely from overdoses of kindness. Delicate
breeds of dogs certainly require great care and attention in rearing;
but overstrained tenderness is often more dangerous than culpable
neglect. The dear little creature that is allowed to lay under the
stove, is stuffed with delicacies two or three times a-day, and is
never allowed to breathe the fresh air, except under a cloudless sky,
is more subject to colds, fits, rheumatism, sore eyes and ears, worms,
&c., than the worthless mongrel which was raised on the street,
neglected and despised. The tenderly-nursed pet is affected by every
change of atmosphere, and subjected to a variety of diseases unknown
to the dog that has been hardened from his birth. I ask you, then,
neither to stuff nor starve; neither to chill nor burn.

"A house-pet should always have a sleeping-place allotted to him, warm
and comfortable, not near the fire, nor in the damp. Anything round is
best for an animal to lay in; such as a tastefully ornamented box. In
cold weather it should not be larger than to contain him comfortably.
It is best for the following reasons: he may keep himself perfectly
warm, and his bed may be made exactly to fit him; it also takes up
less available space than any other shape. He should never be fed to
the full; neither excited to eat when he appears disinclined. Lack of
appetite, so common to pampered favourites, is generally the result of
an overloaded stomach and disordered digestion. This is easily cured
by medicine, but more safely and simply without it. Fast him for
twenty-four hours; after which, keep him on half his ordinary
allowance. If this agrees with him, and he keeps in fair condition,
continue the regimen.

"Nursing in the lap is injurious; not in itself, but the animal is
thereby subjected to constant chills, in emerging from a snoozy
warmth to a cold carpet or chilly bed. A dog accustomed to the lap is
always shivering after it, and renders himself quite troublesome by
his importunate addresses. A moderate share of nursing is well enough,
but should be indulged in only as an occasional treat. Great care
should be taken in the washing of delicate dogs. When this operation
is performed, they should be rubbed perfectly dry; after which they
should be covered, and remain so till the shivering has completely
subsided.[T] The water should be only blood-warm; it is far better
than hot, and not so likely to give the animal cold. Injudicious
washing and bad drying are productive of running sore eyes, more
especially visible in white poodles, where the hair is long and
woolly, retaining the moisture.

"Once a fortnight is often enough to wash any dog but a white one.
Washing has very little effect in the destruction of vermin. Fleas can
live some time under water; which I have often thought only makes them
bite the harder and stick the closer, when reanimated from their
temporary torpidity. If 'Butler's Mange Liniment and Flea
Exterminator' cannot be obtained, the animal may be well sodden with
soft soap and washed about ten minutes after. This cannot be done with
safety, except in warm weather. In cold weather, the comb may be used
immediately after the application of the soap, as the fleas will then
be too stupid to effect their escape. 'Butler's Liniment' destroys all
vermin instantaneously, without risk of injuring the animal; and the
quadruped may be rinsed one minute after. No flea will remain alive;
the skin will be thoroughly cleansed, and the coat beautified. Dogs
should never be allowed to suffer the torment imposed on them by these
detestable vermin. If the owners could only realise the importance of
ridding them of these ever-noisome pests, there would be far less of
snappishness, mange, fits, &c. I have seen animals literally worried
to death by fleas, perfectly exhausted from incessant irritation, at
last worn to a skeleton, and gradually extinguished by a creeping
consumption. Besides, who (for his own personal comfort), would not
rid his immediate vicinity of a worthless mob of blood-suckers
awaiting the first favourable opportunity of regaling themselves on
human blood? If your dog lie on straw, burn it once a week, as fleas
harbour and propagate in the tubes of the straw. If the bed be carpet,
or anything similar, let it be often cleansed or changed. Vermin
revel in filth, and their extirpation depends mainly on cleanliness.

"By attending to the general health of a dog, much disease may be
avoided; indeed, this is far more essential than prescriptions for a
cure. It is very easy to carry off a slight indisposition by gentle
purgatives and a reformed diet: whilst confirmed disease is often
difficult to combat, as few of the canine race can have the advantages
which are ofttimes essential to their restoration. The eyes, the nose,
the gums, the hair, the breath, should be carefully noted. The eyes
may be red or pale, sunken or protruded; the nose may be hot, or dry,
or matted with dirt; the gums may be pale, &c. It will require but
little experience to discover a disorganisation, which may be easily
detected by him who has noticed the healthful appearance of the
different parts and their variation under indisposition.

"If you are in the habit of keeping your dog on the chain, let him at
least run a few minutes every day. If he be kept indoors, he should
also be allowed a little daily exercise outside. Change of air[U] and
diet will sometimes renovate when all remedies fail: a change from
city to country, from greasy meat to fresh milk, from a confined yard
to the green fields, will generally recruit him without the aid of
medicine. Nature (to whom physicians are so deeply indebted for so
many wonderful restorations), often effects a cure unaided, which
might have defied the efforts of Apothecaries' Hall.

"In summer, particularly, be careful to provide a supply of fresh
water and a cool shelter from the sun. Never take your dog out during
the intense heat of the day; this is very apt to produce fits, often
resulting in sudden death. Early in the morning is preferable for
summer exercise.

"The kennel should be located in a shady spot during the summer; in
winter it should be sheltered from the wind, and so placed as to
enable the dog to enjoy the sunshine at will. Above all things, never
chain a dog where he cannot screen himself from the sun's rays. He
must have the option of sunshine or shade. He should not be allowed to
drink water that has been standing in the sun, or is otherwise
damaged. If you should chance to forget to feed him for forty-eight
hours, he would not run as much risk of injury, as during three hours
of thirst in hot weather. There should be a piece of joist under each
end of the dog-house, to keep it off the ground, in order to avoid
dampness. In summer an excavation, two or three feet in depth, should
be made under it, and left open at both ends, that the animal may have
a cool retreat during the heat. Those who do not object to a trifling
expense, may have the house posted on a large paving-stone, with an
excavation under it, as before recommended. All burrowing animals seek
the earth in hot weather. Everything on the surface is heated; their
own instinct dictates the most reasonable method of sheltering
themselves from the heat, at the same time absorbing the cool
exhalations from the ground. In southern climates, especially, this
method is all important. In this manner I have kept dogs from the
polar regions, in comparative comfort, whilst many native-born and
neglected have been scalded into fits, paralysis, rabies, or
hydrophobia.

"In the hot season, with young dogs, raw meat should be avoided,
except it be quite fresh, and then they should not be over-fed,
especially if debarred of abundant exercise, and excluded from their
own natural medicine, grass. A dog will often thrive better on raw
meat than on any other food, and will grow larger; but he should be
fed with discretion, and his health attended to, should his diet
visibly disagree with him.[V] He will grow fatter and be more healthy
on moderate meals than if overgorged. The better plan is to ascertain
his average consumption, and then allow him a little less. Keep his
digestion in good order, and disease will rarely trouble him. His coat
and ribs will generally indicate whether he be sufficiently cared for,
whether he be sick or sound in his digestive organs; feed him always
in the same place, and at the same hour: once a day is sufficient, if
he be over six months old. By being fed only once a day he is less
choice, and will consume what he might refuse, if his appetite were
dulled by a previous meal.

"Should you require your dog to be watchful at night, feed him in the
morning; if you would have him quiet at night, feed him late, and
don't leave him bones to gnaw. Dogs are pretty quiet, during the
digestive process, when left to themselves, and should not have much
exercise after a heavy meal. They should only be lightly fed before
training-lessons, or on sporting days; on the latter occasions a
little refreshment may be administered as occasion may require. Those
kept in-doors should be allowed to run a little after meals, when they
generally require an evacuation.

"If a dog be regularly exercised he will seldom even soil around his
kennel, and a healthy house pet is rarely troublesome, except after
eating. If a dog be uncleanly in the house, he should decidedly be
broken of it, although it would be useless to correct him unless he
has a fair opportunity of avoiding it. He should be invariably taken
to the spot, be sufficiently twigged there, and unceremoniously
scolded into the yard. The punishment will be far more justly
administered if the animal be let out at regular intervals; this being
done he will not attempt to infringe the law, except in cases of dire
necessity.

"I am satisfied as a general rule, that a well-amalgamated mixture of
animal and vegetable is the most healthful diet for dogs of all ages,
breeds, and conditions. Dogs living in the house should on no account
be fed on raw meat, as it gives them a very offensive smell, and is in
other respects very unsuitable."

[Illustration]




FOOTNOTES:

[A] Daniel's "Rural Sports."

[B] Daniel's "Rural Sports."

[C] Thornton's "Instincts."

[D] "Sportsman's Cabinet."

[E] Ballet, in his "Dissertations sur la Mythologie Française," shows
that this popular story of the dog of Montargis is much older than the
time of Charles V.; and that Albericus, an old monkish chronicler,
records it as happening in the reign of Charlemagne, anno 780.

[F] See the entire poem in Tomkins' "Beauties of English Poetry."
18mo. 1847.

[G] "I fear this is a sad geological anachronism; however, I cannot
but hope that the Irish wolf-dog will yet be found in some cavern,
associated with the prototypes of Ireland's earliest heroes who
peopled the land soon after it emerged from the deep,

                'Great, glorious, and free,
    First flower of the earth and first gem of the sea.'"

[H] O'Keefe, "Wicklow Gold Mines."

[I] A similar instance of canine intelligence will be found in p. 51
of the present volume.

[J] "The Sportsman's Cabinet."

[K] Tenbeia portus est Cambriæ meridionalis, ubi Belgarum colonis a
rege, ut fertur, Henrico primo locata est. Horum posteri a
circumjacente Celticæ originis populo lingua etiam nunc omnino
discrepant.

[L] Infinitivo, quem vocant, hoc in ier desinente solus credo, inter,
melioris notæ, quos habemus, elegorum scriptores usus est Catullus:
sed qualis ille Poeta! sed quantus in omni genere Latini carminis et
artifex elegantiæ et magister!

[M] His master's pocket-book, with which Tippo, the only living
creature saved from the wreck, came ashore.

[N] See Bewick's "Quadrupeds," p. 306, 1st ed.

[O] A celebrated portrait painter, and Secretary to the Scottish
Academy of Painting. This gentleman also excelled in the portraits of
animals.

[P] "Sometimes the members or domestics of the convent have been
sufferers in their efforts to save others. On the 17th of December,
1825, three domestics of the convent with two dogs descended to the
vacherie, on the Piedmontese side of the mountain, and were returning
with a traveller, when an avalanche overwhelmed them. All perished
except one of the dogs, which escaped by its prodigious strength,
after having been thrown over and over. Of the poor victims, none were
found until the snow of the avalanche had melted in the returning
summer, when the first was discovered on the 4th of June, and the last
on the 7th of July."

[Q] Mrs. Grosvenor, now of Richmond, Surrey.

[R] For other instances of speaking dogs see _ante_, p. 49.

[S] In p. 147 a similar anecdote has been recorded of a Newfoundland
dog and a spaniel; and in p. 221 an instance is given of the revenge
taken by a Colley on a tailor's dog.

[T] Or if the weather be fine and warm they may run out and dry
themselves.--Ed.

[U] Sea-air, however, especially during long sea-voyages, perhaps in
connexion with salt meat, has been known to produce the distemper in
dogs.--Ed.

[V] House-dogs fed on raw meat, bones, and liver, soon become
offensive neighbours; the more so in proportion to their want of
outdoor exercise.--Ed.




INDEX.


                                      PAGE

    BAN DOG                            479
    BEAGLE                             438
    BLOODHOUND                         250
    BULL DOG                           454
    BULL-DOG TERRIER                    16

    COACH DOG                          459
    COLLEY (SCOTCH)                    185
    CUR DOG                            466

    DALMATIAN                          459
    DANISH DOG                         463
    DEER-HOUND                         119

    ESQUIMAUX DOG                      353

    FOXHOUND                           421

    GREYHOUND                          367
    GREYHOUND (PERSIAN)                380

    LURCHER                            475

    MASTIFF                            440
    MÂTIN (FRENCH)                     465

    NEWFOUNDLAND DOG               67, 133

    OTTER TERRIER                      361

    POINTER                            383
    POODLE                             331
    PUG DOG                            412

    ST. BERNARD DOG                    240
    SETTER                             400
    SHEPHERD'S DOG                     185
    SPANIEL                        77, 300
    STAG-HOUND                         116

    TERRIER                        20, 264
    TURNSPIT                           418

    WATER SPANIEL                      300
    WOLF DOG (IRISH AND HIGHLAND)  85, 107


London:--Printed by G. BARCLAY, Castle St. Leicester Sq.