tile as a grave-stone, with an appropriate dogLatin epitaph upon it.

Brisk was another of my early friends; he got the name because he succeeded to a predecessor so called; but he never deserved it. He was very corpulent and bilious; and this made him cross and exacting. As with some people whom, I have known, his testiness brought him considerable respect; he was less put upon, more humoured and consulted than any dog I knew. We all called him Mr. Brisk; and sometimes, when out walking, had to wait for him to keep up with us, he was so fat and slow. I see him now, bringing up the rear in the middle of the road, or ungraciously offering himself to be helped over a stile, without so much as a whine or a wag. Another Brisk, his immediate predecessor, killed himself with eating-not at once, but slowly, like a man. Besides having ground down all his teeth, gnawing stones in a persistent, aimless sort of way, his taste in old age became so vitiated that he would eat most unlikely victual. I remember a dish of curry so hot, that, though we were rather famous for hot curry, none of the party could swallow more than a mouthful. But Mr. Brisk ate it all up at one go, without so much as winking. He was

a humorous dog enough, and used to submit to a pair of spectacles, sit up on his end, and learn German; but he could not endure Sunday, and always howled when the church-bells began. Except to church, he accompanied his master everywhere.

Talking of inseparable dogs, I knew a bloodhound, in Scotland, who, one day, being late and not sure which road his master had taken, ran up stairs and looked out of a window to see. This was more reasonable than a trick he had of chewing the buttons off the coats of the laird's guests while they were at dinner. Bloodhounds, however, are rather dangerous pets; sometimes they justify their name by sudden fits of savageness. I remember one, a magnificent fellow, who got into sad disgrace with his owner by frightening the butcher's boy into fits. He was given away, and, I heard, hanged at last for trying to eat a sweep a dirty piece of business, to say the least of it.

Sometimes, of course, house-dogs are of use; we had one, however, who always wagged his tail with catholic hospitality to every comer. His kennel was close by the front door. Generally, Jupiter-that was his name-lay outside it, unchained, waiting to do the honours.

The Pedlar Bitten.

157

One day, while there were painters about the premises, we boys got a brush, and printed in big letters on the kennel, “Beware of the dog." Lo! the power of simple assertion! Presently Captain H called in a gig; Jupiter advanced with a smile, as usual, and we received unbounded gratification at perceiving the captain remain sitting in his vehicle for more than five minutes, ashamed to retreat, but not daring to get down; he had to hollo for the gardener to hold the dog, whose forward civility he thought only designing.

He

I should tell you we had a race of Jupiters, as we had a brace of Brisks. One of them was a very fierce brute; he was always chained up strongly, and his kennel pinned down. loosened it, however, on several occasions, and gave chase to terrified beggars, thundering after them, house and all. Fox was another house-dog we had; he never barked, but pounced on his game silently. Once he brought down a vagabond merchant with a great basket of yellow crockery on his head; he seized him behind, and seated him with a jerk in the middle of the carriage road. Both of the pedlar's hands being raised up to hold his load, he could not defend himself, and so got unequivocally bitten. We brought him

into the kitchen, and purchased some of his wares to atone for this, besides giving him a hunch of bread and meat, with a mug of beer, to make things pleasant. I was quite a little boy then, but at this moment I distinctly see him depart down the avenue bolt upright, steadying his crate on his head with his left hand, while he rubs the injured, but to him invisible part, with his right. The dog who bit him was a white terrier, not very refined, though useful in his calling.

The most gentlemanly, well-educated dogs I ever knew have been large brown retrievers. I have had several. Their business demands much sagacity and self-command. They must not only trace the wounded animal, without being puzzled or led astray by the scent or sight of any number of unhurt ones among which it may retreat, but they must bring it back alive. A dog who bites the winged bird is considered worthless, for from biting he will probably proceed to eating. I remember a friend of mine taking out a dog one day, who got the first bird down his throat before the sportsman could reload his gun. keeper shot the greedy brute on the spot. Generally, however, these "red" retrievers are tender-mouthed. I had one who would

The

Hers,

bring a cat out of a corner, or a duck from off a pond, loudly remonstrant, indeed, and probably alarmed, but unhurt. Poor Busy was both clever and affectionate, though artful. No one knew better than herself when she had done wrong. When she felt the offence could only be atoned for in person, she would, being so desired, bring the whip herself. however, was a very conscientious family. Two of her grandchildren, while pups, had been mischievously eating the heads off some carnations. I spoke to them both seriously, and they appeared penitent. Next morning, while I was getting up, I saw the young dogs walk into the garden from the stable-yard; presently, finding no one near, they nudged each other, and made for the carnation-bed. Just as they were about to begin their mischief, I threw up my dressing-room window, when, before I could say a word, they both scampered off shrieking, though smitten and stung in their consciences alone. Their father, Busy's son, went mad. In the early stages of the malady, he walked round and round for hours. Not feeling certain what was the matter with him, I had him chained up in the stable and watched. Presently my groom came running to me into the garden, crying out that Ranger