lies awake and listens, the sound carries one away to the past scenes of the chase. It is possible that hounds too are chanting old hunting-songs of their race, and telling of past joys and exploits.

From our experience of hounds in the field and in the kennel we draw evidence that their marvellous instincts are the result of tribal memory-i.e., memory which is common to all instead of an individual possession. This the short span of life allotted to dogs makes even more necessary for them than for us. So it often comes about that what we do by reason, the brutes do by instinct. For it may be noted that each animal has the smallest amount of instinct at its start in life that is necessary for the survival of the race. Directly the pressure of need ceases the animal is left to its own personal experience and the exercise of its intelligence. That there is, however, always a substratum of reason below the instinctive action is shown by the fact that these can be restrained by discipline.

There is another point in the character of dogs that a study of hounds in kennels brings clearly home to the careful observer. Although hounds are very much alike, and indeed we can carry back the leading strains to a single family bred in the kennels of the Belvoir Hunt in 1876, and although the kennel discipline is everywhere much the same, yet hounds have their individual characters strongly marked. The resemblance is only skin-deep, and imposed by our love of uniformity in externals. What Darwin writes of mankind, that it is variable in mind, and that mental variations tend more to be inherited than bodily ones, is also true of dogs. Family characteristics are inherited in the kennel. For example, there was a notable hound named Gambler in the Duke of Rutland's kennels. This hound had great physical

strength, was a marvellous hunter, with a power of nose that was remarkable. On one occasion a dry and dusty road had brought hounds to a standstill. Then down the road came old Gambler. He lashed his stern, gave a few reassuring notes, and put them all right. And now, wherever we go, if we see over a dusty fallow or a bad scenting stretch of rough ground a dark-colored hound come dashing to the front, we hardly need to ask how he is bred. We may be pretty sure he is a descendant of the Duke of Rutland's Gambler.

Whenever we dip into hunting lore we find the same strong family characteristics descend. The descendant of one family always trots to cover under the huntsman's stirrups. Another has a wonderful instinct for finding his fox, and yet another seems to feel no interest in the chase till it is time to run for blood.

Let me take the reader into a kennel, and as he will see a common life so also will he find plenty of individual characters. There is old Gambler-no relation of the famous hound-he has an indifferent digestion and a good heart. Never passes over an injury, but bears no malice. He is a light feeder and a hard worker, and the object of constant care. He is, I think, more attached to his master than any hound in kennel; but a rough word will send his hackles up and lift his lip into a snarl. There is Villager, the best and steadiest hound in the pack. He is never wrong and has no faults, and as he swings his stern gently for the biscuit he knows will be given him, you can see sense and benevolence written all over him. Then, lithe, and twisting herself insinuatingly, comes Lavish, a beautiful hound, fast, faultless in shape, but eaten up with jealousy. If she hits off the line first, her light musical tongue may be trusted absolutely; but if another hound is more

successful, she is quite capable of throwing her tongue and dashing off at right angles to the true line. The old gray hound with the wise face is Driver. He has retired from active work since the day when he found he could not go the pace of his younger fellows. One day he turned back and went straight home. He is a favorite and does as he pleases, trots to the fixture with the pack and helps to find, but never comes out of covert. When the rest of the pack come out, the old hound goes home. He will not toil along in the rear where he used to lead the van. There again is Senator, who never brooks an injury nor forgives one, but is a good and useful hound, with a nose so marvellously fine that he will hold a line for a mile or more when no other hound can own it. That very handsome hound of a rich tan with a peculiarly noble expression is Beadsman. He is the Pecksniff of the kennel. He is, in fact, about to be drafted. In the field he is useless, though he always stands in full view of spectators at the meet, and utters a roar expressive of impatience to begin. Yet I believe the only thing he does is to pick up carrion and look out for stray rabbits. I have seen him bolt a rabbit like a pill. He is often missing and always fat. Beadsman has a perfect genius for concealing bits of bone in his mouth and bringing them into kennel, where, needless to say, they cause strife and ill-feeling. He has done less work and more mischief than any other hound, yet is seldom or never detected in wrong-doing.

The original community life of the wild hunting-dog must of necessity have laid the foundations of certain moral characteristics. Darwin argues in the "Descent of Man" that the capacity for association indicates a corresponding capacity for moral development. It is, of course, easy to see that no association could hold to

gether without subordination of self and the exercise of self-control, and a willingness to help a companion or defend a weaker member of the clan. Many people have visited a wellorganized foxhound kennel and admired the order and discipline that reign there. We have seen the hounds jump up on their benches at the huntsman's command, cease to growl and quarrel at a word of warning, come one by one to be fed at the huntsman's call, and leave the feeding-trough at once when ordered to do so. with what an air of pitying consideration will a hound lick a sore place or a wound on a fellow.

Again,

So, too, in the field how wonderfully on the whole the pack restrains itself from riot. A plump rabbit or a fat hare is a great temptation to a hound that has been fasting for twenty-four hours. Yet it is evident that riot must have been avoided in the primitive times even when the pack was famishing. It has ever been the custom of the dog and his relative the wolf only to hunt when hungry. It is further clear that individuals could not have been permitted to go away after any cross-trails, or the pack would never have been able to kill its quarry. Hence the severity of the rule against leaving the pack which I have already noted, and the response which the hounds' inherited moral sense makes to the rate of the whipper-in and the crack of his thong. This last has taken the place of the teeth of the master dogs of the old pack. The act of riot was always wrong-doing, and must have been so if the pack was to exist. So that the huntsman has a foundation of hereditary habit of self-restraint and even of Altruism to work on.

We need not wonder, then, at the intelligence of our friend the dog, since the roots of it are fixed so far back in that capacity for social life which Darwin declares is at the root

of all intelligence. The mind of the dog is older than our own, and his morality and manners have common springs of action. Yet it is this very common origin which marks the gulf between us, and enables us to see clearly what modern philosophers have not always noted, the impassable gulf between the spiritual and natural even in things of the mind. That the dog has gone so far and yet has progressed no farther is one of the notes of this. Nay, the very perfection of his intelligence and morality within their necessary limits show that they are complete. The good hound, unlike the good man, is faultless, and every huntsman will tell you of hounds that never do wrong.

Indeed this is true of all animal intelligence within its limits: it is always more effective than ours. The hound Villager, already spoken of, never did wrong, nor was a thong ever laid on his back. He had a somewhat peculiar note, and to his voice all the pack would fly. For a mark of the value of moral force in the kennel is the confidence the rest of the pack have in the truthful hound. Beadsman, also mentioned before, had a beautiful voice, deep, mellow, and musical. But not a hound would go to him until his proclamation of a line had been confirmed by some other more trustworthy member of the pack. The fact that the hounds distinguish between the relative moral value of their comrades shows the existence of an ethical standard of an elementary and primitive kind, and manifests the truth that there are real morals as well as manners in the kennel. They are not only the result of submission to superior force. In fact, kennel discipline could never be enforced unless there were an hereditary sense of right and wrong to appeal to.

And with the sense of right and wrong there is a strong love of ap

probation. I have often noted, when riding through a covert, how a word of approbation and encouragement would cause an industrious hound to redouble his efforts. One hound, a very excellent but usually lighttongued bitch, named Victory, would always answer, when spoken to in covert, by a low eager sniffle like the noise a hound makes when dreaming of the chase. It was as though she would say, "I'm doing my best. I think he's been here, but I'm not certain enough to speak." When she was fairly sure she would speak, and then look back at me as if I was within sign. Directly she saw the horn go to my lips she would scuttle off as hard as she could on the line, full of drive, and throwing her squeaky little tongue all the time.

So dependent on this love of approbation are hounds, that for a careless, silent, unobservant huntsman hounds will not work at all. For they express their approval and disapproval of their human friends in a most practical way. An amateur huntsman, who rides well but cares little for his hounds, hardly knowing their names and very rough with them, I know. He rates and even hits at the hounds with his thong, generally when he does wrong himself. A friend draws many an excellent hound from this kennel, drafted as incorrigible, but really because they will not work for their master.

You can punish a hound for wrongdoing, but you cannot make him work for you by this means. The best hounds in your pack will do nothing for you if you do not reach the standard of canine well-doing in the field.

That the kennel is a peculiarly rich field for the observation of the intelligence of dogs I am certain. It is a pity that huntsmen are not as a rule more observant, and even amateurs take wonderfully little interest in the

One summer, when, as a youth, the writer was living on the banks of the Tees, that ancient river repeated a time-worn tragedy. There had been signs of rain in the west, and a fisherman, neglecting the warning, had taken his stand far out in the half-empty bed with his face down stream. The plash of a small waterfall close by prevented his catching any unwonted sound, and thus the inevitable flood presently coming down-after the man. ner of north-country streams in a wall of water-swept him away, and he was quickly lost sight of among the tumbling billows. Night shortly settled down, so that no search could be followed up, and the morrow bringing no tidings of the unfortunate man it was regarded by every one as a certainty that the body had been swept out to sea in that wild race of waters. The sequel to the story the writer received at first hand. A fortnight had passed, and the misadventure had ceased to be talked about, but early one morning the wife of a cottager, dwelling by the waterside, was disturbed by her husband rising at an unusual hour and leaving the house hurriedly without assigning any reason for so doing. In plain fact, the man was reluctant to confess what urged him, but he had had a vivid dream, indicating that the missing body lay under a shelf of rock on the river's bank, well remembered as a favorite spot whereat to "tickle trout." The man proceeded to put out

alone in a little boat, and presently returned with the body, which he had found precisely where it had appeared to his waking fancy.

This story, for which the writer can vouch entirely, is only offered for what it is worth, as supplying an argument in favor of a faculty supposed by some to be possessed in greater or less degree by certain individuals, and particularly perhaps among races living under natural conditions and apart from civilization. Here, it may be claimed, is plausible evidence of a man described by his wife, almost with pride, as "no scholar," who, having his mind at rest and without any effort of reasoning, suddenly and with overmastering conviction receives and grasps a truth, being, so to speak, conscious of an intuition which he can in no way explain.

If this occurrence has any significance it must be taken as one more shred of evidence in favor of the reality of a form of presentiment, of which it might seem that isolated but noteworthy examples are constantly recurring. Mr. F. H. Grundy, in "Pictures of the Past," tells us of his having lost his hat, which had been carried down in a swollen stream in Australia, and of a blind black servant who, hearing of the occurrence, at once started off and feeling his way down to a distant bend of the river forthwith recovered it, regarding the while his discovery as in no way wonderful, owing

to the fact that some conviction had assured him that it was there. In all instances of a similar nature which come to hand there is at least one point of agreement-namely, the agent can give no account of the way in which the divinations have come about, save that it is independent of ordinary channels of communication.

There is a tradition that the coming of the French to the country of the St. Lawrence was revealed to one of their medicine men in a vision, and that a deputation of several canoes set forth; and after a voyage of many weeks, during which time they passed through the territories of numerous friendly tribes who had heard nothing of the coming of the white people, they actually met the French pioneers, and found everything as the seer had described. A writer in the Spectator, commenting on this, suggests that

thought reading may sometimes account for presentiments, but hardly for such a case as this, unless we assume that impressions in the universal ether may make themselves felt at any distance by persons who are capable of perceiving them, even when there seems to be no connecting link whatever. We talk of ideas being "in the air," and occasionally inventions are made and even books written so similar that it would have been supposed that one person copied directly from another, if this had not been shown to be impossible under the circumstances.

As an example of an apprehension being "in the air" we may cite the case relating to Sir John Franklin, concerning whom it is stated that before there was any justification for alarm, and indeed before any tidings could have reached England, certain people at home became so firmly convinced that something was amiss that they determined on attempting to fit out a relief party. Not till long years after was it known that disaster and death

had actually already overtaken the illfated expedition. Are then ice and sea no barriers? Again and again we hear testimony to the same effect, as, for instance, ships on reaching port find tidings have already outstripped them of some striking incident that has happened on board on the high seas.

To quote another well-authenticated example, the death of General Gordon was talked of in the streets of Cairo as a known fact on the day of its occurrence, though Cairo is a thousand miles away across the desert from Khartoum. Again, Mr. R. Kerr gives the evidence of British officers engaged in the late war in Afghanistan, who stated that "whenever they conveyed to their subordinates particulars as to their intentions to operate at a certain point fifty or a hundred miles away, the natives there shortly afterwards knew all about their plans." And in like manner it has been constantly reported during the present Russo-Japanese War that the Chinese have appeared to be in possession of intelligence which could have been conveyed through no obvious channel. Similar and noteworthy testimony is forthcoming in abundance, more particularly in times of impending danger. At such crises signs and portents are often imagined to be discerned, and the fear engendered may become a potent factor in the case. Hunters and naturalists will tell of a cognate prescience noticeable in the animal world, so that hunted creatures, as it is said. scent the danger afar. It might then become a question whether some mode of obtaining intelligence from a distance may not have been acquired by certain creatures in a state of nature. as also by native races, from the very exigencies of their condition, and some survival of this be yet found here and there among civilized people.

It is well established that under abnormal conditions individuals may be