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.



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 Medor, 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 Medor, I am shut out—go, bring me the keys.' It so happened that the stable where they usually hung was not closed. Medor 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. 'Medor 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 celebres' by De Freville.'

"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 detour, 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."



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 "Bibliotheque 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.



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 Fleche.

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 a 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.



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.



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."



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 Caesar, 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, Caesar!" 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.



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 eleve, 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.



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 Matin (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 matin 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.