Professor Bell had a badger which followed him like a dog, and which had been tamed when quite young by some cottager's children, with whom he played like a puppy. As he grew in years, he became too rough for them, but at Mr. Bell's was a universal favourite. He yelped with a peculiar, sharp cry when excluded from his master's presence. He was fed at dinner-time, and took the morsels in the most orderly manner. He was very affectionate, good-tempered, and cleanly. He died of a disease which affects many carnivorous animals in confinement—a contraction of the lower opening of the stomach, which prevents the food from passing.

In that most interesting book, written by Mr. St. John, and called "Wild Sports of the Highlands," the author treats at some length of the badger. I select the following passages from his pages:—

"I was just then startled from my reverie by a kind of grunt close to me, and the apparition of a small, waddling, grey animal, who was busily employed in hunting about the grass and stones at the edge of the loch; presently another and another appeared in a little grassy glade which ran down to the water's edge, till at last I saw seven of them busily at work within a few yards of me, all coming from one direction. It at first struck me that they were some farmer's pigs taking a distant ramble; but I shortly saw they were badgers, come from their fastnesses rather earlier than usual, tempted by the quiet evening, and by a heavy summer shower that was just over, and which had brought out an infinity of large black snails and worms, on which the badgers were feeding with good appetite. As I was dressed in grey, and sitting on a grey rock, they did not see me, but waddled about, sometimes close to me, only now and then, as they crossed my track, they showed a slight uneasiness, smelling the ground, and grunting gently. Presently a very large one, which I took to be the mother of the rest, stood motionless for a moment, listening with great attention, and then giving a loud grunt, which seemed perfectly understood by the others; she scuttled away, followed by the whole lot. I was soon joined by my attendant, whose approach they had heard long before my less acute ears gave me warning of his coming.... When caught in traps, they [badgers] never leave part of their foot behind them and so escape, as foxes and other vermin frequently do; but they display very great strength and dexterity in drawing up the peg of the trap, and this done, they will carry off the heaviest trap to an amazing distance, over rock or heather. They never attempt to enter their hole with a trap dangling to their foot, but generally lay up in some furze bush or thicket.

"When first caught, their efforts to escape show a degree of strength and ingenuity which is quite wonderful, digging and tearing at their prison with the strength of a rhinoceros. I one day found a badger, not much hurt, in a trap. Tying a rope to his hind leg, I drove him home before me, as a man drives a pig, but with much less trouble, for he made no attempts to escape, but trotted quietly ahead, only occasionally showing a natural inclination to bolt off the main path, whenever he passed any diverging road, all of which were probably familiar haunts of the unlucky beast. When at home, I put him into a paved court, where I thought he could not possibly escape. The next morning, however, he was gone, having displaced a stone that I thought him quite incapable of moving, and then digging under a wall.... Sometimes I have known a badger leave the solitude of the woods and take to some drain in the cultivated country, where he becomes very bold and destructive to the crops, cutting down wheat, and ravaging the gardens in a most surprising manner. One which I know to be now living in this manner, derives great part of his food during the spring from a rookery, under which he nightly hunts, feeding on the young rooks that fall from their nests, or on the old ones that are shot. This badger eludes every attempt to trap him. Having more than once run narrow risks of this nature, he has become so cunning, that no one can catch him. If a dozen baited traps are set, he manages to carry off the baits, and spring every trap, always with total impunity to himself. At one time he was watched out to some distance from his drain, and traps were then put in all directions round it, but, by jumping over some and rolling over others, he escaped all. In fact, though a despised and maltreated animal, when he has once acquired a certain experience in worldly matters, few beasts show more address and cunning in keeping out of scrapes. Though eaten in France, Germany, and other countries, and pronounced to make excellent hams, we in Britain despise him as food, though I see no reason why he should not be quite as good as any pork.

"The badger becomes immensely fat. Though not a great eater, his quiet habits and his being a great sleeper prevent his being lean." That sleep is taken in the day, for his habits are generally nocturnal.

All badgers may be recognized by the broad black band across their cheeks. Those of India have longer legs than those of Europe; their snout is also prolonged, like that of a hog; and their tail resembles that of the latter animal. They are very slow in their movement, and when affronted make a peculiar grunting noise, and bristle up the hair of their back. If still more roused, they stand on their hind legs as bears do, have much power in their fore legs, and are extremely savage when provoked.



WEASELS.

The second tribe of Carnivora walks upon its toes, and is, consequently, called Digitigrada; it is chiefly composed of a number of smaller animals, which are very interesting from many of their habits, very precious from the valuable fur which they afford, and in many instances are so destructive, that they go under the common name of Vermin. A numerous genus bears the appellation of Vermiform, because their bodies are long, and their legs are short, which formation enables them to slide through small apertures in worm-fashion, twisting themselves through the winding passages, with their bodies touching the ground. They destroy much game, and, except when trained to kill rats and rabbits, are objects of persecution and dislike. Among them are weasels, polecats, ferrets, martens, skunks, and others. The ermine and sable are included with the martens; and the three first send forth a disagreeable odour. They, however, are not to be compared in this respect to the skunk, which of all creatures is one of the most disagreeable, in consequence of its foetid gland, which secretes the offensive liquor sent forth when the animal is frightened or irritated. Nothing will obliterate this odour, no other scent overcomes it; no burying in the earth, no washing will avail; even time does not cure, and an article of dress put by for years, is still unwearable.

It is to weasels and otters that I shall confine myself in this work, for about their intellectual powers do we know most. The first is a very courageous beast, not fearing to attack animals much larger than himself—even man. A labouring peasant at Glencairn, in Dumfrieshire, was attacked by six of them, who rushed upon him when he was at work in a field. Being frightened at such a furious onset, he fled, but they pursued him, although he dealt some back-handed strokes with a large horsewhip. He was on the point of being seized by the throat, when he fortunately perceived the fallen branch of a tree. He snatched it up, and making a stand against his enemies, he killed three, and put the others to flight. Another instance is reported by Captain Brown, in his Popular Natural history, where the affray commenced by a person striking a weasel, which squeaked aloud. This roused a whole colony, consisting of fifteen, who flew at him and bit him severely. A gentleman came to his aid, and with his assistance, several of the assailants were killed, the others ran into the fissures of a neighbouring rock.

There are instances of weasels having been tamed; but it is very difficult to make any impression on their affections, although they are very sagacious, and sagacious animals are more easily influenced than others. The weasel and the stoat are so often mistaken for each other, that it will be well to point out the constant difference in each. The stoat is brown above, dirty white underneath; his tail is longer and more bushy than that of the weasel, and always black at the tip. The weasel is red above, and pure white underneath, and the tail is red and uniform, being deprived of the bushy tip. Mr. Bell, from whose pages I have taken these characters, defends weasels from the accusation of devouring poultry, game, hares, rabbits, and various small birds. He says, that when driven by hunger, they may occasionally eat such things; but that their general food consists of mice and rats of every description, the field and water vole, and moles; and that they ought rather to be encouraged than exterminated, because they destroy so much vermin. They generally approach with the utmost caution and shyness, and when once they have seized their prey, they never let go their hold; they aim at the neck, below the ear, or drive their teeth through the back of the head: they hound and spring, and climb trees with the greatest facility, and seem never to tire of hunting, whether they are hungry or not. Mr. St. John saw one in a stubble field, in which several corn buntings were flying about, or alighting on a thistle. The animal disappeared at the foot of this thistle, and the above gentleman thought he had slunk into a hole, but feeling sure by his manner he intended some mischief, he stayed to watch his movements. As soon as one of the birds settled on the thistle, something sprang up as quick as lightning, and then disappeared with the bird; it was the weasel, who had thus successfully concealed himself. The same gentleman chased a weasel into a hollow tree, who carried something in her mouth. He applied smoke to the hole, and out she came again, carrying the same burden. She ran towards a stone-wall, but was met by a terrier, who killed her, catching her with the greater facility in consequence of her obstinacy in carrying away what Mr. St. John still thought was her prey. On picking it up, however, he found that it was a young weasel, unable to run, which its mother was endeavouring to carry to a place of safety, her former hole in an adjoining field having been ploughed over. Another proof of the weasel's affection for her young, was witnessed by a labourer, who, while standing on a foot-path close to the hedge side, perceived a weasel with one of her young ones in her mouth. He kicked her, and she, dropping it, retreated into a hedge. He then stood over the young one with a stick in his hand, not intending to kill it, but merely to see how its mother would proceed. She soon peeped from her covert, and made several feints to get at her charge, but was obliged to run into the hedge again, intimidated by the stick which the man flourished about. At last she summoned up all her resolution, and in spite of everything, after a great deal of dodging to avoid the stick, succeeded in obtaining the object of her solicitude, and bore it off between the legs of her tormentor.

Weasels sometimes fall a prey to hawks; and I transcribe the following account from the pages of Mr. Bell. "As a gentleman of the name of Pinder, was riding over his grounds, he saw, at a short distance from him, a kite pounce on some object on the ground, and rise with it in his talons. In a few moments, however, the kite began to show signs of great uneasiness, rising rapidly in the air, or as quickly falling, and wheeling irregularly round, whilst he was evidently endeavouring to free some obnoxious thing from him with his feet. After a short but sharp contest, the kite fell suddenly to the earth, not far from Mr. Pinder. He instantly rode up to the spot, when a weasel ran away from the kite, apparently unhurt, leaving the bird dead, with a hole eaten through the skin under the wing, and the large blood vessels of the part torn through."

The nest composed by weasels, in which they will bring forth four or five young ones, two or three times a year, is of dry leaves and herbage, is placed in a hole, in a bank, a dry ditch, or a hollow tree, and if a dog come near it, the mother flies at him, and fastens on his lips with great tenacity.



OTTERS.

The much persecuted otter presents himself to our notice among the worm-bodied, digitigrade animals. Their broad webbed feet shew that they frequent the water, and in fact, they are not only found in rivers and lakes of most European countries, but at sea. Their elongated body is flattened horizontally, their tail is broad and flat, and forms an excellent rudder for their guidance when in the water. Their short legs are so loosely jointed that they can be turned in any direction when swimming, and their fur is soft, fine, and close underneath, while a longer, coarser set of hard shining hairs, are on the outside. Their teeth are very pointed, and well adapted to hold their slippery prey; their ears are very small, and close to their head, and they have a nictating membrane, or third eyelid, for the protection of their bright eyes. Their movements in the water are particularly elegant, they swim horizontally, and rapidly dive after their victims, which they eat ashore. It is said, that they will collect a number of trouts into a shoal, and drive them on till, in their dread and alarm, many of the fishes will throw themselves on to the land. They have the power of remaining very long under water, at a considerable depth, and the fierce manner in which they keep dogs at bay, often wounding them severely with their sharp bites; and the anxious watching for their rise in the water when they have retreated, all form a most exciting sport, so that we hear of otter-hunting as a source of keen enjoyment; and there is a hunt on record in which nine otters were killed in one day.

Otters will certainly consume an immense quantity of fish; and the owners of salmon or trout streams have great spite against them. It is, however, very possible to tame them so as to make them bring the fish which they catch. This practice is much more followed in other countries than in England; they are purposely kept for it in Sweden, and at a signal from the cook will go and fetch the fish for dinner. Bishop Heber mentions, that he saw several large and very beautiful otters fastened to bamboo stakes by the side of the Matta Colly river, some of which appeared to be at play, and uttered a shrill, whistling noise. They wore straw collars and were very tame and docile. They should be caught quite young, and fed on small fish, then they are allowed bread and milk at alternate meals; till at last they entirely live upon this food. They are taught to fetch and carry with artificial fishes made of leather, and stuffed with wool. Then they are made to bring dead fishes, and if they attempt to tear them, they are severely punished. Thus trained, in process of time, the otter becomes useful and domesticated.

In their natural condition, otters will wander to considerable distances for their prey; Mr. St. John says, "I was rather amused at an old woman living at Sluie on the Findhorn, who, complaining of the hardness of the present times, when 'a puir body couldn'a get a drop smuggled whisky, or shoot a roe without his lordship's sportsman finding it out,' added to her list of grievances, that even the otters were nearly all gone 'puir beasties.' 'Well, but what good could the otters do you?' I asked her. 'Good, your honor? why scarcely a morn came but they left a bonny grilse (young salmon) on the scarp down yonder, and the vennison was none the worse of the bit the puir beasts ate themselves,' The people here (Morayshire) call every eatable animal, fish, flesh, or fowl, venison, or as they pronounce it, vennison. For instance, they tell you that the snipes are good vennison, or that the trout are not good vennison in the winter.

"It seems that a few years ago, before the otters had been so much destroyed, the people in particular parts of the river were never at a loss for salmon, as the otters always took them ashore, generally to the same bank or rock, and in seasons of plenty, they only eat a small piece out of the shoulder, leaving the rest untouched, and the cottagers, aware of this, searched every morning for their leavings."

"Otters," continues Mr. St. John, "are very affectionate animals; the young anxiously seek their mother, if she should be killed; and if the young are injured, the parent hovers near them till she is herself destroyed. If one of a pair be killed, the one that is left will hunt for its mate with untiring perseverance; and if one be caught in a trap, its companion will run round and round, endeavouring to set it free, on which occasions, though so quiet at other times, they make a snorting and blowing like a horse."

A dog belonging to the above gentleman was running and splashing through the shallow water, and suddenly stood still, sometimes whining, as if caught in a trap, and then biting furiously at something in the water. He was called by his master, but as he did not obey, his master waded to him, and found a large otter, holding on by his powerful jaws to the dog's shoulder; and had he not had a good covering of curly hair, he stood a chance of having his leg broken, the bite was so severe.

The people in Scotland believe that the otters have a king, or leader, which is larger than others, and spotted with white. They also believe that when these animals are killed, a man or another of the brute kind dies suddenly at the same moment; that their skin possesses an antidote to infection, preserves soldiers from wounds, and saves sailors from disasters at sea. The darkness in which otters delight, their watery habitations, their oily, noiseless movements, and their dark fur, invest them with mystery in the eyes of the peasantry in many parts of England.

The emigration of otters is established by the following fact:—"A labourer going to his work, soon after five o'clock in the morning, saw a number of animals coming towards him, and stood quietly by the hedge till they came alongside of him. He then perceived four old otters, probably dams, and about twenty young ones. He took a stick out of the hedge and killed one. Directly it began to squeak, all the four old ones turned back, and stood till the other young ones had escaped through the hedge, and then went quietly themselves. Several families were thus journeying together, and probably they had left their former abode from not finding a sufficiency of food."

The beautiful otter in the Museum of the Zoological Gardens is from Ireland, and is by some considered as a distinct species. It is chiefly found on the coast of Antrim, living in the caverns formed by the basaltic columns of that shore, and, as it hunts the salmon, rewards are offered for its destruction.

The flesh of all otters is extremely rank and fishy; and because it cannot be called meat, it is often allowed to be eaten on the meager days appointed by the Romish Church.

Captain Brown, in his Popular Natural History, tells us of a person who kept a tame otter with his dogs, which followed him in company with them. He hunted fish with them, and they never would hunt any other otter as long as he was with them.

There was a tame otter in Northumberland, which also followed his master wherever he went. He caught his own food, and returned home when satisfied. Once he refused to come to the usual call when he was out, and was lost for some days. At length, going back to the same place, he, with great joy, came creeping to his master's feet, who was still seeking his favourite.



DOGS.

Baron Cuvier says that the most useful conquest achieved by man, is the domestication of the dog—a conquest so long completed, that it is now impossible, with any certainty, to trace these animals to their original type. The cleverest of naturalists have supposed them to descend from wolves, from jackals, or from a mixture of the two; while others, equally clever, assert that they proceeded from different species of dogs. The latter maintain that the Dingos of Australia, the Buansas of Nepal, or Dholes of India, the Aguaras of South America, and several other races, are original; and although they may not have produced the dogs which attend man, they prove that we may attribute the latter to predecessors of the same kind, without having recourse to other animals which they more or less resemble. On the other hand again, some of our first men are of opinion that there are now no original dogs, but that all the packs called wild are those which have made their escape from a state of domesticity. This is not the place to examine the merits of the different proofs brought in favor of each argument; and I hasten to a brief notice of some of those which subsist independently of human assistance.

All dogs, wild or tame, walk upon their toes with a firm, elastic gait, and their toes are not retractile. Their other external characters are so varied, that it is impossible to give a general summary of their colour or form; the largest on record (a Suliot, belonging to the king of Naples), measured four feet at the shoulders; the least would probably give a height of as many inches. All the untamed species are lank and gaunt, their muzzles are long and slender, their eyes oblique, and their strength and tenacity of life are almost marvellous.

The Dingo, or Australian dog, roams in packs through that vast country; has a broad head, fierce, oblique eyes, acute muzzle; short, pointed, erect ears; tail bushy, and never raised to more than a horizontal position. He does not bark, but howls fearfully; is extremely sagacious, and has a remarkable power of bearing pain. When beaten so severely as to be left for dead, he has been seen to get up and run away. A man proceeded to skin one, not doubting that life was extinct, and after proceeding a little way with the operation, he left the hut to sharpen his knife. When he returned, the poor animal was sitting up, with the loose skin hanging over one side of his face.

The Dingos worry the cattle of the settlers, and will even eat pieces out of them as they lie upon the ground; the leg of a sheep has been frequently gnawed off by them. Domesticated dogs will hunt and kill them; but show signs of great disgust afterwards, always, if they can, plunging themselves into water, as if to get rid of the contamination caused by such contact. One taken from his mother at six weeks old was partially tamed; but at first he crouched down in all the darkest corners he could find, looking at every one with aversion, and when alone howling incessantly, especially if the moon were shining. He became gradually reconciled to those who fed him, but to no one else. He never gave warning of the approach of strangers, and never made an open attack. It is remarkable that these dogs are not found in the closely neighbouring island of Van Diemen's Land.

The wild dogs of India go under the name of Buansa, Dhole, and Kolsun, are found in Nepal, the Nilgiris, Coromandel, the Dekkan, etc., and bear various names, according to their locality. They prey night and day, have an acute smell, a peculiar bark, not unlike that of a hound, and are of a sandy or red colour. Their head is long; they have an ill-natured look, oblique eyes; long, erect ears; powerful limbs, bushy tail, fur varying according to climate, and all animals are afraid of them. They kill tigers and cheetahs, and the remains of hogs and deer are to be found in their path. An endeavour to tame one succeeded, and he was as affectionate and intelligent as many other dogs.

In Java there is a large, wild dog, and in Beloochistan whole packs are to be found, which pull down buffaloes with ease; their footmarks are like those of a hound; and still further to the west a much larger species is said to exist.

The Sheeb or Schib, of Syria, is wild, and is probably the wolf-dog of Natolia. The Deeb of Nubia would seem to be also a primitive species, but not resembling the packs of wild dogs which inhabit Congo and South Africa, etc., and live in covers and burrows.

The hunters of South Africa tell us that they pull down the strongest antelopes; they are very destructive to sheep, and mangle more than they devour. They are extremely swift, and utter a sharp bark, or chattering cry, which calls the pack together, and is very soft and melodious. The hatred between them and tame dogs is unconquerable, and in their appearance they look like a link between the wolf and the hyaena.

A large group of dogs includes all the indigenous canines of South America, under the name of Aguaras, and resembles foxes. They are silent, if not dumb, and appear to congregate in families rather than packs. They have a peculiar propensity to steal and secrete, without any apparent object for so doing.

Colonel Hamilton Smith, the able writer on dogs, does not acknowledge some of these wild races, but thinks they are what he calls feral, or domestic dogs which have regained their liberty, and have subsisted for many generations on their own intelligence. To these he refers the Natolians and Aguaras; but there can be no doubt concerning the feral nature of the dog of St. Domingo, which descends from the hounds trained to hunt human beings by the Spaniards, and which are supposed to have regained their liberty in the woods of Haiti. It is of these dogs the stories are told concerning runaway negroes, and which were taught by means of raw food, placed in stuffed representations of human beings. They are very handsome creatures, carrying their heads with an air of conscious superiority. They follow a track rapidly, and in complete silence; they, however, always seize their victims.

A contrast to the feral dog of St. Domingo, is the Alco of Mexico, with its small head, short neck, and very thick body. Those of the Pampas having assumed the shapes of all the dogs transported from Europe, have now settled into what may be called curs. They are very bold, very sagacious, are not inimical to men, but destructive to the young animals in herds. They live in burrows, and if brought back to domesticity, are valuable for their courage and highly developed senses.

In various cities exist herds of dogs, who do not own any masters; who infest the streets in packs, and who are at once the scavengers, the purifiers, and the greatest nuisances. In beautiful Lisbon; rising from the Tagus with her stately towers, her gardens, her churches, her deep blue sky, and her noble aqueduct, leading life's beverage to her exquisite fountains, these animals abound; their presence being easily accounted for by their owners bringing and abandoning them there at the time of the vintage. They eat so many grapes when ripe, that they are sent away in self-defence. Woe to the person who affronts one of them; he is obliged to run hard, or else to keep them at bay, by threatening to throw stones at them, and walking backwards; fortunately he can do this in the narrow streets of this city, for he would be lost if surrounded by them. They lodge by day in the holes of ruins, which are so plentiful in Lisbon.

The same dogs, with regard to habits, are to be met with in the cities of Russia, Turkey, and Egypt; but they differ in size and appearance. Those of Turkey are particularly audacious, and in all cities, where cleanliness is not systematically organised, they are doubtless of infinite service; though I have read, in a pamphlet written by a French savant, that those in Egypt are one means of continuing the plague, for they uncover the carelessly buried bodies, and drag portions of flesh and clothing into the houses of the living.

In some of the countries of Guinea, dogs are bred for the table, and sit in circles in the market places for sale. I do not know from what race they come; they are not used for any other purpose, and are small, extremely ugly, and variously marked with brown, red, or black spots. The passion for dog's flesh is in these countries very strong, and no European can keep an animal of this kind many weeks. An officer arrived at Cape Coast Castle when I was there, accompanied by three, not imagining the temptation they would present to the appetite of the natives. One disappeared in the act of landing, and the two others were gone before three weeks had elapsed. My uncle fancied that his rank would secure a favourite sent to him from Europe. He one morning received a deputation from the king of a native town, requesting a palaver, or conference. It was granted, and his sable majesty formally made proposals for Caesar to figure as a roast at a grand feast, which he was about to hold. My uncle indignantly refused; the king increased the sum offered, till it amounted to something considerable, and then the Englishman, unable to control himself, left the room and sent the customary refreshments, with a message, to signify that the palaver was ended. Although every precaution was taken to save the animal, he was stolen that same night, and gratified the palates of the African gourmands.

I now come to what Colonel Smith calls "The Familiar Dogs," where we find an amount of intellect, which forbids us to say that they do not reason, and where self-sacrifice, fidelity, courage, and affection, in many instances raise them far beyond more gifted creatures. It will be advisable to follow the series of some established work in treating of them, and I have selected that of Colonel Hamilton Smith, both for its extent and its ability. He begins with those which are placed nearest to the Arctic Circle of both hemispheres, and which form a group of large, wolfish dogs, with tapering noses, pointed ears, and, generally speaking, long, white and black hair. They are fierce, broad, and often web-footed; they swim well, hunt together or alone, and when their owners turn them out to obtain their own living, often fish with great dexterity. When they quarrel they constantly destroy each other, for they never will give up while they are alive. Among them are the Siberian dogs, remarkable for the instinct with which they return to their masters, after weeks of absence and self-subsistence, to drag their sleighs. This is the more curious, as they are then always very ill fed, and ill treated. They utter yells when about to be yoked, but, once in file, they move silently and rapidly, sometimes, however, trying to upset their drivers.

The tail of the Esquimaux dogs is bushy, and curls very much over the back, which is covered with long, waving hair. They are very patient and faithful, rapid in their paces, skilful and courageous when hunting, carry burdens, and are very good tempered. They form a close attachment to their masters; and one which had been kept in confinement in Edinburgh, being let loose, entered the kitchen door, found his way through his owner's house, and, leaping on his bed, gave every sign of affection. At another time, as his master was walking in Princes Street Gardens, his foot slipped, and he fell, upon which the dog tried to lift him up by his coat. He was very cunning, and when he ate, strewed his meat around him, to entice fowls and rats. He then laid himself down, and pretended to be asleep; no sooner, however, did they come, than he pounced upon and killed them.

A pair of Esquimaux dogs lived in the Menagerie of the Jardin des Plantes, where they were great favourites; but it was extremely painful to see the poor creatures panting with heat, and almost unable to move, during the hot weather, only feeling happy when cold water was thrown over them. The fondness of the Esquimaux dogs for oil never ceases, and they do not like to drink water, unless it tastes of this substance. Two of them are said to have stood hour after hour before a candle-maker's workshop, evidently sniffing the fumes of the melted tallow with great enjoyment. Their scent is particularly delicate, which renders them invaluable in the chase of the rein-deer. Nor are they, from their resolution and ferocity, less useful in attacking the bear, the very name of which beast, pronounced in their hearing, excites their ardour. Even in the sledge they dash after their prey, out of the track, dragging their owner into the pursuit.

In order to test the strength of the Esquimaux dogs, several experiments have been made, among others by Captain Lyon, who found that three of them could drag him, on a sledge weighing one hundred pounds, at the rate of a mile in six minutes. With heavy loads they are often induced to exert themselves by a woman walking before them, with a mitten in her hand. Having been accustomed to receive food from her, they believe that in this way she offers them meat. They are particularly obedient and affectionate to women, because it is from them that they receive the only kindnesses bestowed upon them, and a word from a female will excite them to exertion, when the blows and threats of the men only make them obstinate.

The dog of the Hare Indians, or Mackenzie river, was first described by Dr. Richardson, and is of a smaller size than the Esquimaux breed, but with broad feet, which prevent him from sinking into the snow. One of them, only seven months old, ran beside this gentleman's sledge for nine hundred miles, frequently carrying one of his master's mittens in his mouth; all are very gentle, and, like the Esquimaux dogs, do not bark.

The large, powerful, and handsome dogs which go by the name of Newfoundland, are not the pure breed of that country. The latter are more slender in their make, have a sharper muzzle, a wilder look, and are generally black in colour, with a rusty spot over each eye, and a tawny muzzle. These are called Labrador dogs, and it is supposed that they and the Esquimaux have contributed to form the commonly accepted breed. What the latter have lost, however, in purity of blood, has been gained on the side of beauty, and there is no animal of its size which conveys a higher idea of intelligence and dignity, than the so-called Newfoundland dog. All are semi-palmate, and dive, swim, and keep longer in the water than any others of their tribe. One was picked up in the Bay of Biscay, out of sight of any other vessel, fatigued and hungry, and which, judging from the circumstances, must have been there for many hours. Their fidelity, their courage, their generosity, are proverbial, and yet it is whispered that they are occasionally capricious and not to be trusted. During long years of intercourse with these animals, I never met with an instance of this; and I have been told that it is more apt to occur when they have been kept in confinement.

A noble creature of the mixed breed, and of the usual colour—black and white—belonged to me, and his extreme good-nature, and endeavours to guard everything belonging to the family, made him like a confidential servant. The great defects in his disposition were heedlessness, and an under estimate of his own power; he did not stop to think before he acted, as many more cautious dogs will do; and he forgot that his weight was so great as to spoil and crush whatever he laid himself upon. As an instance of the former, he one day fancied he saw some one whom he knew in the street, and immediately dashed through the window, smashing not only the glass, but the framework. Directly he had done it he felt he had been wrong, and returning through the shattered window, which was opened for him, he hung his head and walked unbidden to a recess in the room covered with matting, to which place he was always banished when naughty, and seated himself. The bell was rung for the house-maid to come and clear away the broken glass, and as the woman smiled when she passed Lion, I turned my head towards him. There he sat, with a pair of my slippers, accidentally left in the room, in his mouth, as if he thought they would obtain his pardon. My gravity was disturbed, and Lion, seeing this, humbly came up to me, and rested his chin on my knees. I then lectured him concerning the mischief he had committed; and he so perfectly understood, that for a long time, when any one pointed to the window, he would hang his head and tail, and look ashamed. During my absence he constantly collected articles which belonged to me, and slept upon them. One day, on returning from church, he met me on the stairs, dragging a new silk dress along with him by the sleeve, which he must have contrived, by himself, to have abstracted from a peg in a closet.

It must be owned that, clever as my Lion was, Professor Owen was acquainted with a Lion who surpassed him. This gentleman was walking with a friend, the master of the dog, by the side of a river, near its mouth, on the coast of Cornwall, and picked up a small piece of sea-weed. It was covered with minute animals, and Mr. Owen observed to his companion, throwing the weed into the water, "If this small piece afforded so many treasures, how microscopically rich the whole plant would be; I should much like to have one!" The gentleman walked on; but hearing a splashing in the water, turned round, and saw it violently agitated. "It is Lion!" both exclaimed, "What can he be about? He was walking quietly enough by our side a minute ago." At one moment they saw his tail above the water, then his head raised for a breath of air, then the surrounding element shook again, and at last he came ashore, panting from his exertions, and laid a whole plant of the identical weed at Mr. Owen's feet. After this proof of intelligence, it will not be wondered at, that when Lion was joyfully expecting to accompany his master and his guest on an excursion, and was told to go and take care of and comfort Mrs. Owen, who was ill, that he should immediately return to the drawing-room, and lay himself by her side, which he never left during the absence of his owner; his countenance alone betraying his disappointment, and that only for a few minutes.

Many instances are recorded of Newfoundland dogs having saved the lives of those who have fallen into the water, and among them was my father; who, when he was one day missing, was traced to a deep pond in his mother's garden. His friend Trial was called; some of his young master's clothes were shewn to the dog, the pond was pointed out, and Trial dashed in, shortly bringing out the body. He watched all the endeavours made to restore animation, and at last aided the work by being allowed, when dry, to get into the bed, and with the warmth of his body give heat and circulation to the half-expiring child.

A very interesting anecdote is given of a person who was travelling through Holland, accompanied by a large Newfoundland dog. Walking one evening on a high bank, by the side of a canal, his foot slipped; he fell into the water, and being unable to swim, soon became senseless. When he recovered his recollection, he found himself in a cottage, on the opposite side of the canal, surrounded by peasants, who had been using all means for restoring him to life. He was told, that one of them returning home from his work, saw at a considerable distance, a large dog swimming in the water, sometimes pushing, and sometimes dragging something which he appeared to have great difficulty in supporting; but which he at length succeeded in getting into a small creek. When there, the animal pulled this object as far out of the water as he was able, and the peasant discovered it to be the body of a man. The dog shook himself, licked the hands and face of his master; the peasant obtained assistance, and the body was conveyed to the house, where the endeavours used for resuscitation proved successful. Two bruises, with marks of teeth appeared, one on the shoulder, the other on the nape of his neck, whence it was presumed, that his preserver first seized him by the shoulder, but that his sagacity prompted him to shift his grasp to the neck; as by so doing he could keep the head out of the water. He had continued to do this for at least a quarter of a mile, and thus preserved his owner, as much by his intelligence, as by his affection.

The Newfoundland dog, like many others, possesses a sense of time, and Mr. Bell relates an instance of this, which occurred under his own observation. He says, that a fine Newfoundland dog, which was kept at an inn in Dorsetshire, was accustomed every morning as the clock struck eight, to take in his mouth a certain basket, placed for the purpose, containing a few pence, and to carry it across the street to a baker's, who took out the money, and replaced it by the proper number of rolls. With these Neptune hastened back to the kitchen, and safely deposited his trust; but what was well worthy of remark, he never attempted to take the basket, or even to approach it on Sunday mornings. On one occasion, when returning with the rolls, another dog made an attack upon the basket, for the purpose of stealing its contents; when the trusty Neptune placed the basket on the ground, severely punished the intruder, and then bore off his charge in triumph.

The proofs of intelligence which I have related, are perhaps surpassed by those of Dandie, a Newfoundland dog belonging to Mr. M'Intyre of Edinburgh; but it must be recollected, that Dandie's education had been more carefully and continuously carried on, than that of his before mentioned brethren. He selected his master's hat from a number of others, or a card chosen by his master from a whole pack; picked his master's penknife from a heap of others, and any particular article which he might have been told to find, although he would have to search among a multitude of others belonging to the same person; proving that it was not smell which guided him, but an understanding of what he was required to do. One evening, a gentleman in company with others, accidentally dropped a shilling on the floor, which, after diligent search, could not be found. Dandie had been sitting in the corner of the room, apparently unconscious of what had been going on, Mr. M'Intyre then said to him. "Find us the shilling, Dandie, and you shall have a biscuit," the dog instantly jumped up, and laid the shilling upon the table, which he had picked up unperceived by the party. On his return home one evening after the family had gone to rest, Mr. M'Intyre could not find his boot-jack; upon which he said, "Dandie, I cannot find my boot-jack; search for it." The dog scratched at the room-door, his master opened it, and going to a distant part of the house Dandie returned with the boot-jack in his mouth; where Mr. M'Intyre recollected to have left it under a sofa.

Several gentlemen were in the habit of giving Dandie a penny a day, which he always took to a baker's, and exchanged for bread for himself. One of them was accosted by the dog for his accustomed present; but he said, "I have not a penny with me to-day, though I have one at home." Having returned to his house, some time after he heard a noise at the door; it was opened, and Dandie sprang in for his penny. By way of frolic, the gentleman gave him a bad one; the baker refused to exchange the loaf for it; the dog returned to the door, knocked, and when the servant opened it, laid the penny at her feet, and walked away with an air of contempt. He did not, however, always spend all his money, and one Sunday, when it was very unlikely that he could have received a present, he was observed to bring home a loaf. Surprised at this, Mr. M'Intyre desired the servant to search the room for money. Dandie seemed quite unconcerned till she approached the bed, when he gently drew her from it. Mr. M'Intyre secured him, for he growled and struggled; and, continuing the search, the woman found seven pence halfpenny under a piece of cloth. From that time the dog could not endure her, and henceforth hid his money in the corner of a sawpit, under a heap of dust. He constantly escorted Mr. M'Intyre's friends home, when desired to do so, however considerable the distance, and when they were safe, he returned to his own quarters.

Mr. Jukes, in his "Excursions in and about Newfoundland," speaks of a dog which appeared to be of the pure breed, and which he thought to be more intelligent than the mixed race. This animal caught his own fish, for which purpose he sat on a projecting rock, beneath a fish stage, on which the fish were laid to dry, watching the water, the depth being from six to eight feet, and the bottom quite white with fish-bones. On throwing a piece of codfish into the water, three or four heavy, clumsy-looking fish, called in Newfoundland sculpins, would swim in to catch it. The instant one turned its broadside towards him, he darted down, and seldom came up without the fish in his mouth. He regularly carried them as he caught them to a place a few yards off, where he deposited them, sometimes making a pile of fifty or sixty in the day. As he never attempted to eat them, he appeared to fish for his amusement.

Long, lanky, rough-haired, with drooping, bushy tail; long ears, half erect; long, sharp muzzle; black and fulvous in colour, often mingled with brown and white, the Shepherd's Dog yields to none in fidelity and sagacity. In his own peculiar calling, nothing can exceed his vigilance, his quick comprehension, and his intimate knowledge of every individual entrusted to his care. Rushing into the middle of his flock, he singles out any one member of it, and brings it to his master. Fierce in the defence of all, he keeps them together by incessantly prowling round them, dragging the wanderers back to their companions, and fiercely attacking those who would offer them an injury. At night he guides them to their fold; and if this should be in an exposed situation, he throws himself across the entrance, so that the intruding enemy will have to pass over his body to commence his work of destruction.

A ludicrous instance of the promptitude with which he punishes offenders, is related by Colonel Smith, in the following manner:—"We have witnessed the care they take of their charge, and with what readiness they chastise those that molest them, in the case of a cur biting a sheep in the rear of the flock, and unseen by the shepherd. This assault was committed by a tailor's dog, but not unmarked by the other, who immediately seized him, and dragging the delinquent into a puddle, while holding his ear, kept dabbling him in the mud with exemplary gravity; the cur yelled, the tailor came slipshod with his goose to the rescue, and having flung it at the sheep-dog, and missed him, stood by gaping, not venturing to fetch it back until the castigation was over and the dog had followed the flock."



As a proof of the comprehension of the shepherd's dog, I quote the description of Mr. St. John, in his "Highland Sports:"—"A shepherd once, to prove the quickness of his dog, who was lying before the fire in the house where we were talking, said to me, in the middle of a sentence concerning something else, 'I'm thinking, Sir, the cow is in the potatoes.' Though he purposely laid no stress on these words, and said them in a quiet, unconcerned tone of voice, the dog, who appeared to be asleep, immediately jumped up, and leaping through the open window, scrambled up the turf roof of the house, from which he could see the potato field. He then (not seeing the cow there) ran and looked into the byre [farm-yard], where she was, and finding that all was right, came back to the house. After a short time the shepherd said the same words again, and the dog repeated his look-out; but on the false alarm being a third time given, the dog got up, and wagging his tail, looked his master in the face with so comical an expression of interrogation, that we could not help laughing aloud at him, on which, with a slight growl, he laid himself down in his warm corner, with an offended air, as if determined not to be made a fool of again."

Mr. Hogg, the Ettrick shepherd, is the person of all others to give an adequate idea of the shepherd's dog, and I use very nearly his own words. "My dog Sirrah, was beyond all comparison the best dog I ever saw; he was of a surly, unsocial temper; disdaining all flattery, he refused to be caressed; but his attention to my commands and interests will never again, perhaps, be equalled by any of the canine race. I thought I discovered a sort of sullen intelligence in his countenance, notwithstanding his dejected and forlorn appearance; I gave a drover a guinea for him. He was scarcely a year old, and knew so little of herding, that he had never turned a sheep in his life; but as soon as he discovered that it was his duty to do so, and that it obliged me, I can never forget with what eagerness and anxiety he learned his evolutions. He would try every way deliberately, till he found out what I wanted him to do, and when I once made him understand a direction, he never forgot or mistook it again. Well as I knew him, he often astonished me; for when pressed hard in accomplishing the task that he was put to, he had expedients of the moment, that bespoke a great share of the reasoning faculty.

"On one occasion, about 700 lambs, which were under his care at weaning time, broke up at midnight, and scampered off, in three divisions, across the neighbouring hills, in spite of all that he and an assistant could do to keep them together. The night was so dark, that we could not see Sirrah; but the faithful animal heard his master lament their absence in words which, of all others, were sure to set him most on the alert; and without more ado, he silently set off in quest of the recreant flock. Meanwhile the shepherd and his companion did not fail to do all in their power to recover their lost charge; they spent the whole night in scouring the hills, for miles around, but of neither the lambs nor Sirrah could they obtain the slightest trace. They had nothing for it, day having dawned, but to return to their master, and inform him, that they had lost the whole flock of lambs, and knew not what was become of one of them. On our way home, however, we discovered a lot of lambs at the bottom of a deep ravine, and the indefatigable Sirrah standing in front of them, looking round for some relief, but still true to his charge. The sun was then up, and when we first came in view, we concluded that it was one of the divisions which Sirrah had been unable to manage until he came to that commanding situation. But what was our astonishment, when we discovered that not one lamb of the whole flock was wanting. How he had got all the divisions collected in the dark is beyond my comprehension. The charge was left to himself from midnight until the rising sun, and if all the shepherds in the forest had been there to assist him they could not have effected it with greater propriety."

An exceedingly good shepherd's dog appears to concentrate all his powers in his own immediate vocation; and in this does he exert and exhaust his whole capacity. If he be suddenly awoke, and hurriedly called, he rears himself up to see what sheep are running away, and he is so honourable, that he will lie among pails full of milk, and neither touch them himself, or suffer cat, rat, or any other creature to molest the store.

The drovers' dogs are somewhat larger, and more rugged. They are as sagacious as the shepherd's dog, but they are trained to act with more cruelty to their charges.

The original St. Bernard dog, which has for years been the object of so much interest, resembles the Newfoundland in form, hair, color and size. Another race with close, short hair, is trained to the same services; and one of the latter belonged to me for some time, establishing himself in the good graces of every one by his good temper and fidelity. He must, however, with all his good qualities yield to Bass, the property of Sir Thomas Dick Lauder, who thus writes of him. "My St. Bernard was brought home direct from the Great St. Bernard, when he was a puppy of about four or five months. His bark is tremendous; so loud, indeed, that I have often distinguished it nearly a mile off. He had been missing for some time; when, to my great joy, one of the letter carriers brought him back; and the man's account was, that in going along a certain street, he heard his bark from the inside of a yard, and knew it immediately. He knocked at the gate, and said to the owner of the premises 'You have got Sir Thomas Lauder's big dog.' The man denied it. 'But I know you have,' continued the letter carrier, 'I can swear that I heard the bark of Sir Thomas's big dog; for there is no dog in, or about all Edinburgh, that has such a bark.' At last, with great reluctance, the man gave up the dog to the letter carrier, who brought him home here. But though Bass's bark is so terrific, he is the best natured and most playful dog I ever saw; so much so indeed, that the small King Charles's spaniel, Raith, used to tyrannize over him for many months after he came here from abroad. I have seen the little creature run furiously at the great animal when gnawing a bone, who instantly turned himself submissively over on his back, with all his legs in the air, whilst Raith, seizing the bone, would make the most absurd and unavailing attempts to bestride the enormous head of his subdued companion, with the most ludicrous affectation of the terrible growling, that might bespeak the loftiest description of dog-indignation. When a dog attacks Bass in the street or road, he runs away rather than quarrel; but when compelled to fight by any perseverance in the attacking party, he throws his enemy down in a moment, and then, without biting him, he lays his whole immense bulk down upon him, till he nearly smothers him. He took a particular fancy for one of the postmen who deliver letters here, whose duty it was, besides delivering letters, to carry a letter bag from one receiving house to another, and this bag he used to give Bass to carry. Bass always followed that man through all the villas in this neighbourhood where he had deliveries to make, and he invariably parted with him opposite to the gate of the Convent of St. Margaret's, and returned home. When our gate was shut here to prevent his following the postman, the dog always leaped a high wall to get after him. One day when the postman was ill, or detained by some accidental circumstance, he sent a man in his place. Bass went up to the man, curiously scanning his face, whilst the man rather retired from the dog, by no means liking his appearance. But as the man left the place, Bass followed him, shewing strong symptoms that he was determined to have the post-bag. The man did all he could to keep possession of it. But at length Bass, seeing that he had no chance of getting possession of the bag by civil entreaty, raised himself on his hind legs, and putting a great fore-paw on, each of the man's shoulders, he laid him flat on his back in the road, and quietly picking up the bag, he proceeded peaceably on his wonted way. The man, much dismayed, arose and followed the dog, making, every now and then, an ineffectual attempt to coax him to give up the bag. At the first house he came to, he told his fears, and the dilemma he was in, but the people comforted him, by telling him that the dog always carried the bag. Bass walked with the man to all the houses at which he delivered letters, and along the road till he came to the gate of St. Margaret's, where he dropped the bag and returned home."

The peculiar services which the St. Bernard dog is taught to perform, have made them the blessings of the snow-covered regions in which they dwell; their sense of smell is very acute, their large, full, eye, is very expressive, and their intelligence has saved many persons from death, when overtaken by cold on the Alpine passes. One of these noble creatures wore a medal, in commemoration of his having preserved twenty-two lives, and he at last lost his own in an avalanche, together with those whom he was endeavouring to protect. They carry food and wine with them; and followed by the monks, who have vowed themselves to the task, seek those who need assistance.

In passing over a number of dogs mentioned by Colonel Smith, concerning which I have no data for anecdotes, I pause for a moment at the drover, or cattle-dog of Cuba, and Terra Firma, in America, placed by him among the native dogs, (Canis Laniarius), because they are so serviceable in landing cattle from vessels. The oxen are hoisted out by slings passed round the base of their horns; and when they are allowed to fall into the water, men generally swim and guide them by the horns. This office, however, is often performed by one or two dogs, who, catching the frightened animal by the ears, force it to swim to the landing-place, instantly releasing it when it touches the shore, and can walk to its destination. They are equal to mastiffs in strength; and Colonel Smith considers them as the feral dogs of St. Domingo, in continued domesticity, and to have been taken from Spain to the West.

Elegance of form, grace of movement, beauty of countenance, extraordinary swiftness, and great strength; are all combined in the Greyhound, as recorded during the last three thousand years; and continued at the present moment, in various degrees, from the noble sporting dog, to the delicate pet of the drawing-room. The narrow, sharp head, the light, half hanging ears, the long neck, the arched back, the slender yet sinewy limbs, the deep chest, shewing the high development of the breathing organs, and the elevated hind quarters, all shadow forth the peculiar qualities of these dogs. Their coat has been adapted to the climate in which they originally lived: here it is smooth; but becomes more shaggy as they are from colder regions. Still their Eastern origin is always to be detected by the care which they require during our winters; and (like the Arab horses) those kept for coursing are muffled up in cloths during our periods of cold temperature. Their form, their clear, prominent eyes, shew that they secure their prey by speed, not by smell, and such is their power in this respect, that they will run eight miles in twelve minutes, and will run down the hare with fatigue, while they themselves are comparatively fresh. Colonel Smith fixes their earliest origin to the westward of the Asiatic mountains, where the Bactrian and Persian plains commence, and the Scythian steppes stretch to the north. Thence they have been spread over Europe, Asia, and part of Africa, many have again become wild, and others are the pampered dependents of amateur sportsmen. Many Russian noblemen keep packs of them in the Steppes.

The Scotch greyhound (Cania Scoticus), generally white, with black clouds, is said to be the most intellectual of all, and formerly to have had so good a scent, as to be employed as a blood-hound. Maida, whose name is immortalized as the favourite of Sir Walter Scott, was a Scottish greyhound.

The Irish is the largest of all the western breeds, and is supposed to owe this distinction to mingling with the great Danish dog. To it Ireland owes the extirpation of wolves, and itself now scarcely exists but in name.

An instance is recorded of a black greyhound, in Lancashire, who adopted a life of freedom, and lived upon depredation. Many attempts were made to shoot her, but she eluded them all; she was at last ensnared in a barn, where she had placed her puppies; they were destroyed, and she partially reclaimed, so as to be useful in coursing; but she always retained that wild look which told of her frolic. A Mr. Kirkpatrick possessed a greyhound which always took care of the meat in the kitchen, and defended it from cats and other dogs.

The rough, large-boned, ill-looking Lurcher, is said to have descended from the rough greyhound and the shepherd's dog. It is now rare, but there are some of its sinister-looking mongrel progeny still to be seen. They always bear the reputation of being poachers' dogs, and are deeply attached to their owners. They have a fine scent; and a man confessed to Mr. Bewick, that he could, with his pair of lurchers, procure as many rabbits as he pleased. They never give tongue, but set about their work silently and cautiously, and hunt hares and partridges, driving the latter into the nets of the unlawful sportsmen. They will even pull down deer.

There are still many English hearts which beat quicker at the cry of the hound; there are some old ones which throb at the recollection of the well-appointed field, when the bugle summoned them to the chase, when gallant steeds carried them over gate, hedge, ditch, and river; they even glory when they refer to fearful tumbles, barely escaping with life, and some meeting with a death next in honour, according to their notions, to that of a soldier in action. There are some young ones who listen with entranced ears to the deeds of their forefathers, and amidst the toil of the dark counting-house, wish that such times could come for them. They never will come again; railroads have been invented, men's minds have been diverted into other channels; and fox-hunting, with its concomitant evils and its attendant pleasures, is gradually disappearing from fox-hunting England. Some, on whom the spirit of Nimrod has descended with such force, as to render them impatient under the privation, go to distant lands, and there perform feats worthy of the mighty hunter; but it is neither with hawk nor hound, and before many generations have passed, our beautiful race of hunting dogs will exist but in name.

There are more varieties of these hounds than I can here enumerate; but all possess a larger development of brain than the greyhound; their nose is broader, as well as their jaws; their ears are large and hanging; their tail is raised and truncated, and they have a firm, bold, and erect gait, an appearance of strength, independence, and (if I may be allowed to use the expression) candour, which is vainly looked for in other dogs. They came to us from the East, probably at a later period than those dogs which more resemble the wolf.

The once-esteemed Blood-hound is now rare, and I copy Mr. Bell's description of the breed, in possession of his namesake:—"They stand twenty-eight inches high at the shoulder; the muzzle broad and full, the upper lip large and pendulous, the vertex of the head protuberant, the expression stern, thoughtful, and noble; the breast broad; the limbs strong and muscular, and the original colour a deep tan, with large black clouds. They are silent when following their scent; and in this respect differ from other hounds, who are generally gifted with fine, deep voices. Numbers, under the name of sleuth-hounds, used to be kept on the Borders, and kings and troopers, perhaps equally marauders, have, in olden times, found it difficult to evade them. The noble Bruce had several narrow escapes from them, and the only sure way to destroy their scent was to spill blood upon the track. In all the common routine of life they are good-natured and intelligent, and make excellent watch-dogs. A story is related of a nobleman, who, to make trial whether a young hound was well instructed, desired one of his servants to walk to a town four miles off, and then to a market-town, three miles from thence. The dog, without seeing the man he was to pursue, followed him by the scent to the above mentioned places, notwithstanding the multitude of market people that went along the same road, and of travellers that had occasion to come; and when the blood-hound came to the cross market-town, he passed through the streets without taking notice of any of the people there, and ceased not till he had gone to the house where the man he sought rested himself, and where he found him in an upper room, to the wonder of those who had accompanied him in this pursuit."[4]

The stately Stag-hound, with his steady, cautious qualities, is little less valuable than the blood-hound for following a scent. Marvellous feats are related of his perseverance and strength in pursuit of his game; but since the reign of George the Third, the breed has not been kept up. That monarch was particularly fond of this description of hunting; but now, having fallen into disuse, it is not likely to be revived. Stag-hounds are somewhat smaller than the blood-hound; rougher, with a wider nose, shorter head, loose hanging ears, and a rush tail, nearly erect. A most remarkable stag hunt is recorded as having taken place in Westmoreland, which extended into Scotland. All the dogs were thrown out except two, who followed their quarry the whole way. The stag returned to the park whence it started, where it leapt over the wall and expired, having made a circuit of at least 120 miles. The hounds were found dead at a little distance, having been unable to leap the wall.

The fox-hounds are still smaller than the stag-hounds, are generally white in colour, with clouds of black and tan. They have been known to run at full speed for ten hours, during which the hunters were obliged to change their horses three times, or abandon the pursuit.

The Harrier and the Beagle are still smaller varieties: as the name indicates, the former are used exclusively for hunting the hare, and have nearly superseded the beagle, which is chiefly valuable for its very musical note. There was a fancy breed of them in the time of Queen Elizabeth, so small, that they could be carried in a man's glove, and were called singing dogs. They used to be conveyed to the field in paniers.

Turnspits are descended from ill-made hounds, which they resemble in body, but have very short, and even crooked legs. They are rough or smooth. They are said also to be derived from terriers, and it seems to me that the perpetuation of malformation in several breeds will produce the turnspit. They derive their name from having been used to turn the kitchen spit, being put into an enclosed wheel, placed at the end for the purpose. It is a curious fact, that now the office is abolished, the race has become nearly extinct. I extract the following from Captain Brown's "Popular Natural History," to prove, that if turnspits had crooked legs, they had not crooked wits:—"I have had in my kitchen," said the Duke de Liancourt, to M. Descartes, "two turnspits, which took their turns regularly every other day in the wheel; one of them, not liking his employment, hid himself on the day he should have wrought, when his companion was forced to mount the wheel in his stead; but crying and wagging his tail, he intimated that those in attendance should first follow him. He immediately conducted them to a garret, where he dislodged the idle dog, and killed him immediately." The following occurrence at the Jesuit's College at Fleche, shows that others of the species have kept the turnspit to this disagreeable duty. When the cook had prepared the meat for roasting, he found that the dog which should have wrought the spit had disappeared. He attempted to employ another, but it bit his leg and fled. Soon after, however, the refractory dog entered the kitchen, driving before him the truant turnspit, which immediately, of its own accord, went into the wheel. A company of turnspits were assembled in the Abbey Church of Bath, where they remained very quietly. At one part of the service, however, the word "spit" was pronounced, rather loudly. This reminded the dogs of their duty, and they all rushed out in a body, to go to their respective dwellings.

From the word "Spanish" being often prefixed to the name of the Pointer, it is supposed that these dogs came to us from the Peninsula; but as all dogs came from the East, their more ancient origin is to be ascribed to the Phoenicians, who brought them, not only to that country, but probably to England, although many think they were not known here before 1688.

In consequence of long training, the peculiar faculty of pointing at game has become an innate quality on their part; young dogs inherit it, and they only require that discipline which is necessary to make all puppies behave themselves. If we look at a pointer, the first remark which naturally arises, is that he is a large, indolent hound. He is however, extremely docile and affectionate. The black are said to be the best, but they vary in color; their fur is quite smooth, and they are considered very valuable dogs. Mr. Gilpin speaks of a brace of pointers, who stood an hour and a quarter without moving. This, however, was exceeded by Clio, a dog belonging to my father, who stood with her hind legs upon a gate for more than two hours, with a nest of partridges close to her nose. She must have seen them as she jumped over the gate, and had she moved an inch, they would have been frightened away. My father went on, and having other dogs, did not miss Clio for a long time; at length he perceived she was not with the rest, and neither came to his call or whistle; he went back to seek her, and there she stood, just as she had got over the gate. His coming up disturbed the birds, and he shot some of them; but Clio when thus relieved, was so stiff that she could not move, and her master sat down on the grass and rubbed her legs till she could bend them again. She died of old age, having been with us fourteen years from her birth; there were no signs of illness: and she went out in the morning with the shooting party. The first question on the return of the sportsmen was, an inquire for Clio; search was made, and she was found quite stiff in the stable, having apparently come home to die.

Of the general intelligence of the pointer, the following is a proof. A gentleman shooting in Ireland, with a dog totally unused to fetch and carry, killed a snipe. It fell in soft, boggy ground, where he could not get to pick it up. After some vain efforts to approach it, he hied on the pointer, by saying, "Fetch it, Fan! fetch it." She seemed for a moment puzzled at such an unusual proceeding, and looked round inquisitively once or twice, as if to say; What do you mean? Suddenly the sportsman's dilemma seemed to flash upon her. She walked on, took the bird in her mouth quite gently, and carried it to where the ground was firm; but not one inch further would she bring it, despite all the encouragement of her master, who now wished to make her constantly retrieve. This, however, was the first and last bird she ever lifted.

A favourite pointer was lent by a gentleman to a friend; but after some years of trial, finding the dog would not hunt with him, the friend requested his master, then in Ireland, to receive him back. He was conveyed in a packet from Bristol to Cork, and his owner went to meet his dog. The vessel was at some distance from the shore; but seeing him on the deck, the gentleman hailed the sailors, and requested he might be sent in a boat. No sooner, however, did the dog hear his master's voice, than he leaped into the water, and with great demonstrations of joy swam to him on the shore. Such meetings have frequently been too much for dogs, who have died from excessive joy at seeing those they loved, after a long absence.

The sporting dog called the Setter, is distinguished by his long, silky hair, and has consequently been considered as a large spaniel. The head shews an unusual development of brain; and his character for affection and intelligence corresponds with this formation. He is very handsome, is said to have come from Spain to this country, and his original colour to have been deep chestnut, or white. He is now marked with brown, or black, as well as having these colours.

A gentleman in Ireland received a present of a beautiful black setter puppy, from an unknown hand. He bred and cherished him, and the memory of Black York is still fresh in his country; not only for his perfect symmetry, his silky, raven black hair, but for his gentle, submissive disposition. He was a nervous dog when young, for even a loud word alarmed him, which, combined with his mysterious arrival, and an involuntary affection, induced his master to transfer him from the kennel to the drawing-room. From that time York acquired confidence, and lost his timidity; he first walked out with the nursemaids and children, and then accompanied his master. The latter went one morning to a rushy field, to look at some newly born foals; and there York pointed to a snipe. The bird rose, and pitched some hundred yards away, York's nose detected him a second time: he crept on a dozen paces, and couched again. This circumstance betokened his natural perfections; but with his temperament, the firing a gun might be a dangerous trial. He was taken day after day to mark the snipes, and praised for his conduct. After this, his master took his gun and an attendant, with orders to the latter, if York should attempt to levant or run away, he was to catch him in his arms. It occurred as he had anticipated; poor York was dreadfully frightened; every limb quivered, but he was soothed by caresses, and encouraged to go where the dead snipe was lying. In a moment he appeared to comprehend the whole. He smelled the snipe, looked at the gun, then in his master's face, and became bolder when he there saw approbation. Another point, another shot, and another snipe; and York and his master returned home; the gun was put in the corner, and the snipes close by, on the carpet. A dozen times, while his master was drinking his wine, York stole quietly to the corner, smelled the snipes, and examined the gun. From that day he gave up walking with the nursemaids, and became a matchless field dog.

York was never willingly separated from his master, and was very unhappy at his absence; he soon ascertained, that a carpet bag put into the gig, was the signal for going away; and one day, he secretly followed, and only shewed himself when he thought he was at such a distance that he could not be sent back again. He was taken into the gig, and by this means escaped a sad death.

While he was away, a mad dog infected the kennel, and nine setters, and two Skye terriers were obliged to be killed, Black York alone remaining. "From the moment," says York's master, "I took him from the kennel to the parlour, he cut all low connections; on the human race his affections seemed to be concentrated, and on one occasion, he gave a marked instance of his fidelity and intelligence. His mistress had gone with her maid to the beach to bathe, and a general permission had been given to the servants to go to the neighbouring fair a mile off. The young nurse, in the giddiness of girlhood, left the baby in his cot. According to the then existing custom, the hall-door was wide open and, save the sleeping baby, Black York and cats, no living thing held possession of the premises. A strange priest arrived, to ask and receive hospitality. He entered the hall, and the dog, otherwise quiet, sprang forward and assailed him like a tiger. The priest retreated, York's back was ridged for battle, and a mouthful of unquestionable teeth hinted to his Reverence, that the canine customer would prove an ugly one. He retreated accordingly, and York sat down beside his sleeping charge. There he remained on guard until the absent mother returned; when she entered the drawing room, her four legged representative laid his tongue gently across the infant's face, and without opposition permitted Father Malachi to walk in."

Equally interesting is the biography of Mr. Bell's setter, Juno, who from a puppy was one of the best dogs that ever entered a field. "She appeared to be always on the watch, to evince her love and gratitude to those who were kind to her;" and she had other than human friends. "A kitten, which had been taken from its mother, shewed the usual horror of cats at Juno's approach. She however seemed determined to conquer the antipathy, and by the most winning perseverance completely attached the kitten to her; and as she had lately lost her puppies, she became its foster-mother. Juno also played with some tame rabbits, enticing them by her kind manner; and so fond was she of caressing the young of her own species, that when a spaniel of my father's had puppies, and all but one were destroyed, Juno would take every opportunity of stealing this from its mother, and lick and fondle it with the greatest tenderness. When the poor mother discovered the theft, she hastened to bring back her little one; only to be stolen again at the first opportunity, until at length, Juno and Busy killed the poor puppy between them, from excess of tenderness."

I close this account of the setter, by giving an instance of the remarkable power of dogs to return to their homes from a distance, so often cited, and which was exemplified by my father's setter Flush, a dog of remarkable beauty and value. His master drove him in his dog cart as far as London, a distance of above fifty miles, being the first stage of a shooting excursion in another county. The carriage was so constructed, that the opening to admit air was above, and not at the sides, so that Flush could not possibly have seen any part of the road. On his arrival in town, the groom tied him up by a cord, with access to a kennel in the yard of the inn where my father stopped. He saw him the last thing at night, but in the morning the rope had been severed, and the dog was gone. All inquiries proved fruitless, it was supposed the great value of the dog had tempted some one to purloin him, and in great trouble his master wrote home his lamentations. Late in the evening of the day in which he was missed, my mother heard a scratching and whining at the front door, as she passed through the hall. Not supposing in any way it could relate to her, she did not heed it. In about half an hour a smothered bark met her ears, and then she ordered a servant to open the hall door and ascertain the cause. There was poor Flush—wet, dirty, hungry, and weary; with the remainder of the rope hanging to his neck. He had never been a house dog, and that he should seek the dwelling-house rather than the stable at some little distance, was another proof of his sagacity; he knew he should be there more immediately cared for, and so he was. My mother fed him herself; and, stretched before the fire, he forgot his troubles. The joyful news was conveyed to my father, as fast as the post would take it, and from that time Flush was a companion in the drawing-room, as well as in the shooting excursion.

The infinite variety of spaniels almost precludes a separate enumeration of each in a limited work, I shall, therefore, confine myself to a few general remarks. He may be called a small setter, as the setter is called a large spaniel, having the same long hair and ears; but the former is even more silken in its texture. With some it curls more, and is a little harsher, and these are fonder of the water than the others. Their attachments are strong, their intelligence great, and the beauty of some of them makes them much sought as pets; they are, however, generally useful to the sportsman. The only fault which can be laid to their charge, and this perhaps only extends to a few, is, that they are apt to love strangers as well as friends. As an instance to the contrary, was a beautiful little red and white Blenheim, who was most unsociable, and whose affections were most difficult to win. I, however, succeeded, when on a visit to her mistress; and two years after, when I repeated my visit, expected to have the same difficulty. She, however, when the first bark had been given, became silent, and she did not favour me with a sly bite on the heel, as she was in the habit of doing to strangers. Before the evening was over, the recognition was complete, and she jumped into my lap. Her mistress took pains to prevent her from coming in contact with vulgar dogs, always thought her possessed of the most refined habits, and was sure she never would be too fat, because she ate so delicately. One evening, a small, social party of us were listening to the music of Handel, executed by two of the finest performers in the world, when through the door, which stood a little way open, Fanny glided in, with a large piece of fat and skin in her mouth. I thought I was the only person who saw her, and remained quite still; presently my eye caught that of the gentleman of the house, who made a sign that he also had discovered her, and our equanimity was much disturbed. She crouched rather than walked round the room, dragging her bonne bouche over the rich folds of the delicately-tinted silk damask curtains, as they lay upon the ground, till she reached a very obscure corner under the piano, where she proceeded to enjoy herself. As soon as the glorious music was concluded, "Did you see Fanny?" was the exclamation, and the delinquent was dragged out before the last morsel was devoured; so there was proof positive. The next morning the cook told her mistress that she was in the habit of stealing such morsels as I have described, and hiding them, and that she only took them out to eat when she [the cook] was gone to church. Poor Fanny's reputation for refinement was for ever clouded.

In the same house lived a larger spaniel, of the variety which takes to the water, and named Flora. She was an excellent house-dog, and, generally speaking, under no restraint. Some alarm, however, occasioned by a real or reported accident, caused the magistrate of the town in which her master resided, to issue an order, that no dogs should leave the premises of their owners without being muzzled. Accordingly, Flora, when she went out with the servant, had this instrument put on; she hated it at first, tried all she could to get it off, but at length appeared to become indifferent to the confinement which it produced. In consequence of this, it was, perhaps, more carelessly buckled on, and one day it came off, and the man stooped to put it in its place; Flora, however, was too quick for him, she took it up in her mouth, plunged with it into a neighbouring pond, and when she reached the deepest part, dropped the muzzle into it, and swam back, with her countenance expressing delight.

All dogs enjoy the sport to which they are bred, and M. Blase tells us, that he was once shooting near Versailles, when his friend, M. Guilleman, accompanied him, with permission to kill wild ducks on the preserve. There was but one dog between them, but at the first shot, a fine spaniel ran up to them at full speed. He plunged into the water, and caressing M. Guilleman, seemed to say—"Here I am at your service; amuse me, and I will amuse you." The gentlemen pursued their sport all day, and the dog proved excellent. No one appeared to own him; but the sport over, off he set at full gallop, and they saw him no more. They spoke of him to the keeper of the water, who informed them, that the dog belonged to a sportsman living two leagues distant, who was at that time laid up with the gout. "The dog knows," added the keeper, "that persons come to shoot here every Sunday; and on that day, regularly makes his appearance. Having done his duty for the first sportsman whom he meets, he returns to his master."

Mr. Martin, in his clever little treatise on dogs, vouches for the truth of the following story:—"One morning, as a lady was lacing her boots, one of the laces broke. She playfully said to her pet spaniel who was standing by her, 'I wish you would find me another boot lace,' but having managed to use that which was broken, she thought no more about it. On the following morning, when she was again lacing her boots, the dog ran up to her with a new silken boot-lace in his mouth. This created general amazement; for where the dog had obtained it no one could tell. There was no doubt, however, that he had purloined it from some one else."

A black and white spaniel, belonging to a friend of mine, seemed to understand everything said to him, and if his master whispered in his ear, "Find something for your master," every loose article which he could carry was sure to be laid at his master's feet, and frequently the ladies of the family were obliged to lock their work-boxes, to prevent their contents from being carried off by Dash. If one glove were missing, and the other were shown to him, he did not rest till he had found it; and, one day I saw him push a pile of music-books off a What-not, and drag a glove out which had been deemed irrecoverable. A countryman, charged with a letter to be delivered to Dash's master, arrived at the house while that gentleman was at breakfast. The man was shown into a parlour, where he was about to sit down, when a growl saluted his ears. Turning round, he saw Dash lying in a chair near the fire-place, who reared his head, and the ring of the bell-pull hanging close by, he put his paw in it. As often as the man attempted to sit, so often did Dash growl; till at last the stranger's curiosity being excited, as to what the dog would do if he persevered, he sat down in a chair. Dash then effectually pulled the bell; and the servant who answered the summons, was much astonished when he heard who had rung. He, however, was equally pleased, for it explained a mystery which had long puzzled him and his fellow servants. It seemed, that whenever any of them sat up for their master or mistress when they were out, the parlour bell was sure to ring immediately after they had settled themselves to sleep. Of course they had never suspected the spaniel, although, when they afterwards discussed the matter, they recollected that when they awoke, he was not to be seen. There was no doubt that directly he saw their eyes closed, he went to the bell in order to rouse them to watchfulness.

Even surpassing these histories of reason and fidelity, is that which Mr. Bell relates, in nearly the following terms:—"My friend was travelling on the continent, and his faithful dog was his companion. One day, before he left his lodgings in the morning, with the expectation of being absent till the evening, he took out his purse in his room, for the purpose of ascertaining whether he had taken sufficient money for the day's occupation, and then went his way, leaving the dog behind. Having dined at a coffee-house, he took out his purse, and missing a Louis d'or, searched for it diligently, but to no purpose. Returning home late in the evening, his servant let him in with a face of sorrow, and told him that the poor dog was very ill, as she had not eaten anything all day, and what appeared very strange, she would not suffer him to take her food away from before her, but had been lying with her nose close to the vessel without attempting to touch it. On my friend entering the room, she instantly jumped upon him, then laid a Louis d'or at his feet, and immediately began to devour her food with great voracity. The truth was now apparent; my friend had dropped the money in the morning, when leaving the room, and the faithful creature finding it, had held it in her mouth until his return enabled her to restore it to his own hands; even refusing to eat for a whole day, lest it should be out of her custody."

All dogs trained for the service may become Retrievers or finders of game, which they bring to their master without injury. Spaniels, however, are generally preferred. Mr. St. John had one called Rover, a black water-spaniel, who noticed everything that was spoken, and acted accordingly. If at breakfast-time his master said, "Rover must stop at home to-day, I cannot take him out," Rover never offered to go: but if he said, "I shall take Rover with me to-day," the moment breakfast was over, he was on the alert, never losing sight of his master. Plans were frequently made for the ensuing morning in the dog's presence; and one day he was not taken; ever after, when Rover heard over night what was to take place, he started alone, very early, and met the party, sitting in front of the road with a peculiar kind of grin on his face, expressing a doubt of being well received, in consequence of coming without permission. Directly, however, he saw he was well received, he threw off his affected shyness, and jumped about with delight.

Though a most aristocratic dog in his usual habits, when staying in England with Mr. St. John, he struck up an acquaintance with a rat-catcher and his curs, assisting them in their business, watching at the rat-holes where the ferrets were in, and being the best dog of all; for he never gave a false alarm, or failed to give a true one. The moment he saw his master, however, he cut his humble friends, and declined their acquaintance in the most comical manner.