Stories about our dogs

Material Information

Stories about our dogs
Stowe, Harriet Beecher, 1811-1896
William P. Nimmo & Co ( Publisher )
Morrison and Gibb ( Printer )
Place of Publication:
William P. Nimmo & Co.
Morrison and Gibb
Publication Date:
Physical Description:
70 p., [1] leaf of plates : ill. (some col.) ; 16 cm.


Subjects / Keywords:
Dogs -- Juvenile literature ( lcsh )
Pets -- Juvenile literature ( lcsh )
Human-animal relationships -- Juvenile literature ( lcsh )
Prize books (Provenance) -- 1882 ( rbprov )
Bldn -- 1882
Prize books (Provenance) ( rbprov )
non-fiction ( marcgt )
Spatial Coverage:
Scotland -- Edinburgh
Target Audience:
juvenile ( marctarget )


General Note:
Frontispiece printed in colors.
Preservation and Access for American and British Children's Literature, 1870-1889 (NEH PA-50860-00).
Statement of Responsibility:
by Harriet Beecher Stowe.

Record Information

Source Institution:
University of Florida
Holding Location:
Baldwin Library of Historical Children's Literature in the Department of Special Collections and Area Studies, George A. Smathers Libraries, University of Florida
Rights Management:
This item is presumed to be in the public domain. The University of Florida George A. Smathers Libraries respect the intellectual property rights of others and do not claim any copyright interest in this item. Users of this work have responsibility for determining copyright status prior to reusing, publishing or reproducing this item for purposes other than what is allowed by fair use or other copyright exemptions. Any reuse of this item in excess of fair use or other copyright exemptions may require permission of the copyright holder. The Smathers Libraries would like to learn more about this item and invite individuals or organizations to contact The Department of Special and Area Studies Collections ( with any additional information they can provide.
Resource Identifier:
026973918 ( ALEPH )
ALH8546 ( NOTIS )
62393650 ( OCLC )


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CI0.1PTE R I. 5






WE are a dog-loving family. We have a warm
side towards everything that goes upon four paws,
and the consequence has been that, taking things
first and last, we have been always kept in con-
fusion and under the paw, so to speak, of some
honest four-footed tyrant, who would go beyond
his privilege and overrun the whole house.
Years ago this begun, when our household con-
sisted of a papa, a mamma, and three or four
noisy boys and girls, and a kind Miss Anna, who
acted as a second mamma to the whole. There
was also one more of our number, the youngest,
dear little bright-eyed Charley, who was king over
us all, and rode in a wicker waggon for a chariot,
and had a nice little nurse devoted to him; and
it was through him that our first dog came.
One day Charley's nurse took him away to
a neighbour's house to spend the afternoon;
they were very well amused, and stayed till after
nightfall. The kind old lady of the mansion was
concerned that the little prince in his little coach,
with his little maid, had to travel so far in the
twilight shadows, and so she called a big dog

6 Stories About Our Dogs.

named Carlo, and gave the establishment into his
Carlo was a great, tawny-yellow mastiff, as big
as a calf, with great, clear, honest eyes, and stiff,
wiry hair; and the good lady called him to the
side of the little waggon, and said, Now, Carlo,
you must take good care of Charley, and you
mustn't let anything hurt him."
Carlo wagged his tail in promise of protection,
and away he trotted home with the wicker
waggon; and when he arrived, he was received
with so much applause by four little folks who
dearly loved the very sight of a dog; he was so
stroked and petted and caressed, that he con-
cluded that he liked the place better than the
home he came from, where were only very grave
elderly people. He tarried all night, and slept at
the foot of the boys' bed, who could hardly go to
sleep for the things they found to say to him, and
who were awake ever so early in the morning,
stroking his rough, tawny back, and hugging him.
At his own home Carlo had a kennel all to
himself, where he was expected to live quite alone,
and do duty by watching and guarding the place.
Nobody petted him, or stroked his rough hide, or
said Poor dog !" to him, and so it appears he
had a feeling that he was not appreciated, and
liked our warm-hearted little folks, who told him
stories, gave him half of their own supper, and
took him to bed with them sociably. Carlo was
a dog that had a mind of his own, though he
couldn't say much about it, and in his dog fashion
proclaimed his likes and dislikes quite as strongly

Stories About Our Dogs. 7

as if he could speak. When the time came for
taking him home, he growled and showed his teeth
dangerously at the man who was sent for him,
and it was necessary to drag him back by force,
and tie him into his kennel. However, he soon
settled that matter by gnawing the rope in two
and trotting down again and appearing among
his little friends, quite to their delight. Two or
three times was he taken back and tied or chained ;
but he howled so dismally, and snapped at people
in such a misanthropic manner, that finally the
kind old lady thought it better to have no dog at
all than a dog soured by blighted affection. So
she loosed his rope and said, "There, Carlo, go
and stay where you like ;" and so Carlo came to
us, and a joy and a delight was he to all in the
house. He loved one and all; but he declared
himself as more than all the slave and property of
our little Prince Charley. He would lie on the
floor as still as a door-mat, and let him pull his
hair, and roll over him, and examine his eyes
with his little fat fingers; and Carlo submitted
to all these personal freedoms with as good an
understanding as papa himself. When Charley
slept, Carlo stretched himself along under the
crib; rising now and then, and standing with his
broad breast on a level with the slats of the crib,
he would look down upon him with an air of
grave protection. He also took a great fancy to
papa, and would sometimes pat with tiptoe care
into his study, and sit quietly down by him when
he was busy over his Greek or Latin books, wait-
ing for a word or two of praise or encourage-

8 Stories About Our Dogs.

ment. If none came, he would lay his rough
horny paw on his knee, and look in his face with
such an honest, imploring expression, that the
Professor was forced to break off to say, "Why,
Carlo, you poor, good honest fellow,-did he want
to be talked to ?-so he did. Well, he shall be
talked to; he's a nice good dog ;"-and during
all these praises Carlo's transports and the thumps
of his rough tail are not to be described.
He had great, honest yellowish-brown eyes,-
not remarkable for their beauty, but which used
to look as if he longed to speak, and he seemed
to have a yearning for praise and love and caresses
that even all our attentions could scarcely satisfy.
His master would say to him sometimes, Carlo,
you poor, good, homely dog,-how loving you
are !" %
Carlo was a full-blooded mastiff,-and his
beauty, if he had any, consisted in his having all
the good points of his race. He was a dog of
blood, come of real old mastiff lineage; his stiff,
wiry hair, his big, rough paws, and great brawny
chest, were all made for strength rather than
beauty; but for all that, he was a dog of tender
sentiments. Yet, if any one intruded on his rights
and dignities, Carlo showed that he had hot blood in
him; his lips would go back, and show a glisten-
ing row of ivories, that one would not like to en-
counter, and if any trenched on his privilege's,
he would give a deep warning growl,-as much
as to say, I am your slave for love,-but you
must treat me well, or I shall be dangerous." A
blow he would nut bear from any one : the fire

Stories About Our Dogs. 9

would flash from his great yellow eyes, and he
would snap like a rifle ;-yet he would let his own
Prince Charley pond on his ribs with both baby
fists, and pull his tail till he yelped, without even
a show of resistance.
At last came a time when the merry voice of
little Charley was heard no more, and his little
feet no more pattered through the halls; he lay
pale and silent in his little crib, with his dear life
ebbing away, and no one knew how to stop its
going. Poor old Carlo lay under the crib when
they would let him, sometimes rising up to look
in with an earnest, sorrowful face; and sometimes
he would stretch himself out in the entry before
the door of little Charley's room, watching with
his great open eyes lest the thief should come in
the night to steal away our treasure.
But one morning when the children woke, one
little soul had gone in the night,-gone up-
ward to the angels; and then the cold, pale, little
form that used to be the life of the house was laid
away tenderly in the yard of a neighboring
Poor old Carlo would pit-pat silently about the
house in those days of grief, looking first into one
face and then another, but no one could tell him
where his gay little master had gone. The other
children had hid the baby-waggon away in the
lumber-room lest their mamma should see it; and
so passed a week or two, and Carlo saw no trace of
Charley about the house. But then a lady in
the neighbourhood, who had a sick baby, sent to
borrow the wicker waggon, and it was taken from

10 Stories About Our Dogs.

Its hiding-place to go to her. Carlo came to the
door just as it was being drawn out of the gate
into the street. Immediately he sprung, cleared
the fence with a great bound, and ran after it.
He overtook it, and poked his head between the
curtains,-there was no one there. Immediately
he turned away, and trotted dejectedly home.
What words could have spoken plainer of love
and memory than this one action ?
Carlo lived with us a year after this, when a
time came for the whole family hive to be taken
up and moved away from the flowery banks of
the Ohio, to the piny shores of Maine. All our
household goods were being uprooted, disordered,
packed, and sold; and the question daily arose,
"What shall we do with Carlo ?" There was
hard begging on the part of the boys that he
might go with them, and one even volunteered to
travel all the way in baggage cars to keep Carlo
company. But papa said no, and so it was de-
cided to send Carlo up the river to the home of
a very genial lady who had visited in our family,
and who appreciated his parts and offered him a
home in hers.
The matter was anxiously talked over one day
in the family circle while Carlo lay under the table,
and it was agreed that papa and Willie should
take him to the steamboat landing the next morn-
ing. But the next morning Mr Carlo was no-
where to be found. In vain was he called, from
garret to cellar; nor was it till papa and Willie
had gone to the city that he came out of his
hiding-plade. For two or three days it was im-

Stories About Our Dogs. 11

possible to catch him, but after a while his sus-
picions were laid, and we learned not to speak out
our plans in his presence, and so the transfer at
last was prosperously effected.
We heard from him once in his new home, as
being a highly appreciated member of society,
and adorning his new situation with all sorts of
dog virtues. But our hearts were sore for want
of him ; thefamily circle seemed incomplete, until
a new favourite appeared to take his place, of
which I shall tell you in the next chapter.

A NEIGHBOUR, blessed with an extensive litter oi
Newfoundland puppies, commenced one chapter in
our family history by giving us a puppy, brisk,
funny, and lively enough, who was received in our
"house with acclamations of joy, and christened
"Rover." An auspicious name we all thought,
for his four or five human playfellows were all
rovers,-rovers in the woods, rovers by the banks
of a neighboring patch of water, where they
dashed and splashed, made rafts, inaugurated
boats, and lived among the cat-tails and sweet
flags as familiarly as so many muskrats. Rovers
also they were, every few days, down to the shores
of the great sea, where they caught fish, rowed
boats, dug clarms,-both girls and boys,-and one
sex quite as handily as the other. Rover came
into such a lively. circle quite as one of them, and

12 Stories About Our Dogs.

from the very first seemed to regard himself as
part and parcel of all that was going on, indoors
or out. But his exuberant spirits at times
brought him into sad scrapes. His vivacity was
such as to amount to decided insanity,-and
mamma and Miss Anna and papa had many grave
looks over his capers. Once he actually tore off
the leg of a new pair of trousers that Johnny had
just donned, and came racing home with it in his
mouth, with its bare-legged little owner behind,
screaming threats and maledictions on the robber.
What a commotion The new trousers had just
been painfully finished, in those days when sewing
was sewing, and not a mere jig on a sewing-
machine; but Rover, so far from being abashed
or ashamed, displayed an impish glee in his per-
formance, bounding and leaping hither and thither
with his trophy in his mouth, now growling, and
mangling it, and shaking it at us in elfish triumph
as we chased him hither and thither,-over the
wood-pile, into the wood-house, through the barn,
out of the stable door,-vowing all sorts of dread-
ful punishments when we caught him. But we
might well say that, for the little wretch would
never be caught; after one of his tricks, he always
managed to keep himself out of arm's length till
the thing was a little blown over, when in he
would come, airy as ever, and wagging his lit le
pudgy puppy tail with an air of the most perfect
assurance in the world.
There is no saying what youthful errors were
pardoned to him. Once he ate a hole in the bed-
quilt as his night's employment, when one of the

Stories About Our Dogs. 13

boys had surreptitiously got him into bed with
them ; he nibbled and variously maltreated sundry
sheets; and once actually tore up and chewed off
a corner of the bed-room carpet, to stay his
stomach during the night season. What he did
it for, no mortal knows; certainly it could not be
because he was hungry, for there were five little
pairs of hands incessantly feeding him from morn-
ing till night. Besides which, he had a boundless
appetite for shoes, which he mumbled, and shook,
and tore, and ruined, greatly to the vexation of
their rightful owners,-rushing in and carrying
them from the bedsides in the night watches, rac-
ing off with them to any out-of-the-way corner
that hit his fancy, and leaving them when he was
tired of the fun. So there is no telling of the
disgrace into which he brought his little masters
and mistresses, and the tears and threats and
scoldings which were all wasted on him, as he
would stand quite at his ease, lolling out his red,
saucy tongue, and never deigning to tell what he
had done with his spoils.
Notwithstanding all these sins, Rover grew up
to doghood, the pride and pet of the family,-
and in truth a very handsome dog he was.
It is quite evident from his looks that his New-
foundland blood had been mingled with that of
some other races; for he never attained the full
size of that race, and his points in some respects
resembled those of a good setter. He was grizzled
black and white, and spotted on the sides in little
inky drops about the size of a three-cent piece *
his hair was long and silky. his ears beautifully

14 Stories About Our Dogs.

fringed, and his tail long and feathery. His eyes
were bright, soft, and full of expression, and a
jollier, livelier, more loving creature never wore
dog-skin. To be sure, his hunting blood some-
times brought us and him into scrapes. A neigh
bour now and then would call with a bill for
ducks, chickens, or young turkeys, which Rover
had killed. The last time this occurred it was
decided that something must be done; so Rover
was shut up a whole day in a cold lumber-room,
with the murdered duck tied round his neck.
Poor fellow how dejected and ashamed he looked,
and how grateful he was when his little friends
would steal in to sit with him, and "poor him
in his disgrace! The punishment so improved
his principles that he let poultry alone from that
time, except now and then, when he would snap
up a young chick or turkey, in pure absence of
mind, before he really knew what he was about.
We had great dread lest he should take to killing
sheep, of which there were many flocks in the
neighbourhood. A dog which once kills sheep is
a doomed beast,-as much as a man who has
committed murder; and if our Rover, through
the hunting blood that was in him, should once
mistake a sheep for a deer, and kill him, we should
be obliged to give him up to justice,-all his good
looks and good qualities could not save him.
What anxieties his training under this head cost
us When we were driving out along the clean
sandy roads, among the piny groves of Maine, it
was half our enjoyment to see Rover, with ears
and tail wild and flying with excitement and en-

Stories About Our Dogs. 15

Joyment, bounding and barking, now on this side
the carriage now on that,-now darting through
the woods straight as an arrow, in his leaps after
birds or squirrels, and anon returning to trot obe-
diently by the carriage, and, wagging his tail, to
ask applause for his performances. But anon a
flock of sheep appeared in a distant field, and
away would go Rover in full bow-wow, plunging
in among them, scattering them hither and thither
in dire confusion. Then Johnny and Bill and all
hands would spring from the carriage in full chase
of the rogue; and all of us shouted vainly in the
rear; and finally the rascal would be dragged
back, panting and crestfallen, to be admonished,
scolded, and cuffed with salutary discipline, hear-
tily administered by his best friends for the sake
of saving his life. "Rover, you naughty dog!
Don't you know you mustn't chase the sheep I
You'll be killed some of these days." Admoni-
tions of this kind, well shaken and thumped in, at
last seemed to reform him thoroughly. He grew
so conscientious, that, when a flock of sheep ap-
peared on the side of the road, he would imme-
diately go to the other side of the carriage, and turn
away his head, rolling up his eyes meanwhile to
us for praise at his extraordinary good conduct.
"Good dog, Rove! nice dog! good fellow! he doesn't
touch the sheep,-no he doesn't." Such were the
rewards of virtue which sweetened his self-denial;
hearing which, he would plume up his feathery
tail, and loll out his tongue, with an air of vir-
tuous assurance quite edifying to behold.
Another of Rovei's dangers was a habit he had

16 Stories About Our Dogs.

of running races and cutting capers with the rail.
road engines as they passed near our dwelling.
We lived in plain sight of the track, and three
or four times a day the old, puffing, smoky iron
horse thundered by, dragging his trains of cars,
and making the very ground shake under him.
Rover never could resist the temptation to run
and bark, and race with so lively an antagonist;
and, to say the truth, John and Willie were some-
what of his mind,-so that, though they were
directed to catch and hinder him, they entered so
warmly into his own feelings that they never su-
ceeded in breaking up the habit. Every day when
the distant whistle was heard, away would go
Rover out of the door or through the window,-
no matter which,-race down to meet the cars,
couch down on the track in front of them bark-
ing with all his might, as if it were only a fellow-
dog, and when they came so near that escape
seemed utterly impossible, he would lie flat down
between the rails and suffer the whole train to
pass over him, and then jump up and bark, full
of glee in the rear. Sometimes he varied this
performance more dangerously by jumping out
full tilt between two middle cars when the train
had passed half-way over him. Everybody pre-
dicted, of course, that he would be killed or
maimed; and the loss of a paw, or of his fine,
saucy tail, was the least of the dreadful things
which were prophesied about him. But Rover
lived and throve in his impudent courses notwith-
The engineers and firemen, who began by throw-

Stories About Our Dogs. 17

ing sticks of wood and bits of coal at him, at last
were quite subdued by his successful impudence,
and came to consider him as a regular institution
of the railroad, and, if any family excursion took
him off for a day, they would inquire with interest,
" Where's our dog ?-what's become of Rover 1"
As to the female part of our family, we had so
often anticipated piteous scenes when poor Rover
would be brought home with broken paws or
without his pretty tail, that we quite used up our
sensibilities, and concluded that some kind angel,
such as is appointed to watch over little children's
pets, must take special care of our Rover.
Rover had very tender domestic affections. His
attachment to his little playfellows was most in-
tense; and one time, when all of them were taken
off together on a week's excursion, and Rover left
alone at home, his low spirits were really pitiful.
He refused entirely to eat for the first day, and
finally could only be coaxed to take nourishment,
with many strokings and caresses, by being fed
out of Miss Anna's own hand. What perfectly
boisterous joy he showed when the children came
back!-careering round and round, picking up
chips and bits of sticks, and coming and offering
them to one and another, in the fulness of his
doggish heart, to show how much he wanted to
give them something.
This mode of signifying his love by bringing
something in his mouth was one of his most
characteristic tricks. At one time he followed
the carriage from Brunswick to Bath, and in
the streets of the city somehow lost his way, so

18 Stories About Our Dogs.

that he was gone all night. Many a little heart
went to bed anxious and sorrowful for the loss of
its shaggy playfellow that night, and Rover doubt-
less was remembered in many little prayers; what,
therefore, was the joy of being awakened by a joy-
ful barking under the window the next morning,
when his little friends rushed in their nightgowns
to behold Rover back again, fresh and frisky, bear-
ing in his mouth a branch of a tree about six feet
long, as his offering of joy.
When the family removed to Zion Hill, Rover
went with them, the trusty and established family
friend. Age had somewhat matured his early
friskiness. Perhaps the grave neighbourhood of
a theological seminary and the responsibility of
being a Professor's dog might have something to
do with it, but Rover gained an established charac-
ter as a dog of respectable habits, and used to
march to the post-office at the heels of his master
twice a day, as regularly as any theological student.
Little Charley the second-the youngest of the
brood who took the place of our lost little Prince
Charley-was yet trotting about in short robes,
and seemed to regard Rover in the light of a dis-
creet older brother, and Rover's manners to him
were of most protecting gentleness. Charley
seemed to consider Rover in all things as such a
model, that he overlooked the difference between
a dog and a boy, and wearied himself with fruit-
less attempts to scratch his ear with his foot as
Rover did, and one day was brought in dripping
from a neighboring swamp, where he had been
lying down in the water, because Rover did-

Stories About Our Dogs. 19

Once in a while a wild oat or two from Rover's
old sack would seem to entangle him. Some-
times, when we were driving out, he would, in his
races after the carriage, make a flying leap into a
farmer's yard, and, if he lighted in a flock of
chickens or turkeys, gobble one off-hand, and be
off again and a mile ahead before the mother hen
had recovered from her astonishment. Some-
times, too, he would have a race with the steam-
engine just for old acquaintance' sake. But these
were comparatively transient follies; in general,
no members of the grave institutions around him
behaved with more dignity and decorum than
Rover. He tried to listen to his master's theologi-
cal lectures, and to attend chapel on Sundays ; but
the prejudices of society were against him, and
so he meekly submitted to be shut out, and wait
outside the door on these occasions.
He formed a part of every domestic scene. At
family prayers, stretched out beside his master,
he looked up reflectively with his great soft eyes,
and seemed to join in the serious feeling of the
hour. When all were gay, when singing, or frolick-
!ng, or games were going on, Rover barked and
frisked in higher glee than any. At night it was
his joy to stretch his furry length by our bedside,
where he slept with one ear on cock for any noise
which it might be his business to watch and attend
to. It was a comfort to hear the tinkle of his
collar when he moved in the night, or to be
wakened by his cold nose pushed against one's
hand if one slept late in the morning. And then
he was always so glad when we woke and when

20 Stories About Our Dogs.

any member of the family circle was gone for ;i
few days, Rover's warm delight and welcome were
not tl!e least of the pleasures of return.
And what became of him ? Alas the fashion
came up of poisoning dogs, and this poor, good,
fond, faithful creature was enticed into swallowing
poisoned meat. One day he came in suddenly ill
and frightened, and ran to the friends who always
had protected him,-but in vain. In a few mo-
ments he was in convulsions, and all the tears and
sobs of his playfellows could not help him; he
closed his bright, loving eyes, and died in their
If those who throw poison to dogs could only
see the real grief it brings into a family to lose
the friend and playfellow who has grown up with
the children, and shared their plays, and been for
years in every family scene,-if they could know
how sorrowful it is to see the poor dumb friend
suffer agonies which they cannot relieve,-if they
could see all this, we have faith to believe they
never would do so more.
Our poor Rover was buried with decent care
near the house, and a mound of petunias over
him kept his memory ever bright; but it will be
long before his friends will get another as true.

ArTn the sad fate of Rover, there came a long
interval in which we had no dog. Our hearts

Stories About Our Dogs. 21

were too sore to want another. His collar, tied
with black crape, hung under a pretty engraving
of Landseer's, called My Dog," which we used
to fancy to be an exact resemblance of our pet.
The children were some of them grown up and
gone to school, or scattered about the world. If
ever the question of another dog was agitated, papa
cut it short with, I won't have another; I won't
be made to feel again as I did about Rover." But
somehow Mr Charley the younger got his eye on
a promising litter of puppies, and at last he begged
papa into consenting that he might have one of
It was a little black mongrel, of no particular
race or breed,-a mere common cur, without any
pretensions to family, but the best-natured, jolliest
little low-bred puppy that ever boy had for a play-
mate. To be sure, he had the usual puppy sins;
-he would run away with papa's slippers, and
boots, and stockings; he would be under every-
body's feet, at the most inconvenient moment; he
chewed up a hearth-broom or two, and pulled one
of Charley's caps to pieces in the night, with
an industry worthy of a better cause ;-still,
because he was dear to Charley, papa and mamma
winked very hard at his transgressions.
The name of this little black individual was
Stromion,-a name taken from a German fairy
tale, which the Professor was very fond of reading
in the domestic circle; and Stromion, by dint of
much patience, much feeding, and very indulgent
treatment, grew up into a very fat, common-look-
ing black cur dog, not very prepossessing in ap-

22 Stories A bout Our _logs.

pearance and banners, but possessed of the very
best heart in the world, and most inconceivably
affectionate and good-natured. Sometimes some
of the older members of the family would trouble
Charley's enjoyment in his playfellow by suggest-
ing that he was no blood dog, and that he be-
longed to no particular dog family that could be
named. Papa comforted him by the assurance
that Stromion did belong to a very old and re-
spectable breed,-that he was a mongrel; and
Charley after that valued him excessively under
this head; and if any one tauntingly remarked
that Stromion was only a cur, he would flame
up in his defence,-" He isn't a cur, he's a
mongrel," introducing him to strangers with the
addition to all his other virtues, that he was a
"pure mongrel,-papa says so."
The edict against dogs in the family having
once been broken down, Master Will proceeded
to gratify his own impulses, and soon led home
to the family circle an enormous old black New-
foundland, of pure breed, which had been pre-
sented him by a man who was leaving the place.
Prince was in the decline of his days, but a fine,
majestic old fellow. He had a sagacity and capa-
city of personal affection which were uncommon.
Many dogs will change from master to master
without the least discomposure. A good bone
will compensate for any loss of the heart, and
make a new friend seem quite as good as an old
one. But Prince had his affections quite as dis-
tinctly as a human being, and we learned this to
our sorrow when he had to be weaned from his old

Stories About Our Dogs. 23

master under our roof. His howls and lamenta-
tions were so dismal and protracted, that the
house could not contain him; we were obliged to
put him into an outhouse to compose his mind,
and we still have a vivid image of him sitting,
the picture of despair, over an untasted mutton
shank, with his nose in the air, and the most dis-
mal howls proceeding from his mouth. Time, the
comforter, however, assuaged his grief, and he
came at last to transfer all his stores of affection
to Will, and to consider himself once more as a
dog with a master.
Prince used to inhabit his young master's
apartment, from the window of which he would
howl dismally when Will left him to go to the
academy near by, and yelp triumphant welcomes
when he saw him returning. He was really and
passionately fond of music, and, though strictly
forbidden the parlour, would push and elbow his
way there with dogged determination when there
was playing or singing. Any one who should
have seen Prince's air when he had a point to
carry, would understand why quiet obstinacy is
called doggedness.
The female members of the family, seeing that
two dogs had gained admission into the circle, had
cast their eyes admiringly on a charming little
Italian greyhound, that was living in doleful cap.
tivity at a dog-fancier's in Boston, and resolved to
set him free and have him for their own. Accord-
ingly they returned one day in triumph, with him
in their. arms,-a fair, delicate creature, white as
gnow, except one mouse-coloured ear. He was

24 Stories About Our Dogs.

received with enthusiasm, and christened Giglio;
the honours of his first bath and toilette were per-
formed by Mademoiselles the young ladies on their
knees, as if he had been in reality young Prince
Giglio from fairy-land.
Of all beautiful shapes in dog form, never was
there one more perfect than this. His hair shone
like spun glass, and his skin was as fine and pink
as that of a baby; his paws and ears were truscu-
lent like fine china, and he had great, soft, tremu-
lous dark eyes; his every movement seemed more
graceful than the last. Whether running or leap-
ing, or sitting in graceful attitudes on the parlour
table among the ladies' embroidery-frames, with a
great rose-coloured bow under his throat, he was
alike a thing of beauty, and his beauty alone won
all hearts to him.
When the papa first learned that a third dog
had been introduced into the household, his pa-
tience gave way. The thing was getting despe-
rate; we were being overrun with dogs; our
house was no more a house, but a kennel; it
ought to be called Cunopolis,-a city of dogs; he
could not and would not have it so; but papa,
like most other indulgent old gentlemen, was soon
reconciled to the children's pets. In fact, Giglio
was found cowering under the bed-clothes at the
Professor's feet not two mornings after his arrival,
and the good gentleman descended with him in
his arms to breakfast, talking to him in the most
devoted manner:-" Poor little Giglio, was he
cold last night ? and did he want to get into papa's
bed 7 he should be brought down-stairs, that he

Stories About Our Dogs. 25

should ;"--all which, addressed to a young rascal
whose sinews were all like steel, and who could
have jumped from the top stair to the bottom like
a feather, was sufficiently amusing.
Giglio's singular beauty and grace were his only
merits; he had no love nor power of loving; he
liked to be petted and kept warm, but it mattered
nothing to him who did it. He was as ready to
run off with a stranger as with his very best friend,
-would follow any whistle or any caller,-was, in
fact, such a gay rover, that we came very near
losing him many times; and more than once he
was brought back from the Boston cars, on board
which he had followed a stranger. He also had,
we grieve to say, very careless habits; and after
being washed white as snow, and adorned with
choice rose-coloured ribbons, would be brought
back soiled and ill-smelling from a neighbour's
livery-stable, where he had been indulging in low
society. For all that, he was very lordly and
aristocratic in his airs with poor Stromion, who
was a dog with a good, loving heart, if he was
black and homely. Stromion admired Giglio
with the most evident devotion; he would always
get up to give him the warm corner, and would
sit humbly in the distance and gaze on him with
most longing admiration,-for all of which my
fine gentleman rewarded him only with an occa-
sional snarl or a nip, as he went by him. Some-
times Giglio would condescend to have a romp
with Stromion for the sake of passing the time,
and then Stromion would be perfectly delighted,
and frisk and roll his clumsy body over the carpet

26 Stories About Our Dogs.

with his graceful antagonist, all whose motions
were a study for an artist. When Giglio was
tired of play, he would give Stromion a nip that
would send him yelping from the field; and then
he would tick, tick gracefully away to some em-
broidered ottoman forbidden to all but himself,
where he would sit graceful and classical as some
Etruscan vase, and look down superior on the
humble companion who looked up to him with
respectful admiration.
Giglio knew his own good points, and was pos-
sessed with the very spirit of a coquette. He
would sometimes obstinately refuse the caresses
and offered lap of his mistresses, and seek to in-
gratiate himself with some stolid theological visitor,
for no other earthly purpose that we could see
than that he was determined to make himself the
object of attention. We have seen him persist in
jumping time and again on the hard, bony knees
of some man who hated dogs, and did not mean
to notice him, until he won attention and caresses,
when immediately he would spring down and tick
away perfectly contented. He assumed lofty,
fine-gentleman airs with Prince also, for which
sometimes he got his reward,-for Prince, the old,
remembered that he was a dog of blood, and
would not take any nonsense from him.
Like many old dogs, Prince had a very powerful
doggy smell, which was a great personal objection
to him, and Giglio was always in a civil way
making reflections upon this weak point. Prince
was fond of indulging himself with an afternoon
nap on the door-mat, and sometimes, when he

Stores About Our Dogs. 27

rose from his repose, Giglio would spring grace-
fully from the table where he had been overlook-
ing him, and, picking his way daintily to the
mat, would snuff at it, with his long, thin nose,
with an air of extreme disgust. It was evidently
a dog insult, done according to the politest modes
of refined society, and said as plain as words could
say,-" My dear sir, excuse me, but can you tell
what makes this peculiar smell where you have
been lying ?" At anyrate, Prince understood the
sarcasm, for a deep angry growl and a sharp nip
would now and then teach my fine gentleman to
mind his own business.
Giglio's lot at last was to travel in foreign lands,
for his young mistresses, being sent to school in
Paris, took him with them to finish his education
and acquire foreign graces. He was smuggled on
board the Fulton, and placed in an upper berth,
well wrapped in a blanket; and the last we saw
of him was his long, thin Italian nose, and dark,
tremulous eyes looking wistfully at us from the
folds of the flannel in which he shivered. Sen-
sitiveness to cold was one of his.great peculiarities.
In winter he wore little blankets, which his fond
mistresses made with anxious care, and on which
his initials were embroidered with their own hands.
In the winter weather on Zion Hill he was often
severely put to it to gratify his love of roving in
the cold snows; he would hold up first one leg
and then the other, and contrive to get along on
three, so as to save himself as much as possible;
and more than once he caught severe colds, requir-
ing careful nursing and medical treatment to bring
him round again.

28 Stories About Our Dogs.

The Fulton sailed early in March. It was chilly,
stormy weather, so that the passengers all suffered
somewhat with cold, and Master Giglio was glad
to lie rolled in his blanket, looking like a sea-sick
gentleman. The captain very generously allowed
him a free passage, and in pleasant weather he
used to promenade the deck, where his beauty
won for him caresses and attentions innumerable.
The stewards and cooks always had choice mor-
sels for him, and fed him to such a degree as
would have spoiled any other dog's figure; but
his could not be spoiled. All the ladies vied with
each other in seeking his good graces, and after
dinner he pattered from one to another, to be fed
with sweet things and confectionery, and hear his
own praises, like a gay buck of fashion as he was.
Landed in Paris, he met a warm reception at
the Pension of Madame B- ; but ambition
filled his breast. He was in the great, gay city
of Paris, the place where a handsome dog has but
to appear to make his fortune, and so Giglio re-
solved to seek out for himself a more brilliant
One day, when he was being led to take the air
in the court, he slipped his leash, sped through
the gate, and away down the street like the wind.
It was idle to attempt to follow him; he was gone
like a bird in the air, and left the hearts of his
young mistresses quite desolate.
Some months after, as they were one evening
eating ices in the Champs Elys6es, a splendid
carriage drove up, from which descended a liveried
servant, with a dog in Lis arms. It was Giglio,

Stories About Our Dogs. 29

the faithless Giglio, with his one mouse-coloured
ear, that marked him from all other dogs! He
had evidently accomplished his destiny, and be-
come the darling of rank and fashion, rode in an
elegant carriage, and had a servant in livery de-
voted to him. Of course he did not pretend to
notice his former friends. The footman who had
come out apparently to give him an airing, led
him up and down close by where they were
sitting, and bestowed on him the most devoted
attentions. Of course there was no use in trying
to reclaim him, and so they took their last look
of the fair inconstant, and left him to his brilliant
destiny. And thus ends the history of PRMNCE

AFTER Prince Giglio deserted us and proved so
faithless, we were for a while determined not to
have another pet. They were all good for nothing,
-all alike ungrateful; we forswore the whole
race of dogs. But the next winter we went to
live in the beautiful city of Florence, in Italy, and
there, in spite of all our protestations, our hearts
were again ensnared.
You must know that in the neighbourhood of
Florence is a celebrated villa, owned by a Russian
nobleman, Prince Demidoff, and that among other
fine things that are to be found there is a very
nice breed of King Charles spaniels, which are
called Demidoffs, after the place. One of these,

30 Stories About Our Dogs.

a pretty little creature, was presented to us by a
kind lady, and our resolution against having any
more pets all melted away in view of the soft,
beseeching eyes, the fine silky ears, the glossy,
wavy hair, and bright chestnut paws of the new
favourite. She was exactly such a pretty creature
as one sees painted in some of the splendid old
Italian pictures, and which Mr Ruskin describes
as belonging to the race of fringy paws." The
little creature was warmly received among us; an
ottoman was set apart for her to lie on; and a
bright bow of green, red, and white ribbon, the
Italian colours, was prepared for her neck; and
she waa christened Florence, after her native city.
Florence was a perfect little fine lady, and a
perfect Italian,-sensitive, intelligent, nervous,
passionate, and constant in her attachments, but
with a hundred little whims and fancies that re-
quired petting and tending hourly. She was per.
fectly miserable if she was not allowed to attend
us in our daily drives, yet in the carriage she was
so excitable and restless, so interested to take part
in everything she saw and heard in the street, that
it was all we could do to hold her iii and make
her behave herself decently. She was nothing
but a little bundle of nerves, apparently all the
while in a tremble of excitement about one thing
or another; she was so disconsolate if left at
home, that she went everywhere with us. She
visited the picture-galleries, the museums, and all
the approved sights of Florence, and improved her
mind as much as many other young ladies who do
the sarma

Stories About our Dogs. 31

Then we removed from Florence to Rome, and
poor Flo was direfully sea-sick on board the steam-
boat, in company with all her young mistresses,
but recovered herself at Civita Vecchia, and entered
Rome in high feather. There she settled herself
complacently in our new lodgings, which were far
more spacious and elegant than those we had left
in Florence, and began to claim her little rights in
all the sight-seeing of the Eternal City.
She went with us to palaces and to ruins,
scrambling up and down, hither and thither, with
the utmost show of interest. She went up all the
stairs to the top of the Capitol, except the very
highest and last, where she put on airs, whimpered,
and professed such little frights, that her mistress
was forced to carry her; but once on the top, she
barked from right to left,-now at the snowy top
of old Soracte, now at the great, wide, desolate
plains of the Campagna, and now at the old ruins
of the Roman Forum down under our feet. Upon
all she had her own opinion, and was not back-
ward to express herself. At other times she used
to ride with us to a beautiful country villa outside
of the walls of Rome, called the Pamfili Doria.
How beautiful and lovely this place was I can
scarcely tell my little friends. There were long
alleys and walks of the most beautiful trees; there
were winding paths leading to all manner of beauti-
ful grottos, and charming fountains, and the wide
lawns used to be covered with the most lovely
flowers. There were anemones that looked like
little tulips, growing about an inch and a half
high, and of all colours,-blue, purple, lilac, '.,

82 Stories About Our Dogs.

crimson, and white,-and there were great beds of
fragrant blue and white violets. As to the charm-
ing grace and beauty of the fountains that were
to be found here and there all through the grounds,
I could not describe them to you. They were
made of marble, carved in all sorts of fanciful
devices, and grown over with green mosses and
maidenhair, something like this.
What spirits little Miss Flo had, when once
set down in these enchanting fields! While all
her mistresses were gathering lapfuls of many-
coloured anemones, violets, and all sorts of beau-
tiful things, Flo would snuff the air, and run and
race hither and thither, with her silky ears flying
and her whole little body quivering with excite-
ment. Now she would race round the grand
basin of a fountain, and bark with all her might
at the great white swans that were swelling and
ruffling their silver-white plumage, and took her
noisy attentions with all possible composure. Then
she would run off down some long side-alley after
a knot of French soldiers, whose gay red legs and
bhlu coats seemed to please her mightily; and
man, a fine chase she gave her mistresses, who
were obliged to run up and down, here, there, and
everywhere, to find her when they wanted to go
home again.
One time my lady's friskiness brought her into
quite a sei ious trouble, as you shall hear. We were
all going to St Peter's Church, and just as we came
to the bridge of St Angelo, that crosses the Tiber,
we met quite a concourse of carriages. Up jumped
my lady Florence, all alive and busy,-for she

Stories About Our Dogs. 33

always reckoned everything that was going on a
part of her business,-and gave such a spring
that over she went, sheer out of the carriage, into
the mixed medley of carriages, horses, and people
below. We were all frightened enough, but not
half so frightened as she was, as she ran blindly
down a street, followed by a perfect train of
ragged little black-eyed, black-haired boys, all
shouting and screaming after her. As soon as he
could, our courier got down and ran after her,
but he might as well have chased a streak of
summer lightning. She was down the street,
round the corner, and lost to view with all the
I g.twiIIFhaI tribe, men, boys, and women, after
her; and so we thought we had lost her, and
came home to our lodgings very desolate in heart,
when lo our old porter told us that a little dog
that looked like ours had come begging and
whining at our street door, but before he could
open it the poor little wanderer had been chased
away again and gone down the street. After a
while some very polite French soldiers picked her
up in the Piazza di Spagna,-a great public square
near our dwelling, to get into which we were
obliged to go down some one or two hundred
steps. We could fancy our poor Flo frightened
and panting, flying like a meteor down these
steps, till she was brought up by the arms of a
soldier below.
Glad enough were we when the polite soldier
brought her back to our doors;--and one must
say one good thing for French soldiers all the
world over, that they ar the pleasantest-tempered

3t Stories About Our Dogs.

and politest people possible, so very tender-hearted
towards all sorts of little defenceless pets, that
our poor runaway could not have fallen into better
After this, we were careful to hold her more
firmly when she had her little nervous starts and
struggles in riding about Rome.
One day we had been riding outside of the walls
of the city, and just as we were returning home
we saw coming towards us quite a number of
splendid carriages with prancing black horses. It
was the Pope and several of his cardinals coming
out for an afternoon airing. The carriages
stopped, and the Pope and cardinals all got out
to take a little exercise on foot, and immediately
all carriages that were in the way drew to one
side, and those of the people in them who were
Roman Catholics got out and knelt down to wait
for the Pope's blessing as he went by. As for us,
we were contented to wait sitting in the carriage.
On came the Pope, looking like a fat, mild, kind-
hearted old gentleman, smiling and blessing the
people as he went on, and the cardinals scuffing
along in the dust behind him. He walked very
near to our carriage, and Miss Florence, notwith-
standing all our attempts to keep her decent,
would give a smart little bow-wow right in his
face just as he was passing. He smiled benignly,
and put out his hand in sign of blessing toward
our carriage, and Florence doubtless got what she
had been asking for.
From Rome we travelled to Naples, and Miss
Flo went with us through ur various adventures

Stories About Our Dogs. 5

tlcre,-up Mount Vesuvius, where she half
choked herself with sulphurous smoke. There is
a place near Naples called the Solfatara, which is
thought to be the crater of an extinct volcano,
where there is a cave that hisses, and roars, and
puffs out scalding steam like a perpetual locomo-
tive, and all the ground around shakes and quivers
as if it were only a crust over some terrible abyss.
The pools of water are all white with sulphur; the
ground is made of sulphur and arsenic and all such
sort of uncanny matters; and we were in a fine
fright lest Miss Florence, being in one of her
wildest and most indiscreet moods, should tumble
into some burning hole, or strangle herself with
sulphur and in fact she rolled over and over in
a sulphur puddle, and then, scampering off, rolled
in ashes by way of cleaning herself. We could
not, however, leave her at home during any of
our excursions, and so had to make the best of
these imprudences.
When at last the time came for us to leave Italy,
we were warned that Florence would not be allowed
to travel in the railroad cars in the French terri-
tories. All dogs, of all sizes and kinds, whose
owners wish to have travel with them, are shut up
in a sort of closet by themselves, called the dog-
car; and we thought our nervous, excitable little
pet would be frightened into fits, to be separated
from all her friends, and made to travel with all
sorts of strange dogs. So we determined to
smuggle her along in a basket. At Turin wa
bought a little black basket, just big enough to
contain her, and into it we made her go,-very

30 Stores About Our Dogs.

sorely against her will, as we could not explain to
her the reason why. Very guilty indeed we felt,
with this travelling conveyance hung on one arm,
sitting in the waiting-room, and dreading every
minute lest somebody should see the great bright
eyeu peeping through the holes of the basket, or
hear the subdued little whines and howls which
every now and then came from its depths.
Florence had been a petted lady, used to hav-
ing her own way, and a great deal of it; and this
being put up in a little black basket, where she
could neither make her remarks on the scenery,
nor join in the conversation of her young mis-
tresses, seemed to her a piece of caprice without
rhyme or reason. So every once in a while she
would express her mind on the subject by a sud.
den dismal little whine ; and what was specially
trying, she would take the occasion to do this
when the cars stopped and all was quiet, so that
everybody could hear her. Where's that dog ?-
somebody's got a dog in here,-was the inquiry
very plain to be seen in the suspicious looks which
the guard cast upon us as he put his head into
our compartment, and gazed about inquiringly.
Finally, to our great terror, a railway director, a
tall, gentlemanly man, took his seat in our very
compartment, where Miss Florence's basket gar-
nished the pocket above our heads, and she was
in one of her most querulous moods. At every
stopping-place she gave her little snifs and howls,
and rattled her basket so as to draw all eyes. We
all tried to look innocent and unconscious, but the
polite railroad director very easily perceived what

Stories About Our Dogs. 87

was the matter. He looked from one anxious,
half-laughing face to the others, with a kindly
twinkle in his eye, but said nothing. All the
guards and employes bowed down to him, and
came cap in hand at every stopping-place to take
his orders. What a relief it was to hear him say,
in a low voice, to them: "These young ladies
have a little dog which they are carrying. Take
no notice of it, and do not disturb them !" Of
course, after that, though Florence barked and
howled and rattled her basket, and sometimes
showed her great eyes, like two coal-black dia-
monds, through its lattice-work, nobody saw and
nobody heard, and we came unmolested with her
to Paris.
After a while she grew accustomed to her little
travelling carriage, and resigned herself quietly
to go to sleep in it; and so we got her from
Paris to Kent, where we stopped a few days to
visit some friends in a lovely country place called
Here we had presented to us another pet, that
was after the chosen companion and fast friend of
Florence. He was a little Skye terrier, of the
colour of a Maltese cat, covered all over with fine,
long silky hair, which hung down so evenly, that
it was difficult at the first glance to say which was
his head and which his tail. But at the head end
there gleamed out a pair of great, soft, speaking
eyes, that formed the only beauty of the creature;
and very beautiful they were, in their soft, beseech-
hig lovingness.
Poor Rag had the tenderest heart that ever was

38 Stories About Our Dogs.

hid in a bundle of hair; he was fidelity and d-e
votion itself, and used to lie at our feet in the
railroad carriages as still as a gray sheep-skin, only
too happy to be there on any terms. It would
be too long to tell our travelling adventures in
England; suffice it to say, that at last we went
on board the Africa to come home, with our two
pets, which had to be handed over to the butcher,
and slept on quarters of mutton and sides of beef,
till they smelt of tallow and grew fat in a most
vulgar way.
At last both of them were safely installed in
the brown stone cottage in Andover, and Rag was
presented to a young lady to whom he had been
sent as a gift from England, and to whom he at-
tached himself with the most faithful devotion.
Both dogs insisted on having their part of the
daily walks and drives of their young mistresses;
and, when they observed them putting on their
hats, would run, and bark, and leap, and make as
much noise as a family of children clamouring for
a ride.
After a few months, Florence had three or four
little puppies. Very puny little things they were;
and a fierce, nervous little mother she made. Her
eyes looked blue as burnished steel, and if any-
body only set foot in the room where her basket
was, her hair would bristle, and she would bark
so fiercely as to be quite alarming. For all that,
her little ones proved quite a failure, for they were
all stone-blind. In vain we waited and hoped
and watched for nine days, and long after; the
eyes were glazed and dim, and one by one they

Stories About Our Dogs. 39

died. The last two seemed to promise to survive,
and were familiarly known in the family circle by
the names of Milton and Beethoven.
But the fatigues of nursing exhausted the deli-
cate constitution of poor Florence, and she lay all
one day in spasms. It became evident that a
tranquil passage must be secured for Milton and
Beethoven to the land of shades, or their little
mother would go there herself; and accordingly
they vanished from this life.
As to poor Flo, the young medical student in
the family took her into a water-cure course of
treatment, wrapping her in a wet napkin first,
and then in his scarlet flannel dressing-gown, and
keeping a cloth wet with iced water round her
head. She looked out of her wrappings, patient
and pitiful, like a very small old African female,
in a very serious state of mind. To the glory of
the water-cure, however, this course in one day
so cured her, that she was frisking about the next,
happy as if nothing had happened.
She had, however, a slight attack of the spasms,
which caused her to run frantically and cry to
have the hall-door opened ; and when it was
opened, she scampered up in all haste into the
chamber of her medical friend, and, not find-
ing him there, jumped upon his bed, and began
"with her teeth and paws to get around her the
scarlet dressing-gown in which she had found re-
lief before. So she was again packed in wet
napkins, and after that never had another attack.
After this, Florence was begged from us by a
lady who fell in love with her beautiful eyes, and

40 Stories About Our Dojs.

bhe went to reside in a. most lovely cottage in
I-- where she received the devoted attentions
of a whole family. The family physician, however,
fell violently in love with her, and, by dint of
caring for her in certain little ailments, awakened
such a sentiment in return, that at last she was
given to him, and used to ride about in state with
him in his carriage, visiting his patients, and giv-
ing her opinion on their symptoms.
At last her health grew delicate, and her appe-
tite failed. In vain chicken, and chops, and all
the delicacies that could tempt the most fastidious,
were offered to her, cooked expressly for her table ;
the end of all things fair must come, and poor
Florence breathed b-r last, and was put into a
little rosewood casket, lined with white, and
studded with silver nails, and so buried under a
fine group of chestnuts in the grounds of her
former friends. A marble tablet was to be affixed
to one of these, commemorating her charms; but
like other spoiled beauties, her memory soon
faded, and the tablet has been forgotten.
The mistress of Rag, who is devoted to his
memory, insists that not enough space has been
given in this memoir to his virtues. But the
virtues of honest Rag were of that kind which
can be told in a few sentences,-a warm, loving
heart, a boundless desire to be loved, and a devo-
tion that made him regard with superstitious
veneration all the movements of his mistress.
The only shrewd trick he possessed was a habit
of drawing on her sympathy by feigning a lame
leg whenever she scolded or corrected him. In

Psories About Our Dogs. 41

his English days he had, had an injury from the
kick of a horse, which, however, had long since
been healed ; but he remembered the petting he
got for this infirmity, and so recalled it whenever
he found that his mistress's stock of affection was
running low. A blow or a harsh word would
cause him to limp in an alarming manner : but a
few caresses would set matters all straight again.
Rag had been a frantic ratter, and often roused
the whole family by his savage yells after rats
that he heard gambolling quite out of his reach
behind the partitions in the china closet. He
would crouch his head on his fore paws, and lie
watching at rat-holes, in hopes of intercept-
ing some transient loafer; and one day he ac-
tually broke the back and bones of a gray old
thief whom he caught marauding in the china
Proud and happy was he of this feat; but poor
fellow he had to repose on the laurels thus
gained, for his teeth were old and poor, and more
than one old rebel slipped away from him, leaving
him screaming with disappointed ambition.
At last poor Rag became aged and toothless,
and a shake which he one day received from a
big dog, which took him for a bundle of wick-yarn,
hastened the breaking up of his constitution. He
was attacked with acute rheumatism, and, not-
withstanding the most assiduous cares of his mis
tress, died at last in her arms.
Funeral honours were decreed him ; white
chrysanthemums and myrtle leaves decked his

4 Stories About Our Doas.

bier. And so Rag was gathered to the dogs
which had gone before him.

WELL, after the departure of Madame Florence
there was a long cessation of the dog mania in our
family. We concluded that we would have no
more pets; for they made too much anxiety, and
care, and trouble, and broke all our hearts by
death or desertion.
At last, however, some neighbours of ours took
unto themselves, to enliven their dwelling, a little,
saucy Scotch terrier, whose bright eyes and wicked
tricks so wrought upon the hearts of one of our
juvenile branches, that there was no rest in the
camp without this addition to it. Nothing was so
pretty, so bright, so knowing and cunning, as a
"Scotch terrier," and a Scotch terrier we must
have,-so said Miss Jenny, our youngest.
And so a bargain was struck by one of Jenny's
friends with some of the knowing ones in Boston,
and home she came, the happy possessor of a
genuine article,-as wide awake, impertinent,
frisky, and wicked a little elf as ever was covered
with a shock of rough tan-coloured hair.
His mistress no sooner gazed on him, than she
was inspired to give him a name suited to his
peculiar character ;-so he frisked into the front
door announced as Wix, and soon made himself
perfectly at home in the family circle, which he

Stories About Our Dogs. 43

took, after his own fashion, by storm. He entered
the house like a small whirlwind, dashed, the first
thing, into the Professor's study, seized a slipper
which was dangling rather uncertainly on one of
his studious feet, and, wresting it off, raced
triumphantly with it around the hall, barking dis-
tractedly every minute that he was not shaking
and worrying his prize.
Great was the sensation. Grandma tottered
with trembling steps to the door, and asked, with
hesitating tones, what sort of a creature that
might be; and being saluted with the jubilant
proclamation, "Why, grandma, it's my dog,-a
real, genuine Scotch terrier; he'll never grow any
larger, and he's a perfect beauty don't you think
so ?" Grandma could only tremblingly reply,
"Oh, there is not any danger of his going mad, is
there ? Is he generally so playful ?"
Playful was certainly a mild term for the tempest
of excitement in which master Wix flew round
and round in giddy circles, springing over ottomans,
diving under sofas, barking from beneath chairs,
and resisting every effort to recapture the slipper
with bristling hair and blazing eyes, as if the
whole of his dog-life consisted in keeping his
prize; till at length he caught a glimpse of pussy's
tail,-at which, dropping the slipper, he precipi-
tated himself after the flying meteor, tumbling,
rolling, and scratching down the kitchen stairs,
and standing on his hind-legs barking distractedly
at poor Tom, who had taken refuge in the sink,
and sat with his tail magnified to the size of a
mall bolster.

44 Stories About Our Dogs.

This cat, the most reputable and steady indi.
vidual of his species, the darling of the most re-
spectable of cooks, had received the name of
Thomas Henry, by which somewhat lengthy
appellation he was generally designated in the
family circle, as a mark of the respect which his
serious and contemplative manner commonly ex-
cited. Thomas had but one trick of popularity.
With much painstaking and care the cook had
taught him the act of performing a somerset over
our hands when held at a decent height from the
floor; and for this one elegant accomplishment,
added to great success in his calling of rat-catch-
ing, he was held in great consideration in the
family, and had meandered his decorous way
about house, slept in the sun, and otherwise con-
ducted himself with the innocent and tranquil
freedom which became a family cat of correct
habits and a good conscience.
The irruption of Wix into our establishment
was like the bursting of a bomb at the feet of some
respectable citizen going tranquilly to market.
Thomas was a cat of courage, and rats of the
largest size shrunk appalled at the very sight of
his whiskers; but now he sat in the sink quite
cowed, consulting with great, anxious yellow eyes
the throng of faces that followed Wix down the
stairs, and watching anxiously, the efforts Miss
Jenny was making to subdue and quiet him.
"Wix, you naughty little rascal, you mustn't
bark at Thomas Henry ; be still!" Whereat
Wix, understanding himself to be blamed, brought
forth his trump card of accomplishments, which

Stories About Our Dogs. 45

he always offered by way of pacification whenever
he was scolded. He reared himself up on his
hind-legs, hung his head languishingly on one side,
lolled out his tongue, and made a series of suppli-
catory gestures with his fore-paws,-a trick which
never failed to bring down the house in a storm
of applause, and carry him out of any scrape with
flying colours.
Poor Thomas Henry, from his desolate sink,
saw his terrible rival carried off in Miss Jenny's
arms amid the applause of the whole circle, and
had abundance of time to reflect on the unsub-
stantial nature of popularity. After that he grew
dejected and misanthropic-a real Cardinal Wolsey
in furs-for Wix was possessed with a perfect
cat-hunting mania, and, whenever he was not em-
ployed in other mischief, was always ready for a
bout with Thomas Henry.
It is true, he sometimes came back from these
encounters with a scratched and bloody nose, for
Thomas Henry was a cat of no mean claw, and
would turn to bay at times ; but generally he felt
the exertion too much for his advanced years and
quiet habits, and so for safety he passed much of
his time in the sink, over the battlements of which
lie would leisurely survey the efforts of the enemy
to get at him. The cook hinted strongly of the
danger of rheumatism to her favourite from these
damp quarters, but Wix at present was the reign-
ing favourite, and it was vain to dispute his sway.
Next to Thomas Henry, Wix directed his prin-
cipal efforts to teasing grandmamma. Something
or other about her black dress and quiet move-

16 Stories About Our Dogs.

ments seemed to suggest to him suspicions. He
viewed her as something to be narrowly watched ;
he would lie down under some chair or table, and
watch her motions with his head on his fore-paws
as if he were watching at a rat-hole. She evidently
was not a rat, he seemed to say to himself, but
who knows what she may be; and he would
wink at her with his great bright eyes, and, if she
began to get up, would spring from his ambush
and bark at her feet with frantic energy,-by
which means he nearly threw her over two or three
His young mistress kept a rod and put him
through a severe course of discipline for these
offences ; after which he grew more careful,-but
still the unaccountable fascination seemed to con-
tinue; still he would lie in ambush, and, though
forbidden to bark, would dart stealthily forward
when he saw her preparing to rise, and be under
her dress smelling in a suspicious manner at her
heels. He would spring from his place at the
fire, and rush to the staircase when he heard her
leisurely step descending the stairs, and once or
twice nearly overset her by being under her heels,
bringing on himself a chastisement which he in
vain sought to avert by the most vigorous depre-
catory pawing.
Grandmamma's favourite evening employment
was to sit sleeping in her chair, gradually bobbing
her head lower and lower,-all which movements
Wix would watch, giving a short snap, or a sup-
pressed growl, at every bow. What he would
have done, if, as John Bunyan says, he had been

Stories About Our Dogs. 47

allowed to have his doggishh way" with her, it
is impossible to say. Once he succeeded in seiz-
ing the slipper from her foot as she sat napping,
and a glorious race he had with it,-out at the
front door, up the path to the theological semi-
nary, and round and round the halls consecrated
to better things, with all the glee of an imp. At
another time he made a dart into her apartment,
and seized a turkey-wing which the good old lady
had used for a duster, and made such a regular
forenoon's work of worrying, shaking, and teasing
it, that every feather in it was utterly demolished.
In fact, there was about Wix something so
elfish and impish, that there began to be shrewd
suspicions that he must be somehow or other a
descendant of the celebrated poodle of Faust, and
that one need not be surprised some day to have
him suddenly looming up into some uncanny
shape, or entering into conversation, and uttering
all sorts of improprieties unbefitting a theological
professor's family.
He had a persistence in wicked ways that re-
sisted the most energetic nurture-and admonition
of his young mistress. His combativeness was
such, that a peaceable walk down the fashionable
street of Zion Hill in his company became impos-
sible; all was race and scurry, cackle and flutter,
wherever he appeared,-hens and poultry flying,
frightened cats mounting trees with magnified
tails, dogs yelping and snarling, and children and
cows running in every direction. No modest young
lady could possibly walk out in company with such
% son of confusion. Beside this, Wix had his own

48 Stories About Our Dogs.

private inexplicable personal piques against differ-
ent visitors in the family, and in the most unex-
pected moment would give a snap or a nip to the
most unoffending person. His friends in the
family circle dropped off. His ways were pro-
nounced too bad, his conduct perfectly indefen-
sible; his young mistress alone clung to him, and
declared that her vigorous system of education
would at last reform his eccentricities, and turn
him out a tip-top dog. But when he would slily
leave home, and, after rolling and steeping him-
self in the ill-smelling deposits of the stable or
drain, come home and spring with impudent ease
into her lap, or put himself to sleep on her little
white bed, the magic cords of affection gave out,
and disgust began to succeed. It began to be re-
marked that this was a stable-dog, educated for
the coach-boy and stable, and to be doubted
whether it was worth while to endeavour to raise
him to a lady's boudoir; and so at last, when the
family removed to Zion Hill, he was taken back
and disposed of at a somewhat reduced price.
Since then, as we are informed, he has risen to
fame and honour. His name has even appeared
in sporting gazettes as the most celebrated ratterr"
in little Boston, and his mistress was solemnly
assured by his present possessor that for "cat
work" he was unequalled, and that he would not
take fifty dollars for him. From all which it ap-
pears that a dog which is only a torment and a
nuisance in one sphere may be an eminent char-
acter in another.
'The catalogue of our dogs ends with Wix.

Stories About Our Dogs. 49

Whether we shall ever have another or not we
cannot tell; but in the next chapter I will tell my
young readers a few true stories of other domestic
pets which may amuse them.

AND now, with all and each of the young friends
who have read these little histories of our dogs,
we want to have a few moments of quiet chat
about dogs and household pets in general.
In these stories you must have noticed that
each dog had as much his own character as if he
had been a human being. Carlo was not like
Rover, nor Rover like Giglio, nor Giglio like
Florence, nor Florence like Rag, nor Rag like
Wix,-any more than Charley is like Fred, or
Fred like Henry, or Henry like Eliza, or Eliza
like Julia. Every animal has his own character,
as marked and distinct as a human being. Many
people who have not much studied the habits of
animals don't know this. To them a dog is a dog,
a cat a cat, a horse a horse, and no more,-that
is the end of it.
But domestic animals that associate with human
beings develop a very different character from
what they would possess in a wild state. Dogs,
for example, in those countries where there is a
prejudice against receiving them into man's
association, herd together, and become wild and
fierce like wolves. This is the case in many

50 Stories About Our Dogs

Oriental countries, where there are superstitious
ideas about dogs; as, for instance, that they are
unclean and impure. But in other countries, the
dog, for the most part, forsakes all other dogs to
become the associate of man. A dog without a
master is a forlorn creature ; no society of other
dogs seems to console him; he wanders about
disconsolate, till he finds some human being to
whom to attach himself, and then he is a made
dog,-he pads about with an air of dignity, like a
dog that is settled in life.
There are among dogs certain races or large
divisions, and those belonging purely to any of
those races are called blood-dogs. As examples
of what we mean by these races, we will mention
the spaniel, the mastiff, the bull-dog, the hound,
and the terrier; and each of these divisions con-
tains many species, and each has a strongly
marked character. The spaniel tribes are gentle,
docile, easily attached to man; from them many
hunting dogs are trained. The bull-dog is irri-
table, a terrible fighter, and fiercely faithful to his
master. A mastiff is strong, large, not so fierce
as the bull-dog, but watchful and courageous, with
a peculiar sense of responsibility in guarding any-
thing which is placed under his charge. The
hounds are slender, lean, wiry, with a long,
pointed muzzle, and a peculiar sensibility in the
sense of smell, and their instincts lead them to
hunting and tracking. As a general thing, they
are cowardly and indisposed to combat; there are,
however, remarkable exceptions, as you will see if
you read the account of the good black hound

Stories About Our Dogs. 51

which Sir Walter Scott tells about in The Talis.
man,"-a story which I advise you to read at your
next leisure. The terriers are, for the most part,
small dogs, smart, bright, and active, very intelli-
gent, and capable of being taught many tricks.
Of these there are several varieties,-as the
English black and tan, which is the neatest and
prettiest pet a family of children can have, as his
hair is so short and close that he can harbour no
fleas, and he is always good-tempered, lively, and
affectionate. The Skye terrier, with his mouse-
coloured mop of hair, and his great bright eyes, is
very loving and very sagacious; but alas unless
you can afford a great deal of time for soap, water,
and fine-tooth-comb exercises, he will bring more
company than you will like. The Scotch terriers
are rough, scraggy, affectionate, but so nervous,
frisky, and mischievous that they are only to be
recommended as out-door pets in barn and stable.
They are capital rat-catchers, very amicable with
horses, and will sit up by the driver or a coach-
boy with an air of great sagacity.
There is something very curious about the
habits and instincts of certain dogs which have
been trained by man for his own purposes. In
the mountains of Scotland, there are a tribe of
dogs called Shepherd-dogs, which for generations
and ages have helped the shepherds to take care
of their sheep, and which look for all the world
like long-nosed, high-cheek-boned, careful old
Scotchmen. You will see them in the morning,
trotting out their flock of sheep, walking about
with a grave, carc-tcaking air, and at evening all

b2 Stories About Our Dogs.

bustle and importance, hurrying and scurrying
hither and thither, getting their charge all together
for the night. An old Scotchman tells us that
his dog Hector, by long sharing his toils and cares,
got to looking so much like him, that once, when
he felt too sleepy to go to meeting, he sent Hector
to take his seat in the pew, and the minister
never knew the difference, but complimented
him the next day for his good attention to the
There is a kind of dog employed by the monks
of St Bernard, in the Alps, to go out and seek in
the snow for travellers who may have lost their
way; and this habit becomes such a strong in-
stinct in them, that I once knew a puppy of this
species which was brought by a shipmaster to
Maine, and grew up in a steady New England
town, which used to alarm his kind friends by
rushing off into the pine forest in snow-storms,
and running anxiously up and down burrowing in
the snow as if in quest of something.
I have seen one of a remarkable breed of dogs
that are brought from the island of Manilla.
They resemble mastiffs in their form, but are im-
mensely large and strong. They are trained to
detect thieves, and kept by merchants on board of
"vessels where the natives are very sly and much
given to stealing. They are called holders, and
their way is, when a strange man, whose purposes
they do not understand, comes on board the ship,
to take a very gentle but decisive hold of him by
the heel, and keep him fast until somebody comes
to look after him. The dog I knew of this species

Stories About Our Dogs. 53

stood, about as high as an ordinary dining-table,
and I have seen him stroke off the dinner-cloth
with one wag of his tail in his pleasure when I
patted his head. He was very intelligent and
There is another dog, which may often be seen
in Paris, called the Spitz dog. He is a white,
smooth-haired, small creature, with a great muff
of stiff hair round his neck, and generally comes
into Paris riding horseback on the cart-horses
which draw the carts of the washerwomen. Ho
races nimbly up and down on the back of the
great heavy horses, barking from right to left with
great animation, and is said to be a most faithful
little creature in guarding the property of his
owner. What is peculiar about these little dogs
is the entireness of their devotion to their master.
They have not a look, not a wag of the tail, for
any one else ; it is vain for a stranger to try and
make friends with them,-they have eyes and ears
for one alone.
All dogs which do not belong to some of the
great varieties, on the one side of their parentage
or the other, are classed together as curs, and
very much undervalued and decried; and yet
among these mongrel curs we have seen indivi-
duals quite as sagacious, intelligent, and affection-
ate asthe best blood-dogs.
And now I want to say some things to those
young people who desire to adopt as domestic
pets either a dog or a cat. Don't do it without
making up your mind to be really and thoroughly
kind to them, and feeding them as carefully as

54 Stories About Our Dogs

you feed yourself, and giving them appropriate
shelter from the inclemency of the weather.
Some people seem to have a general idea that
throwing a scrap, or bone, or bit of refuse meat,
at odd intervals, to a dog, is taking abundant
care of him. What's the matter with him ? he
can't be hungry,-I gave him that great bone
yesterday." Ah! Master Hopeful, how, would
you like to be fed on the same principle? When
you show your hungry face at the dinner-table,
suppose papa should say, "What's that boy here
for? He was fed this morning." You would
think this hard measure; yet a dog's or cat's
stomach digests as rapidly as ours. In like man-
ner, dogs are often shut out of the house in cold
winter weather, without the least protection being
furnished them. A lady and I looked out once,
in a freezing icy day, and saw a great Newfound-
land cowering in a corner of a fence to keep from
the driving wind; and I said, "Do tell me if
you have no kennel for that poor creature."
" No," said the lady. I didn't know that dogs
needed shelter. Now I think of it, I remember
last spring he seemed quite poorly, and his hair
seemed to come out; do you suppose it was being
exposed so much in the winter This lady had
taken into her family a living creature, without
ever having reflected on what that creature
needed, or that it was her duty to provide for
its wants.
Dogs can bhar more cold than human beings,
but they do not like cold any better than we do;
and when a dog has his choice, he will very gladly

Stories About Our Dogs. 55

stretch himself on a rug before the fire for his
afternoon nap, and show that he enjoys the blaze
and warmth as much as anybody.
As to cats, many people seem to think that a
miserable, half-starved beast, never fed, and al-
ways hunted and beaten, and with no rights that
anybody is bound to respect, is a necessary appen-
dage to a family. They have the idea that all a
cat is good for is to catch rats, and that if well
fed they will not do this,-and so they starve
them. This is a mistake in fact. Cats are hunt-
ing animals, and have the natural instinct to pur-
sue and catch prey, and a cat that is a good
mouser will do this whether well or ill fed. To
live only upon rats is said to injure the health of
the cat, and bring on convulsions.
The most beautiful and best trained cat I ever
knew was named Juno, and was brought up by a
lady who was so wise in all that related to tie
care and management of animals, that she might
be quoted as authority on all points of their nur-
ture and breeding; and Juno, carefully trained by
such a mistress, was a standing example of the
virtues which may be formed in a cat by careful
Never was Juno known to be out of place, to
take her nap elsewhere than on her own ap-
pointed cushion, to be absent at meal times, or,
when the most tempting dainties were in her
power,.to anticipate the proper time by jumping
on the table to help herself.
In all her personal habits Juno was of a neat-
ness unparalleled in cat history. The parlour of

56 Stories About Our Dogs.

her mistress was always of a waxen and spotless
cleanness, and Juno would have died sooner than
violate its sanctity by any impropriety. She was
"a skilful mouser, and her sleek, glossy sides were
"a sufficient refutation of the absurd notion that a
cat must be starved into a display of her accord
plishments. Every rat, mouse, or ground mole
that she caught was brought in and laid at the
feet of her mistress for approbation. But on one
point her mind was dark. She could never be
made to comprehend the great differencejbetween
fur and feathers, nor see why her mistress should
gravely reprove her when she brought in a bird, and
warmly commend her when she captured a mouse.
After a while a little dog named Pero, with
whom Juno had struck up a friendship, got into
the habit of coming to her mistress's apartment at
the hours when her modest meals were served, on
which occasions Pero thought it would be a good
idea to invite himself to make a third. He had
a nice little trick of making himself amiable, by
sitting up on his haunches, and making little beg-
ging gestures with his two forepaws,-which so
much pleased his hostess that sometimes he was
fed before Juno. Juno observed this in silence
for some time; but at last a bright idea struck
her, and, gravely rearing up on her haunches, she
imitated Pero's gestures with her fore-paws. Of
course this carried the day, and secured her posi-
tion. .
Cats are often said to have no heart,-to be
attached to places, but incapable of warm personal
election. It was reserved for Juno by her sad

Stories Abaut Our Dogs. 57

end to refute this slander on her race. Her mis-
tress was obliged to leave her quiet home, and go
to live in a neighboring city; so she gave Juno
to the good lady who inhabited the other part of
the house.
But no attentions or care on the part of her new
mistress could banish from Juno's mind the friend
she had lost. The neat little parlour where she
had spent so many pleasant hours was dismantled
and locked up; but Juno would go, day after day,
and sit on the ledge of the window-seat, looking
in and mewing dolefully. She refused food;
and, when too weak to mount on the sill and look
in, stretched herself on the ground beneath the
window, where she died for love of her mistress,
as truly as any lover in an old ballad.
You see by this story the moral that I wish to
convey. It is, "that watchfulness, kindness, and
care will develop a nature in animals such as we
little dream of. Love will beget love, regular
care and attention will.give regular habits, and
thus domestic pets may be made agreeable and
Any one who does not feel an inclination or
capacity to take the amount of care and pains
necessary for the well-being of an animal ought
conscientiously to abstain from having one in
charge. A carefully-tended pet, whether dog or
cat, is a pleasant addition to a family of young
people; but a neglected, ill-brought-up, ill-kept
one is only an annoyance.
"We should remember, too, in all our dealings
with animals, that they are a sacred trust to us

58 Stories About Our Dogs.

from our heavenly Father. They are dumb, anid
cannot speak for themselves ; they cannot explain
their wants or justify their conduct; and there-
fore we should be tender towards them,
Our Lord says not even a little sparrow falls to
the ground without our heavenly Father; and we
may believe that His eye takes heed of the dispo-
sition which we show towards those defenceless
beings whom He thinks worthy of His protection.



IN January 1799, the cold was so intense that the
Seine, the river on which the city of Paris is situ-
ated, was frozen to the depth of fifteen or sixteen
inches. Following the example of a number of
thoughtless'youths who were determined to con-
tinue the amusement of skating, in spite of a thaw
having commenced, a young student, called Beau-
manoir, wished also to partake of this dangerous
pleasure, near the quay of the Hotel des Monnaics
of Paris; but he had scarcely gone twenty steps
when the ice broke under his weight, and he dis-
appeared. The young skater had carried a small
spaniel with him, which, seeing his master sink
under the ice, immediately gave the alarm, by
barking with all his might near the spot where the
accident had happened. It will easily be believed
that it was impossible to give any assistance to the
unfortunate youth; but the howlings of the ani-
mal warned others from approaching the fatal
place. The poor spaniel sent forth the most
frightful howls; he ran along the river as if ha

60 Anecdotes of Dugs.

were mad ; and at last, not seeing his master re-
turn, he went to establish himself at the hole
where he had seen him disappear, and there he
passed the rest of the day and all the following
night. The day after, people saw with surprise
the poor animal sorrowfully at the same post.
Struck with admiration qf such constancy, some
of them made him a I.ttle bed of straw, and
brought him some food; but, absorbed in the
most profound grief, he would not even drink the
milk which these kind-hearted people placed near
him. Sometimes he would run about the ice or
the borders of the river to seek his master, but he
always returned to sleep in the same place. He
bit a soldier who was attempting to make him
leave his inhospitable retreat, who, fearing that
he was mad, fired at and wounded him. This
affecting example of grief and constancy was wit-
nessed for many days, and people came in crowds
to contemplate this beautiful trait of attachment,
which was not without its reward. The dog be-
ing only slightly wounded, was taken charge of
by a woman, who, compassionating his suffering,
and touched by the affection he showed for his late
master, carried him to her house, where his wound
was dressed, and every effort that kindness could
devise was practised, to console him for the locs
of the young skater.

A :ecdotes of Dogs. 61

A. FRESCH merchant having some money due
from a correspondent, set out on horseback, ac-
companied by his dog, on purpose to receive it.
Having settled the business to his satisfaction, he
tied the bag of money before him, and began to
return home. His faithful dog, as if he entered
into his master's feelings, frisked round the horse,
barked, and jumped, and seemed to participate in
his joy.
The merchant, after riding some miles, alighted
to repose himself under an agreeable shade, and
taking the bag of money in his hand, laid it down
by his side under a hedge, and on remounting
forgot it. The dog perceived his lapse of recol-
lection, and wishing to rectify it, ran to fetch the
bag; but it was too heavy for him to drag along.
He then ran to his master, and by crying, barking,
and howling, seemed to remind him of his mistake.
The merchant understood not his language; but
the assiduous creature persevered in its efforts, and
after trying to stop the horse in vain, at last be-
gan to bite his heels.
The mercha it, absorbed in some reverie, wholly
overlooked the real object of his affectionate at-
tendant's importunity, but entertained the alarm-
ing apprehension that he was gone mad. Full of
this suspicion, in crossing a brook, he turned bac?
to look if the dog would drink. The animal was
too intent on his master's business to think of it

62 Anecdotes of Dogs.

eelf; it continued to bark and bite with greater
violence than before.
Mercy!" cried the afflicted merchant, "it must
be so; my poor dog is certainly mad : what must
I do ? I must kill him, lest some greater misfoi-
tune befall me; but with what regret Oh, could
I find any one to perform this cruel office for me!
But there is no time to lose; I myself may become
the victim if I spare him."
With these words he drew a pistol from his
pocket, and with a trembling hand took aim at his
faithful servant. He turned away in agony as hb
fired; but his aim was too sure. The poor animal
fell wounded, and, weltering in his blood, still
endeavoured to crawl towards his master, as if to
tax him with ingratitude. The merchant could
not bear the sight; he spurred on his horse with n
heart full of sorrow, and lamented he had taken a
journey which had cost him so dear. Still, how-
ever, the money never entered his mind; he only
thought of his poor dog, and tried to console him-
self with the reflection that he had prevented a
greater evil by despatching a mad animal, than he
had suffered a calamity by his loss. This opiate
to his wounded spirit, however, was ineffectual:
" I am most unfortunate," said he to himself; "I
had almost rather have lost my money than my
dog." Saying this, he stretched out his hand to
grasp his treasure. It was missing; no bag was
to be found. In an instant he opened his eyes to
his rashness and folly. "Wretch that I am! I
alone am to blame I could not comprehend the
admonition which my innocent and most faithful

Anecdotes of Dogs. 03

friend gave me, and I have sacrificed him for his
zeal. He only wished to inform me of my mistake,
and he has paid for his fidelity with his life."
Instantly he turned his horse, and went off at
full gallop to the place where he had stopped. He
oaw with half-averted eyes the scene where the
tragedy was acted; he perceived the traces of
blood as he proceeded; he was oppressed and dis-
tracted; but in vain did he look for his dog; he
was not to be seen on the road. At last he arrived
at the spot where he had alighted. But what
were his sensations! His heart was ready to
bleed; he execrated himself in the madness of
despair. The poor dog, unable to follow his dear
but cruel master, had determined to consecrate his
last moments to his service. He had crawled, all
bloody as he was, to the forgotten bag, and, in the
agonies of death, he lay watching beside it. When
he saw his master, he still testified his joy by the
wagging of his tail. He could do no more; he
tried to rise, but his strength was gone. The vital
tide was ebbing fast; even the caresses of his
master could not prolong his fate for a few mo-
ments. He stretched out his tongue to lick the
hand that was now fondling him in the agonies of
regret, as if to seal forgiveness of the deed that
had deprived him of life. He then cast a look of
kindness on his master, and closed his eyes in

64 Anecdotes of Dogs.

AN English officer, who was in Paris in 1815;
mentions the case of a dog belonging to a shoe-
black, which brought customers to its master.
This it did in a very ingenious, and scarcely honest
manner. The officer, having occasion to cross one
of the bridges over the Seine, had his boots, which
had been previously polished, dirtied by a poodle-
dog rubbing against them. He, in consequence,
went to a man who was stationed on the bridge,
and had them cleaned. The same circumstance
having occurred more than once, his curiosity was
excited, and he watched the dog. He saw him
roll himself in the mud of the river, and then
watch for a person with well-polished boots,
against which he contrived to rub himself. Find-
ing that the shoe-black was the owner of the dog,
he taxed him with the artifice ; and, after a little
hesitation, he confessed that he had taught the
dog the trick in order to procure customers for
himself. The officer being much struck with the
dog's sagacity, purchased him at a high price, and
brought him to England. He kept him tied up
in London some time, and then released him.
The dog remained with him a day or two, and
then made his escape. A fortnight afterwards,
he was found with his former master, pursuing
his old trade of dirtying gentlemen's boots on the

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