A proof of faithfulness and sagacity, less touching, but not less wonderful, is given of the Water Dog. Mr. Bell relates, that a friend of his was travelling on the Continent, with a dog of nearly this breed as his companion. One day, before he left his lodgings in the morning, with the expectation of being absent until evening, he took out his purse, to see whether he had money enough for the day's occupation, and then went his way, leaving his dog behind. In paying for his dinner at a coffeehouse, he missed a louis-d'or, and searched for it diligently to no purpose. Returning home late in the evening, his servant told him, with a sorrowful face, that the poor dog was very ill, and 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 her master entering the room, the dog instantly jumped upon him, laid a louis-d'or at his feet, and immediately began to devour her food with great voracity. The truth was now apparent; the money had been dropped by her master in the morning, 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.

A similar instance has lately come within the knowledge of the writer, in the case also of a Water Spaniel. This dog belongs to a lady, who frequently tests the fidelity of her favourite, by giving him a

shilling to take care of. Proud of the charge, he will hold it in his mouth for hours, and neither caresses nor threats will ever induce him to give it up, except into the hands of his mistress, and at her request.

The care of the dog in directing the steps of the blind, affords a well-known instance of his obedience and fidelity. A beggar's dog, who was accustomed to conduct his master through the streets of Rome in safety, had learned to distinguish both the streets and houses where he was accustomed to receive alms, twice or thrice a week. Whenever the animal came to any one of these streets, he would not leave it, till a call had been made at every house where his master was usually successful in his petitions. When the beggar began to ask alms, the dog lay down to rest; but the man was no sooner served or refused, than the dog rose of his own accord, and proceeded to another house. When money was thrown from a window, such were the sagacity and attention of this dog, that he went about in quest of it, took it up in his mouth, and put it into the blind man's hat. Even when bread was thrown, the animal would not taste it, unless he received it from the hand of his master.

In the following plaintive song, the poet Campbell has celebrated the merits of the Beggar's Dog.

On the green banks of Shannon, when Sheelah was nigh,
No blithe Irish lad was so happy as I;

No harp like my own could so cheerily play,

And wherever I went, was my poor dog Tray.

When at last I was forced from my Sheelah to part,
She said, while the sorrow was big at her heart;

Oh, remember your Sheelah, when far, far away,
And be kind, my dear Pat, to your poor dog Tray.

Poor dog, he was faithful, and kind, to be sure,
And he constantly loved me, although I was poor;
When the sour-looking folks sent me heartless away,
I had always a friend in my poor dog Tray.

When the road was so dark, and the night was so cold,
And Pat and his dog were grown weary and old,
How snugly we slept in my old coat of grey,
And he licked me for kindness-my poor dog Tray.
Though my wallet was scant, I remembered his case;
Nor refused my last crust to his pitiful face;
But he died at my feet, on a cold winter's day,
And I played a lament for my poor dog Tray.

Where now shall I go, poor, forsaken, and blind?
Can I find one to guide me, so faithful and kind?
To my sweet native village, so far, far away,
I can never return, with my poor dog Tray!

The Shepherd's Dog has long been celebrated for his faithful and docile character, and for his sagacity in understanding the directions given him by his master. In Scotland, especially, this animal is of the greatest value; so that without him, the pastoral life would be a mere blank. Mr. Hogg, the Ettrick Shepherd, tells us, that without the shepherd's dog, the whole of the open mountainous land in Scotland would not be worth a sixpence. "It would require more hands to manage a stock of sheep, gather them from the hills, force them into houses and folds, and drive them to markets, than the profits of the whole stock would be capable of maintaining. Well may the shepherd feel an interest in his dog; he it is, indeed, that earns the family's bread, of which he is himself content with the smallest morsel; always grateful, and always ready to exert his utmost abilities in his master's

interest. Neither hunger, fatigue, nor the worst of treatment, will drive him from his side; he will follow him through every hardship, without murmur or repining, till he literally fall down dead at his foot."

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The Shepherd introduces us to one of his favourite dogs, named "Sirrah;" a dog of surly unsocial temper, disdaining all flattery, and refusing to be caressed; but in his attention to his master's interests and commands, unequalled by any of the canine race. "The first time that I saw him," says his master, a drover was leading him in a rope; he was hungry, lean, and far from being a beautiful cur ; for he was all over black, and had a grim face, striped with dark brown. The man had bought him of a boy for three shillings, somewhere on the Border; and, doubtless, had used him very ill on the journey. I thought I had discovered a sort of sullen intelligence in his face, notwithstanding his dejected and forlorn condition; so I gave the drover a guinea for him, and appropriated the captive to myself. I believe there was never a guinea so well laid out; at least, I am satisfied that I never laid out one to so good purpose. He was scarcely then a year old, and knew so little of herding, that he had never turned 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 anxiety he learned his different evolutions. He would try every way deliberately, till he found out what I wanted him to do; and, when once I made him understand a direction, he never forgot or mistook it again."

An instance of this is soon given. At the weaning time, a flock of seven hundred lambs broke loose at midnight, and, in spite of the exertions of the Shepherd and an assistant, were scattered in three divisions, running off to the north, south, and west. The night, which was a very dark one, was spent in trying to find the lambs, and Sirrah was also sent in pursuit of them. The fold and the farm were visited in vain ; miles were traversed to no purpose; and when daylight came, there was not a sign of the dog or the lambs, nor any sound of distant bleatings. The Shepherd had nothing to do, but to go to his master, and tell him that he had lost the whole of the flock of lambs. "On our way home, however, we discovered a body of lambs at the bottom of a deep ravine, called the Flesh Cleuch, and the indefatigable Sirrah standing in front of them, looking all round for some relief; but still standing true to his charge. The sun was then up, and when we first came in view of them, we concluded that it was one of the divisions of lambs, which Sirrah had been unable to manage, until he came to that commanding situation; for it was about a mile and a half distant from the place where they first broke and scattered. But what was our astonishment, when we discovered by degrees, 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 entirely to himself from midnight until the rising of the sun; and if all the shepherds in the forest had been there to assist