birds of prey, act as scavengers in towns and villages, clearing away the refuse matter. These have no master, and live in the thickets during the day, only coming out at sunset, to begin their useful office. Such dogs were, no doubt, common among the tents of the Israelites, when Moses wrote"Neither shall ye eat any flesh that is torn of beasts in the field; ye shall cast it to the dogs."

xxii. 31.)

(Exod.

Still more marked is the allusion to this kind of dog, where it is written-"Him that dieth of Jeroboam in the city shall the dogs eat: and him that dieth in the field, shall the fowls of the air eat.” (1 Kings xiv. 11. See also xvi. 4, and xxi. 24.) The association of dogs with birds of prey naturally caused them to be classed among unclean animals, and to be held in much contempt, even as the same kind of dog is in the same countries at the present day. Every one must remember the exclamation of Hazael: "Is thy servant a dog, that he should do this great thing?" (2 Kings viii. 13)—showing that a dog was only another name for a most contemptible object. It would almost appear that the faithful domestic animal, so common among ourselves, was not known in Scripture times, were it not that in one of the Apocryphal books, we read of Tobit's dog, which is said on various occasions to have accompanied his master.

The faithful character of the dog has, however, been chronicled by very ancient writers. More than two thousand five hundred years ago, his praise was celebrated among the ancient Greeks, by their

poet Homer; and from that time to the present, there have seldom been wanting writers to record his excellent qualities. He is, at the present time, a general and deserved favourite; and whatever his particular variety, he is useful, faithful, and interesting to mankind. One of our highest authorities says of him: "He has been the pampered minion of royalty, and the half-starved partaker of the beggar's crust in one form he appears as the high-bred hound of the chase; in another, as the lowly, but more useful keeper of his master's flocks; in another, as the true and pertinacious tracker of human felons ; in another, as the active destroyer of humbler nuisances; and, in another, as the laborious beast of burthen and of draught." *

Throughout all these characters, he displays, in a greater or less degree, the same noble and disinterested nature. It is true, that his good qualities are often obscured by prosperous circumstances, and that a period of want and of difficulty is that in which his real nature is best seen; but in this, he simply resembles the human race, whose days of ease and luxury are not always the most favourable to the development of their better qualities.

Of all the beautiful features in the character of the dog, fidelity may be considered as the principal. It is the main-spring of action, setting in motion all the other qualities. Among the numerous proofs of fidelity which have been given by this animal, perhaps the following are among the most striking :—

* Bell: "History of British Quadrupeds."

A few days before the overthrow of Robespierre, a revolutionary tribunal had condemned to death an ancient magistrate, who was a most estimable man. His faithful dog, a Water Spaniel, was with him when he was seized; but was not suffered to enter the prison. He took refuge with a neighbour of his master's, and every day, at the same hour, returned to the door of the prison, vainly seeking admittance. At last his fidelity so won upon the porter, that he allowed him to enter. The meeting may better be imagined than described. The jailer, however, fearful for himself, carried the dog out of the prison, but admitted him again the next morning, and each day afterwards. When the day of sentence arrived, the dog, in spite of the guards, made his way into the hall, where he lay, crouched between the legs of his master. At the place of execution, the faithful dog was also present; the knife of the guillotine fell, but he would not leave the lifeless body. For two days afterwards, his new patron sought him in vain; but, at length, found him stretched upon his master's grave. From this time, every morning, for three months, the mourner returned to his protector, merely to receive food, and then again retreated to the grave. At the end of that time he refused food; his patience seemed exhausted, and for twenty-four hours, he was observed to employ his weakened limbs in digging up the earth that separated him from the being he had served. His powers, however, here gave way; he shrieked in his struggles, and, at length, ceased to breathe, with his last look turned upon the grave.

In the following beautiful poem, Wordsworth has recorded an affecting instance of the fidelity of a dog. The fatal accident, which is noticed in the poem, occurred nearly forty years ago; and the subject of it was a resident of Manchester, who was accustomed every year to visit the Lakes. It appears that he ventured to cross one of the passes of Helvellyn, late in a summer afternoon, with no other guide than his faithful dog. It is supposed that he was benighted, and, wandering from the track, fell over the rocks, into one of those deep recesses where human foot never treads. The dog was found by the side of his master's body, after a fruitless search of many weeks.

FIDELITY.

A barking sound the shepherd hears,
A cry, as of a dog or fox;
He halts, and searches with his eyes
Among the scattered rocks :

And now at distance can discern
A stirring in a brake of fern;
From which immediately leaps out
A dog, and, yelping, runs about.

The dog is not of mountain breed;

Its motions, too, are wild and shy;

With something, as the shepherd thinks,
Unusual in its cry:

Nor is there any one in sight

All round, in hollow, or in height;

Nor shout, nor whistle, strikes his ear ;

What is the creature doing here?

It was a cove, a huge recess,

That keeps till June December's snow;

A lofty precipice in front,

A silent tarn* below;

* A tarn is a small lake or mere, generally situated high up in the mountains.

Far in the bosom of Helvellyn,
Remote from public road or dwelling,
Pathway, or cultivated land,

From trace of human foot or hand.

There, sometimes, does a leaping fish
Send through the tarn a lonely cheer;
The crags repeat the raven's croak,
In symphony austere ;

Thither the rainbow comes-the cloud-
And mists that spread the flying shroud;
And sun-beams; and the sounding blast,
That, if it could, would hurry past,
But that enormous barrier binds it fast.

Not knowing what to think, awhile
The shepherd stood; then makes his way
Towards the dog, o'er rocks and stones,
As quickly as he may;

Nor far had gone, before he found
A human skeleton on the ground;
Sad sight! the shepherd, with a sigh,
Looks round, to learn the history.

From those abrupt and perilous rocks
The man had fallen, that place of fear!
At length upon the shepherd's mind
It breaks, and all is clear:

He instantly recalled the name,
And who he was, and whence he came ;
Remembered, too, the very day

On which the traveller passed this way.

But hear a wonder now, for sake

Of which this mournful tale I tell!

A lasting monument of words

This wonder merits well.

The dog, which still was hovering nigh,

Repeating the same timid cry;

This dog had been through three months' space

A dweller in that savage place.

Yes, proof was plain, that since the day
On which the traveller thus had died,
The dog had watched about the spot,

Or by his master's side:

How nourished here through such long time,
He knows, who gave that love sublime,
And gave that strength of feeling, great
Above all human estimate.