life of Nature, had never harmed any one or anything, and there he lay, the victim of an invader and murderer.

"This ended my hunting, a favorite sport of more than half a century, and which had the double attraction that it led me deep into the solitudes of Nature, with their unfading freshness and unfailing charms."

SOME THOUGHTS ABOUT MY DOG.

I.

"I humbly thank Divine Providence for having invented dogs, and I regard that man with wondering pity who can lead a dogless life."

-Philip Gilbert Hamerton.

EN like dogs, and always have liked them, from the time when Ulysses returned from his long voyage and was recognized by his old dog Argos. Dogs are generally so open, frank, and sincere in their natures and actions, and so receptive and eager to learn, and so intelligent, that men find them the best of companions by the fireside or in the woods. They are naturally cleanly, too, and can be taught to be a great deal more decent than thousands upon thousands of men are, and they like to be so. A well-bred dog is very much of a gentleman; and he quite consistently selects a true man as his highest ideal, and is always content when in his presence.

MAN'S BEST FRIEND.

How beautiful is the head of a dog! How liquid and winsome the eyes, and how wonderingly they look up into ours! The dog is man's most faithful friend. He has become much nearer to man in his life than has any other animal. He eats to a great extent the same food; often lives under the same roof; learns to

understand more of our words than any other animal; and frequently shows his intelligence and appreciation in ways that reveal unmistakably real affection and character. He has more of humanity to him than any other animal. He protects us and watches over us at night; saves us when in danger; cries and whines with us in sympathy when in pain; and plays with us in mad joy when we condescend to notice and to laugh with him. Yes, the dog is a little man!

The dog has found an enduring place in our literature in the poetry of Shakespeare and Scott and Mrs. Browning, and in the beautiful and well-known story, and the most exquisite bit of pathos in all English literature, too, "Rab and His Friends," by Dr. John Brown. There have been a number of books written about the dog. Edward Jesse's "Anecdotes of Dogs" is a very interesting compilation bearing on the intelligence and affection of these animals. There lately also appeared an anthology entitled "Praise of the Dog," by Ethel E. Bicknell. More recently, his heroism and prowess have again been celebrated in "Bob, Son of Battle," by Mr. Alfred Ollivant, "The Call of the Wild," by Mr. Jack London, and "The Bar Sinister," by Mr. Richard Harding Davis. There are two other books worth mentioning-"Diomed: The Life, Travels, and Adventures of a Dog," by Mr. J. S. Wise, and Mrs. Sarah Knowles Bolton's volume upon "Our Devoted Friend the Dog." Of the many magazine articles relating to the dog I recollect especially Mr. John Muir's account of his adventures among the glaciers with Stickeen, and Mark Twain's protest against the prevalent vivisection entitled "A Dog's Tale."

Mr. Henry van Dyke, too, has written a good story of a dog called "A Friend of Justice," in "The Ruling Passion." When his master first patted him on the head, runs the tale, "the dog looked up in the man's face as if he had found his God." His master put a cross over his grave. "Being French," said he, "I suppose he was a Catholic. But I'll swear he was a Christian."

Shakespeare speaks of the baying of the dog as in itself music; and who that has ever heard it can forget the deep, bell-like, echoing tones of a hound in the distance as he scents his game in a chase among the hills? We find the dog remembered in many of the finest paintings and hunting pictures, in numberless photographs, and in occasional dog statuary. Indeed, there can be few more inspiring subjects for an artist who loves animals than a well-formed, healthy dog in a graceful, eager poise.

In the chase or in the library the dog will always be close to man's heart.

II.

"Tears are in my eyes to feel

Thou art made so straitly."

-Elizabeth Barrett Browning: To Flush, my Dog."

LORD BACON said that man was the god of the dog; and if it be not true, it ought to be true. For no dependent creature so well deserves man's good intentions and care, or should have so fine an example set before him, as the dog.

We make companions of dogs; we enjoy their being with us and our being with them. And yet we

do not know all of their life; we can not enter the source of their thoughts or impulses any more than we can penetrate to the inner personality of a fellowman, and see with his eyes, and think with his mind. I suppose that there will always be a certain sphere of existence wherein every being lives absolutely alone, unrevealed, save by outward tokens, in the citadel of his own soul. This I believe to be true of dogs and horses and the other animals. We know something of them, but it is not a great deal, and perhaps they know as much of us as we do of them. It was Dr. McCosh, I believe, who, when asked whether a dog, in baying at the moon, actually conceived of the moon as a separate mass of matter in the skies, or merely perceived its shining face coming up across the great dome and barked at it in a sort of superstition, replied, with his characteristic Scotch humor, "I do not know; I have never been a dog."

We can not, we do not, know all that passes in a dog's mind, his memories, his thoughts, if he has any, or whether he lives only in the present, after all. That they have dreams, we know. I have seen my little dog lying in deep, snoring sleep, when suddenly he would begin wagging his tail up and down against the floor, or would paw with his forefeet as if digging; and, when awakened, he would look about him in a dazed way in the most amazed fashion-just like a human being, with the memory of a dream. And I remember once, out at a farm where the dog's chief master and companion had been away for a time, when I by chance put on his master's old canvas coat one morning, the dog, when he first saw me, bounded toward me with a