Poor Doll! the very name of spaniel reminds me of you. How well do I now see your long pendent ears, your black expressive eyes, your short, well-rounded mouth, your diminutive but strong legs, almost hidden by the long, silky hair from your stomach, and hear you sing as you lie on the rug before a good fire in the winter, after a hard day's cock or snipe-shooting, wet and tired with your indefatigable exertions! Yes—strange as it may sound, Doll would sing in her way, as I have stated in a previous page; and such was her sagacity, that in process of time when I said, "Sing, Doll," she gave vent to the sounds, and varied them as I exclaimed, "Louder, louder." All this time she appeared to be fast asleep.—And what a dog she was in thick cover, or in rushy swamps! No day was too long for her, nor could a woodcock or snipe escape her "unerring nose:"—

Monsieur Blaze also tells us, that a gentleman had a dog which he taught to utter a particular musical note, and that the animal made a cry which very much resembled it. He then sounded another note close to the ear of the dog, saying to him, "Too high, or too low," according to the degree of intonation. The animal finished by pretty correctly giving the note which was required.

An account is given in the "BibliothÈque Universelle," of a spaniel, who, if he heard any one play or sing a certain air, "L'Âne de notre moulin est mort, la pauvre bÊte," &c., which is a lamentable ditty, in the minor key, the dog looked very pitifully, then gaped repeatedly, showing increasing signs of impatience and uneasiness. He would then sit upright on his hind-legs, and begin to howl louder and louder till the music stopped. No other air ever affected him, and he never noticed any music till the air in question was played or sung. He then manifested, without exception or variation, the series of actions which have been described.

I knew a dog which howled whenever it was pitied, and another whose ear was so sensitive, that it could never bear to hear me make a moaning noise. I have likewise seen a dog affected by peculiar notes played on a violoncello.

It is only now and then that such dogs as Doll are to be met with, and when they are, they are invaluable, either as sporting dogs or as companions. In the latter capacity Doll was quite delightful. In an early May morning, when she knew that no shooting was going forward, she would frisk around me as I strolled in a meadow, gay with my favourite cowslips, or run before me as I passed along a lane, where primroses were peeping out of its mossy sides, looking back every now and then to see if I was following her. There was the dew still glittering on the flowers, which, from their situation, had not yet felt the influence of the morning sun, reminding me of some favourite lines by my favourite poet, Herrick:—

How delightful it is to think of these bygone walks, and how pleasant to call to mind these traits of a favourite and faithful animal! The poet Cowper was never more engaging than when he describes his vain attempts to reach the flower of a water-lily, as he was strolling along the banks of a stream attended by his spaniel, and afterwards discovering that the sagacious animal had been in the river and plucked it for him.

Another instance of wonderful sagacity in this breed of dogs may be here noticed.

A gentleman shooting wild fowl one day on a lake in Ireland, was accompanied by a sagacious spaniel. He wounded a wild duck, which swam about the lake, and dived occasionally, followed by the dog. The bird at last got to some distance, and lowered itself in the water, as ducks are known to do when they are wounded and pursued, leaving nothing but his head out of it. The dog swam about for some time in search of his prey, but all scent was lost, and he obeyed his master's call, and returned to the shore. He had no sooner arrived there, however, than he ran with the greatest eagerness to the top of some high ground close to the lake. On arriving there, he was seen looking round in every direction; and having at last perceived the spot where the duck was endeavouring to conceal itself, he again rushed into the water, made directly to the spot he had previously marked, and at last succeeded in securing the wounded bird.A spaniel which had been kindly treated and fed, during the absence of his master, in the kitchen of a neighbour, showed his gratitude not only by greeting the cook when he met her, but on one occasion he laid down at her feet a bird which he had caught, wagged his tail and departed; thus showing that he had not forgotten the favours he had received.

The following old, but interesting anecdote, is taken from Daniel's "Rural Sports:"—

"A few days before the overthrow of Robespierre, a revolutionary tribunal had condemned M. R——, an upright magistrate and a most estimable man, on a pretence of finding him guilty of a conspiracy. His faithful dog, a 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, but was still refused admittance. He, however, uniformly passed some time there, and his unremitting fidelity won upon the porter, and the dog was allowed to enter. The meeting may be better imagined than described. The gaoler, however, fearful for himself, carried the dog out of the prison; but he returned the next morning, and was regularly admitted on each day afterwards. When the day of sentence arrived, the dog, notwithstanding the guards, penetrated into the hall, where he lay crouched between the legs of his master. Again, at the hour of execution, the faithful dog is there; the knife of the guillotine falls—he will not leave the lifeless and headless body. The first night, the next day, and the second night, his absence alarmed his new patron, who, guessing whither he had retired, sought him, and found him stretched upon his master's grave. From this time, for three months, every morning the mourner returned to his protector merely to receive food, and then again retreated to the grave. At length he refused food, his patience seemed exhausted, and with temporary strength, supplied by his long-tried and unexhausted affection, 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."

The late Rev. Mr. Corsellis, of Wivenhoe, in Essex, had an old gamekeeper who had reared a spaniel, which became his constant companion, day and night. Wherever the keeper appeared Dash was close behind him, and was of infinite use in his master's nocturnal excursions. The game at night was never regarded, although in the day no spaniel could find it in better style, or in a greater quantity. If at night, however, a strange foot entered the coverts, Dash, by a significant whine, informed his master that an enemy was abroad, and thus many poachers have been detected. After many years of friendly companionship the keeper was seized with a disease which terminated in death. Whilst the slow but fatal progress of his disorder allowed him to crawl about, Dash, as usual, followed his footsteps; and when nature was nearly exhausted, and he took to his bed, the faithful animal unweariedly attended at the foot of it. When he died the dog would not quit the body, but lay on the bed by its side. It was with difficulty he could be induced to eat any food; and though after the burial he was caressed with all the tenderness which so fond an attachment naturally called forth, he took every opportunity to steal back to the room where his old master died. Here he would remain for hours, and from thence he daily visited his grave. At the end, however, of fourteen days, notwithstanding every kindness and attention shown him, the poor faithful animal died, a victim of grief for the loss of his master.

In recording such an instance of affection, it is impossible not to feel regret that animals capable of so much attachment should ever be subjected to ill-usage. Whenever they are treated with kindness and affection, they are ready to return it four-fold. It is generally ill-treatment which produces ferocity or indifference, and the former must be very great before the love of their master can be conquered.

Mr. Blaine records the following story of a dog which he had found:—

"I one day picked up in the streets an old spaniel bitch, that some boys were worrying, from which her natural timidity rendered her incapable of defending herself. Grateful for the protection, she readily followed me home, where she was placed among other dogs, in expectation of finding an owner for her; but which not happening, she spent the remainder of her life (three or four years) in this asylum. Convinced she was safe and well treated, I had few opportunities of particularly noticing her afterwards, and she attached herself principally to the man who fed her. At a future period, when inspecting the sick dogs, I observed her in great pain, occasionally crying out. Supposing her to be affected in her bowels, and having no suspicion she was in pup, I directed some castor-oil to be given her. The next day she was still worse, when I examined her more attentively, and, to my surprise, discovered that a young one obstructed the passage, and which she was totally unable to bring forth. I placed her on a table, and, after some difficulty, succeeded in detaching the puppy from her. The relief she instantly felt produced an effect I shall never forget; she licked my hands, and when put on the ground she did the same to my feet, danced round me, and screamed with gratitude and joy.

"From this time to her death, which did not happen till two years after, she never forgot the benefit she had received; on the contrary, whenever I approached, she was boisterous in evincing her gratitude and regard, and would never let me rest till, by noticing her, I had convinced her that I was sensible of her caresses. The difference between her behaviour before this accident and after it was so pointed and striking, that it was impossible to mistake the grateful sense she had ever retained of the kindness which had been shown to her."

Spaniels in cover are merry and cheerful companions, all life and animation. They hunt, they frisk about, watching the movements of their master, and are indefatigable in their exertions to find game for him. Their neat shape, their beautiful coats, their cleanly habits, their insinuating attention, incessant attendance, and faithful obedience, insure for them general favour. It is almost impossible, therefore, not to have the greatest attachment and affection for them, especially as few dogs evince so much sagacity, sincerity, patience, fidelity, and gratitude. From the time they are thrown off in the field, as a proof of the pleasure they feel in being employed, the tail is in perpetual motion, upon the increased vibration of which the experienced sportsman well knows when he is getting nearer to the game. As the dog approaches it, the more energetic he becomes. Tremulous whimpers escape him as a matter of doubt occurs, and he is all eagerness as he hits again on the scent. The Clumber breed of spaniels have long been celebrated for their strength and powers of endurance, their unerring nose, and for hunting mute—a great qualification where game abounds. This breed has been preserved in its purity by the successive Dukes of Newcastle, and may be considered as an aristocratic apanage to their country seats. Nor should the fine breed of spaniels belonging to the Earl of Albemarle be passed by in silence. They are black and tan, of a large size, with long ears, and very much feathered about the legs. They are excellent retrievers; and those who have seen will not soon forget Sir Edwin Landseer's charming picture of the late Lord Albemarle's celebrated dog Chancellor, and one of his progeny, holding a dead rabbit between them, as if equally eager to bring it to their amiable master. These dogs, like those of the Clumber breed, hunt mute, and seldom range out of shot.

While on the subject of Lord Albemarle's breed of dogs, I may mention an extraordinary fact which I noticed in a former work, and which I witnessed myself. I allude to the circumstance of a favourite dog having died after producing a litter of puppies, which were adopted, suckled, and brought up by a young bitch of the same breed, who never had any whelps of her own, or indeed was in the way of having any. The flow of milk of the foster-mother was quite sufficient for the sustenance of the adopted offspring, and enabled her to support and bring them up with as much care and affection as if they had been her own. Here was an absence of that notus odor which enables animals to distinguish their young from those of others, and also of that distension of milk which makes the suckling their young so delightful to them. Indeed it may be observed how beautifully and providentially it has been ordered, that the process of suckling their young is as pleasurable to the parent animal as it is essential to the support of the infant progeny. The mammÆ of animals become painful when over-distended with milk. Drawing off that fluid removes positive uneasiness and affords positive pleasure. In the present instance, however, nothing of the sort was the case, and therefore we can only look to that kindliness of disposition and intelligence with which many animals are so strongly endowed as the reason of the singular adoption referred to. I am aware that this fact has been doubted, but it is too well known and authenticated to admit of the possibility of any mistake. In this instance it must be allowed that the usually defined bounds of instinct were exceeded. If so, distress at hearing the cries of the helpless young must have acted forcibly on the kindly feelings of a poor brute, and thus induced her to act in the manner I have described.

Spaniels, like other dogs, possess the power of finding their way to their homes from distances of considerable extent, and over ground they have not before traversed.

A lady residing at Richmond (Mrs. Grosvenor) gave the Rev. Leonard Jenyns the following anecdote of a dog and cat. A little Blenheim spaniel of hers once accompanied her to the house of a relative, where it was taken into the kitchen to be fed, when two large favourite cats flew at it several times, and scratched it severely. The spaniel was in the habit of following its mistress in her walks in the garden, and by degrees it formed a friendship with a young cat of the gardener's, which it tempted into the house,—first into the hall, and then into the kitchen,—where, on finding one of the large cats, the spaniel and its ally fell on it together, and, without further provocation, beat it well; they then waited for the other, which they served in the same manner, and finally drove both cats from the kitchen. The two friends continued afterwards to eat off the same plate as long as the spaniel remained with her mistress in the house.

A gentleman residing at Worcester had a favourite spaniel, which he brought with him to London inside the coach. After having been in town a day or two he missed the dog, and wrote to acquaint his family at Worcester of his loss. He received an answer informing him that he need not distress himself about "Rose," as she had arrived at her old house at Worcester five days after she had been lost in London, but very thin and out of condition. This same dog was a great favourite, and much domesticated. She formed a friendship with the cat, and when before the fire the latter would lie down in the most familiar manner by the side of the dog. When the dog had puppies, the cat was in the habit of sucking her; and it happened more than once that both had young ones at the same time, when the cat might be seen sucking the bitch, and the kittens taking their nourishment from the cat.A friend of mine, who then resided in South Wales, had a team of spaniels, which he used for woodcock shooting. As he was leaving the country for a considerable length of time, he gave permission to some of his neighbours to take out his spaniels when they wanted them. One of these was a remarkably good dog, but of rather a surly disposition, and had, in consequence, been but little petted or noticed by his master. Notwithstanding this, nothing could induce him either to follow or hunt with those to whom he was lent. In order, therefore, to make him of any use, it was necessary to get his feeder to accompany the shooting party, and the dog would then take to hunt in cover; but if this man returned home, the dog would find it out and be there before him. At the end of nearly six years his master returned into Wales, and near the house discovered his old dog, apparently asleep. Knowing his ferocious disposition, he did not venture to go close to him, but called him by name, which did not appear to excite the animal's attention. No sooner, however, did the dog hear an old exciting cover-call, than he jumped up, sprang to his old master, and showed his affection for him in every possible way. When the shooting season came, he proved himself to be as good a dog as ever.

Mons. Blaze says, that a fondness for the chase does not always make a dog forget his fidelity to his master. He was one day shooting wild ducks with a friend near Versailles, when, as soon as the first shot was fired, a fine spaniel dog joined and began to caress them. They shot during the whole day, and the dog hunted with the greatest zeal and alacrity. Supposing him to be a stray dog, they began to think of appropriating him to themselves; but as soon as the sport was over, the dog ran away. They afterwards discovered that he belonged to one of the keepers, who was confined to his house by illness. His duty, however, was to shoot ducks on one particular day of the week, when he was accompanied by this spaniel; he lived six miles from the spot, and the dog, knowing the precise day, had come there to enjoy his usual sport, and then returned to his master.

One of the most extraordinary cases on record of a friendship between two most dissimilar animals, a spaniel and a partridge, is narrated by a writer in whom implicit confidence may be placed:—"We were lately (in 1823) visiting in a house, where a very pleasing and singular portrait attracted our observation: it was that of a young lady, represented with a partridge perched upon her shoulder, and a dog with his feet on her arm. We recognised it as a representation of the lady of the house; but were at a loss to account for the odd association of her companions. She observed our surprise, and at once gave the history of the bird and the spaniel. They were both, some years back, domesticated in her family. The dog was an old parlour favourite, who went by the name of Tom; the partridge was more recently introduced from France, and answered to the equally familiar name of Bill. It was rather a dangerous experiment to place them together, for Tom was a lively and spirited creature, very apt to torment the cats, and to bark at any object which roused his instinct. But the experiment was tried; and Bill, being very tame, did not feel much alarm at his natural enemy. They were, of course, shy at first; but this shyness gradually wore off: the bird became less timid, and the dog less bold. The most perfect friendship was at length established between them. When the hour of dinner arrived, the partridge invariably flew on his mistress's shoulder, calling with that shrill note which is so well known to sportsmen; and the spaniel leapt about with equal ardour. One dish of bread and milk was placed on the floor, out of which the spaniel and bird fed together. After their social meal, the dog would retire to a corner to sleep, while the partridge would nestle between his legs, and never stir till his favourite awoke. Whenever the dog accompanied his mistress out, the bird displayed the utmost disquietude till his return; and once, when the partridge was shut up by accident a whole day, the dog searched about the house, with a mournful cry which indicated the strength of his affection. The friendship of Tom and Bill was at length fatally terminated. The beautiful little dog was stolen; and the bird from that time refused food, and died on the seventh day, a victim to his grief."

A friend of mine has a small spaniel, which very recently showed great sagacity. This dog, which is much attached to him, was left under the care of a servant while his master paid a visit of a few weeks in Hampshire. The poor animal was so miserable during his absence, that he was informed of it, and directed the dog to be sent to him in a hamper, which was done. He was overjoyed at the sight of his kind master, and remained perfectly contented at his new abode. When preparations were making for his departure, the day before it took place, the dog was evidently aware of what was going forward, and showed his dread of being again left behind, by keeping as close as possible to the feet of his master during the evening. On getting up very early the next morning, before daylight, he found on opening his door that the apprehensive animal was lying before it, although it was winter, and very cold. At breakfast the dog not only nestled against his feet, but rubbed himself so much against them, that he was at last turned out of the room. On going into his dressing-room, where the dog had been in the habit of sleeping in a warm basket before a good fire, he found him coiled up in his portmanteau, which had been left open nearly packed.

In this instance, the animal's knowledge of what was going forward was very evident, and his fear of being left behind could not be more strongly expressed; thus affording another proof that animals are possessed of a faculty much beyond mere instinct.

A young gentleman lately residing in Edinburgh was master of a handsome spaniel bitch, which he had bought from a dealer in dogs. The animal had been educated to steal for the benefit of its protector; but it was some time ere his new master became aware of this irregularity of morals, and he was not a little astonished and teazed by its constantly bringing home articles of which it had feloniously obtained possession. Perceiving, at length, that the animal proceeded systematically in this sort of behaviour, he used to amuse his friends, by causing the spaniel to give proofs of her sagacity in the Spartan art of privately stealing; putting, of course, the shopkeepers where he meant she should exercise her faculty on their guard as to the issue.

The process was curious, and excites some surprise at the pains which must have been bestowed to qualify the animal for these practices. As soon as the master entered the shop, the dog seemed to avoid all appearance of recognizing or acknowledging any connexion with him, but lounged about in an indolent, disengaged, and independent sort of manner, as if she had come into the shop of her own accord. In the course of looking over some wares, his master indicated by a touch on the parcel and a look towards the spaniel, that which he desired she should appropriate, and then left the shop. The dog, whose watchful eye caught the hint in an instant, instead of following his master out of the shop, continued to sit at the door, or lie by the fire, watching the counter, until she observed the attention of the people of the shop withdrawn from the prize which she wished to secure. Whenever she saw an opportunity of doing so, as she imagined, unobserved, she never failed to jump upon the counter with her fore feet, possess herself of the gloves, or whatever else had been pointed out to her, and escape from the shop to join her master.

A gentleman lately communicated to me the following fact:—

His avocations frequently took him by the side of St. Bride's Churchyard, in London. Whenever he passed it, in the course of some two or three years, he always saw a spaniel at one particular grave—it was the grave of his master. There, month after month, and year after year, did this faithful animal remain, as if to guard the remains of the being he loved. No cold, however severe, no rain, however violent, no sun, however hot, could drive this affectionate creature from a spot which was so endeared to him. The good-natured sexton of the churchyard, (and the fact is recorded to his honour,) brought food daily to the dog, and then pitying his exposure to the weather, scooped out a hole by the side of the grave, and thatched it over.

The following is from the Percy collection of Anecdotes:—

Two spaniels, mother and son, were self-hunting in Mr. Drake's woods, near Amersham, in Bucks. The gamekeeper shot the mother; the son, frightened, ran away for an hour or two, and then returned to look for his mother. Having found her dead body, he laid himself down by her, and was found in that situation the next day by his master, who took him home, together with the body of the mother. Six weeks did this affectionate creature refuse all consolation, and almost all nutriment. He became, at length, universally convulsed, and died of grief.

These two anecdotes would form a pretty picture of fidelity and kindness, and there is one (I need not mention Sir Edwin Landseer) who would do justice to them.

I may here remark, that the dogs of poor people generally show more attachment to their masters than those of the rich. Their fidelity appears greater, and more lasting. Misery would seem to tighten the cord of affection between them. They both suffer the same privations together of hunger, cold, and thirst, but these never shake the affection of a dog for his master. The animal's resignation is perfect, and his love unbounded. How beautifully has Sir Walter Scott described the affection of a dog for his master, who fell down a precipice in a fog near the Helvellyn Mountains, in Cumberland, and was dashed to pieces. It was not till more than three months afterwards that his remains were discovered, when his faithful dog was still guarding them.

Nor are the preceding anecdotes solitary instances of the affection of dogs for their departed masters. Mr. Youatt, in his work on "Humanity to Brutes," which does him so much credit, has recorded the following fact, very similar to the one already given:—

Opposite to the house of a gentleman, near the churchyard of St. Olave, Southwark, where the receptacles of humanity are in many parts dilapidated, was an aperture just large enough to admit a dog. It led along a kind of sink to a dark cavity, close to which a person had recently been buried. It was inhabited by his dog, who was to be seen occasionally moving into or out of the cavern, which he had taken possession of the day of the funeral. How he obtained any food during the first two or three months no one knew, but he at length attracted the attention of a gentleman who lived opposite, and who ordered his servant regularly to supply the dog with food. He used, after a while, to come occasionally to this house for what was provided for him. He was not sullen, but there was a melancholy expression in his countenance, which, once observed, would never be forgotten. As soon as he had finished his hasty meal, he would gaze for a moment on his benefactor. It was an expressive look, but one which could not be misunderstood. It conveyed all the thanks that a broken heart could give. He then entombed himself once more for three or four days, when he crawled out again with his eyes sunk and his coat dishevelled. Two years he remained faithful to the memory of the being he had lost, and then, according to the most authentic account of him, having been missing several days, he was found dead in his retreat.

From a letter written by a gentleman at Dijon in France, to his friend in London, dated August 15, 1764, we have the following account of a murder discovered by a dog:—

"Since my arrival here a man has been broken on the wheel, with no other proof to condemn him than that of a water-spaniel. The circumstances attending it being so very singular and striking, I beg leave to communicate them to you. A farmer, who had been to receive a sum of money, was waylaid, robbed, and murdered, by two villains. The farmer's dog returned with all speed to the house of the person who had paid the money, and expressed such amazing anxiety that he would follow him, pulling him several times by the sleeve and skirt of the coat, that, at length, the gentleman yielded to his importunity. The dog led him to the field, a little from the roadside, where the body lay. From thence the gentleman went to a public-house, in order to alarm the country. The moment he entered, (as the two villains were there drinking,) the dog seized the murderer by the throat, and the other made his escape. This man lay in prison three months, during which time they visited him once a-week with the spaniel, and though they made him change his clothes with other prisoners, and always stand in the midst of a crowd, yet did the animal always find him out, and fly at him. On the day of trial, when the prisoner was at the bar, the dog was let loose in the court-house, and in the midst of some hundreds he found him out (though dressed entirely in new clothes), and would have torn him to pieces had he been allowed; in consequence of which he was condemned, and at the place of execution he confessed the fact. Surely so useful, so disinterestedly faithful an animal, should not be so barbarously treated as I have often seen them, particularly in London."

The following anecdote has been well authenticated, and the fact which it records is still remembered by many individuals yet alive:—

Mr. Alderman Yearsley, of Congleton, in Cheshire, had a favourite large water-spaniel named Fanny, which, in the hands of Providence, was the instrument of saving a very valuable life.

In the year 1774 Mr. Yearsley had gone out one evening with a friend to a tavern, and the dog accompanied him. A short time before he was expected home, and while Mrs. Yearsley happened to be washing her hands in the back kitchen, the spaniel returned and scratched at the door for admittance. Being let in, she followed her mistress into the kitchen, where she set up a strange sort of whining, or barking, and turned towards the street-door, as if beckoning her mistress to follow. This she repeated several times, to the great astonishment of the lady. At length a thought struck her that Mr. Yearsley might have met with some accident in the street, and that the spaniel was come to guide her to her husband. Alarmed at this idea, she hastily followed the animal, which led her to Mr. Yearsley, whom she found in perfect health, sitting in the house to which he had gone. She told him the cause of her coming, and got herself laughed at for her pains. But what were the feelings of both, when they were informed by their next neighbours that the kitchen fell in almost the very instant Mrs. Yearsley had shut the street-door, and that the wash-hand basin she had left was crushed into a thousand pieces! The animal was ever afterwards treated with no ordinary attention, and died thirteen years later, at the age of sixteen. Her death, we regret to add, was occasioned by the bite of a mad dog.

In the "Notes of a Naturalist," published in Chambers' "Edinburgh Journal," a work which cannot be too much commended for its agreeable information, is the following anecdote, which I give with the remarks of the author upon it:—

"It appears to me, that in the general manifestations of the animal mind, some one of the senses is employed in preference to the others—that sense, for instance, which is most acute and perfect in the animal. In the dog, for example, the sense of smell predominates; and we accordingly find that, through the medium of this sense, his mental faculties are most commonly exercised. A gentleman had a favourite spaniel, which for a long time was in the habit of accompanying him in all his walks, and became his attached companion. This gentleman had occasion to leave home, and was absent for more than a year, during which time he had never seen the dog. On his return along with a friend, while yet at a little distance from the house, they perceived the spaniel lying beside the gate. He thought that this would be a good opportunity of testing the memory of his favourite; and he accordingly arranged with his companion, who was quite unknown to the dog, that they should both walk up to the animal, and express no signs of recognition. As they both approached nearer, the dog started up, and gazed at them attentively; but he discovered no signs of recognition, even at their near approach. At last he came up to the stranger, put his nose close to his clothes, and smelt him, without any signs of emotion. He then did the same to his old master; but no sooner had he smelt him, than recognition instantly took place; he leaped up to his face repeatedly, and showed symptoms of the most extravagant joy. He followed him into the house, and watched his every movement, and could by no means be diverted from his person. Here was an instance of deficient memory through the organs of sight, but an accurate recollection through the organs of smell." In a preceding anecdote, I have recorded an instance of a spaniel recognising the voice of his master after a lapse of six years. In that case, it was evident that the recollection of a particular sound enabled the dog to know his master, without having had recourse to the sense of smelling, which, however, would probably have been equally available had it been exercised.

About the year 1800, Mrs. Osburn, who lived a few miles out of London, went to town to receive a large sum of money granted her by Parliament for discovering a lithontryptic medicine. She received the money, and returned back with it in her own carriage to the country, without anything particular happening to her on the road. It was evening when she arrived at home; and being fatigued with her journey, she retired early to rest. On her stepping into bed, she was somewhat surprised at the importunities of a small King Charles's dog, which was a great pet, and always slept in her bedchamber. He became exceedingly troublesome, and kept pulling the bedclothes with all his strength. She chid him repeatedly, and in an angry tone of voice desired him to lie still, that she might go to sleep. The dog, however, still persisted in his efforts, and kept pulling the bedclothes; and at length leaped on the bed, and endeavoured with the most determined perseverance to pull off the bedclothes. Mrs. Osburn then conceived there must be some extraordinary cause for this unusual conduct on the part of her dog, and leaped out of bed; and being a lady of some courage, put on her petticoat, and placed a brace of pistols by her side, which she had always ready loaded in a closet adjoining her bed-room, and proceeded down-stairs. When she had reached the first landing-place, she saw her coachman coming down the private staircase, which led to the servants' rooms, with a lighted candle in his hand, and full dressed. Suspecting his intentions were bad, and with heroic presence of mind, she presented one of her pistols, and threatened to lodge the contents of it in him, unless he returned to bed forthwith. Subdued by her determined courage, he quietly and silently obeyed. She then went into a back-parlour, when she heard a distant whispering of voices; she approached the window, and threw it up, and fired one of her pistols out of it, in the direction from which the noise proceeded. Everything became silent, and not a whisper was to be heard. After looking through the different rooms on the lower floor, and finding all right, she proceeded to bed and secured the door, and nothing further occurred that night. Next morning she arose at an early hour, went into the garden, and in the direction which she had fired the preceding night she discovered drops of blood, which she traced to the other end of the garden. This left no doubt on her mind of what had been intended. Thinking it imprudent to keep so large a sum of money in her house, she ordered her carriage to drive to town, where she deposited her cash. She then repaired to the house of Sir John Fielding, and related to him the whole affair, who advised her to part with her coachman immediately, and that he would investigate the matter, and, if possible, discover and convict the offenders. But the parties concerned in this affair were never discovered; for the mere fact of the coachman being found coming down the stair was not sufficient to implicate him, although there were strong grounds of suspicion. Thus, by the instinct and fidelity of this little animal, was robbery, and most likely murder, prevented.

A spaniel belonging to a medical gentleman, with whom I am acquainted, residing at Richmond in Surrey, was in the habit of accompanying him when he went out at night to visit his patients. If he was shut out of the house of a patient, as was frequently the case, he would return home; and whatever the hour of the night might be, he would take the knocker in his mouth, and knock till the door was opened. It should be mentioned that the knocker was below a half-glazed door, so that it was easily within the dog's reach.

"In the capital of a German principality," says Capt. Brown, "the magistrates once thought it expedient to order all dogs that had not the mark of having been wormed, to be seized and confined for a certain time in a large yard without the walls of the town. These dogs, which were of all possible varieties, made a hideous noise while thus confined together; but a spaniel, which, as the person that had the care of them observed, sat apart from the rest in a corner of the yard, seemed to consider the circumstances with greater deliberation. He attended to the manner in which the gate of the yard was opened and shut; and, taking a favourable opportunity, leapt with his forepaws upon the latch, opened the gate, looked round upon the clamorous multitude, and magnanimously led them the way out of the prison. He conducted them in triumph through the gate of the town; upon which every dog ran home exulting to his master."

The following anecdote, which was sent to me by the gentleman who witnessed the occurrence, proves the sense and observation of a spaniel. He possessed one which was a great favourite, and a constant companion in all his rambles. One day, in passing through a field of young turnips, he pulled up one of them, and after washing it carefully in a rivulet, he cut off the top, and ate the other part. During this time the dog eyed him attentively, and then proceeded to one of the growing turnips, drew it from the earth, went up briskly to the rivulet, and after dashing it about some time till he caused the water to froth considerably, he laid it down, and holding the turnip inverted, and by the top, he deliberately gnawed the whole of it off, and left the top, thus closely imitating the actions of his master.A gentleman, who generally resided at Boston in Lincolnshire, had also a house at Chepstow in Monmouthshire, to which he occasionally went in the summer. While at the latter place, a small spaniel dog which a friend at Chepstow had given him was taken on his return in a carriage to Boston. On the Sunday evening after the arrival at that place, the spaniel was attacked by a large dog, when out walking with his master on the river bank, and ran away. Nothing was heard of him until the receipt of a letter from Chepstow, announcing his arrival at that place in a famished and travel-worn condition. The distance is one hundred and eighty-four miles.

The following anecdote is related by Mr. Blaine:—

"I was once called from dinner in a hurry to attend to something that had occurred; unintentionally I left a favourite cat in the room, together with a no less favourite spaniel. When I returned I found the latter, which was not a small figure, extending her whole length along the table by the side of a leg of mutton which I had left. On my entrance she showed no signs of fear, nor did she immediately alter her position. I was sure, therefore, that none but a good motive had placed her in this extraordinary situation, nor had I long to conjecture. Puss was skulking in a corner, and though the mutton was untouched, yet her conscious fears clearly evinced that she had been driven from the table in the act of attempting a robbery on the meat, to which she was too prone, and that her situation had been occupied by this faithful spaniel to prevent a repetition of the attempt. Here was fidelity united with great intellect, and wholly free from the aid of instinct. This property of guarding victuals from the cat, or from other dogs, was a daily practice of this animal; and, while cooking was going forward, the floor might have been strewed with eatables, which would have been all safe from her own touch, and as carefully guarded from that of others. A similar property is common to many dogs, but to spaniels particularly."

It is impossible in a work on dogs to omit the insertion of some pretty lines on a spaniel by Mrs. Barrett Browning, and which do so much credit to her kindly feelings and poetic talents:—