Chapter VI: Part 6

A Newfoundland dog, which was frequently to be seen in a tavern in the High Street of Glasgow, lay generally at the door. When any person came to the house, he trotted before them into an apartment, rang the bell, and then resumed his station at the door.

The great utility and sagacity of the Newfoundland dog, in cases of drowning, were shown in the following instance. Eleven sailors, a woman, and the waterman, had reached a sloop of war in Hamoaze in a shore-boat. One of the sailors, stooping rather suddenly over the side of the boat to reach his hat, which had fallen into the sea, the boat capsized, and they were all plunged into the water. A Newfoundland dog, on the quarter-deck of the sloop, seeing the accident, instantly leaped amongst the unfortunate persons, and seizing one man by the collar of his coat, he supported his head above water until a boat had hastened to the spot and saved the lives of all but the waterman. After delivering his burden in safety, the noble animal made a wide circuit round the ship in search of another person; but not finding one, he took up an oar in his mouth which was floating away, and brought it to the side of the ship.

A sailor, attended by a Newfoundland dog, became so intoxicated, that he fell on the pavement in Piccadilly, and was unable to rise, and soon fell asleep. The faithful dog took a position at his master's head, and resisted every attempt made to remove him. The man, having at last slept off the fumes of his intoxicating libations, awoke, and being told of the care his dog had taken of him, exclaimed, "This is not the first time he has kept watch over me."

On Thursday evening, January 28, 1858, as the play of "Jessie Vere" was being performed at Woolwich Theatre, and when a scene in the third act had been reached, in which a "terrific struggle" for the possession of a child takes place between the fond mother and two "hired ruffians," a large Newfoundland dog, which had by some means gained admittance with its owner into the pit, leaped over the heads of the musicians in the orchestra, and flew to the rescue, seizing one of the assassins, and almost dragging him to the ground. It was with difficulty removed, and dragged off the stage. The dog, which is the property of the chief engineer of Her Majesty's ship Buffalo, has been habitually accustomed to the society of children, for whom he has on many occasions evinced strong proofs of affection.

Mr. Bewick, in his history of Quadrupeds, mentions some instances of the sagacity and intellect of Newfoundland dogs; and it may not be uninteresting to the admirers of that celebrated wood-engraver to be informed, on the authority of his daughters, that the group on the bridge in his print of the Newfoundland dog represents Mr. Preston, a Printer of Newcastle, Mr. Vint, of Whittingham, Mr. Bell, House Steward, and Mr. Bewick. Their initials, P. V. B. and B., are introduced in the woodcut. The dog was drawn at Eslington, the seat of Mr. Liddell, the eldest son of Lord Ravensworth.[N]

In Newfoundland, this dog is invaluable, and answers the purpose of a horse. He is docile, capable of strong attachment, and is easy to please in the quality of his food, as he will live on scraps of boiled fish, either salted or fresh, and on boiled potatoes and cabbage. The natural colour of this dog is black, with the exception of a very few white spots. Their sagacity is sometimes so extraordinary, as on many occasions to show that they only want the faculty of speech to make themselves fully understood.

The Rev. L. Anspach, in his history of the Island of Newfoundland, mentions some instances of this intelligence.

One of the Magistrates of Harbour-Grace, the late Mr. Garland, had an old dog, which was in the habit of carrying a lantern before his master at night, as steadily as the most attentive servant could do; stopping short when his master made a stop, and proceeding when he saw him disposed to follow him. If his master was absent from home, on the lantern being fixed to his mouth, and the command given, "Go, fetch your master," he would immediately set off and proceed directly to the town, which lay at the distance of more than a mile from the place of his master's residence. He would then stop at the door of every house which he knew his master was in the habit of frequenting, and, laying down his lantern, would growl and strike the door, making all the noise in his power until it was opened. If his master was not there, he would proceed further until he had found him. If he accompanied him only once into a house, it was sufficient to induce him to take that house in his round.

The principal use of this animal in Newfoundland, in addition to his qualities as a good watch-dog and a faithful companion, is to assist in fetching from the woods the _lumber_ intended either for repairing the fish stages, or for fuel; and this is done by dragging it on the snow or ice, or else on sledges, the dog being tackled to it.

These animals bark only when strongly provoked. They are not quarrelsome, but treat the smaller species with a great degree of patience and forbearance. They will defend their masters on seeing the least appearance of an attack on his person. The well-known partiality of these dogs for the water, in which they appear as if in their proper element, diving and keeping their heads under the surface for a considerable time, seems to give them some connexion with the class of amphibious animals. At the same time, the several instances of their superior sagacity, and the essential services which they have been frequently known to render to humanity, give them a distinguished rank in the scale of the brute creation. I will mention another instance of this.

The Durham packet of Sunderland was, in 1815, wrecked near Clay, in Norfolk. A faithful dog was employed to use his efforts to carry the lead-line on shore from the vessel; but there being a very heavy sea, and a deep beach, it appeared that the drawback of the surf was too powerful for the animal to contend with. Mr. Parker, ship-builder, of Wells, and Mr. Jackson, jun., of Clay, who were on the spot, observing this, instantly rushed into the sea, which was running very high, and gallantly succeeded, though at a great risk, in catching hold of the dog, which was much exhausted, but which had all this time kept the line in his mouth. The line being thus obtained, a communication with the vessel was established; and a warp being passed from the ship to the shore, the lives of all on board, nine in number, including two children, were saved.

Some dogs are of an extremely jealous disposition; and the following extraordinary instance of it was communicated to me by Mr. Charles Davis, the well-known and highly-respected huntsman of Her Majesty's stag-hounds, a man who has gained many friends, and perhaps never lost one, by his well-regulated conduct and sporting qualifications.

He informed me that a friend of his had a fine Newfoundland dog, which was a great favourite with the family. While this dog was confined in the yard, a pet lamb was given to one of the children, which the former soon discovered to be sharing a great portion of those caresses which he had been in the habit of receiving. This circumstance produced so great an effect on the poor animal, that he refused to eat, and fretted till he became extremely unwell. Thinking that exercise might be of use to him, he was let loose. No sooner was this done, than the dog watched his opportunity, and seized the lamb in his mouth. He was seen conveying it down a lane, about a quarter of a mile from his master's house, at the bottom of which the river Thames flowed. On arriving at it, he held the lamb under water till it was drowned, and thus effectually got rid of his rival. On examining the lamb, it did not appear to have been bitten, or otherwise injured; and it might almost be supposed that the dog had chosen the easiest death in removing the object of his dislike.

The sense of these animals is, indeed, perfectly wonderful. A lieutenant in the navy informed me, that while his ship was under sail in the Mediterranean, a favourite canary bird escaped from its cage, and flew into the sea. A Newfoundland dog on board witnessed the circumstance, immediately jumped into the sea, and swam to the bird, which he seized in his mouth, and then swam back with it to the ship. On arriving on board and opening the dog's mouth, it was found that the bird was perfectly uninjured, so tenderly had it been treated, as though the dog had been aware that the slightest pressure would have destroyed it.

Mr. Youatt, whose remarks on the usefulness and good qualities of the inferior animals, in his work on Humanity to Brutes, do him so much credit, gives the following anecdote as a proof of the reasoning power of a Newfoundland dog.

Wanting one day to go through a tall iron gate, from one part of his premises to another, he found a lame puppy lying just within it, so that he could not get in without rolling the poor animal over, and perhaps injuring it. Mr. Youatt stood for awhile hesitating what to do, and at length determined to go round through another gate. A fine Newfoundland dog, however, who had been waiting patiently for his wonted caresses, and perhaps wondering why his master did not get in as usual, looked accidentally down at his lame companion. He comprehended the whole business in a moment--put down his great paw, and as gently and quickly as possible rolled the invalid out of the way, and then drew himself back in order to leave room for the opening of the gate.

We may be inclined to deny reasoning faculties to dogs; but if this was not reason, it may be difficult to define what else it could be.

Mr. Youatt also says, that his own experience furnishes him with an instance of the memory and gratitude of a Newfoundland dog, who was greatly attached to him. He says, as it became inconvenient to him to keep the dog, he gave him to one who he knew would treat him kindly. Four years passed, and he had not seen him; when one day, as he was walking towards Kingston, and had arrived at the brow of the hill where Jerry Abershaw's gibbet then stood, he met Carlo and his master. The dog recollected Mr. Youatt in a moment, and they made much of each other. His master, after a little chat, proceeded towards Wandsworth, and Carlo, as in duty bound, followed him. Mr. Youatt had not, however, got half-way down the hill when the dog was again at his side, lowly but deeply growling, and every hair bristling. On looking about, he saw two ill-looking fellows making their way through the bushes, which occupied the angular space between Roehampton and Wandsworth roads. Their intention was scarcely questionable, and, indeed, a week or two before, he had narrowly escaped from two miscreants like them. "I can scarcely say," proceeds Mr. Youatt, "what I felt; for presently one of the scoundrels emerged from the bushes, not twenty yards from me; but he no sooner saw my companion, and heard his growling, the loudness and depth of which were fearfully increasing, than he retreated, and I saw no more of him or of his associate. My gallant defender accompanied me to the direction-post at the bottom of the hill, and there, with many a mutual and honest greeting, we parted, and he bounded away to overtake his rightful owner. We never met again; but I need not say that I often thought of him with admiration and gratitude."

It is pleasing to record such instances of kindness in a brute. Here we see a recollection of, and gratitude for, previous good treatment, and that towards one whom the dog had not seen for four years. There is a sort of bewilderment in the human mind, when we come to analyse the feelings, affections, and peculiar instinctive faculties of dogs. A French writer (Mons. Blaze) has asserted, that the dog most undoubtedly has all the qualities of a man possessed of good feeling, and adds that man has not the fine qualities of the dog. We make a virtue of that gratitude which is nothing more than a duty incumbent upon us, while it is an inherent quality in the dog.

"Canis gratus est, et amicitiae memor."

We repudiate ingratitude, and yet every one is more or less guilty of it. Indeed, where shall we find the man who is free from it? Take, however, the first dog you meet with, and the moment he has adopted you for his master, from that moment you are sure of his gratitude and affection. He will love you without calculating what he shall gain by it--his greatest pleasure will be to be near you--and should you be reduced to beg your bread, no poverty will induce him to abandon you. Your friends may, and probably will, do so--the object of your love and attachment will not, perhaps, like to encounter poverty with you. Your wife, by some possibility (it is a rare case, however, if she has received kind treatment) may forget her vows, but your dog will never leave you--he will either die at your feet, or if he should survive you, will accompany you to the grave.

An intelligent correspondent, to whom I am indebted for some sensible remarks on the faculties of dogs, has remarked that large-headed dogs are generally possessed of superior faculties to others. This fact favours the phrenological opinion that size of brain is evidence of superior power. He has a dog possessing a remarkably large head, and few dogs can match him in intelligence. He is a cross with the Newfoundland breed, and besides his cleverness in the field as a retriever, he shows his sagacity at home in the performance of several useful feats. One consists in carrying messages. If a neighbour is to be communicated with, the dog is always ready to be the bearer of a letter. He will take orders to the workmen who reside at a short distance from the house, and will scratch impatiently at their door when so employed, although at other times, desirous of sharing the warmth of their kitchen fire, he would wait patiently, and then entering with a seriousness befitting the imagined importance of his mission, would carefully deliver the note, never returning without having discharged his trust. His usefulness in recovering articles accidentally lost has often been proved. As he is not always allowed to be present at dinner, he will bring a hat, book, or anything he can find, and hold it in his mouth as a sort of apology for his intrusion. He seems pleased at being allowed to lead his master's horse to the stable.

Newfoundland dogs may readily be taught to rescue drowning persons. In France, this forms a part of their education, and they are now kept in readiness on the banks of the Seine, where they form a sort of Humane Society Corps. By throwing the stuffed figure of a man into a river, and requiring the dog to fetch it out, he is soon taught to do so when necessary, and thus he is able to rescue drowning persons. This hint might not be thrown away on our own excellent Humane Society.

Many dogs are called of the Newfoundland breed who have but small relationship with that sensible animal. The St. John's and Labrador dogs are also very different from each other. The former is strong in his limbs, rough-haired, small in the head, and carries his tail very high. The other, by far the best for every kind of shooting, is oftener black than of another colour, and scarcely bigger than a pointer. He is made rather long in the head and nose, pretty deep in the chest, very fine in the legs, has short or smooth hair, does not carry his tail so much curled as the other, and is extremely quick and active in running, swimming, or fighting. The St. John's breed of these dogs is chiefly used on their native coast by fishermen. Their sense of smelling is scarcely to be credited. Their discrimination of scent, in following a wounded pheasant through a whole covert full of game, appears almost impossible.

The real Newfoundland dog may be broken into any kind of shooting, and, without additional instruction, is generally under such command, that he may be safely kept in, if required to be taken out with pointers. For finding wounded game of every description there is not his equal in the canine race, and he is a _sine qua non_ in the general pursuit of wildfowl. These dogs should be treated gently, and much encouraged when required to do anything, as their faults are easily checked. If used roughly, they are apt to turn sulky. They will also recollect and avenge an injury. A traveller on horseback, in passing through a small village in Cumberland, observed a Newfoundland dog reposing by the side of the road, and from mere wantonness gave him a blow with his whip. The animal made a violent rush at and pursued him a considerable distance. Having to proceed through the same place the next journey, which was about twelve months afterwards, and while in the act of leading his horse, the dog, no doubt recollecting his former assailant, instantly seized him by the boot, and bit his leg. Some persons, however, coming up, rescued him from further injury.

A gamekeeper had a Newfoundland dog which he used as a retriever. Shooting in a wood one day, he killed a pheasant, which fell at some distance, and he sent his dog for it. When half way to the bird, he suddenly returned, refusing to go beyond the place at which he had first stopped. This being an unusual circumstance, the man endeavoured more and more to enforce his command; which being unable to effect, either by words or his whip, he at last, in a great passion, gave the dog a violent kick in the ribs, which laid it dead at his feet. He then proceeded to pick up the bird, and on returning from the spot, discovered a man concealed in the thicket. He immediately seized him, and upon examination, several snares were found on his person. This may be a useful hint to those who are apt to take violent measures with their dogs.

A gentleman who had a country house near London, discovered on arriving at it one day that he had brought away a key, which would be wanted by his family in town. Having an intelligent Newfoundland dog, which had been accustomed to carry things, he sent him back with it. While passing with the key, the animal was attacked by a butcher's dog, against which he made no resistance, but got away from him. After safely delivering the key, he returned to rejoin his master, but stopped in the way at the butcher's shop, whose dog again sallied forth. The Newfoundland this time attacked him with a fury, which nothing but revenge could have inspired, nor did he quit the aggressor till he had killed him.

The following fact affords another proof of the extraordinary sagacity of these dogs.

A Newfoundland dog of the true breed was brought from that country, and given to a gentleman who resided near Thames Street, in London. As he had no means of keeping the animal, except in close confinement, he sent him to a friend in Scotland by a Berwick smack. When he arrived in Scotland he took the first opportunity of escaping, and though he certainly had never before travelled one yard of the road, he found his way back to his former residence on Fishstreet Hill; but in so exhausted a state, that he could only express his joy at seeing his master, and then died.

So wonderful is the sense of these dogs, that I have heard of three instances in which they have voluntarily guarded the bed-chamber doors of their mistresses, during the whole night, in the absence of their masters, although on no other occasion did they approach them.

The Romans appear to have had a dog, which seems to have been very similar in character to our Newfoundland. In the Museum at Naples there is an antique bronze, discovered amongst the ruins of Herculaneum, which represents two large dogs dragging from the sea some apparently drowned persons.

The following interesting fact affords another instance of the sagacity and good feeling of the Newfoundland dog:--

In the year 1841, as a labourer, named Rake, in the parish of Botley, near Southampton, was at work in a gravel-pit, the top stratum gave way, and he was buried up to his neck by the great quantity of gravel which fell upon him. He was at the same time so much hurt, two of his ribs being broken, that he found it impossible to make any attempt to extricate himself from his perilous situation. Indeed, nothing could be more fearful than the prospect before him. No one was within hearing of his cries, nor was any one likely to come near the spot. He must almost inevitably have perished, had it not been for a Newfoundland dog belonging to his employer. This animal had been watching the man at his work for some days, as if he had been aware that his assistance would be required; for no particular attachment to each other had been exhibited on either side. As soon, however, as the accident occurred, the dog jumped into the pit, and commenced removing the gravel with his paws; and this he did in so vigorous and expeditious a manner, that the poor man was at length able to liberate himself, though with extreme difficulty. What an example of kindness, sensibility, and I may add reason, does this instance afford us!

A gentleman in Ireland had a remarkably fine and intelligent Newfoundland dog, named Boatswain, whose acts were the constant theme of admiration. On one occasion, an aged lady who resided in the house, and the mother-in-law of the owner of the dog, was indisposed and confined to her bed. The old lady was tired of chickens and other productions of the farmyard, and a consultation was held in her room as to what could be procured to please her fancy for dinner. Various things were mentioned and declined, in the midst of which Boatswain, who was greatly attached to the old lady, entered her room with a fine young rabbit in his mouth, which he laid at the foot of the bed, wagging his tail with great exultation. It is not meant to infer that the dog knew anything of the difficulty of finding a dinner to the lady's taste, but seeing her distressed in mind and body, it is not improbable that he had brought his offering in the hopes of pleasing her.

On another occasion, his master found this dog early one summer's morning keeping watch over an unfortunate countryman, who was standing with his back to a wall in the rear of the premises, pale with terror. He was a simple, honest creature, living in the neighbourhood. Having to attend some fair or market, about four o'clock in the morning, he made a short cut through the grounds, which were under the protection of Boatswain, who drove the intruder to the wall, and kept him there, showing his teeth, and giving a growl whenever he offered to stir from the spot. In this way he was kept a prisoner till the owner of the faithful animal released him.

There was a Newfoundland dog on board H. M. S. Bellona, which kept the deck during the battle of Copenhagen, running backward and forward with so brave an anger, that he became a greater favourite with the men than ever. When the ship was paid off, after the peace of Amiens, the sailors had a parting dinner on shore. Victor was placed in the chair, and fed with roast beef and plum-pudding, and the bill was made out in Victor's name. This anecdote is taken from Southey's "Omniana."

I am indebted to a kind correspondent for the following anecdotes:--

"A friend of mine, who in the time of the war commanded the Sea Fencibles, in the neighbourhood of Southend, possessed in those days a magnificent Newfoundland dog, named Venture. This noble creature my friend was accustomed to take with him in the pursuit of wild fowl. One cold evening, after having tolerable sport, the dog was suddenly missed; he had been last seen when in pursuit of a winged bird. As the ice was floating in the river, and the dog was true to his name, and would swim any distance for the recovery of wounded game, it was feared he must have fallen a victim to the hazards of the sport, and his owner returned home in consequence much dispirited. On his arrival at his house, what was his extreme surprise, on entering the drawing-room, to find his wife accompanied by the dog, and a fine mallard lying on the table: the lady had, on her part, been overwhelmed with anxiety by the dog's having returned alone some time before, knowing the frequently perilous amusement in which her husband had embarked. The dog had straight on his return rushed to the drawing-room where the lady sat, and had laid the wild duck at her feet, having brought it safely in his mouth several miles.

"A gentleman once sent a coat to the tailor to be mended--it was left upon a counter in the shop. His dog had accompanied the servant to the tailor's. The animal watched his opportunity, pulled the coat down from the counter, and brought it home in triumph to his master.

"There is a tendency in the pride of man to deny the power of reasoning in animals, while it is the belief of some that reason is often a more sure guide to the brute beast, for the purposes designed by Providence, than that of their detractors. The fact is, I think, few persons who reflect deny the power, in a degree, to the less gifted of Nature's works. Certainly not some of the wisest of our race. Bishop Butler in his 'Analogy,' I think, assumes it; while the following beautiful inscription, designed for the epitaph of a favourite Newfoundland dog, was penned by no less a person than the late wise and venerable Earl of Eldon: from it his views on this subject may, I fancy, be easily discerned. They are published in the life of him, written by Horace Twiss:--

'You who wander hither,
Pass not unheeded
The spot where poor Caesar
Is deposited.

* * * *

To his rank among created beings
The power of reasoning is denied!
Caesar manifested joy,
For days before his master
Arrived at Encombe;
Caesar manifested grief
For days before his master left it.
What name shall be given
To that faculty,
Which thus made expectation
A source of joy,
Which thus made expectation
A source of grief?'"

THE COLLEY, OR SHEPHERD'S DOG.

"My dog (the trustiest of his kind)
With gratitude inflames my mind:
I mark his true, his faithful way,
And in my service copy Tray."--GAY.

Who that has seen has not been delighted with the charming picture by Mr. Landseer of the shepherd's dog, resting his head on the coffin which contained the body of his dead master! Grief, fidelity, and affection are so strongly portrayed in the countenance of the poor dog, that they cannot be mistaken. We may fancy him to have been the constant companion of the old shepherd through many a dreary day of rain, and frost, and snow on the neighbouring hills, gathering the scattered flock with persevering industry, and receiving the reward of his exertions in the approbation of his master. On returning to the humble cottage at night, he partakes of the "shepherd's scanty fare;" and then, coiled up before the flickering light of a few collected sticks, cold and shivering with wet, he awakes to greet his master at the first glimmering of morn, and is ready to renew his toils. Poor dog! what a lesson do you afford to those who are incapable of your gratitude, fidelity, and affection! and what justice has the charming artist done to these noble qualities! I trust he will receive this fanciful description of his dog as a little tribute paid to his talents, as well as to his good feeling.

The late Mr. Satterthwaite, grandfather of Thomas Rogerson, Esq., of Liverpool and Ballamillaghyn, Isle of Man, who died some years ago at Coulthouse, near Hawkshead, soon after his marriage, resided near the Low Wood Inn, on the borders of Windermere Lake. He left home early one morning, accompanied by his shepherd's dog, to look after some sheep on the mountains near Rydal, about four miles distant; and discovering two at the bottom of a precipice between two rocks he descended, with the view of extricating them; but when he got to the bottom, he could neither assist them nor get up himself, and there he was confined until midnight. The faithful dog remained at the top of the precipice watching his master; but at nightfall he proceeded home, scratched the door, and was let in by his mistress, who expressed her surprise at the barking of the dog and non-arrival of her husband. She had no sooner sat down than the dog ran barking towards her, and then went to the door: but as she did not follow, the dog ran to her again, seized her apron, and endeavoured to pull her to the door; which circumstance caused her to suppose some accident had befallen her husband. She immediately called up the servant-man, and told him she was sure, from the strange conduct of the dog, that something must have happened to his master. She told the man to take a lantern and some ropes, and follow the dog, taking care to get assistance at Ambleside; which he did. No sooner had the man opened the door than the dog bounded out, leaped up at him, barked, and then ran forward, but quickly returned, leaped up again, barked, and then ran forward, as if to hasten the man's speed. The faithful dog led the man and his companions to the prison of his master. The ropes were instantly lowered, and Mr. Satterthwaite was providentially released from his perilous situation. The sheep also were recovered.

How well do I recollect the Ettrick Shepherd descanting on the sagacity and perseverance of his favourite sheep-dog! His name was Sirrah, and he told me the following extraordinary anecdote of him, which I give in his own words:--

"About seven hundred lambs, which were once under my care at weaning time, broke up at midnight, and scampered off in three divisions across the hills, in spite of all that I and an assistant lad could do to keep them together. 'Sirrah, my man!' said I in great affliction, 'they are awa'.' The night was so dark that I could not see Sirrah, but the faithful animal heard my words--words such as of all others were sure to set him most on the alert; and without much ado he silently set off in search of the recreant flock. Meanwhile I and my companion did not fail to do all in our power to recover our lost charge. We spent the whole night in scouring the hills for miles around, but of neither the lambs nor Sirrah could we obtain the slightest trace. It was the most extraordinary circumstance that had occurred in my pastoral life. We had nothing for it (day having dawned), but to return to our master, and inform him that we had lost his whole flock of lambs, and knew not what had become of them. 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 around 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 which Sirrah had been unable to manage until he came to that commanding situation. 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 have assisted him, they could not have effected it with greater propriety. All that I can farther say is, that I never felt so grateful to any creature below the sun, as I did to my honest Sirrah that morning."

"I once sent you," says Mr. Hogg, some years later, in a letter to the Editor of "Blackwood's Edinburgh Magazine," "an account of a notable dog of my own, named Sirrah, which amused a number of your readers a great deal, and put their faith in my veracity somewhat to the test; but in this district, where the singular qualities of the animal were known, so far from any of the anecdotes being disputed, every shepherd values himself to this day on the possession of facts far outstripping any of those recorded by you formerly. With a few of these I shall conclude this paper. But, in the first place, I must give you some account of my own renowned Hector, which I promised long ago. He was the son and immediate successor of the faithful old Sirrah; and though not nearly so valuable a dog as his father, he was a far more interesting one. He had three times more humour and whim about him; and though exceedingly docile, his bravest acts were mostly tinctured with a grain of stupidity, which showed his reasoning faculty to be laughably obtuse.

"I shall mention a striking instance of it. I was once at the farm of Shorthope on Ettrick Head, receiving some lambs that I had bought, and was going to take to market, with some more, the next day. Owing to some accidental delay, I did not get final delivery of the lambs till it was growing late; and being obliged to be at my own house that night, I was not a little dismayed lest I should scatter and lose my lambs if darkness overtook me. Darkness did overtake me by the time I got half-way, and no ordinary darkness for an August evening. The lambs having been weaned that day, and of the wild black-faced breed, became exceedingly unruly, and for a good while I lost hopes of mastering them. Hector managed the point, and we got them safe home; but both he and his master were alike sore forefoughten. It had become so dark that we were obliged to fold them with candles; and, after closing them safely up, I went home with my father and the rest to supper. When Hector's supper was set down, behold he was awanting! and as I knew we had him at the fold, which was within call of the house, I went out and called and whistled on him for a good while, but he did not make his appearance. I was distressed about this; for, having to take away the lambs next morning, I knew I could not drive them a mile without my dog if it had been to save the whole drove.

"The next morning, as soon as it was day, I arose and inquired if Hector had come home? No; he had not been seen. I knew not what to do; but my father proposed that he would take out the lambs and herd them, and let them get some meat to fit them for the road, and that I should ride with all speed to Shorthope to see if my dog had gone back there. Accordingly we went together to the fold to turn out the lambs, and there was poor Hector, sitting trembling in the very middle of the fold-door, on the inside of the flake that closed it, with his eyes still steadfastly fixed on the lambs. He had been so hardly set with them after it grew dark, that he durst not for his life leave them, although hungry, fatigued, and cold, for the night had turned out a deluge of rain. He had never so much as lain down; for only the small spot that he sat on was dry, and there had he kept watch the whole night. Almost any other colley would have discerned that the lambs were safe enough in the fold, but honest Hector had not been able to see through this. He even refused to take my word for it; for he would not quit his watch, though he heard me calling both at night and morning.

"Another peculiarity of his was, that he had a mortal antipathy to the family-mouser, which was ingrained in his nature from his very puppyhood; yet so perfectly absurd was he, that no impertinence on her side, and no baiting on, could ever induce him to lay his mouth on her, or injure her in the slightest degree. There was not a day and scarcely an hour passed over, that the family did not get some amusement with these two animals. Whenever he was within doors, his whole occupation was watching and _pointing_ the cat from morning to night. When she flitted from one place to another, so did he in a moment; and then squatting down, he kept his _point_ sedulously, till he was either called off or fell asleep.

"He was an exceedingly poor eater of meat, always had to be pressed to it, and often would not take it till we brought in the cat. The malicious looks that he cast at her from under his eyebrows on such occasions were exceedingly ludicrous, considering his utter disinclination to injure her. Whenever he saw her, he drew near his bicker and looked angry; but still he would not taste till she was brought to it, and then he cocked his tail, set up his birses, and began lapping furiously as if in utter desperation. His good nature, however, was so immovable, that he would never refuse her a share of what was placed before him; he even lapped close to the one side of the dish, and left her room,--but mercy! how he did ply!

"It will appear strange to you to hear a dog's reasoning faculty mentioned as I have done; but I declare I have hardly ever seen a shepherd's dog do anything without believing that I perceived his reasons for it. I have often amused myself in calculating what his motives were for such and such things, and I generally found them very cogent ones. But Hector had a droll stupidity about him, and took up forms and rules of his own, for which I could never perceive any motive that was not even farther out of the way than the action itself. He had one uniform practice, and a very bad one it was; during the time of family worship, and just three or four seconds before the conclusion of the prayer, he started to his feet and ran barking round the apartment like a crazed beast. My father was so much amused with this, that he would never suffer me to correct him for it, and I scarcely ever saw the old man rise from the prayer without his endeavouring to suppress a smile at the extravagance of Hector. None of us ever could find out how he knew that the prayer was near done, for my father was not formal in his prayers; but certes he did know,--and of that we had nightly evidence. There never was anything for which I was so puzzled to discover a motive as this, but from accident I did discover it; and, however ludicrous it may appear, I am certain I was correct. It was much in character with many of Hector's feats, and rather, I think, the most _outre_ of any principle he ever acted on. As I said, his great daily occupation was pointing the cat. Now, when he saw us kneel all down in a circle, with our faces couched on our paws, in the same posture with himself, it struck his absurd head that we were all engaged in pointing the cat. He lay on tenters all the while, but the acuteness of his ear enabling him, through time, to ascertain the very moment when we would all spring to our feet, he thought to himself, 'I shall be first after her, for you all.'

"He inherited his dad's unfortunate ear for music, not perhaps in so extravagant a degree, but he ever took care to exhibit it on the most untimely and ill-judged occasions. Owing to some misunderstanding between the minister of the parish and the session-clerk, the precenting in church devolved on my father, who was the senior elder. Now, my father could have sung several of the old church-tunes middling well in his own family-circle; but it so happened that, when mounted in the desk, he never could command the starting notes of any but one (St. Paul's), which were always in undue readiness at the root of his tongue, to the exclusion of every other semibreve in the whole range of sacred melody. The minister gave out psalms four times in the course of every day's service; consequently the congregation were treated with St. Paul's in the morning at great length, twice in the course of the service, and then once again at the close. Nothing but St. Paul's. And it being itself a monotonous tune, nothing could exceed the monotony that prevailed in the primitive church of Ettrick. Out of pure sympathy for my father alone, I was compelled to take the precentorship in hand; and having plenty of tunes, for a good while I came on as well as could be expected, as men say of their wives. But, unfortunately for me, Hector found out that I attended church every Sunday, and though I had him always closed up carefully at home, he rarely failed in making his appearance in church at some time of the day. Whenever I saw him a tremor came over my spirits, for I well knew what the issue would be. The moment that he heard my voice strike up the psalm 'with might and majesty,' then did he fall in with such overpowering vehemence, that he and I seldom got any to join in the music but our two selves. The shepherds hid their heads, and laid them down on the backs of their seats rowed in their plaids, and the lasses looked down to the ground and laughed till their faces grew red. I despised to _stick_ the tune, and therefore was obliged to carry on in spite of the obstreperous accompaniment; but I was, time after time, so completely put out of all countenance with the brute, that I was obliged to give up my office in disgust, and leave the parish once more to their old friend, St. Paul.

"Hector was quite incapable of performing the same feats among sheep that his father did; but, as far as his judgment served him, he was a docile and obliging creature. He had one singular quality, of keeping true to the charge to which he was set. If we had been shearing, or sorting sheep in any way, when a division was turned out and Hector got the word to attend to them, he would have done it pleasantly for a whole day without the least symptom of weariness. No noise or hurry about the fold, which brings every other dog from his business, had the least effect on Hector, save that it made him a little troublesome on his own charge, and set him a-running round and round them, turning them in at corners, from a sort of impatience to be employed as well as his baying neighbours at the fold. Whenever old Sirrah found himself hard set in commanding wild sheep on steep ground, where they are worst to manage, he never failed, without any hint to the purpose, to throw himself wide in below them, and lay their faces to the hill, by which means he got the command of them in a minute. I never could make Hector comprehend this advantage with all my art, although his father found it out entirely of himself. The former would turn or wear sheep no other way but on the hill above them; and, though very good at it, he gave both them and himself double the trouble and fatigue.

"It cannot be supposed that he could understand all that was passing in the little family circle, but he certainly comprehended a good part of it. In particular, it was very easy to discover that he rarely missed aught that was said about himself, the sheep, the cat, or of a hunt. When aught of that nature came to be discussed, Hector's attention and impatience soon became manifest. There was one winter evening I said to my mother that I was going to Bowerhope for a fortnight, for that I had more conveniency for writing with Alexander Laidlaw than at home; and I added, 'But I will not take Hector with me, for he is constantly quarrelling with the rest of the dogs, singing music, or breeding some uproar.' 'Na, na,' quoth she, 'leave Hector with me; I like aye best to have him at hame, poor fallow.'

"These were all the words that passed. The next morning the waters were in a great flood, and I did not go away till after breakfast; but when the time came for tying up Hector, he was a-wanting. 'The deil's in that beast,' said I,--'I will wager that he heard what we were saying yesternight, and has gone off for Bowerhope as soon as the door was opened this morning.'

"'If that should really be the case, I'll think the beast no canny,' said my mother.

"The Yarrow was so large as to be quite impassable, so that I had to walk up by St. Mary's Loch, and go across by the boat; and, on drawing near to Bowerhope, I soon perceived that matters had gone precisely as I suspected. Large as the Yarrow was, and it appeared impassable by any living creature, Hector had made his escape early in the morning, had swam the river, and was sitting, 'like a drookit hen,' on a knoll at the east end of the house, awaiting my arrival with great impatience. I had a great attachment to this animal, who, to a good deal of absurdity, joined all the amiable qualities of his species. He was rather of a small size, very rough and shagged, and not far from the colour of a fox.

"His son Lion was the very picture of his dad, had a good deal more sagacity, but also more selfishness. A history of the one, however, would only be an epitome of that of the other. Mr. William Nicholson[O] took a fine likeness of this latter one, which he still possesses. He could not get him to sit for his picture in such a position as he wanted, till he exhibited a singularly fine portrait of a small dog, on the opposite side of the room. Lion took it for a real animal, and, disliking its fierce and important look exceedingly, he immediately set up his ears and his shaggy birses, and, fixing a stern eye on the picture in manifest wrath, he would then sit for a whole day and point at it without budging or altering his position.

"It is a curious fact in the history of these animals, that the most useless of the breed have often the greatest degree of sagacity in trifling and useless matters. An exceedingly good sheep-dog attends to nothing else but that particular branch of business to which he is bred. His whole capacity is exerted and exhausted on it, and he is of little avail in miscellaneous matters; whereas, a very indifferent cur, bred about the house, and accustomed to assist in every thing, will often put the more noble breed to disgrace in those paltry services. If one calls out, for instance, that the cows are in the corn, or the hens in the garden, the house-colley needs no other hint, but runs and turns them out. The shepherd's dog knows not what is astir; and, if he is called out in a hurry for such work, all that he will do is to break to the hill, and rear himself up on end to see if no sheep are running away. A bred sheep-dog, if coming hungry from the hills, and getting into a milk-house, would most likely think of nothing else than filling his belly with the cream. Not so his uninitiated brother; he is bred at home to far higher principles of honour. I have known such lie night and day among from ten to twenty pails full of milk, and never once break the cream of one of them with the tip of his tongue, nor would he suffer cat, rat, or any other creature to touch it. This latter sort, too, are far more acute at taking up what is said in a family.

"The anecdotes of these animals are all so much alike, that were I but to relate the thousandth part of those I have heard, they would often look very much like repetitions. I shall therefore, in this paper, only mention one or two of the most singular, which I know to be well authenticated.

"There was a shepherd lad near Langholm, whose name was Scott, who possessed a bitch famed over all the West Border for her singular tractability. He could have sent her home with one sheep, two sheep, or any given number, from any of the neighbouring farms; and, in the lambing season, it was his uniform practice to send her home with the kebbed ewes just as he got them. I must let the town reader understand this. A kebbed ewe is one whose lamb dies. As soon as such is found, she is immediately brought home by the shepherd, and another lamb put to her; and Scott, on going his rounds on the hill, whenever he found a kebbed ewe, immediately gave her in charge to his bitch to take home, which saved him from coming back that way again and going over the same ground he had visited before. She always took them carefully home, and put them into a fold which was close by the house, keeping watch over them till she was seen by some one of the family; upon which she instantly decamped, and hastened back to her master, who sometimes sent her three times home in one morning with different charges. It was the custom of the farmer to watch her and take the sheep in charge from her: but this required a good deal of caution; for as soon as she perceived that she was seen, whether the sheep were put into the fold or not, she concluded her charge was at an end, and no flattery could induce her to stay and assist in folding them. There was a display of accuracy and attention in this that I cannot say I have ever seen equalled.

"The late Mr. Steel, flesher in Peebles, had a bitch that was fully equal to the one mentioned above, and that, too, in the very same qualification. Her feats in taking sheep from the neighbouring farms into the Flesh-market at Peebles, form innumerable anecdotes in that vicinity. But there is one related of her, that manifests so much sagacity with natural affection, that I do not think the history of the animal creation furnishes such another.