"Why don't you call your dog off, you wicked old man?"
"Because I can't recollect his name, you old fool, you!"
Fond parent accuses uncle of having set dog on,—uncle, indignant, reviles fond parent,—exasperated fond parent attacks uncle,—uncle retaliates with umbrella,— faithful dog comes to assistance of uncle, and inflicts great injury on fond parent,—arrival of police,—dog attacks police,—uncle and fond parent both taken into custody,—uncle fined five pounds and costs for keeping a ferocious dog at large,—uncle fined five pounds and costs for assault on fond parent,—uncle fined five pounds and costs for assault on police!
My uncle gave the dog away soon after that. He did not waste him. He gave him as a wedding-present to a near relation.
But the saddest story I ever heard in connection with a bull-dog, was one told by my aunt herself.
Now you can rely upon this story, because it is not one of mine, it is one of my aunt's, and she would scorn to tell a lie. This is a story you could tell to the heathen, and feel that you were teaching them the truth and doing them good. They give this story out at all the Sunday-schools in our part of the country, and draw moral lessons from it. It is a story that a little child can believe.
It happened in the old crinoline days. My aunt, who was then living in a country-town, had gone out shopping one morning, and was standing in the High Street, talking to a lady friend, a Mrs. Gumworthy, the doctor's wife. She (my aunt) had on a new crinoline that morning, in which, to use her own expression, she rather fancied her-
