a kind of intelligence, as to whether they shall fight, or play, or go quietly about their separate business; and until this is settled, both stand still, or walk round each other, keenly observant of any warlike indication, on the slightest expression of which a battle ensues. It is true there are rude animals that rush instantly upon any dog which may happen to be passing, as there are human barbarians who refuse to be amenable to the laws of good society; and such dogs may not inaptly be styled the plebeians of their race. While thus standing until the mode of procedure is decided, nothing can induce either animal to run, however great may be the need for haste. It is evidently an occasion for the nicest punctilio, and it is curious to observe how the smaller animal of the two, when thus situated, will raise himself on his toes, and try, by every means in his power, to look tall and commanding, so as to overawe the stranger with a sense of his dignity and power. No actual diminutiveness has anything whatever to do with this display of majesty. Indeed it is to be questioned whether a little dog, any more than some other small animals, ever did discover that he was little. On the occasion of these accidental meetings, as already said, the dogs never run—nothing can make them run—until the interview is concluded. If they run, they are most probably laughed at, and certainly they present every appearance of having lost ground in public opinion; for other dogs will then join in the pursuit, so that the poor craven runaway has enough to do to escape, amidst the jeers and the hootings of his persecutors. Out of these, their natural habits, there may possibly arise a kind of dim perception of what it is to be made game of by man.
Dogs are often very indignant at being cheated, and seldom take a practical joke as fun. I knew a fine pointer that lived so much with his master, and understood his meaning so well, as to be deeply hurt whenever he was made the subject of loud or continued laughter. He was my brother’s dog; and once, when out with him on a shooting expedition, he took a strange fancy to leap over a long pole placed across the path. There was space enough for a dog twice his height to pass under it; but no, he would leap over; and each time, the pole being long and weak, as his toes touched it he fell backwards over, looking of course extremely ridiculous. My brother watched him with considerable curiosity, and at last burst into a fit of uncontrollable laughter; upon which, the dog, as if conscious of his own absurdity, hung his tail, and walked away. He was naturally the happiest and most exulting companion in the field, and fondly attached to his master; but on this occasion nothing could induce him to look after another partridge, or to remain where he was subject to have his feelings so lightly treated. Another time he received a similar insult from his master at the breakfast table. He retreated in the same manner; and such was his embarrassment, that he was found by the servants sitting bolt upright on a chair beside the kitchen clock.
But to speak of the entertainment afforded by this social animal, even from his early puppyhood, would be to fill volumes; and after all, no language could describe the look, the manner, the action, which combine to render the dog so irrisistible and piquant in his drollery. It is action, in fact, in which he so far surpasses other animals; and this must be the subject of familiar observation to be thoroughly appreciated.
On the other hand, there are pictures impressed upon the memory, for which neither pen nor pencil have ever been found sufficient—pictures of domestic scenes, or of solitary experience, in which the dog has occupied a place not inferior in pathos to that of his human associates. What household sorrow has ever been so deep, that the familiar dog could not enter in and take his part? What lonely sufferer has ever been quite alone, while his dog was left? What outcast from the human family has ever felt himself utterly discarded, so long as his dog did not forsake him? There is such a thing as being so poor in human love, as to be doubly thankful for the affection of a dog; and there are moments in human life when the sympathy of a faithful dog is more welcome than that of many friends.
To these animals has been attributed, I do not know whether justly or not, a kind of instinct bearing reference to the subject of death. Certainly they are capable of being strongly impressed by the usual evidences of household mourning, as well as of individual sorrow. A fit of weeping will often bring a dog to the mourner’s feet, and cause him to look up, and even whine, with the most piteous expression of countenance. I remember a circumstance connected with a dog, which it is still painful to recall, though the poor fellow was soon committed to a quiet grave. I had gone to be with my father in his last illness; and while he lay on the bed from which he was not likely ever to rise again, his dog, a young and really worthless animal, cared for by nobody, seemed wholly at a loss what to do with himself. The last partialities of old people are often their greatest weaknesses, and certainly this dog had nothing to recommend him but his great love for his master, and his faithfulness in attending upon his steps. He was a bounding foolish creature, of no particular kind, and consequently despised. I soon found that, although he had never seen me before, and I had taken but little notice of him, he was transferring all the warmth of his affection from my father to me. I did nothing to encourage it, for I could not bear to think of his forlorn condition, and his presence was painful to me; but still his attachment grew, until the animal seemed to haunt me. I never opened my chamber door in the morning but he was there; I never walked in the fields but he pursued my steps. People said I must take him away with me. I could not do that; but I felt painfully, as the poor creature seemed to feel, what a desolate lot his would be when the great event should be over, and when all who had congregated in the old hospitable mansion should have gone back to their different homes.
I had soon too much to think of to pay any attention to the dog; only I observed that he was still continually beside me. When I departed for the last time from the well-known door, some friends accompanied me in a close carriage, from the win-