ty feet or more into the sea. Once in the water, the power of his enemy was crippled, while Captain was altogether in his own element; and, easily overcoming all efforts at resistance, he succeeded in resolutely keeping the bull-dog's head under water. The excitement on the shore was, of course, intense. The major shouted, and called out: "My dog! my beautiful dog! Will no one save him?" But no one seemed at all inclined to interfere, or to risk his life for the ugly dog. At length the major called out: "I'll give fifty pounds to any one who will save my dog;" and soon afterward a boat which lay at some little distance pulled up to the rescue. Even then, however, it was only by striking Captain on the head with the oars that he could be forced to release his victim, which was taken into the boat quite senseless from exhaustion and suffocation, and was with difficulty brought to itself again. Captain, on the other hand, swam in triumph to the shore, amid the plaudits of the spectators, who shared, in sympathy at least, his well-earned honors of revenge.
More remarkable than the sagacity in carrying out the desire for revenge, displayed by the Newfoundland dog in the above case, is that which the following narrative illustrates: A gentleman of wealth and position in London had, some years ago, a country-house and farm about sixty miles from the metropolis. At this country residence he kept a number of dogs, and among them a very large mastiff and a Scotch terrier; and, at the close of one of his summer residences in the country, he resolved to bring this terrier with him to London for the winter season. There being no railway to that particular part of the country, the dog traveled with the servants in a post-carriage, and on his arrival at the town-house was brought out to the stable, where a large Newfoundland dog was kept as a watch-dog. This latter individual looked with anything but pleasure on the arrival of the little intruder from the country; and consequently the Scotch terrier had not been very long in his new home when this canine master of the stable attacked him, and, in the language of human beings, gave him a sound thrashing. The little animal could, of course, never hope by himself to chastise his host for this inhospitable welcome, but he determined that by some agency chastisement should come. Accordingly, he lay very quiet that night in a remote corner of the stable, but when morning had fully shone forth he was nowhere to be found. Search was made for him, as the phrase says, high and low, but without success; and the conclusion reluctantly arrived at was, that he had been stolen. On the third morning after his disappearance, however, he again showed himself in London, but this time not alone; for, to the amazement of every one, he entered the stable attended by the big mastiff from Kent. This great brute had no sooner arrived than he flew at the Newfoundland dog, who had so badly treated his little terrier friend, and a severe contest ensued, which the little terrier himself, seated at a short distance, viewed with the utmost dignity and