And this dog was satisfied

If a pale, thin hand would glide
Down his dewlaps sloping,
Which he push'd his nose within,
After-platforming his chin
On the palm left open.

This dog, if a friendly voice
Call him now to blither choice
Than such chamber-keeping,
"Come out!" praying from the door,
Presseth backward as before,

Up against me leaping.

Therefore to this dog will I,
Tenderly, not scornfully,

Render praise and favour :
With my hand upon his head
Is my benediction said,
Therefore, and for ever.

And because he loved me so,
Better than his kind will do,

Often man or woman,
Give I back more love again
Than dogs often take of men,
Leaning from my Human.
Blessings on thee, dog of mine,
Pretty collars make thee fine,
Sugar'd milk make fat thee!
Pleasures wag on in thy tail,
Hands of gentle motion fail

Nevermore to pat thee!

Downy pillow take thy head,
Silken coverlet bestead,

Sunshine help thy sleeping!
No fly's buzzing wake thee up,
No man break thy purple cup
Set for drinking deep in.
Whisker'd cats arointed flee,
Sturdy stoppers keep from thee
Cologne distillations;
Nuts lie in thy path for stones,
And thy feast-day macaroons
Turn to daily rations!

Mock I thee in wishing weal?
Tears are in my eyes to feel

Thou art made so straightly;
Blessing needs must straighten too;
Little canst thou joy or do,
Thou who lovest greatly.

Yet be blessed to the height
Of all good and all delight

Pervious to thy nature;
Only loved beyond that line,

With a love that answers thine,

Loving fellow-creature!

SIR THOMAS FOWELL BUXTON, BART., AND HIS DOG "SPEAKER."

Sir Thomas Fowell Buxton was very fond of dogs; his son* tells an anecdote of the singular manner in which

* "Memoirs of Sir Thomas Fowell Buxton, Bart.," edited by his son, Charles Buxton, Esq., B.A., third edition, p. 139.

"He was stand

one of his pets came into his possession. ing at the door of the House of Commons talking to a friend, when a beautiful black and tan terrier rushed between them, and immediately began barking furiously at Mr Joseph Pease, who was speaking. All the members jumped up, shouting and laughing, while the officers of the house chased the dog round and round, till at last he took refuge with Mr Buxton, who, as he could find no traces of an owner, carried him home. He proved to be quite an original. One of his whims was, that he would never go into the kitchen nor yet into a poor man's cottage; but he formed a habit of visiting by himself at the country houses in the neighbourhood of Cromer, and his refined manners and intelligence made 'Speaker' a welcome guest wherever he pleased to go."

LORD BYRON AND HIS DOG BOATSWAIN.

In November 1808 Lord Byron lost his favourite dog Boatswain; the poor animal having been seized with a fit of madness, at the commencement of which so little aware was Byron of the nature of the malady, that he more than once, with his bare hand, wiped away the slaver from the dog's lips during the paroxysms. In a letter to his friend Mr Hodson, he thus announces this event :- "Boatswain is dead! he expired in a state of madness on the 18th, after suffering much, yet retaining all the gentleness of his nature to the last, never attempting to do the least injury to any one near him. I have now lost everything except old Murray."

The monument raised by him to this dog-the most

memorable tribute of the kind since the dog's grave, of old, at Salamis-is still a conspicuous ornament of the gardens of Newstead. The misanthropic verses engraved upon it may be found among his poems, and the following is the inscription by which they are introduced :

"Near this spot

Are deposited the remains of one
Who possessed beauty without vanity,
Strength without insolence,

Courage without ferocity,

And all the virtues of man without his vices.
This praise, which would be unmeaning flattery
If inscribed over human ashes,

Is but a just tribute to the memory of
BOATSWAIN, a dog,

Who was born at Newfoundland, May 1803,

And died at Newstead Abbey, November 18, 1805."

The poet Pope, when about the same age as the writer of this inscription, passed a similar eulogy on his dog, at the expense of human nature; adding that "histories are more full of examples of the fidelity of dogs than of friends." In a still sadder and bitterer spirit, Lord Byron writes of his favourite :

"To mark a friend's remains these stones arise;
I never knew but one, and here he lies."*

Moore relates a story of this dog, indicative, not only of intelligence, but of a generosity of spirit, which might well win for him the affections of such a master as Byron. A fox-terrier of his mother's, called Gilpin, was an object of dislike to Boatswain, who worried him nearly to the death. Gilpin was sent off and Boatswain was missed for a day. *Moore's "Life of Byron," chap. vii. p. 74.

To the surprise of the servants, towards evening Gilpin and Boatswain were in company, the former led by the latter, who led him to the kitchen fire, licked him and lavished on him every possible demonstration of joy. He had been away to fetch him, and ever after caressed him, and defended him from the attacks of other dogs. (P. 44.)

"PERCHANCE"c”—A LADY's reason FOR SO NAMING HER DOG.

A lady had a favourite lap-dog, which she called Perchance. "A singular name," said somebody, "for a beautiful pet, madam; where did you find it?"-"Oh," drawled she, "it was named from Byron's dog. You remember where he says, 'Perchance my dog will howl.'"

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William Wilkie Collins, after a most graphic account of the companions of his artist-father's home,† notices one who was ever as ready to offer his small aid and humble obedience as were any of his superiors, to confer the benefit of their penetrating advice." I refer to Mr Collins's dog "Prinny" (Prince). This docile and affectionate animal had been trained by his master to sit in any attitude, which the introduction of a dog in his picture (a frequent occurrence) might happen to demand. So strict was "Prinny's" sense of duty, that he never ventured to move from his set position until his master's signal gave him permission to * Mark Lemon, "Jest Book," p. 279.

"Memoirs of the Life of Wm. Collins, R.A.," by his Son, i. 105.