A few days before the event here recorded, Mr. Procter went down a road which is every winter under water; he was on foot, and frequently got into holes and deep ruts, but Neptune, who accompanied him, carefully avoided wetting his feet. The dog died in 1861. It was his custom to go hunting alone, among the furze which grows on the old beaches; one day his owner saw him disappear behind a clump of bushes, and that evening he did not return home. Three days after, to the great grief of his master and mistress, a young man came to say he had found Nep dead on the beach. The faithful creature had burst a blood-vessel in the heart. His body was carried home and buried in the garden, where a stone was erected to his memory in grateful remembrance by those to whom the noble animal had proved so brave, true, and affectionate a friend. The instance of reasoning which is now given, is nearly in the words of the lady who witnessed the facts. "Below our house at Pembury was a valley in which were many hares, and in the neighbourhood was kept a pack of harriers. A favourite dog of ours named Ness, a large rough bull-terrier, used to lie on the lawn in front of the house, keeping watch all around, glancing occasionally into the windows to observe my motions, as he was always the companion of my walks. One morning I saw a hare run up the hill, and the cry of the harriers as they followed on her track was heard in the valley. Ness, too, saw poor puss, started up, seized her, and brought her in his mouth to me. I patted and congratulated him, and showed the hare to my father, who said Ness and I had done a very unsportsmanlike deed of which we should soon hear more. So we did, for the pack rushed upon the lawn in full chorus on the scent, with the men after them, to the porch, where my father met them, gave them the hare, and expressed his regret that his dog had spoiled their sport. At the same time telling them that he valued his dog highly, but if the same thing occurred again they should always have the hare. Ness stood by growling, and appearing much displeased. This was repeated several times. Ness always brought the hare to me in the house, and I always caressed and praised him, but was obliged by my father's orders to give it to the huntsmen whenever they traced it to the house, Ness invariably testifying his total disapprobation of the whole proceeding. “One day he came to the window where I sat; but not as usual with a gladsome bark did he claim my notice. He capered, wagged his tail, grinned-by every silent means entreating me to come to him. I went, and still in perfect silence, but with great appearance of fun and joy, he bounded before me to a thick Portugal laurel about fifty yards from the house, and then stood looking eagerly into it. I looked too, and there lay the dead hare, the hounds being as yet in the valley. Ness would not touch it, but rejoiced exceedingly as I took it up and carried it; he then resumed his usual station to watch. I watched, too, from a window, and thence I saw the hounds come up on the scent to the Portugal laurel. There they were of course at fault; Ness barked aloud, rejoiced, capered, all but said, 'You are foiled now; I have out-witted you at last.' And so he had. They did not come to the house for that hare. "I have always thought this a curious incident. The conduct of the dog was so evidently the result of experience, observation, and reflection. But I do not know that I have anything more to relate of poor Ness. "I add another story of canine sagacity from Scotland. "Don was a very handsome white setter, the property of the late Sir A. M., who lent him to my brothers for the shooting season. Sir A. had many dogs in charge of his keeper, chained in kennels, and under regular sporting discipline. Our dogs passed their time at liberty, and, when not in the field, were lounging about on the lawn, or playing with the children. "The Aberdeen term came on, and my brothers returned the setter to his master, whose house was about fifteen miles from ours. A few days after, as we went out in the morning, we found Don had returned; he sprang with every demonstration of joy to greet us, and by his side was a large Newfoundland dog, who also welcomed us with much cordiality. We were extremely pleased with our old friend and our new visitor; but in a few hours the gamekeeper arrived in great. wrath, declaring the two dogs had run off together, utterly regardless of his calls; that they had always been particularly attached to each other, and that Don must have told the Newfoundland that there were no collars or chains in use with us. Collars and chains were produced then, the two friends were led home, and we saw them no more." Another case of reasoning in the dog, substantiated by undeniable authority, now follows. "SIR, The Fellside, Penrith, April 11, 1863. "I gladly give you the anecdote Dr. S. alluded to. The dog was not mine, nor did I witness the incident. The dog belonged to the Rev. Mr. Cockaine, who kept a school, more than thirty years ago, in Clifton Wood. I was only a day boy, and therefore did not walk out with the boarders. But the second master, with whom I was friendly, told me the incident next day, and all the boys confirmed it. So that I have no doubt of the entire reliability of the story I now relate. "The second master took the boys out on a half-holiday for a walk to Leigh Woods, and, as usual, Mat, who was generally chained to his kennel, went with them. When they reached Rownham Ferry, the ferryman would not allow Mat to get into the boat, for fear of his soiling the seats. The tide was then running up to Bristol. Mat, after grieving a little at seeing his friends leave him, ran some way towards the Hot-wells (ie., as the tide then was, up the stream), jumped in, and safely landed on the opposite side, just where the boat debarked its passengers. The party remained some hours in the woods; and when they came to recross the Ferry, the tide had changed, and was running in the opposite direction. Mat was again excluded from the boat, and, as before, ran down some distance towards the Hot-wells, and jumped in. But, of course, he was grievously mistaken. The tide carried him in the opposite direction to what he wished; and from the muddy bank not suffering him to get out of the water where he first reached the opposite shore, he was only with difficulty recovered near the Hot-wells House. That is the story, as I implicitly believe it. I may suggest that Mat may have, in the first instance, been induced to run up the stream (although it was down the river, if there had been no tide), by seeing the boat carry his friends up the stream. Perhaps you know that the ferry-boat used to be anchored, and used always, according to the state of the tide, to be punted some distance up or down, close into shore, so as always to make the trajet obliquely. I suggest this as a possible theory; but it does not explain his conduct the second time for then the boat went in the direction opposite to the one he took. I have always regarded the anecdote as an evidence of reasoning, and not of instinct. The latter would have been infallible; but the former, as we see every day, errs by drawing conclusions from inadequate data, or from assuming two cases to be identical which have some essentially different elements. "I have no other story of my own worth your acceptance; but a brother of mine, who was a resident in Australia for several years, has a remarkable story of a dog of his, of which this is the marrow:-His stockman called late at night at a country inn and put his horse up there. The dog never used to leave the horse. Before going to bed the stockman missed his saddle, and made a great clamour about it, threatening to make the Host replace its value. No search could find it. The landlord rises early to renew the search, and my brother's dog gets hold of the landlord and decoys him three-quarters of a mile into the bush, where he finds the saddle. “I remain, &c., "J. N." |