le animal was made of most obstinate
materials, and had no intention of being baulked; so directly we knelt
down for prayers, he scrambled from under the table, and stretched his
full length before the fire. He knew he would not be spoken to until
we had finished, and felt quite safe until we all joined in the Lord's
Prayer at the end, when he would immediately decamp, and thus escape
any scolding for his disobedience. It was more especially clever of
him because we all joined in the Confession as well, but he never took
any notice of that, and always put off his departure until the last
minute.

We had this dog twelve years altogether, and a sad night it was,
indeed, when he had a fit and died. The breakfast-table next morning
presented a most distressing spectacle. We were all positively
swimming in tears. The whole family was upset at his death; and when,
later on in the day, he was wrapped up in a fish basket and buried in
the garden, next door to a favorite rabbit--on whose grave a cabbage
had been planted, most unkindly reminding him of the sweets of life he
had left behind--we all lifted up our voices and wept again.

I often wonder if we shall meet our faithful dumb friends hereafter!
Sages say no; but I cannot believe they are so entirely blotted out,
and like to think they have some happy sugary existence somewhere, and
that we shall see them again some day.

Dogs are very human after all; they have a great many of our virtues
and nearly all our vices. I expect it is this that endears them to us,
for "One touch of nature makes all the world kin." They are just as
contradictory, as disappointing, as ourselves. Why will they always
show off to such bad advantage? After spending weeks in teaching them,
and fortunes on pieces of sugar, why, before an audience, will they
insist on ringing the bell when they are told to shut the door? and
when you ask them to sit up and beg, _why_ do they die for the Queen?

A little while ago we used to have grand steeplechases with our dogs.
We put up fences and water jumps, all of which--with the aid of sugar
again--they were able to master in time. I think they used to get
quite excited themselves at last. Our old gardener, who used to watch
the races with great interest, told me once that he "'ad seen one of
the little dawgs a'jumpin' backwards and forwards over that 'ere bit
of wood (the highest and most perilous jump), and a'practisin' by
hisself!" He _was_ a very clever