rightly (it is twelve or fifteen years ago), his weakness was
"soda scones." If he dropped a halfpenny on the counter he was
contented with one scone, but if he had given a penny he expected two,
and would wait for the second, after he had eaten the first, until he
got it. That he knew exactly when he was entitled to one scone only, and
when he ought to get two, is certain, for I tried him often.

LAWSON TAIT.

[_Feb. 17, 1877._]

In the _Spectator_ of the 10th inst. a correspondent describes the
purchase of cakes by a clever dog at Greenock. I should like to be
allowed to help preserve the memory of a most worthy dog-friend of my
youth, well remembered by many now living who knew Greenwich Hospital
some thirty or five-and-thirty years ago.

At that time there lived there a dog-pensioner called Hardy, a large
brown Irish retriever. He was so named by Sir Thomas Hardy, when
Governor (Nelson's Hardy), who at the same time constituted him a
pensioner, at the rate of one penny per diem, for that he had one day
saved a life from drowning just opposite the hospital. Till that time
he was a poor stranger and vagrant dog--friendless. But thenceforward he
lived in the hospital, and _spent his pension himself_ at the butcher's
shop, as he did also many another coin given to him by numerous friends.
Many is the halfpenny which, as a child, I gave Hardy, that I might see
him buy his own meat--which he did with judgment, and a due regard to
value. When a _penny_ was given to him, he would, on arriving at the
shop, place it on the counter and rest his nose or paw upon it until he
received _two halfpennyworths_, nor would any persuasion induce him to
give up the coin for the usual smaller allowance. I was a young child at
the time, but I had a great veneration for Hardy, and remember him well,
but lest my juvenile memory might have been in fault, I have, before
writing this letter, compared my recollections with those of my elders,
who, as grown people, knew Hardy for many years, and confirm all the
above facts. There, indeed, was the right dog in the right place. Peace
to his shade!

J. D. C.

[_Feb. 7, 1885._]

Have you room for one more dog story, which resembles one lately
reported in a French journal? A few years since I was sitting inside the
door of a shop to escape from the rain while waiting for a trap to take
me to the railway station in the old Etruscan city of Ferentino.