ed
with the records of old wounds, a sort of series of fields of battle all
over it; one eye out, one ear cropped as close as was Archbishop
Leighton's father's; the remaining eye had the power of two; and above
it, and in constant communication with it, was a tattered rag of an ear,
which was forever unfurling itself, like an old flag; and then that bud
of a tail, about one inch long, if it could in any sense be said to be
long, being as broad as long--the mobility, the instantaneousness of
that bud were very funny and surprising, and its expressive twinklings
and winkings, the intercommunications between the eye, the ear, and it,
were of the oddest and swiftest.

Rab had the dignity and simplicity of great size; and having fought his
way all along the road to absolute supremacy, he was as mighty in his
own line as Julius Caesar or the Duke of Wellington, and had the
gravity[3] of all great fighters.

[3] A Highland game-keeper, when asked why a certain terrier, of
singular pluck, was so much more solemn than the other dogs,
said, "Oh, Sir, life's full o' sairiousness to him--he just
never can get enuff o' fechtin'."

You must have often observed the likeness of certain men to certain
animals, and of certain dogs to men. Now, I never looked at Rab without
thinking of the great Baptist preacher, Andrew Fuller.[4] The same
large, heavy, menacing, combative, sombre, honest countenance, the same
deep inevitable eye, the same look,--as of thunder asleep, but
ready,--neither a dog nor a man to be trifled with.

[4] Fuller was, in early life, when a farmer lad at Soham, famous
as a boxer; not quarrelsome, but not without "the stern
delight" a man of strength and courage feels in their
exercise. Dr. Charles Stewart, of Dunearn, whose rare gifts
and graces as a physician, a divine, a scholar, and a
gentleman, live only in the memory of those few who knew and
survive him, liked to tell how Mr. Fuller used to say, that
when he was in the pulpit, and saw a _buirdly_ man come
along the passage, he would instinctively draw himself up,
measure his imaginary antagonist, and forecast how he would
deal with him, his hands meanwhile condensing into fists,
and tending to "square." He must have been a hard hitter if
he boxed as he preached--what "The Fancy" would call "an
ugly customer."

Next day,