than where
there are none. And it is easily explained. People who have a blind
trust in watch-dogs cease to watch for themselves. Moreover, the false
alarms of the dog are so numerous, and his barking so indiscriminating
of the difference between friend and foe, and even between real and
imaginary persons, that his owner soon ceases to take note of them. For
who is going to get up every time the dog barks in the night? The dog
is, of course, one of the conditions to be provided for in the burglar's
plan. But when he has silenced, overpowered, or eluded the watch, he has
turned the defence over to his own side, and proceeds with a special
sense of security.

At all events, I do not find that dogs are chiefly kept by those who
most need to be defended, but rather by the strong and by persons living
in closely-settled neighborhoods. Nor do I find that people affect dogs
at all in the ratio or for the sake of the protection, but for the
amusement which they afford, as something to be taken care of as pets
rather than to take care of them.

The watch-dog is an admirable protection from one's friends. What a
boon he is to the misanthrope! What an isolation reigns about the home,
especially in the evening, where a real savage beast stands guard,
roaming in the shadows or clanking his chain beside the path! The
ingenious Mr. Quilp turned this fact to fine account, as he escorted
Sampson Brass to the door of his counting-house on a dark night:

"Be careful how you go, my dear friend. There's a dog in the lane. He
bit a man last night, and a woman the night before, and last Tuesday he
killed a child; but that was in play. Don't go too near him."

"Which side of the road is he, sir?" asked Brass, in great dismay.

"He lives on the right hand," said Quilp, "but sometimes he hides on the
left, ready for a spring. He's uncertain in that respect. Mind you take
care of yourself. I'll never forgive you if you don't."

An exceedingly social institution, the watch-dog, and a delightful
attraction to one's visitors and would-be callers. A _watch_-dog indeed;
for is he not the one thing to be on the watch for, now that the day of
spring-guns and man-traps is past?

It is all very well for Byron to rhapsodize about "the watch-dog's
honest bark," and to think it "sweet" when it "bays deep-mouthed welcome
as we draw near home;" but when one has got inside of that home and gone
to bed, and wants to sleep off his fatigue, it is not always