med; 'does he really eat
boys, Mr Smith?'--'Yes, he devours them, buttons and all.' Her face of
horror made me die of laughing."

SOUTHEY ON DOGS.

Southey was likewise not a little attached to the memory at least of
dogs, as may be inferred by the following passage in a letter to Mr
Bedford, Jan. 27, 1823. Snivel was a dog belonging to Mr B. in early
days. "We had an adventure this morning, which, if poor Snivel had been
living, would have set up her bristles in great style. A foumart was
caught in the back kitchen; you may perhaps know it better by the name
of polecat. It is the first I ever saw or smelt; and certainly it was in
high odour. Poor Snivel! I still have the hairs which we cut from her
tail thirty years ago; and if it were the fashion for men to wear
lockets, in a locket they should be worn, for I never had a greater
respect for any creature upon four legs than for poor Sni. See how
naturally men fall into relic worship; when I have preserved the
memorials of that momentary whim so many years, and through so many
removals."[99]

DOG, A GOOD JUDGE OF ELOCUTION.

When Dr Leifchild, of Craven Chapel, London, was a student at Hoxton
Academy, there was a good lecturer on elocution there of the name of
True. In the Memoir, published in 1863, are some pleasing reminiscences
by Dr Leifchild of this excellent teacher, who seems to have taken great
pains with the students, and to have awakened in their breasts a desire
to become proficients in the art of speaking. The doctor himself was an
admirable example of the proficiency thus attained under good Mr True.
He records[100] a ludicrous circumstance which occurred one day. "In
reciting Satan's address to the evil spirits from 'Paradise Lost,' a
stout student was enjoined to pronounce the three words, 'Princes,
potentates, warriors,' in successively louder tones, and to speak out
boldly. He hardly needed this advice, for the first word came out like
distant thunder, the second like approaching thunder, and the third like
a terribly near and loud clap. At this last the large housedog,
Pompey, who had been asleep under the teacher's chair, started up and
jumped out of the window into the garden. 'The dog is a good judge,
sir,' mildly remarked Mr True."

COWPER'S DOG BEAU AND THE WATER-LILY.

ILLUSTRATED BY THE STORY OF AS INTELLIGENT A DOG.

In _Blackwood's Magazine_ for 1818 there is an address, in blank verse,
by Mr Patrick Fraser Tytler, "To my Dog."