exquisite shape, breed, and symmetry, made
some advances. He was dressed in the height
of the mode, richly, with a collar decorated
around with silver and most musical bells.
This captivating creature was too much for her;
she was deaf to all angry calls—threats even—
seemed determined to pursue this fascinating
acquaintance, and prepared to give up all and
follow him. But this was a brief intoxication,
the old, old story, all for love, and the world
well lost. She was observed to be quiet and
pensive all that day, and when she went out
again, looked about restlessly for the brilliant
white admirer: he, of course, had long since
forgotten the incident, and was busy enslaving
some other charmer.

For Vixen the Second, the kitchen had not that
charm which it has for other dogs. Neither
had she that liking for ostlers, footmen, &c.,
which her kind usually entertain. She was
always scheming to get up-stairs; below, her
ears were always strained for the far-off whistle;
indeed, her organisation was so delicate, and her
affection so strong, that she knew the peculiar
sound of her master's step as the hall-door
opened and he entered. After breakfast every
morning there was heard a faint "pat-pat"
on the oilcloth in the hall, drawing nearer.
Those who watched her found that this was
her favourite secret gait, with which she
contrived to make escape from below when they
wished to detain her, thus passing the pantry-
door on tiptoe. Sitting at his study-table, her
master would see her moving inward
mysteriously, and presently a wistful nose, and a pair
of more wistful eyes were introduced, softly looking
round the edge, and saying as plain as nose
and eyes could say, "Do let me come in, please."
She would stay in that position until the solicited
invitation was given, then enter on her favourite
gait, receive congratulations, and proceed to
take her favourite turning round and round
before coiling herself properly. Often, with a
heavy sigh, she would let herself drop full
length upon her side and lie out lazily. This
was all sheer coquetry, for she could have
entered boldly and in the usual way of her
kind. The only exception was after washing
day, below: a terrible ceremony, which she
shrank from. When she saw the large tub
brought out, she skulked under the table with
signs of horror and repulsion; then, in the
first unguarded moment, disappeared into some
strange and ingenious place of concealment,
which for a long time defied the strictest search.
After this washing operation was happily over,
she would come bursting in abruptly, her wiry
hair standing on end through imperfect drying,
and would go prancing about, snuffling and
coughing, evidently thrown off her centre by
the operation. It was the soap, I think, which
affected her, through the smell of the alkali
employed. It was no craven shrinking from the
water, for she swam bravely; and on the coldest
days, when curs were cowering away from the
water's edge, she would plunge in boldly to
fetch out sticks, evidently in obedience to her
high sense of duty, though trembling with cold,
and much buffeted by the rough waves.

Jack, yet alive, shared in all our excursions,
and shared Vixen the Second's kennel. At
last, however, the time came when these pleasant
relations were to be broken up for ever. Old
Jack began to fail, yet gradually. When the
cheerful cry for going abroad reached him, he
would rise, walk a short way eagerly, then
recollect himself, as it were, and go back. He
preferred his easy-chair by the fire. He grew
more cross every day, or rather hour. He found
the temperature of his own private house in
the yard too severe, and used actually to
simulate exhaustion, to get taken in and be laid
before the kitchen fire, and treated with
tenderness and interest by female hands. He
would bask in that agreeable atmosphere,
lying with an almost comic languor, apparently
without sense or motion, save when any one
touched him as if to remove him, when he would
forget his part, and emit a low cantankerous
growl. Seeing the success of this manoeuvre,
he often resorted to it, until the public at last
refused to be so imposed on, and rather
neglected his touching symptoms. This only made
him more peevish and disagreeable. A more
genuine symptom was the small size to which
he was shrinking: growing smaller every hour;
originally a little dog, he had become now of a
very tiny pattern—his rich black coat had grown
rusty, and his dark face and muzzle had turned
an iron grey. In these later days he took refuge
in a sort of indifference, which had the air of a
wounded reserve. He kept himself to himself,
as it were. Invited in, he did not seem to
care to accept civilities. The paralytic affection
seemed to gain on him, arching his back rather,
and drawing up his hinder leg. Poor Jack!

One winter evening set in more than usually
severe—frosty, with a bitter wind. Events of
some importance had been going forward in the
mansion, and throughout the day, beyond the
customary invitation to come and take his
breakfast, not much notice had been bestowed
on him. Later, at a less engrossing period, a
faithful maid, perhaps feeling compunction,
went to look after him and bring him in. He
was discovered, his meal, untouched, lying near
him, cold and collapsed, and with scarcely any
sign of life. He was carried in tenderly, and
carefully laid down on the warm hearth, and
rubbed carefully and assiduously. The sight of
his loved kitchen fire, and its genial warmth—
the sun to which this little canine Parsee always
turned his face with something like idolatry—
seemed to draw him back to life. His eyes
opened languidly, his little shrunken body glowed
anew. But as he made an effort to get nearer
to the fire, the head dropped over quietly, and
the hinder leg gave a little twitch. Life had
ebbed away very gently. A simple basket,
containing his poor old remains, was carried
unostentatiously to a neighbouring square, where
a friendly gardener, who had often noted him
taking his easy morning constitutional over the
pleasant sward, undertook the sexton's duty,