A remarkable instance of the effect that can be produced upon a dog by the human voice was related to me yesterday. Some of your correspondents would consider it confirmatory of their notion that dogs have mind enough to understand words; but I myself rather believe that the sound of the voice acts upon the _feelings_ of dumb animals just as instrumental music acts upon us. The story is as follows:--A clergyman had for a long time a dog, and no other domestic animal. He and his servant made a great pet of the dog. At last, however, the clergyman took to keeping a few fowls, and the servant fed them. The dog showed himself very jealous and out of humour at this, and when Sunday came round, and he was left alone, he took the opportunity to _kill and bury_ two hens. A claw half-uncovered betrayed what he had done. His master did not beat him, but took hold of him, and _talked_ to him, most bitterly, most severely. "You've been guilty of the sin of murder, sir,--and on the Sabbath day, too; and you, a clergyman's dog, taking a mean advantage of my absence!" &c. He talked on and on for a long time, in the same serious and reproachful strain. Early the next morning the master had to leave home for a day or so; and he did so without speaking a word of kindness to the dog, because he said he wished him to feel himself in disgrace. On his return, the first thing he was told was, "The dog is dead. He never ate nor drank after you had spoken to him; he just lay and pined away, and he died an hour ago."

L. G. GILLUM.

A CONSCIENCE-STRICKEN DOG.

[_Feb. 1, 1879._]

You have frequently published letters containing stories bearing on the question of the moral nature and the future of the lower animals. I venture to send you some facts about a dog, narrated to me by a lady, whose name and address I enclose for your own satisfaction, and at my request written down by her as follows--

"A young fox-terrier, about eight months old, took a great fancy to a small brush, of Indian workmanship, lying on the drawing-room table. It had been punished more than once for jumping on the table and taking it.

On one occasion, the little dog was left alone in the room accidentally.

On my return, it jumped to greet me as usual, and I said, 'Have you been a good little dog while you have been left alone?' Immediately it put its tail between its legs and slunk off into an adjoining room, and brought back the little brush in its mouth from where it had hidden it.

"I was much struck with what appeared to me a remarkable instance of a dog possessing a conscience, and a few months afterwards, finding it again alone in the room, I asked the same question, while patting it. At once I saw it had been up to some mischief, for with the same look of shame it walked slowly to one of the windows, where it lay down, with its nose pointing to a letter bitten and torn into shreds. On a third occasion, it showed me where it had strewn a number of little tickets about the floor, for doing which it had been reproved previously. I cannot account for these facts, except by supposing the dog must have a conscience."

The conduct of this dog seems to me, sir, to exhibit something different from fear of punishment, viz., a sense of shame, a remorse, a desire to confess his fault, and even to expiate it by punishment, in order to feel the guilt no longer. He rather sought punishment, than feared it.

TH. HILL.

A DOG'S AFFECTION.

[_April 24, 1875._]

I saw an anecdote in your paper the other week ill.u.s.trative of the sagacity of a dog. Kindly allow me to place upon record, as a kind of a companion picture, an anecdote showing the _affection_ of one of the canine species--a fine young retriever. For some weeks I have been staying away from my house in the country, where is the fine young retriever in question. Well, last week the household missed him for hours, and began to think he was lost. Nothing of the kind, however. The servant, happening to go up to my bedroom, found him with his head resting on my pillow, moaning heavily, and it was only with great difficulty that she could drive him away. Surely it is incidents such as these that have made so many great men rail against humanity and uphold their dog!

WILL WILLIAMS.

AFFECTION.

[_Sept. 15, 1894._]

As you sometimes admit anecdotes of animals into the _Spectator_, perhaps you may consider the following fact worthy of record. In a hotel where I am staying, being distressed by the cry of anguish of a dog occasionally, I inquired the cause, and was told that whenever he happens to be in the hall when luggage is brought down to go in the omnibus, he utters these bitter cries, and has to be removed. His master left him here many months ago, and the supposition is that the sight of the luggage and omnibus recalls his loss; and is another instance of the faithful affection of these half-human creatures.

J. K.

SYMPATHY IN A DOG.

[_July 30, 1892._]

The article, "Animals in Sickness," in the _Spectator_ of July 23rd, has reminded me of the following anecdote, which was told to me some years ago by a butcher residing at Brod.i.c.k, in the Isle of Arran. He told me that he had had two collie dogs at the same time, one old and the other young. The old dog became useless through age, and was drowned in the sea at Brod.i.c.k. A few days afterwards, its body was washed ash.o.r.e, and it was discovered by the young dog, who was seen immediately to go to the butcher's shop and take away a piece of meat and lay it at the dead dog's mouth. The young dog evidently thought that the meat would revive his old comrade, and thereby showed remarkable sympathy in aid of, to him, the apparent "weak."

DAVID HANNAY.

A DOG'S HUMANITY.

[_April 18, 1891._]

Possibly it is from an excess of the "maudlin sentimentality" of which physiologists complain in those who protest against cruelty to animals, that I find it almost painful to read such pathetic stories of dogs as the one given by Miss Cobbe in the _Spectator_ of April 11th; for they tell of such intelligence and devotion, that, remembering the inhuman way in which our poor dogs are too often treated, we feel it would be almost better if they lacked these human qualities.

The following is an anecdote of the same kind, that ever since I heard it, I have been intending to send it to the _Spectator_. The servant-man of one of my friends took a kitten to a pond with the intention of drowning it. His master's dog was with him, and when the kitten was thrown into the water, the dog sprang in and brought it back safely to land. A second time the man threw it in, and again the dog rescued it; and when for the third time the man tried to drown it, the dog, as resolute to save the little helpless life as the man was to destroy it, swam with it to the other side of the pool, running all the way home with it, and safely depositing it before the kitchen fire; and "ever after" they were inseparable, sharing even the same bed!

When not long ago I came across the n.o.ble sentiment that "hecatombs of brutes should be tortured, if man thereby could be saved one pang," I found myself dimly wondering what const.i.tuted a "brute." Certainly, in the incident I have just given, the "brute" was not the dog!

S. W.

A CANINE MEMBER OF THE S.P.C.A.

[_June 18, 1892._]

If you think this little anecdote of canine friendliness worthy of the _Spectator_, will you insert it for me? Last week a sick dog took up its abode in the field behind our house, and after seeing the poor thing lying there for some time, I took it food and milk-and-water. The next day it was still there, and when I was going out to feed it, I saw that a small pug was running about it, so I took a whip out with me to drive it away. The pug planted itself between me and the sick dog, and barked at me savagely, but at last I drove it away, and again gave food and milk-and-water to my _protege_. The little pug watched me for a few moments, and as soon as he felt quite a.s.sured that my intentions towards the sick dog were friendly, it ran to me wagging its tail, leapt up to my shoulder, and licked my face and hands, nor would it touch the water till the invalid had had all it wanted. I suppose that it was satisfied that its companion was in good hands, for it trotted happily away, and did not appear upon the scene again.

VIOLET DAVIES.

A DOG'S COURTESY.

[_Nov. 29, 1890._]

In your article on Mr. Nettleship's pictures of animals, you note the delicacy of a dog that has been properly trained in the matter of taking its food. My little dog is not only most dainty in that particular, but strictly observes the courtesy, which is natural, not taught, of not beginning his dinner (served on white napery that is never soiled) until his master begins his own. No amount of coaxing on the part of the ladies (they do not wait) will induce him to eat if I am late: he merely consents to have his muzzle taken off, inspects his dinner, and then seeks his master's room, where he waits to accompany him in orderly fashion downstairs.

C. HARPER.

CANINE JEALOUSY.

[_Dec. 12, 1891._]

I am not versed in dog-lore, and it may be that my love for the animal makes me an ill judge of the importance of the following story; but a friend vouches for its truth, and to my mind it has its importance, not from its display of jealousy, but from the dog's deliberate acceptance of the undoubtedly changed condition, and the clearly metaphysical character of his motive.

The story is this. A young man had owned for some years a dog who was his constant companion. Recently the young man married, and moved with his bride and his dog into a house on the opposite side of the street from his father's house, his own former home. The dog was not happy, for the time and attention which had formerly been his was now given to the young wife. In many ways he showed his unhappiness and displeasure, in spite of the fact that the master tried to reconcile him and the bride to win him. One day when the master came home, his wife sat on his knee, while Jack was lying by the fire. He rose from his place, came over to the couple, and expressed his disapproval. "Why, Jack," said the master, "this is all right, she's a good girl," and as he spoke, he patted her arm. Jack looked up at him, turned away, and left the room.

In a moment they heard a noise, and going into the hall, they found Jack dragging his bed downstairs. When he reached the front door, he whined to be let out, and when the door was opened, he dragged his bed down the steps, across the street to his old home, where he scratched for admittance. Since then he has never been back to his master, refusing all overtures.

CHAS. MORRIS ADDISON.

A JEALOUS DOG.

[_Jan. 12, 1895._]

I was greatly interested in the story of the generosity shown by a dog, as related in the _Spectator_ of January 5th, because of a similar case within my own knowledge, and yet so different, as to prove that the dispositions of animals are as varied as those of human beings. A friend of mine had two fox-terriers, inseparable companions, and both equally devoted to their mistress. On one occasion, when the family had been away from home for some time, and were returning, one of these pets, not being well, was brought back with its mistress, while the other was left to follow with the horses, &c., and did not arrive for three days. On entering the house, the dog had a very sullen appearance, took no notice of any one, but searched everywhere till he found his companion; then flew at his throat, and would have killed him but for timely succour!

Could any human being have indulged in a more rankling jealousy?