marks, by a deportment the most unequivocal, the character of this recollection:-by a curl of the lip (to repel advances), or a wag of the tail (to allure them), discriminating between Admissibles and Detrimentals. When she wants water, proceeding to a certain quarter of the room, (not that there was ever a water-basin there,) she seats herself, and sets up a goodhumoured sort of whine; the sound and the position meaning, between them, to communicate the fact of her being thirsty. If little Matilda pulls her tail, she turns with a sharp and sudden growl; then discovering her mistake, at once substitutes a caress, which means, "Oh ! I beg pardon: I did not know it was a child." I feel that I have neither given a tithe of her rationalities, nor made a selection of instances the best calculated to vouch my panegyric.-I was once the friend and master of another dog, (his name was Juba,) who scorned, when he wished to leave a room, to ask (except as a pis aller) your assistance in opening the door. He begun (quite untaught) by attempting to open it himself. He frequently succeeded; but occasionally not only failed, but by touching the

K

wrong lock-handle, shot the bolt, and became a closer prisoner than he had been before. This sometimes happened when he was alone; and produced consequences that were half ludicrous, and half alarming. He used at one time to be in the habit of visiting (on errands of gallantry or gourmandise) a neighbour of our's, who lived at the distance of about a mile. On one of these excursions he got a beating,* which sent him home rather mauled. Ever afterwards he used to solicit a mastiff, who formed a part of our establishment, to escort him. I have often witnessed the wheedlings and coaxings which he resorted to for this purpose; and can declare that if he had stood upon two legs,† he could scarcely have fawned better. Accordingly, as importunate fawners generally are, he was successful. The Rev. Mr. Y—— is the possessor of a remarkably sagacious Newfoundland dog. Every week-day, a young person calls at this gentleman's house to transact business, and on Sundays makes a visit of a different kind. On week-days the dog gives him, quietly and in

* From some quarrelsome or rival dog.

† As indeed, during these flatteries, he occasionally did.

passing, a sufficiently amicable and tail-wagging reception-et voila tout. But on Sundays, shortly before the usual hour of his arrival, our canine friend stations himself in the hall, with his nose pinned to the street door. His ear recognises the knock, or his nostrils tell him who is outside; and the moment the expected enters, he is bounced upon, and greeted with a most cordial and proportionably boisterous welcome. Why is this? Because, on every Sunday, his biped visitor indulges him with a long walk; an indulgence which is not extended over the week-days." During the late war, when the Leander frigate was stationed off Halifax, in Nova Scotia, there was an old Newfoundland dog on board. He had been attached to the ship many years, and several instances were recorded of his extraordinary sagacity and sense. The sailors, one and all, declared that he understood what was said; and the following circumstance would appear to prove it. He was a great favourite with the crew, and of course had been kindly treated.

He was lying on the

deck one day, when the captain, in passing by said, I shall be sorry to do it, but I must have

Neptune shot, as he is getting old and infirm.' Whether there was any thing in the tone of voice which frightened the dog, I leave my reader to judge; but he immediately afterwards jumped overboard, and swam to a ship which was near the Leander. He was taken on board, and remained till he died. Nothing could ever induce him to return to the Leander. If the dog happened to be on shore, and any of her boats and crew came near the place where he was, he immediately made off, and nothing could make him approach his old acquaintances."*-Of Cockatoo I mean to say something, by and by. To return to that serious course, from which a scampering impulse so often tempts me to digress. That substance which thinks (for unquestionably there is a something that does think,) in apes, elephants, and dogs, and horses, and cockatoos,―you ask me is it a material one? How can I tell? who acknowledged, when setting out upon our ramble, that I ill and scarcely knew what matter was.-That thought-producing substance, what becomes of it and its ideas, when the dog is killed or dies?

* Literary Gazette, August 29, 1835.

As little can I tell. God only knows. That God, without whom not a sparrow falls, and who has disposed, and will dispose in this case, as he has done, and will do in every case, for the best. But if in dogs and horses, (and let me add ants and bees,) the intellectual substance be material, I would ask then, cannot matter think? Is it not able, in this department, quodam prodire tenus, si non datur ultra? And if the canine thinking substance be not matter, then what will those infer, who seem to maintain, that mental immateriality and immortality are nearly synonimes? That the terms are so far convertible, that a soul which is immaterial cannot perish, but must therefore, i. e. by mere force of its immateriality, be immortal?*

In

* The following are the words of Addison: "I think a person who is terrified with the imagination of ghosts and "spectres, much more reasonable than one who-contrary to "the reports of all historians, sacred and profane, ancient and "modern, and to the traditions of all nations,-thinks the ap66 pearance of spirits fabulous and groundless. Could not I give myself up to this general testimony of mankind, I "should to the relations of particular persons who are now "living; and whom I cannot distrust in other matters of "fact."-Spectator, No. 110. I give the above extract, as prefatory to the question, whether the spirits, of which Addison