OUR DOGS. 95 



praise and love and caresses that even all our attentions 

 could scarcely satisfy. His master would say to him some 

 times, &quot;Carlo, you poor, good, homely dog, how loving 

 you are ! &quot; 



Carlo was a full-blooded mastiff, and his beauty, if he 

 had any, consisted in his having all the good points of his 

 race. He was a dog of blood, come of real old mastiff 

 lineage ; his stiff, wiry hair, his big, rough paws, and great 

 brawny chest, were all made for strength rather than beauty ; 

 but for all that he was a dog of tender sentiments. Yet, 

 if any one intruded on his rights and dignities, Carlo 

 showed that he had hot blood in him ; his lips would go 

 back, and show a glistening row of ivories, that one would 

 not like to encounter, and if any trenched on his privileges, 

 he would give a deep warning growl, as much as to say, 

 &quot;I am your slave for love, but you must treat me well, or 

 I shall be dangerous.&quot; A blow he would not bear from 

 any one : the fire would flash from his great yellow eyes, 

 and he would snap like a rifle ; yet he would let his 

 own Prince Charley pound on his ribs with both baby 

 fists, and pull his tail till he yelped, without even a show 

 of resistance. 



At last came a time when the merry voice of little Char 

 ley was heard no more, and his little feet no more pattered 

 through the halls ; he lay pale and silent in his little crib, 

 with his dear life ebbing away, and no one knew how to 



