of value which are issued by the various 

 clubs formed to guard the physical character- 

 istics of this or that particular breed of dog. 

 Not but what, like Bob Jakin, I like a bit o' 

 breed myself, but the essential thing about a 

 dog is, not his pedigree, but his soul. My heart 

 warms to the faithful clever mongrel no less 

 than to his colleague of the untainted descent 

 who has all the show-points to his credit. 

 Who cares what was the pedigree of Pomero, 

 the joy and solace of Lander's old age, or of 

 Nero, " the little Cuban (Maltese ? and other- 

 wise mongrel) shock, mostly white," who 

 shed a ray of sunshine on the household of 

 the Carlyles, " poor little animal, so loyal, so 

 loving, so naive and true with what dim 

 intellect he had " ? To me, too, there was 

 granted in early youth a sort of Cuban- 

 Maltese. He was purchased in Pau, a small 

 but delicious ball of white wool, and on ac- 

 count of his infinitesimal size he was called 

 by the name of Chang, a Chinese giant who 

 was at that time exhibiting his star-y-point- 

 9 %& ing 



