DOGS. &3 



York stole quietly to the corner, smelled the snipes, and 

 examined the gun. From that day he gave up walking 

 with the nursemaids, and became a matchless field dog. 



York was never willingly separated from his master, 

 and was very unhappy at his absence. He soon ascer- 

 tained that a carpet-bag put into the gig was the 

 signal for going away ; and one day he secretly fol- 

 lowed, and only showed himself when he thought he 

 was at such a distance that he could not be sent back 

 again. He was taken into the gig, and by this means 

 escaped a sad death. 



While he was away, a mad dog infected the kennel ; 

 and nine setters and two Skye terriers were obliged to 

 be killed, Black York alone remaining. 4 From the 

 moment,' says York's master, ' I took him from the 

 kennel to the parlour, he cut all low connections ; on 

 the human race his affections seemed to be concen- 

 trated ; and on one occasion he gave a marked instance 

 of his fidelity and intelligence. His mistress had gone 

 with her maid to the beach to bathe, and a general 

 permission had been given to the servants to go to the 

 neighbouring fair, a mile off. The young nurse, in the 

 giddiness of girlhood, left the baby in his cot. Accord- 

 ing to the then existing custom, the hall-door was wide 

 open, and, save the sleeping baby, Black York, and 

 cats, no living thing held possession of the premises. 

 A strange priest arrived, to ask and receive hospitality. 

 He entered the hall; and the dog, otherwise quiet, 

 sprang forward and assailed him like a tiger. The 

 priest retreated; York's back was ridged for battle, 

 and a mouthful of unquestionable teeth hinted to his 

 Reverence that the canine customer would prove an 

 ngly one. He retreated accordingly, and York sat 



