THE BASKING DOG. 77 



ful trade, and is now an intelligent mechanic. Out of his 

 time, an industrious, sober youth of two and twenty, sup- 

 porting by his industry, his mother and sister in comfort 

 and respectability. He heard of my sickness, and on Wed- 

 nesday morning called to see me, proffering his services as a 

 nurse and watchman, prompted by gratitude for the past. 

 I declined his kindness for the present, as I told him casually 

 of the dog whose midnight barking was killing me. He 

 called again on Thursday morning. The barking had 

 ceased. He inquired if I had been troubled with the yelp- 

 ing of that senseless cur, and I answered truly that I had 

 not, that I had slept soundly, and woke with a softened 

 pulse and a cooled brain. 



" ' Well/ said he, ' I thought you would rest easier. I 

 looked into the yard as I came along, and saw a dead dog 

 lying there. I thought may be he had barked himself to 

 death.' 



" I did not at the time take in the full meaning, the hidden 

 import of his words. I dropped away into slumber, and 

 dreamed of the dog that barked himself to death. I saw 

 him vanish by piecemeal at each successive bark, until 

 nothing but his jaws were left, and as his last bark was 

 uttered, these, too, vanished away, and then all was still. 



" I awoke, and thought that a dose of ' dog-buttons/ or 

 a taste of strychnine, administered with a tempting bit of 

 cold steak, or a piece of fresh lamb, or a bone of mutton 

 carefully dropped in his way, might have aided the oper- 



