The St. Bernard. 65 



few days previously. The dogs, which were running 

 in and out of the Hospice at will, had welcomed us 

 on our arrival with a chorus of barks. 



" After an excellent dinner of four courses, washed 

 down with good wine, I turned out with an atten- 

 dant, who acted as keeper, to have a good look at 

 the dogs. These were seven in number ; one a 

 white with a few orange flecks on him ; some of the 

 others had all white or half white faces ; only two of 

 them were really well-marked, as we understand the 

 phrase, and with a single exception all were smooth 

 in their coats. This exception was a good-coloured, 

 small, rough-haired bitch. About one half of the 

 inmates of the kennel had dew claws, either 

 single or double, and the remainder were without 

 them. The monks think nothing of the rough- 

 coated dogs, and impress upon visitors that the 

 smooth are the true race. All the smooths were of 

 a good type, especially a big, good-coloured old dog 

 named Barry (I think twenty-five per cent, of the 

 dogs in Switzerland are named Barry). Most of 

 these dogs at the Hospice have dewlap and wrinkle 

 to a greater or less extent. With the exception of 

 Barry, all were on the small side, and deficient in 

 bone. When any strangers approach the Hospice 

 the dogs bark, rush in-doors, and so give notice of 

 the arrival. They then run out again and welcome 



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