Some Poets Dogs. '^'^^i 



 " The first I'll name, they ca'd him Caesar, 

 Was keepit for his honour's pleasure : 

 His hair, his size, his mouth, his lugs, 

 Showed he was nane o' Scotland's dogs, 

 But whalpit some place far abroad. 

 Where sailors gang to fish for cod. 

 His lockit, lettered, braw brass collar. 

 Showed him the gentleman and scholar. 

 But though he was o' high degree. 

 The fient a pride, nae pride had he ; 

 But wad hae spent an hour caressin' 

 E'en wi' a tinkler-gipsy's messin : 

 At kirk or market, mill or smiddie, 

 Nae tauted tyke, though e'er sae duddie. 

 But he wad stan't as glad to see him, 

 And stroaned on stanes an' hillocks wi' him." 



The "wiry terrier rough and grim," used "to hunt the 

 tod;" the "fierce otter-hounds," are all duly immortalised. 



'* Would you preserve a num'rous finny race? 

 lyet your fierce dogs the rav'nous otter chase ; 

 Th' amphibious monster ranges all the shores, 

 Darts thro' the waves, and ev'ry haunt explores. 

 Or let the gin his roving steps betray, 

 And save from hostile jaws the scaly prey." 



Poets, by the way, are unanimous in their dislike of 

 otters, which I attribute to the same reason as so many 

 other antipathies — a false sentiment. The *' hairy," " fierce " 

 otter devours the " silver," " innocent " fishes ; therefore the 

 otter should be detested and, if possible, murdered. 



No village is complete without its " honest watch-dog," 

 whose '* deep-mouthed welcome " sweetens return. Joanna 

 Baillie and Clare compliment it excellently. Thomson, 

 too, has a delightful scrap — 



" In a corner of the buzzing shade, 

 The house-dog with the vacant greyhound lies, 

 Out-stretched and sleepy. In his slumbers one 

 Attacks the nightly thief, and one exults 



