64 NATURAL HISTORY OF THE DOG. 



measured him he was close upon his twentieth year, and 

 consequently much drooped. I had the honor of receiving 

 an interesting communication from the duke respecting him, 

 in which his grace stated, that Hector had been purchased 

 by his brother, Lord John Scott, from a student at Dresden, 

 and that the breed were called, in Germany and Saxony, 

 " boar-dogs." His grace also informed me that Hector waa 

 the tallest dog he had ever seen. 



Hector was very good-natured, and far from being quarrel. 

 some. He frequently took a walk into the little town of Dal- 

 keith, on which occasions he was often followed by the > 

 dogs, and they would sometimes even venture upon an at- 

 tack. Until an absolute aggression was made, however, 

 Hector contented himself with proceeding on his way in 

 dignified contempt ; but if a Newfoundland, mastiff, or other 

 dog at all approaching to his own size, dared to meddle with 

 him, he would "turn him up" in a twinkling, and, raising 

 his hind leg, treat him with the strongest mark of canine 

 contumely. 



I had a son of Hector's, not, however, true bred, but pro- 

 duced from a South American dam, of the so-called tiger- 

 hound breed. "Lincoln" was his name. This was, with- 

 out exception, the best dog I ever knew. In attachment and 

 sagacity he more than equalled the spaniel, and his courage 

 was of the most indomitable kind. Often have I seen him 

 fn.m my window engaged in conflict with two or three large 

 Newfoundland dogs resident in the neighborhood, and have 

 rushed to the rescue, but have as often found him victorious 

 ere I could interfere. Lincoln's only fault was a propensity 

 to kill cats ; and of this he was eventually cured, by one of 

 those animals, at whom he rushed with open mouth, mis- 

 taking his fury for play, and rubbing herself, purring, against 

 the very jaws that were open to crush her. 



I must here record an instance of this noble dog's sagacity. 

 I was in the habit of bathing every morning at the extremity 

 of the chain pier of Newhaven, about the distance of a mile 

 from where I dwelt. At this time I was a student of medi- 

 cine, and, during the summer months, attended the Botanical 

 lectures of Dr. Graham, delivered in the Botanic Garden, 

 Inverleith-row, on my way home from the sea, and very 

 near the house of my respected and kind stepfather, Dr. 

 Cheyne. I used to take Lincoln with mo on those occasions, 

 and, on my return, used to dismiss him at the garden gate, 

 and go in to lecture. On one occasion I recollected, wheD 



