FANCIERS' JOURNAL AND POULTRY EXCHANGE. 



99 



not weighing 9 pounds ; hens not weighing 7J pounds ; 

 cockerels not weighing 7J pounds ; pullets not weighing 6 

 pounds. 



The Eev. William Atwood moved the following resolu- 

 tion, which was adopted: 



Resolved, That the officers and members of this American 

 Poultry Association express their heartfelt and sincere grat- 

 itude to the Western New York Poultry Society, for the 

 excellent manner in which they have provided for our 

 meeting, facilitated our labors, and encouraged our hearts, 

 in the arduous work in which we have been engaged ; that 

 we appreciate the skill, wisdom, and energy with which 

 the President and his staff of officers have conducted 

 the affairs of the Exhibition, that has afforded each and all 

 of us such unmeasured gratification ; and that we now leave 

 them at the earnest call of those higher duties which we 

 owe our families, but shall ever cherish with warm affec- 

 tion the names of the noble and generous-minded gentlemen 

 we have met in the officers of the Western New York 

 Poultry Society and their cordial and numerous friends. 



The report of the Committee on Instruction to Judges was 

 received, read, and adopted, and P. Williams and I. K. 

 Feleh were directed to engross the same for publication. 



On motion of C. A. Sweet, the Eev. Wm. Atwood, of 

 Big Flatts, N. Y., offered an appropriate prayer in behalf 

 of the Association, asking acknowledgment of the Divine 

 supervision, in first giving us a being, sparing life, directing 

 to high and noble ends, and crowning us Lords of Creation. 

 Thanksgiving, enjoyments given, mercies bestowed, and the 

 elevating of the creature to a high standard of moral excel- 

 lence, transforming him by grace into the likeness of the 

 world's Redeemer; supplication for future guidance, for 

 more than human wisdom to lead into the way of all truth, 

 sanctifying all relations, giving us to know in this world 

 influence to act well our part, that humanity be exalted, the 

 world be made better by our living in it, and the name of 

 God glorified by us. Commending all our individual, 

 domestic, social, and associated interest to the guidance of 

 the all-wise, the ever-present and gracious God, who suf- 

 fereth not even the sparrow to fall to the ground without 

 the notice of our Heavenly Father. 



On motion of C. A. Sweet, the Association adjourned to 

 meet at Boston, Thursday, February 5, 1874, at 7$ p.m. 



THE DOG OF MONTARGIS. 



In October, 1361, there occurred a memorable fight between 

 a man, who was known as the Chevalier Macaire, and a dog 

 which has passed into tradition as the dog of Montargis. 

 The contest took place on the Isle of Notre Dame, in 

 Paris, in the presence of King John. The tradition 

 formed the plot of a play which was presented at the Bowery 

 Theatre a few years ago. The story goes that M. Aubry 

 de Montdidier, a gentleman of Montargis, in passing 

 through the forest of Bondy, was murdered and buried at 

 the foot of a tree. His dog was with him at the time, and 

 remained at the grave till driven away by hunger, and then 

 found his way to Paris to the house of an old friend of his 

 master. In Paris, he did nothing but howl, and, had Caleb 

 Cushing lived at that time, it is probable that he would have 

 had the dog of Montargis killed as a nuisance. At intervals 

 he would catch the pantaloons of his dead master's friend, 

 in his effort to drag him out to where poor Aubry was 

 buried. For some time, the dog was not understood, but at 



length, connecting Aubry's absence with the inseparable 

 companionship of the man and dog, and the violent pertinacity 

 of the animal in attempting to draw them after him, they 

 followed, and after a time he led them to the foot of the 

 tree in the forest of Bondy, where they dug the earth away 

 and found the murdered man. There was no doubt that 

 Aubry was murdered, but there was no evidence to convict 

 any living being with the crime. The eyes of God had seen, 

 and the dog had seen too, but dogs are dumb. A certain 

 Chevalier Macaire had been the enemy of M. Aubry. Per- 

 haps in consequence of the knowledge, somebody, the friend 

 for instance, had his suspicions of the Chevalier, and con- 

 fronted the dog with him, thinking, very likely, if the dog 

 had reason enough to lead them to Aubry's grave, he would 

 have enough to detect his murderer if he saw him. In these 

 conclusions they were right. The dog, directly he saw 

 Macaire, attacked him with an almost invincible ferocity. 

 Wherever he saw the Chevalier he attacked him ; and as 

 the friends of Aubry took care, as may bo supposed, to throw 

 the dog as much as possible into the company of the now 

 suspected man, the life of the Chevalier came to be diurnally 

 uncomfortable. To have an unpleasant dog eternally flying 

 at your cravat and anywhere else lying open to his fangs, 

 may be seriously regarded as the reverse of cheerful. The 

 Chevalier Macaire probably thought so. The conduct of 

 the dog towards this particular man — he being notoriously of 

 a gentle disposition and kind to every one else — quickly be- 

 came the talk of certain circles in Paris. It was known to 

 the court; it reached the ears of John, and then the king 

 ordered the dog to be brought before him, and the Chevalier 

 Macaire to be placed amoung the courtiers as one of them 

 at the same time. Being at court, the dog conducted him- 

 self with perfect propriety for a short time, until he saw 

 Macaire mixed up among the corn-tiers, and then, dashing at 

 him furiously as usual, with an awful growl out of his great 

 red throat, he pinned him against the wall. In those days 

 the judicial arbitrament of battle was in full force; the pop- 

 ular belief b?ing that the "judgment of God" would be 

 manifested in Invor of the innocent and against the guilty. 

 The known enmity of the Chevalier to Aubry, the fact of 

 Aubry's murder, the dreadful antagonism of the murdered 

 man's dog — these settled the question with King John, and 

 it was directed that the man must fight the dog, as the onlv 

 way to justify himself in the eyes of Paris and purge him- 

 self of the suspicion of murder. It was the custom in the 

 middle ages occasionally to try the lower animals for offences 

 with much of the parade and ceremonial bestowed in the 

 cases of their superiors, and from this we may understand 

 that a combat between a man and a dog was not so strange 

 an occurance after all, away back in the fourteenth century. 

 There was no cathedral of Notre Dame in Paris, in 1361, and 

 so the open space of the island served as a capital place in 

 which to pitch a ring for the combatants. The Chevalier 

 Macaire was armed with a strong heavy stick, and the dog 

 of Montargis had his teeth and a tub. This last, which 

 might more properly be called an empty cask, was an ark of 

 refuge for the dog to retreat to and make his spring from. 

 But the dog of Montargis had no use for the tub. He 

 scorned it. He flew with astonishing activity and fury at 

 his opposer, first on one side, then on the ether, he dodged 

 under the cudgel, and finely with a terrible bound, fastened 

 his deadly grip on the murderer's throat, and there was an 

 end of the Chevalier Macaire, who lived just long enough to 

 confess his crime before King John and the court. Of course 



