368 WICV FOWL SHOOTIS'G. 



home. How, when he had a rival for our afEections in 

 the advent of our first-born, no jealousy entered his 

 noble heart, but he followed that child and loved him, 

 because he knew he was the idol of those he loved so 

 well. Is it strange, then, that< when these things, are 

 mentioned in our family circle, that an affectionate and 

 tender-hearted wife and mother should feel her heart 

 swelling and the tear-drops come down her cheeks? 

 wliile I would get my paper turned upside, down,, look- 

 ing for what I could not tell. The depth of love Don 

 had for us could only be measured by his life ; for his 

 life was devoted to us, and no ehilc^ever craved knowl- 

 ■ edge as he did. He did not forget what he once un- 

 derstood, but his constant desire was to learn some»- 

 tiling new. It was not necessary to give him long les- 

 isons ; merely show h'im once, and he never forgot his 

 teachings. Wheii we think of his death, how he was 

 in the prim© of life, how we loved him, and then stumr 

 ble over some worthless cur in the streets,, we cannot 

 help but feel that with dogSj, as with human beings, 

 ■death loves a shining mark. We buried him on the 

 hillside, like a warrior, his. valuables deposited m the 

 .grave with hiwi. Every morning when the sun rises 

 from his couch,, he sheds his rays and waanns the earth 

 -that encloses! Don's remains ; then reflects back his 

 ligiit on the bosom of the Mississippi, — the stream on 

 "which Don and I. passed so many happy houirs together. 

 The silent, trees' stand sentinels over his gjave, and the 

 summer winds play s^olin music through their tops^ 

 and sing sad requieinas for the departed dead. He was only 

 a dog; and yet he was my Pj-^thias^, and. would have: died 

 ion me. Theres stands no monument to mark his gra.T% 



