THE WOLD WORKING TERRIER. 
We have seen the process of a sudden leap 
into recognition enacted during the past 
few years in connection with the white 
terrier of the Western Highlands—a dog 
which was familiarly known in Argyllshire 
centuries ago, yet which has only lately 
emerged from the heathery hillsides around 
Poltalloch to become an attraction on the 
benches at the Crystal Palace and on the 
lawns of the Botanical Gardens; and the 
example suggests the possibility that in 
317 
won for the English terriers their name 
and fame. 
Of the old-fashioned sort was Boxer, 
concerning whom Mr. George Lowe writes :— 
“I possessed many years ago some very 
good working rough terriers, and had pretty 
well the run of a forest and marshes to kill 
what I liked, bar the game. On one occasion 
I was hunting a stream for water-rats or what- 
not, when my companion, a very old friend, 
exclaimed: ‘Look out! Boxer’s got a rat!’ 
OLD ENGLISH WORKING TERRIERS. 
From ‘The Sportsman's Cabinet” (1803). By P. Reinagle, R.A. 
another decade or so the 
Ham Terrier, the ignored 
Borders, and the almost forgotten Jack 
Russell strain, may have claimed a due 
recompense for their long neglect. 
There are lovers of the hard-bitten work- 
ing “earth dogs” who still keep these 
strains inviolate, and who greatly prefer 
them to the better-known terriers whose 
natural activities have been too often atro- 
phied by a system of artificial breeding to 
show points. Few of these old unregistered 
breeds would attract the eye of the fancier 
accustomed to judge a dog parading before 
him in the show ring. To know their value 
and to appreciate their sterling good qualities, 
one needs to watch them at work on badger 
or when they hit upon the line of an otter. 
It is then that they display the alertness 
and the dare-devil courage which have 
neglected Sealy 
terrier of the 
But I saw in a moment that it was something 
more important. The little dog was frantic, 
threw his tongue—which was not his general 
custom—and raced under the hollow banks 
as if something was on foot. I said that it 
was a pole-cat, as we had killed those animals 
in the vicinity before, but then Boxer took to 
crossing and re-crossing and swimming both 
up and down stream. I was  puzzled— 
never dreamt of an otter being in the country. 
But early days in South Devon made me 
observe that if otters were about, I should 
swear that one was here. Well, a trail seemed 
to lie up-stream, the terrier flashing too much, 
over-running it, and coming back again, and 
so on for the best part of two miles. At that 
point Boxer struck across a meadow and got 
to some gutters, then another meadow. We 
let him do as he liked until coming to a clump 
or small plantation surrounded by water. 
Into this we threw him, and in a moment his 
small tongue was going, with all the sticks 
