DOGS. 



91 



when he went for the first time to a water-cure establishment. 

 This habit he kept up till almost the end of his life. I used, 

 as a little boy, to like going out with him, and I have a vague 

 sense of the red of the winter sunrise, and a recollection of 

 the pleasant companionship, and a certain honour and glory 

 in it. He used to delight me as a boy by telling me how, in 

 still earlier walks, on dark winter mornings, he had once or 

 twice met foxes trotting home at the dawning. 



After breakfasting alone about 7*45, he went to work at 

 once, considering the ii hour between 8 and 9*30 one of his 

 best working times. At 9'3o he came into the drawing-room 

 for his letters — rejoicing if the post was a light one and being 

 sometimes much worried if it was not. He would then hear 

 any family letters read aloud as he lay on the sofa. 



The reading aloud, which also included part of a novel, 

 lasted till about half-past ten, when he went back to work 

 till twelve or a quarter past. By this time he considered his 

 day's work over, and would often say, in a satisfied voice, 

 "I've done a good day's work." He then went out of doors 

 whether it was wet or fine ; Polly, his white terrier, went with 

 him in fair weather, but in rain she refused or might be seen 

 hesitating in the verandah, with a mixed expression of disgust 

 and shame at her own want of courage ; generally, however, 

 her conscience carried the day, and as soon as he was evi- 

 dently gone she could not bear to stay behind. 



My father was always fond of dogs, and as a young man 

 had the power of stealing away the affections of his sister's 

 pets ; at Cambridge, he won the love of his cousin W. D. 

 Fox's dog, and this may perhaps have been the little beast 

 which used to creep down inside his bed and sleep at the 

 foot every night. My father had a surly dog, who was de- 

 voted to him, but unfriendly to every one else, and when he 

 came back from the Beagle voyage, the dog remembered 

 him, but in a curious way, which my father was fond of tell- 

 ing. He went into the yard and shouted in his old manner; 

 the dog rushed out and set off with him on his walk, show- 

 ing no more emotion or excitement than if the same thing 



