180 NOTES ON THE DOG TRIBE. 



A more nauseous antidote, I had never tasted. 

 Don Quixote's balsam of Fierabras, which made 

 Sancho Panza so dreadfully sick at his stomach, was 

 nothing to it. Some of the patients had no sooner 

 taken it, than the stomach rejected it immediately. 

 My interior being tough and vigorous, I managed to 

 keep it down. The medicine was bulky, and had 

 to be taken in warm beer ; — it was the colour 

 of brick-dust. The result was most satisfactory ; 

 and for this very good reason : because nobody 

 had been bitten by the newly- arrived terrier from 

 the island of Skye in North Britain. I had a 

 beautiful little springing spaniel, the playfellow 

 of the terrier, and it was ordered to be hanged that 

 same evening, for having been in bad company. 



A Duke of Richmond, Governor of Canada, died 

 raving mad in consequence of a bite in the cheek 

 from his tame fox. When I was in that country, 

 I went to the little rivulet, where the duke was 

 first attacked by hydrophobia. The officer who 

 accompanied me, said, that when his Grace 

 attempted to pass the stream, he could not do so. 

 After successive, but unavailing trials, he gave 

 up the attempt; and he requested his brother 

 officers, not to consider him deficient in fortitude : 

 but really, the sight of the water gave him sen- 

 sations which he could not account for ; and posi- 



