PeNClLERS] JOURNAL AND POULTRY BXCHANGHE. 
99 

not weighing 9 pounds; hens not weighing 73 pounds; 
cockerels not weighing 73 pounds; pullets not weighing 6 
pounds. 
The Rev. 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. 
Felch were directed to engross the same for publication. 
On motion of OC. A. Sweet, the Rev. 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. 

+P a 
THE DOG OF MONTARGIS. 
In October, 1861, 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 thg 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 asa 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 theman 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 ¢are, as may be 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 courtiers, 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 being that the “judgment of God” would be 
manifested in fuvor 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 only 
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 anda 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 
