tance from our home, who should we see at our heels but our pet dog? She had in a stealthy manner watched our out-going, and determined to make one of the escort. In and out we went, exploring the goods of I know not how many stores, until it got to be quite dark when we set out on our return. But where was Carlo? Gone, yes, missing. So back we went with haste and anxiety; but our search was in vain. I need not say what were our feelings and our talk on our way home without our pet. We solaced ourselves, however, with the idea, that getting tired, she had gone home before us. We expected to see her bright eye and hear her bark when we arrived. But alas! she was no where to be found. Such a crying and screaming took place as were befitting the loss of a member of the family.

The next day the search was renewed, but without success. At length she was given up as lost, and as, under all human trials, other objects gradually efface the images of grief, we began to forget the calamity. Still, for a long time the hearth-stone seemed desolate without her presence, and often some little circumstance would bring her kindly to our recollection.

A year from this time of sadness, my mother, with me by her side as aforetime, went over very much the same ground in her shopping. Store after store was again explored. It was in the edge of the evening, in a certain store, when the lamps were being lighted, a dog came suddenly upon us, first upon my mother and then upon me, tearing at us as if mad. He licked our feet and strove hard to get at our faces, whining meanwhile in most affectionate tones. My mother was, of course, alarmed, and the store-keeper interfered, calling imperatively for the dog to desist. It was quite a scene. Nothing could keep down the dog. At length I discovered the secret. It was our long-lost dog. With a shout of joy I embraced the pet. Though she had grown, yet her face and expression were the same.

The story was this, as told by the dry-goods man. 'A year ago,' said he, 'this dog was found asleep behind my counter. Supposing it must be lost, I tried to drive her out, thinking she would find her way home. But she was determined to remain, and seemed as if waiting for somebody to return to the store. We accordingly resolved to keep her until the owner should come and claim her. We never could get her away, except for a very short time, from her chosen retreat behind the counter. There she has had two fine pups, and performs the part of a mother to them. Still she always has seemed on the look-out for her original owner and master. Evidently her wish is at length granted. She is your dog without any doubt.' But how shall we get her home? was now the question. Will she forsake her pups? 'No fear,' said the man, ‘but that she will follow you.' And so it proved. She not only followed us, but went before us, taking the most direct route to her former home, looking back each moment, as much as to say, you'll not lose me again. The affectionate brute had waited for us in that store one whole yeara long time in a dog's life -and perhaps had said to herself, why are they so long in coming? But finding herself separated from us, why did she not at first trace her way home? Generally dogs would have taken this course. But her policy was different. As she had never been away from her home before, she dis

trusted her power to scent her way back, and so determined to await our return. Now that we were with her, her self-reliance returned, and by that memory which instinct gives in so remarkable a degree to the canine species, she actually went before us to the very door. Yes, she had waited for us a whole year, and now her faith was turned to vision. Her first love returned in all its fervor, so as even to overcome her maternal instinct, for leaving her pups, she never seemed to send a thought after them.

Need I say there was joy in that house when the lost one made her appearance? She is found! - Carlo is found!' rang through the house. What unutterable delight, what shouts of joy! And she, rushing from room to room, saluted each member of the family as she had us, tearing at them with frenzied joy. At length we calmed down somewhat to listen to the story of her recovery. But the dog could not be stilled. From room to room she went, up and down the stairs, whining piteously, as if something were still wanting to complete her happiness. It was suggested that she was looking for the older brother. And so it proved, for when he came in, another display of vehement affection took place; and then, satisfied and exhausted, she laid herself down on the rug and sank into a profound slumber. She remained with us as the pet of the house, until the dog-law was enacted, when, for safe-keeping, we sent her into the country, where, to our deep regret, she was run over by a loaded wagon and killed.

NE P.

MANY years after the above, and when from being a child, I had children of my own, a brother-in-law, knowing my fondness for dogs, sent me a fine Newfoundland pup. He was a rough and roguish-looking little fellow. I held him up by the tail and he did n't whimper. A good sign, thought I. A kennel was provided and a chain, and he was duly installed in the wood-house. There was at once a great interest taken in this shaggy little pup. For the first few nights he kept us awake by his constant howl. The neighbors complained, and I thought we should have to part with him. However, he soon became quiet, and slept, as all decent dogs should, except when aroused by the nocturnal depredator. He grew fast, and soon became a huge dog, doing much mischief at first, such as dragging at the clothes-line, digging under the fence, and even eating up some of the flannels. These were the tricks of his youth, his wild-oats, as some would say, and ere long, as he approached the dignity of doghood, he gradually laid them aside. He gained constantly on the interest and affections of the home circle. He was very loving and playful toward the children, and nothing delighted him more than to be allowed to lick the hands and arms of the youngest. He was, however, too large for a pet dog. In his affectionate glee, he would jump upon the children, and by his weight push them over. Hearing a scream one day, coming from the yard, I stepped out, and there was Nep, who in his playful fondness had pushed down my little boy in the snow, and stood astride of him, licking the child's face and wagging his great bushy tail as if he had performed some very fine exploit. Nep had a good intellect, and was very susceptible of mental culture. We taught him to

carry a basket, also to fetch things from the water; and no doubt, had any of our children been exposed to drowning, Nep would have rescued them. Happily, he never had that chance for the display of his prowess and affection. But loving as he was to us, he was still very ferocious to strangers. He had a special hatred of colored people and beggars. If any such came around the house, we had to fly and secure him, fearing he might tear them to pieces. We never could break him of this. He had another bad trait. He would not allow any interference when eating. He would snap and growl if any attempt was made to remove a dish out of which he was feeding, and one of our domestics from this cause had her hand severely lacerated. His usual retreat when scolded was under the chair or at the feet of his mistress, where he felt himself safe. These traits were a draw-back to his general nobleness of nature, and reconciled us somewhat to parting with him, as we did when moving from the country into the city. His subsequent history is involved in uncertainty.

EUREKA.

THIS name sounds singular for a dog, but the explanation will be found in the sequel. He was not a family dog, and yet so strange are the circumstances of his history, in connection with one of our kindred, that the story is worth relating, and is as follows:

A young brother-in-law and myself started one fine July morning on a long pedestrian tour. Crossing the Hudson at Catskill, we intended to reach Hunter -a village in the mountains that night. There is a broad plateau of several miles ere you begin perceptibly to ascend. It is rather a succession of terraces, crowned at length by the lofty and almost Alpine range. Soon after leaving the town of Catskill, and a few miles from it, we noticed a large, shaggy, white dog, apparently disposed to be one of our company. 'Whose can he be?' was the inquiry. Perhaps he has lost his way, thought we; and so expecting he would soon turn off, we took but little notice of him. But he trudged along at our side, or close upon our heels, giving an occasional glance as if to curry favor, expecting we would recognize him as a fellow-traveller. We made strenuous efforts to drive him back; but no, he would stop a while and then trot toward us, wagging his tail, saying by his look, 'Gentlemen, it's of no use, I am your friend, and have made up my mind to accompany you.'

'Well,' said I, 'it is evident we must accept his company and give him the right hand of fellowship.' How did we know but that some event of importance might be connected with this dog? I am a believer in Providence, and the result proved that my faith was not without foundation. The moment he was admitted to our fellowship he evinced his gratitude in a joyous look, and henceforward regarded himself as identified with the party.

What shall we call him, was now the question. Several names of the common sort were suggested and set aside. 'Call him,' said I, 'Eureka, for he has been found on the road, and in this respect the name is appropriate.' Archimedes or Euclid—which was it?— studying in the swimming-bath on a mathematical problem, suddenly almost leaped out of the water, exclaiming : 'I have found it!' In naming our new-found companion, no disrespect is in

tended to the ancient mathematician; and though to the scientific it may appear trifling, to us it was a matter of more than ordinary significance. Strange to say, Eureka answered to his name as promptly as if he had always worn it. We found great delight in our adopted one, and the pleasure seemed reciprocal. He would dash away into the woods, so that for a while we would lose sight of him, recognizing his distant bark 'among the dark hemlocks;' and then he would come careering into view and circle around us with most intense delight. His gayety and gambols tended much to relieve the tedium of this foot-journey. At length, and after a wearisome day's toil, we reached the town of Hunter, secreted amid the mountain gorges. The tanneries are the life of this cosy little place. Hemlock abounds, and water-power is not wanting; and on the whole, it wears an air of thrift, being in possession of the three essentials of a country village—a school-house, a tavern, and a church. Here we and Eureka agreed to rest. The next day, with a party got up at Hunter, we started for the Clove, taking with us fishing-gear for trouting. The Clove is a gorge more wild and awful than can be described. Two vast mountains approach each other defiantly. They seem to have been at war in some former age, and to have hurled at each other vast blocks of granite, which have fallen into the valley in promiscuous heaps. Covered with moss, they lie in all imaginable shapes, forming natural bridges and deep caverns not easy to be traversed or explored.

Our fishing-stream lay beyond the Clove, so that we had to clamber through this frightful gorge in order to reach it. But the wild grandeur of the scene paid us for the tramp.

In the earnestness to find out the best spots for trout, the party became separated, and absorbed in the sport, the evening shadows fall upon us too 'Instantly put up,' said the leader of the party; 'we shall scarcely be able to repass the Clove by day-light.'

soon.

Looking around, we discovered that our young brother-in-law was missing. A perfect stranger to the route, how could he find his way home even by daylight? Impossible after night-fall ! Distributing ourselves along the riverbank, we searched and halloed, but no response came. What can be done? was the question. The only consolatory thought was, that Eureka was with him, and by the power of canine instinct might possibly lead him out of this frightful labyrinth.

With this weight upon our spirits, it grew darker and darker, while we pressed on, stumbling over rocks and sinking into bogs, until at length we caught the glimmering lights of the village. Has he arrived? Alas! no; nothing has been seen or heard of him. Has the dog returned? No! and this little word begets hope.

It was now nearly ten o'clock, when it was proposed to start out a fresh party, with lanterns, in search of the lost one. Just as this decision was made, I heard Eureka's bark in the door-yard, and the next moment the door opened and the lost one appeared, with his faithful guardian at his side. Some burst into tears, and all expressed their joy and gratitude. Battered, boots torn off, and every way forlorn, still he was saved. It was Eureka that piloted

him through that dark and frightful gorge. Finding himself benighted and lost, he turned to his dog, and said: 'Eureka, you must show the way.' The intelligent brute seemed to understand him, and immediately took the lead. When his master inclined to take a wrong path, Eureka would stop, and seemed to say, 'No, Sir, you are wrong,' and then turning his nose in a different way he modestly signified that on this occasion canine instinct was superior to human judgment. Relying on that instinct, and keeping in the track of its possessor, our traveller was safely piloted to his home. And when that home was reached, the happy brute barked and frisked with delight, sympathizing in the general joy, and hearing his praises without the least pride or self-complacency. 'Award him a golden collar,' we exclaimed. 'He is worthy the name we have given him.'

Who can doubt that an overruling Providence sent this faithful messenger along with us, in order to be the instrument of preserving a valuable life? So the rescued one considered it, and determined to adopt the dog and care for him as long as he lived. But this purpose was frustrated, for after the aboverelated event, Eureka suddenly left us, nor could we tell when or where. His mission having been accomplished, he went on his way down the mountain to his home, wherever that might have been.

This is a true story of canine instinct and providential care, as all the party now living can testify.

BOUNCE.

I COME now to a more recent pet, whose demise of late, so sudden, and, as we fear, by malicious hands, has filled the household with sorrow and regret. Of all the pet dogs whose history has been given, none, I think, could claim a more affectionate memorial. He was given to our son when a small pup. He came into the family against the protestations of nearly every member. 'We do n't want any dogs about the house,' was the general exclamation. One said: 'They are horrid.' Another: 'They'll go mad.' 'Do keep him out-doors,' said a third. And so the poor little nursling was consigned to the cellar, scarcely tolerated even in that dark, out-of-the-way place. Nothing was expected of him, but to trouble the household, get under foot, and do all sorts of mischief. But despite of this inauspicious introduction, he grew and throve, until he began to show unmistakable signs of sagacity. He grew prettier every day, and was so graceful and elastic in his movements, that his young master named him 'Bounce.' Even his enemies - the feminines were heard to say: 'Well, he is going to make quite a decent-looking dog.' More and more each day he improved. His eye grew brighter and more expressive and his limbs more slender and agile; and to those who evinced any sympathy, he put on many winning and affectionate ways. Being of the terrier breed, he had to undergo, as is usual, foxing, or ear-cropping, which he bore with exemplary patience. This was deemed cruel by the female members of the family, and perhaps it was, but it certainly made him look more sharp and cunning; and after the healing process was complete, he forgave the operator and rejoiced in his improved appearance. The sympathy of the ladies on this occasion was the first link in a chain of circumstances, which drew him more and more into