These birds were particularly to their taste, and it required the greatest agility to keep off the cunning invaders, for, though they had no great courage, and would not attempt to resist a bold dog, they frequently succeeded in eluding all vigilance and getting off with their booty. Often, too, a stray cur, sometimes two or three together, from the lowest classes of the population, would, when moved by hunger, make a descent on the preserves, and battles of a fierce character not seldom occurred, for, unlike the foxes, they were never unwilling to fight, but showed the utmost ferocity when attacked, and were often the aggressors. But those were not all. The grounds were exactly opposite that part of the city of Caneville known as the "Mews," and occupied by the cat population, who have a general affection for most birds, and held these preserved ones in particular esteem. Fortunately, the water that interposed was a formidable barrier for the feline visitors, as few pussies like to wet their feet; but, by some means or other, they frequently found their way across, and by their dexterity, swiftness, and the quiet of their movements, committed terrible ravages among the birds. When Sir John had told me all this, he led the way down the hill to the small house under the tree. It had two rooms, with a kennel at the back. The front room was the parlour, and I thought few places could have been so neat and pretty. The back was the sleeping-room, and the windows of both looked out upon the soft grass and trees, and showed a fine view of the river.

"This," said Sir John, "is your house, and I hope you will be happy in it yourself, and be of service to me. You will not be alone, for there"—pointing to the kennel at the back—"sleeps an old servant of the family, who will assist you in your duties."

He then called out "Nip," when a rumbling noise was heard from the kennel, and directly after a lame hound came hopping round to the door. The sight of this old fellow was not pleasant at first, for his hair was a grizzly brown and his head partly bald; his eyes were sunk, and, indeed, almost hidden beneath his bushy brows, and his cheeks hung down below his mouth and shook with every step he took. I soon found out that he was as singular in his manners as in his looks, and had such a dislike to talking that it was a rare thing for him to say more than two or three words at one time. Sir John told him who I was, and desired him to obey my orders; commanded us both to be good friends and not quarrel, as strange dogs were rather apt to do; and after some more advice left us to ourselves, I in a perfect dream of wonderment, and "Nip" sitting winking at me in a way that I thought more funny than agreeable.

After we had sat looking at one another for some time, I said, just to break the silence, which was becoming tiresome—

"A pretty place this!"

Nip winked.

"Have you been here long?" I asked.

"Think so," said Nip.

"All alone?" I inquired.

"Almost," Nip replied.

"Much work to do, eh?" I asked.

The only answer Nip gave to this was by winking first one eye and then the other, and making his cheeks rise and fall in a way so droll that I could not help laughing, at which Nip seemed to take offence, for without waiting for any farther questions he hopped out of the room, and I saw him, soon after, crawling softly up the hill, as if on the look out for some of the thieves Sir John had spoken of.

I, too, went off upon the watch. I took my way along the bank, I glided among the bushes, ran after a young fox whose sharp nose I spied pointed up a tree, but without catching him, and finally returned to my new home by the opposite direction. Nip came in shortly after, and we sat down to our dinner.

Although this portion of my life was, perhaps, the happiest I have ever known, it has few events worth relating. The stormy scenes which are so painful to the dog who suffers them, are those which are most interesting to the hearer; while the quiet days, that glide peacefully away, are so like each other, that an account of one of them is a description of many. A few hours can be so full of action, as to require volumes to describe them properly, and the history of whole years can be written on a single page.

I tried, as I became fixed in my new position, to do what I had resolved when I entered it; namely, my duty. I think I succeeded; I certainly obtained my master's praise, and sometimes my own; for I had a habit of talking to myself, as Nip so rarely opened his mouth, and would praise or blame myself just as I thought I deserved it. I am afraid I was not always just, but too often said, "Well done, Job; that's right, Job;" when I ought to have called out, "You're wrong, Job; you ought to feel, Job, that you're wrong;" but it is not so easy a thing to be just, even to ourselves.

One good lesson I learned in that little cottage, which has been of use to me all my life through; and that was, to be very careful about judging dogs by their looks. There was old Nip: when I first saw him, I thought I had never beheld such an ugly fellow in my life, and could not imagine how anything good was to be expected from so cross a looking, ragged old hound. And yet nothing could be more beautiful, more loveable than dear old Nip, when you came to know him well. All the misfortunes he had suffered, all the knocks he had received in passing through the world, seemed to have made his heart more tender; and he was so entirely good-natured, that in all the time we were together, I never heard him say an unkind thing of living or dead animal. I believe his very silence was caused by the goodness of his disposition; for as he could not help seeing many things he did not like, but could not alter, he preferred holding his tongue to saying what could not be agreeable. Dear, dear Nip! if ever it should be resolved to erect a statue of goodness in the public place of Caneville, they ought to take you for a model; you would not be so pleasant to look on as many finer dogs, but when once known, your image would be loved, dear Nip, as I learned to love the rugged original.

It can be of no interest to you to hear the many fights we had in protecting the property of our master during the first few moons after my arrival. Almost every night we were put in danger of lives, for the curs came in such large numbers that there was a chance of our being pulled to pieces in the struggle. Yet we kept steady watch; and after a time, finding, I suppose, that we were never sleeping at our post, and that our courage rose with every fresh attack, the thieves gradually gave up open war, and only sought to entrap the birds by artifice; and, like the foxes and cats, came sneaking into the grounds, and trusted to the swiftness of their legs rather than the sharpness of their teeth when Nip or I caught sight of them.

And thus a long, long time passed away. I had, meanwhile, grown to my full size, and was very strong and active: not so stout as I have got in these later years, when my toes sometimes ache with the weight which rests on them, but robust and agile, and as comely, I believe, as most dogs of my age and descent.

The uniformity of my life, which I have spoken of as making me so happy, was interrupted only by incidents that did not certainly cause me displeasure. I renewed my acquaintance with "Fida," no longer little Fida, for she had grown to be a beautiful lady-dog. Our second meeting was by chance, but we talked like old friends, so much had our first done to remove all strangeness. I don't think the next time we saw each other was quite by accident. If I remember rightly, it was not; and we often met afterwards. We agreed that we should do all we could to assist one another, though what I could do for so rich and clever a