last, they concluded to trust to the pony’s memory, and, giving him the reins, he trotted on cheerily, till, suddenly pausing and turning to the right, he trotted down a furrow through a potato field, that led directly to the ford in question, which he crossed in the same decided manner, and piloted them safely all the rest of the way to their destination.

“During their stay, he got out of the stable one night, and was found next day pasturing among the mosses where he had been bred.”

“I heard of a case very similar,” rejoined Mr. Gordon, one of the gentlemen who composed the party.

“A gentleman rode a young horse, which he had brought up, thirty miles from home, and to a part of the country where he had never been before. The road was a cross one, and extremely difficult to find; however, by dint of perseverance and inquiry, he at last reached his destination.

“Two years afterward, he had occasion to go the same way, and was benighted four or five miles from the end of his journey. The night was so dark that he could scarcely see the horse’s head. He had a dreary moor and common to pass, and had lost all traces of the proper direction he wished to take. The rain began to fall heavily. He now despaired of reaching the place.

“‘Here am I,’ said he to himself, ‘far from any house, and in the midst of a dreary waste, where I know not which way to direct the course of my steed. I have heard much of the memory of the horse, and that is now my only hope.’

“He threw the reins on the horse’s neck, and encouraging him to proceed, found himself safe at the gate of his friend in less than an hour. What made it more remarkable was the fact, that the animal could not possibly have been over the road, except on the occasion two years before, as no person but his master ever rode him.”

“You said you had another story of a Shetland pony, uncle Frank,” whispered Minnie.

“So I have, dear. It was about a little girl, the daughter of a gentleman in Warwickshire. She was one day playing on the banks of a canal which runs through her father’s grounds, when she had the misfortune to fall in, and would in all probability have been drowned, had not a small pony, which had long been kept in the family, plunged into the stream, and brought the child safely ashore without the slightest injury.”

“I think my pony would do that,” exclaimed Minnie; “he loves me so well.”

“That is to me one of their most interesting traits,” added the captain. “They are capable of becoming so strongly attached to man, that they give up their own wishes to those of their master. Indeed, their interests become so identified with his, that they come to have no will of their own. I have myself seen an old Shetland pony, which would place its fore foot in the hand of its young master like a dog, thrust its head under his arm to be caressed, and join with him and a little terrier in all their noisy rompings on the lawn. The same animal daily bore its young master to school; and, though its heels and teeth were ready for every other urchin, yet so attached was it to this boy, that it would wait hours for him in his sports by the way, and even walk alone from the stable in town to the school room, which was fully half a mile distant, and wait, saddled and bridled, for the afternoon’s dismissal. Indeed, the young scapegrace did not deserve one tenth of this attention; for I have seen old ‘Donald’ toiling home with him at the gallop, to make up for time squandered at play.”

Minnie’s father then repeated to the gentleman many instances of her pony’s attachment to her, and of his playfulness.

“I am of opinion,” said Mr. Gordon, “that there are instances of attachment of a horse to his master equal to that shown by man to man.

“During the Peninsular war; the trumpeter of a French cavalry corps had a fine charger assigned to him, of which he became passionately fond, and which, by gentleness of disposition and uniform docility, showed the affection to be mutual.

“The sound of the trumpeter’s voice, the sight of his uniform, or the clang of his trumpet, was sufficient to throw this animal into a state of excitement, and he appeared to be pleased and happy only when under the saddle of his rider. Indeed, he was unruly and useless to every body else; for once, on being removed to another part of the forces, and consigned to a young officer, he resolutely refused to obey the commands of his rider. The first chance he had, he bolted straight to the trumpeter’s station, and there took his stand, jostling alongside his former master.

“They were obliged to restore him to his old place, when he carried the trumpeter through many campaigns, and through many hair-breadth escapes.

“At last, the corps to which he belonged was defeated, and in the confusion of retreat, the trumpeter was mortally wounded. Dropping from his horse, his body was found, many days after the engagement, stretched on the sward, with his faithful charger standing over it.

“During the long interval, it seems he had never quitted the trumpeter’s side, but had stood sentinel over his corpse, scaring away the birds of prey, heedless of his own privations.

“When found, he was in a sadly reduced condition, partly from loss of blood through wounds, but chiefly from want of food, of which, in the excess of his grief, he could not be prevailed on to partake.”

“A similar case of strong attachment happened under my immediate notice,” remarked Mr. Lee, after a moment’s silence. “General L. had a horse with him in camp of which he was exceedingly fond, and to the training of which he had given particular attention. Every morning, at exactly eight o’clock, this horse came alone to the door of his tent, saddled for use, and stood there ready for his rider to mount. When the general appeared in his uniform, the affectionate animal welcomed him with a loud neigh of delight.

“At last, the noble officer received his death wound, and lay for some days in his tent. It was affecting to see the horse walking up to the door as usual, and, when its master did not appear, to witness its look of anxious solicitude.

“When General L. died, he left his noble charger to the particular care of his wife, who was with him in his last moments. His remains were removed to ——, the horse being conveyed by the same train of cars, and manifesting intense grief. On the day of the funeral, the body was carried to the church in which his family worshipped, the most touching tribute to his memory being this faithful animal, caparisoned in mourning, taking his station directly behind the corpse.

“It was not necessary for any one to lead him, for he somehow seemed to understand that his deceased master was in the coffin; and nothing would induce him to leave it. For more than an hour, while the religious services lasted, he stood in front of the church, watching the door