the shop and buys cakes."

This seemed rather a remarkable instance of cleverness even for the cleverest of animals, so, by way of testing its reality, my friend went out of the shop into the street, where he was immediately accosted by the dog, who begged for something with all the eloquence of which a dog is capable. He offered him a halfpenny, and was rather surprised to see him accept it readily, and walk, with the air of a regular customer, into the shop, where he put his forepaws on the counter, and held out the halfpenny towards the attendant. The young woman produced a bun, but that did not suit the dog, and he held his money fast. "Ah," she said, "I know what he wants," and took down from a shelf a plate of shortbread. This was right; the dog paid his halfpenny, took his shortbread, and ate it with decorous satisfaction. When he had quite finished he left the shop, and my friend, much amused, followed him, and when he again begged found another halfpenny for him, and saw the whole process gone through a second time.

This dog clearly had learned by some means the use of money, and not merely that it would buy something to eat, but that it would buy several things, among which he could exercise a right of choice. What is perhaps most remarkable is that his proceedings were entirely independent, and for his own benefit, not that of any teacher or master.

A. L. W.

[Feb. 17, 1877.]

When a student at Edinburgh, I enjoyed the friendship of a brown retriever, who belonged to a fishmonger in Lothion Street, and who was certainly the cleverest dog I have ever met with. He was a cleverer dog than the one described by "A. L. W." because he knew the relative value of certain coins. In the morning he was generally to be seen seated on the step of the fishmonger's shop-door, waiting for some of his many friends to give him a copper. When he had got one, he trotted away to a baker's shop a few doors off, and dropped the coin on the counter. If I remember rightly (it is twelve or fifteen years ago), his weakness was "soda scones." If he dropped a halfpenny on the counter he was contented with one scone, but if he had given a penny he expected two, and would wait for the second, after he had eaten the first, until he got it. That he knew exactly when he was entitled to one scone only, and when he ought to get two, is certain, for I tried him often.

Lawson Tait.

[Feb. 17, 1877.]

In the Spectator of the 10th inst. a correspondent describes the purchase of cakes by a clever dog at Greenock. I should like to be allowed to help preserve the memory of a most worthy dog-friend of my youth, well remembered by many now living who knew Greenwich Hospital some thirty or five-and-thirty years ago.

At that time there lived there a dog-pensioner called Hardy, a large brown Irish retriever. He was so named by Sir Thomas Hardy, when Governor (Nelson's Hardy), who at the same time constituted him a pensioner, at the rate of one penny per diem, for that he had one day saved a life from drowning just opposite the hospital. Till that time he was a poor stranger and vagrant dog—friendless. But thenceforward he lived in the hospital, and spent his pension himself at the butcher's shop, as he did also many another coin given to him by numerous friends. Many is the halfpenny which, as a child, I gave Hardy, that I might see him buy his own meat—which he did with judgment, and a due regard to value. When a penny was given to him, he would, on arriving at the shop, place it on the counter and rest his nose or paw upon it until he received two halfpennyworths, nor would any persuasion induce him to give up the coin for the usual smaller allowance. I was a young child at the time, but I had a great veneration for Hardy, and remember him well, but lest my juvenile memory might have been in fault, I have, before writing this letter, compared my recollections with those of my elders, who, as grown people, knew Hardy for many years, and confirm all the above facts. There, indeed, was the right dog in the right place. Peace to his shade!

J. D. C.

[Feb. 7, 1885.]

Have you room for one more dog story, which resembles one lately reported in a French journal? A few years since I was sitting inside the door of a shop to escape from the rain while waiting for a trap to take me to the railway station in the old Etruscan city of Ferentino. Presently an ill-bred dog of the pointer kind came and sat down in front of me, looking up in my face, and wagging his tail to attract my attention. "What does that dog want?" I asked of a bystander. "Signore," he answered, "he wants you to give him a soldo to go and buy you a cigar with." I gave the dog the coin, and he presently returned, bringing a cigar, which he held crossways in his mouth until I took it from him. Sent again and again, he brought me three or four more cigars from the tobacco-shop. At length the dog's demeanour changed, and he gave vent to his impatience by two or three low whines. "What does he want now?" I asked. "He wants you to give him two soldi to go to the baker's and buy bread for himself." I gave him a two-soldo piece, and in a few minutes the dog returned with a small loaf of bread, which he laid at my feet, at the same time gazing wistfully in my face. "He won't take it until you give him leave," said another bystander. I gave the requisite permission, and the dear animal seized the loaf and disappeared with it in his mouth, and did not again make his appearance before I left the city. "He always does like this," said the standers-by, "whenever he sees a stranger in Ferentino."

Greville I. Chester.

CAUTIOUS DOGS.

INTELLIGENT SUSPICION IN A DOG.

[July 7, 1888.]

The following instance of dog instinct (or reasoning?) will, I think, interest some of your readers. About a fortnight ago, while crossing the Albula Pass, our driver stopped for a few moments at the little restaurant on the highest point of it. A rough kind of herdsman's dog, of no particular breed, I suppose, came out and sat down by the carriage and looked up at us. We happened to have a few Marie biscuits in the carriage, so I threw half of one out to him. I suppose he had no experience in Huntley and Palmer's make, for he looked at and smelled it carefully, and then declined to eat it, but again looked up at me. I then took the remaining half, bit off and ate a little bit of it, and then threw over the rest to him. This time he ate it at once, then turned and ate the first piece, which he had before refused, and at once came and asked for more, which I had great pleasure in giving him. I may add that I have several times tried a similar experiment with more pampered dogs at home, but have never succeeded with it. Whether this arises from the latter knowing, in most cases, from experience what they like and what they do not like, or, as I am rather inclined to think, from the superior intelligence of this Alpine dog, who really reasoned that what I could eat he could, I leave your readers to decide for themselves.

G. W. C.

AN ALPINE DOG.

[July 21, 1888.]

I do not think that it was superior intelligence in the Alpine dog over other intelligent dogs which induced him to wait to eat the biscuit till