One night, a gentleman, between fifty and sixty years of age, went into a house of a particular description near the Admiralty. He had not been long there when he died suddenly. He had with him a small dog of the terrier kind, which immediately left the room. There was nothing found on the gentleman's person to lead to a discovery of his name or residence. About twelve o'clock, however, on the following night, three interesting young ladies, of very genteel appearance, between the ages of sixteen and twenty, arrived at the house in which the gentleman died, accompanied by the dog. They came in a chaise from Richmond. It appears that the dog, immediately after the decease of his master, ran off to Richmond, where he usually resided. As soon as the door was opened he rushed into the apartment of the young ladies, who were in the act of dressing themselves. He began to solicit their attention by whines and cries, and his eyes turned to the door, as if to invite them to follow him. Failing in this, he became more earnest, seized their clothes, and pulled them towards the door with so much violence, that one of their gowns was torn. This excited great alarm; and from the intelligence shown by the animal, it was resolved by the young ladies to resign themselves to the dog, which continued to entice them away. A chaise was accordingly ordered, and they immediately took their seats in it. The dog led the way, with its head almost constantly turned back, and his eyes fixed upon the carriage, until he led them to the house near the Admiralty, where his master had died. There they alighted; but how great was their grief, horror, and surprise, to find their father dead in such a situation!
The deceased proved to be Mr. ——, an inhabitant of Lewisham, in Kent, where he possessed a farm of considerable extent, and followed the business of an auctioneer, and was greatly respected in his neighbourhood. That night he dropped down in the house alluded to, when the people, supposing him dead, immediately gave the alarm, and the body was conveyed to the Lord Cochrane hotel, within a few doors, in Spring Gardens. Here it was discovered that the spark of life was not totally extinguished. He was carried up-stairs and put to bed, and medical assistance was called in; but in vain,—in a few minutes he was a corpse. As the people of the house were carrying him up-stairs, a sum of 1100l. fell from his pocket in bank-notes, tied up in a bundle, and marked on the outside, "To be paid into Snow's,"—a circumstance sufficient in itself to show that he had not been dishonestly treated by the female who accompanied him into the house from which he was brought, or any other person belonging to it. The interesting little dog, after his return, remained at his post, the faithful guardian of his beloved master's remains. He lay on the foot of the bed, with his eyes constantly fixed on the body, with an eager, anxious, melancholy expression.
The place was crowded with people, led by curiosity to this interesting scene. The dog never appeared to take any notice of these strange visitors, and no rude hand attempted to interrupt the little mourner in his melancholy office. The verdict of the coroner's inquest was,—"Died by the visitation of God."
Another of the same breed of dogs evinced much sagacity on the following occasion:—
His master occupied furnished lodgings near the Inns of Court in London. In the hurry of removing from them, neither he nor his servants thought of the dog, who was not in the way when they quitted the house. When the dog returned to it, finding his master gone, he trotted off to Kensington, where an intimate friend of his master resided, and very quietly and patiently made himself at home in the house. As he was well known, he was fed and taken care of, and at the end of three days his master called, and he then gladly went away with him.
In this instance it is, I think, evident, that the dog possessed a sort of reasoning faculty, which induced him to suppose that the best chance he had of finding his master was by going to a place to which he had formerly accompanied him; and he was correct in his calculation.
This faculty was again exercised in the following manner:—
A gentleman residing in the Tower of London had a terrier which he one day lost, about seven miles from town. The dog attached himself to a soldier, and notwithstanding the man went to town in an omnibus, the dog followed the vehicle. When the soldier alighted from it, he went to the barracks in St. James's Park, the dog continuing close behind him. On examining the collar, the name and residence of the owner of the dog were found on it. The soldier therefore brought him to the Tower, and gave the above particulars. From this account it may be supposed that the dog, having been familiar with the sight of Guardsmen at the Tower, had followed one of them in hopes that he belonged to that place, and therefore would conduct him to it.
I am not aware that any writer upon dogs has noticed one of their peculiarities, that of curiosity. Let me give a curious and well-authenticated instance of this property, which was communicated to me by the owner of the dog. This animal was a Scotch terrier, named Snob, and certainly a more singular dog has seldom been met with. His master was commander of the fleet on the South American station, and Snob embarked with him. He soon began to give proofs of his extraordinary curiosity, for he liked to see everything that was going forward in the ship. Snob, in fact, was a sort of Paul Pry. He watched everything that was to be done. One night the sailors were kept up aloft for some hours doing something to the sails; Snob remained on the deck the whole time, looking very wise, and watching the sailors with one paw lifted up. He would at other times wander between the decks, looking at everything going forward; and when he had been shut in the cabin he has frequently been observed standing on his hind legs looking through the keyhole of the door, in order to watch the proceedings which were carried on. I have a great respect for Snob, who is still alive, and I have no doubt his curiosity is as great as ever.
A curious instance of ferocity and affection in a terrier bitch is recorded by Mr. Daniel:—After a very severe burst of upwards of an hour, a fox was, by Mr. Daniel's hounds, run to earth, at Heney Dovehouse, near Sudbury, in Suffolk. The terriers were lost; but as the fox went to ground in view of the headmost hounds, and it was the concluding day of the season, it was resolved to dig him out, and two men from Sudbury brought a couple of terriers for that purpose. After considerable labour, the hunted fox was got, and given to the hounds; whilst they were breaking him, one of the terriers slipped back into the earth, and again laid. After more digging, a bitch-fox was taken out, and the terrier killed two cubs in the earth; three others were saved from her fury, and which were begged by the owner of the bitch, who said he should make her suckle them. This was laughed at as impossible; however, the man was positive, and the cubs were given to him. The bitch-fox was carried away, and turned into an earth in another county. The terrier had behaved so well at earth, that she was some days afterwards bought, with the cubs she had fostered, by Mr. Daniel. The bitch continued regularly to suckle, and reared them until able to shift for themselves. What adds to this singularity is, that the terrier's whelp was nearly five weeks old, and the cubs could just see, when this exchange of progeny was made.