PARABLES AND PROVERBS CONCERNING GOING TO THE DOGS. WE E are not here about to enter upon, or attempt to open up, the perplexed and vexed question of the relation of instinct and reason; but often after we have formed some wise little easy-going theory, in which we have to our satisfaction very accurately discriminated the two functions, and classified their instances, some dog has come along and upset the theory altogether; he has jumped into it, and it will no longer hold water. The stupid man who insisted on discussing with Dr. Johnson the future life of brutes: "But, Doctor, when we see a remarkably clever dog, we don't know what to make of him;" and met with the gruff response, "No, sir; and when we meet with a remarkably foolish fellow, we don't know what to make of him; "-only suggests to us the whole complication of the difficulty; for while some men are not only so stupid, but so bad, many dogs are not only so clever, but so good. He would have a tough task to get through, who should set to work to prove that dogs have been incapable of memory and reflection and hope. Nay, if acts corresponding to these states of what shall we say-mind? are to be taken as signs;-and it is thus that, for the most part, we test our relation to mankind;-then he would have a tough task who would determine to prove that dogs, assuredly, have no moral nature. With this, we are free to admit,—perhaps to the relief of some of our readers,—that we are quite ignorant of canine nature; it is possible, if we knew a little more of what constitutes scent in dogs, it might clear the whole mystery, and lower the apparently lofty standard to which we seem compelled to elevate the creature. Dogs are a mystery. We were staying, a day or two since, in a house in which, some few weeks ago, a young man lay, dying of consumption. He had no dog; but, indulging in those fancies which we so well know go roaming through the minds of dying invalids, and especially in that sad disease, he longed for a dog-longed to be able to stroke or fondle a dog; and one day, some short time before the young man died, came a scratching at the street door, and a strange dog, never seen before, unknown to all the neighbours, made his appearance; he signified no hesitation, so we understand, expressed no doubt, and asked no questions, simply trotted along the passage, turned into the invalid's chamber, and GONE, OR GOING, TO THE DOGS. 229* sprang upon his bed; there he continued his attentions till death called the young man away. The dog, however, has not disappeared, but hovers still about the house, in which, our readers need scarcely to be told, he always finds a welcome home. It is, perhaps, not a very extraordinary incident, but if so, and we may speak in a paradox, its very ordinariness constitutes its singularity. What are we to make of such circumstances as these? We have thought we might not unprofitably employ a little time in vindicating that highly respectable and intelligent animal, the dog, from the imputation involved in an ungenerous proverb. Some time since, when we inquired concerning a character of whose moral elevation we had no very high opinion, we were informed that he had "gone to the dogs." We have proverbs about dogs, but we know none so unjust as that in which a bad character, or a fallen character, is said to have "gone to the dogs." "Gone to the dogs!" Why, according to all accounts, they would usually form very pleasant companions. Some of our best tales of heroism and chivalry, perseverance and courage, and intense affection and faithfulness, are told of dogs; and then some scamp of a fellow, who has been all his life the reverse of all these in his character, when his sins have brought him to grief, is said to have "gone to the dogs." Well, it ought to be understood he has gone to them to be taught better behaviour, good morals, and good manners. And, indeed, he might learn something by "going to the dogs" from another old proverb, "If an old dog barks, he gives counsel." Cats have recently found their vindicators, and turn out to be marvellous creatures, through many of the anecdotes which have been accumulated; but we confess that we are superstitious about cats, they are queer and witchlike and uncanny; at any rate they love the house more than the master and its mistress. The dog is your true human animal; we ought to "go to the dogs," for assuredly they are very fond of us, and love us far better than we deserve to be loved. The proverb, indeed, seems to be derived from the games of the Romans. The ace in dice was called canis, dog; and a cast of dice, when all was lost, was thrown in three aces, and hence dog came to mean ruin, loss, ill-luck, and so, in a word, to go to the dogs was to go to the bad. Another mode of accounting for the expression is derived from the idea of a horse in a knacker's yard. But anyhow the dog deserves a better proverb, and better company than it seems the proverb would give him. Why, what says Sir Walter Scott? "The Almighty, who gave the dog to be the companion of our pleasures and our toils, hath invested him. with a nature noble and incapable of deceit. He forgets neither friend nor foe; remembers, and with accuracy, both benefit and injury. He hath a share of man's intelligence, but no share of man's falsehood. You may bribe a soldier to slay a man with a sword, or a witness to take life by false accusation, but you cannot make a dog tear his benefactor. He is the friend of man, save when man justly incurs his enmity." MR. GRADGRIND ON THE INSTINCT OF DOGS. This being sty a man may certainly do a far worse thing than “go to the Loga" Certainly the average dog is a marvelously social creature; no doubt he has his ideas about good society, and draws almost as sharp a distinenion between dog and dog as you would find in the best regulated caste of Brightca ce Belgratis This method of cars of resolving the marvellousness of the canine instinct into scent seems to have occurred to Charles Dickens. La humorous passage in his "Eri Times," our great English humorist seems to express in his own quaint, queer, charming way, what alos everybody, who ever saw or thought about a dog, must have felt. "There, you don't need to be told that dogth ith wonderi "Their instinct," said Mr. Gradgrind," is surprising." “Whatever you call in—and I'm bletht if I know what to call it'sand Steary, “it ith sthocmithing. The way in whirth a dog 'll find y the dishanth be orme!" “Es scent,” said Mr. Gradgrind, “ being so fine.” "I'm blest if I know what to call it," repeated Sleary, shaking is head; "but I have had digth fnd me, Thquire, in a way that made 2 | thick whether that dog hadn't gone to another dog, and thed, 'T don't happen to know a perthon of the name of Theary, in the bre riding way-throat man-game eye?' and whether that dog nigin have thed, Well, I can't thay I know him mythelf, but I know sit that I think would be likely to be soquainted with him.' And with that dog might't have thought it over, and thed, Thleary, Thleary!! yeth, to be thure! A friend of mine mentioned him to me sa oce I can get you hith addreth directly.” In consbequeath of my being st the public, and going about the matth, you thee, there match: à Lumber of dogth acquainted with me, Thquire, that I don't know!” Mr. Gradgrind seemed to be quite confounded by this speculation And, however Mr. Gradgrind might be confounded by this spects of Mr. Sleary's, Mr. Sleary did not go a whit beyond the line to T be might be accompanied, by what we may venture to call scher iss The inscription, “More faithful than favoured,” inscribed benest mastiff, by the side of Sir Henry Lee, in the celebrated bocs portrait at Ditchley in Oxfordshire, might appropriately be is as the motto of the whole race. Dogs have saved from murder, & discovered murderers, have saved from robbery and theft, si b discovered the criminal, or the lost goods. Dogs have been faithful companions through long nights of wate or travelling over wild moors, wilder mountains, or dark forests: dogs have often broken their hearts over some beloved master's? lost and dead in the wilderness, or some coffined clay or gravesAnd then we say of some scamp, “He has gone to the dogs! Elba Burritt, in his "Walk from London to Land's End," tells ELIHU BURRITT'S HOPES ABOUT GOING TO THE DOGS. 231 pretty story of a friendship, in Devonshire, between a fine dog and a little child. He constituted himself the guard of honour by the child's perambulator; and he gave himself to all the pettings, pinchings, pullings, and rude rompings with which the child's hands could be amused. And the affection was perfectly mutual; and so it continued until one day, as the dog lay watching by the door-stone, the child, peeping from the window above, lost its balance, and fell head foremost upon the stone pavement below. It never breathed again; it was taken up out of a puddle of blood with a fractured skull, motionless and dead. The red drops of blood bespattered the face and feet of the dog as he sprang to the rescue. The poor creature's heart was broken, and died out in a long whining moan of grief. He refused to eat, he refused to be comforted by his master's voice or his master's home. Such are the lessons of affection if we go to the dogs. Elihu Burritt was in the house of the druggist to whom the master went for a prescription for his dog, "Something," says Elihu Burritt, "to— "Minister to a mind diseased, Cleanse the stuffed bosom of that perilous stuff Elihu Burritt hoped that there was no irreverence in wishing for such a dog a happy immortality, thought he would like to know such creatures might have a chance for the Heavenly Jerusalem, and fancied that "they might find scope enough to bask on the banks of the River of Life without getting in the way, or abstracting from the happiness of their saved and sainted masters, taken up to heaven on a smaller footing of personal merit." The poor Indian, then, is not the only person who hopes, "When carried to his native sky, His faithful dog shall bear him company." That is what Elihu Burritt thought about dogs; and we hear of some fellow who has made the worst of all his opportunities and affections, and we say, "He has gone to the dogs!" Happy for him the proverb, if dogs are to be admitted to the New Jerusalem! Mr. Edward Jesse collected, in his entertaining manner, a multitude of anecdotes tending to glorify the dog. We have heard of an unfortunate soldier, condemned for some offence to die-standing bandaged before his comrades appointed to fire the fatal volley; when his dog, a favourite spaniel, rushed wildly forward, flew into his master's arms to lick his face, and for a moment interrupted the sad solemnity. The comrades with tears in their eyes gave the volley, and the two friends. fell together. What is the subtle spring of all these strange, these marvellous instances of affection among these creatures? A gentleman passing by St. Bride's churchyard, in London, always saw a dog at one particular grave. The gentleman saw it there month after month, year after year, in the cold, in the rain, in the heat. It was 230 MR. GRADGRIND ON THE INSTINCT OF DOGS. This being so, a man may certainly do a far worse thing than "go to the dogs." Certainly the average dog is a marvellously social creature; no doubt he has his ideas about good society, and draws almost as sharp a distinction between dog and dog as you would find in the best regulated caste of Brighton or Belgravia. This method of ours of resolving the marvellousness of the canine instinct into scent seems to have occurred to Charles Dickens. In a humorous passage in his "Hard Times," our great English humorist seems to express in his own quaint, queer, charming way, what almost everybody, who ever saw or thought about a dog, must have felt. "Thquire, you don't need to be told that dogth ith wonderful animalth." "Their instinct," said Mr. Gradgrind, "is surprising." وو "Whatever you call it—and I'm bletht if I know what to call it said Sleary, "it ith athtonithing. The way in whitth a dog 'll find you; the dithtanth he'll come ! " "His scent," said Mr. Gradgrind, “being so fine.” "I'm bletht if I know what to call it," repeated Sleary, shaking his head; "but I have had dogth find me, Thquire, in a way that made me think whether that dog hadn't gone to another dog, and thed, 'You don't happen to know a perthon of the name of Thleary, in the horthriding way—thtout man-game eye?' and whether that dog mightn't have thed, 'Well, I can't thay I know him mythelf, but I know a dog that I think would be likely to be acquainted with him.' And whether that dog mightn't have thought it over, and thed, Thleary, Thleary! Oh, yeth, to be thure! A friend of mine menthioned him to me at one time. I can get you hith addreth directly.' In conthequenth of my being afore the public, and going about tho mutth, you thee, there mutht be a number of dogth acquainted with me, Thquire, that I don't know!" Mr. Gradgrind seemed to be quite confounded by this speculation. And, however Mr. Gradgrind might be confounded by this speculation of Mr. Sleary's, Mr. Sleary did not go a whit beyond the line to which he might be accompanied, by what we may venture to call sober fact. The inscription, "More faithful than favoured," inscribed beneath the mastiff, by the side of Sir Henry Lee, in the celebrated household portrait at Ditchley in Oxfordshire, might appropriately be inscribed as the motto of the whole race. Dogs have saved from murder, and discovered murderers, have saved from robbery and theft, and have discovered the criminal, or the lost goods. Dogs have been faithful companions through long nights of watching or travelling over wild moors, wilder mountains, or dark forests; and dogs have often broken their hearts over some beloved master's body, lost and dead in the wilderness, or some coffined clay or grave-mound. And then we say of some scamp, "He has gone to the dogs!" Elihu Burritt, in his "Walk from London to Land's End," tells a very |