his ignorant scorn of what has been to me as a deity?"

I looked on the glowing brow of the old Jacobite as he said this with an eye which sympathised much in his feelings; the very beat of my heart took his part. Neither did I consider him altogether wrong in his love of the line of the Stuarts. There is a sort of hanker in Scotland's heart to this day after the right blood of the Bruce; nor did I ever hear the wildest Cameronian speak with bitterness of their errors. I was grown up myself to man's estate before I could understand the theory of our constitution, which turned away the Stuarts, and called a foreigner to the throne, who could have no interest in our glory nor part in our shame, but who must sit like a king of ninepins, to be knocked down at pleasure.

While this was passing through my heart, the mind of Macmillan had wandered to other lands, and was with the exiled race,-" Ah, had you but seen what I have seen," said he, " your_eyes would drop tears of blood. I speak not of the younger prince, who was persuaded out of his high birthright, and put on a cardinal's cap,-one at Rome was well paid for this piece of scoundrel policy, which stopt the line of the Stuarts, and barred them for ever from the throne; but I speak of the elder prince, who was a man of a high and noble nature before public misfortune and domestic wrong soured and stung him. He loved to sit, with his daughter the Duchess of Albany looking up in his face, and relate the strange and dreamlike

campaigns of 1745 and 1746, when he warred for his crown, and all but won it, in Scotland and England both, - his voice boldened, his colour heightened, and all his ancient fortitude and high courage returned to his frame and his face, and he looked the monarch of the first of islands. But he disliked to be questioned by strangers about adventures, which to his friends he would relate from free will. One day-among the last I was in Rome-I had asked for an interview with the Duchess of Albany, and we were sitting in one of the chambers of the palace, when I heard her father's voice more excited than common,- There is an English gentleman with the king,' she observed, and I fear they are speaking of the Forty-five. Oh, this must not be allowed!'

"We rose; but ere we reached the gallery whence the words came, we heard a deep groan, and then the sound of one falling heavily on the floor. We ran and found the prince lying in a swoon,- Sir,' said the duchess to the stranger, what made you be so ungenerous as to speak of my royal father's misfortunes to him? nothing but that could have done

this.'

6

"I only asked him,' replied the other, 'what prevented him to march forward when he was at Derby? He answered, 'Treason!' and then dropt on the floor.'"

Here I shall close this first chapter of Jacobite controversy and conversation. If I have interested the reader, I may be prevailed upon to add a second chapter.

WHO is there that does not feel an interest for the sagacious quadruped which is so faithfully attached to man -the animal of all animals, according to Linnæus, the most singular, the most complete, and the most useful conquest man has made? It is the only animal that has followed man all over the earth. But I am not going into the natural history of the beast, only merely intending to present reminiscences of several ugly dogs, sundry queer dogs, and some sad dogs, collected while I was on the dog-watch. I am afraid that I shall not be able to confine myself entirely to the description of the dogs of my acquaintances, but that a portion of the characters of their several masters or mistresses must necessarily obtrude.

I shall therefore, without further preface, commence with No. 1,—

MR. WADDILOVE'S FIDELIO.

"Fidelio," or, as Mr. Waddilove called him, when he was in a very good humour, “ Fiddle,” was a mongrel, the mother, a pointer (or rather a pointress); the father, a village cur, distantly allied to the terrier family. Fidelio grew to twice the size of his father, but never arrived at his mother's points. In colour, Fidelio was of a dull black, with some scattered white about the collar and the two fore feet, which looked like Mr. Tag's frill and ruffles. Fidelio was long-backed-much too long for his legs; narrow-chested. His tail had, by the humanity of Mr. Waddilove, not undergone any cur-tailment; and his cars dangled in graceful flaps, one rather cocked up higher than the other, especially when the dog was noticed, or thought that a bone was likely to fall to his share. It was not in Fidelio's nature to gain flesh. No want of food,-kind Mr. Waddilove took care of that; but he had never in his puppyhood been wormed. He always looked ungainly, and evidently often dreamed strange dreams. Fidelio was a goodtempered, but not a sprightly young dog. There was an amiability in his

eyes, but a great lack of intelligence. He bore a kick better than most dogs; and sooner than stop and play with a strange dog in the street, which custom frequently commences in jest and ends in earnest, Fidelio always preferred, with a praiseworthy caution, to cross to the other side of the way, with his tail rather lowered, and curved between his hinder legs. Indeed, I never imagined him to be a dog of high spirit.

Mr. Waddilove was about sixtythree years of age, and had been rather disappointed in his views of life; for when he imagined he could retire from trade with a comfortable independence (in fact, he had nominally retired), a junior partner, who was empowered, and was supposed, to carry on the business, and who kept a gig, visited Ascot, Epsom, and Doncaster, suddenly disappeared one settling-day at Tattersal's, leaving Mr. Waddilove to arrange all balances on the partnership accounts.

After gloomily putting affairs square with the creditors, Mr. Waddilove retired within himself, as it were. He never could divest himself of the air of a man who had been done! And he took to a great arm-chair, tobacco-pipes, and cold brandy and water. He became a sort of backparlour Timon. He could not bear to see either his relations or friends. The first-named were needy (with the exception of a nephew, who was rapidly rising in professional popularity as a lecturing anatomist); and as for friends,

"Let no man grumble when his friends fall off,

As they will do, like leaves at the first breeze."-BYRON.

Yet one friend sat placidly looking in his master's face, almost appearing to wonder what had occasioned that countenance to be puckered up into the crooked lines and frowns of mortification. That friend was Fidelio. "Fiddle, you rascal, you!" grunted Mr. Waddilove, "you are still honest and true." The dog rested his two fore-paws on the leg of his patron,

put out his long tongue in the hope to lick the hand that patted him; but, whatever might be his affectionate feeling for Mr. Waddilove, he was compelled to avert his head and wink his eyes at the odorous puffs of the tobacco-pipe.

Custom reconciles us to a misapplication of terms. When you apply an opprobrious epithet to a confirmed sot, he is generally called "a drunken dog." How unjust to the animal! A dog has not the faculty to get drunk. The nearest approach to the effects of intoxication is when a dog is mad, and cannot account for his conduct; but then he will not even drink water!

Mr. Waddilove would sit boxed in his arm-chair, smoking, and frequently replenishing his tumbler, and of course emptying it; ruminating on the falsehoods and wickednesses of mankind, and gradually warming himself into the belief that his own character approached nearer to general perfection than that of any person he knew; and when he arrived at that important conclusion, he constantly fell asleep. Mr. Waddilove's snore was the signal for the faithful Fidelio to attend upon his own affairs, by placing himself in various picturesque postures, to give notice to quit to certain unwelcome denizens of his hide, whose activity is so well known, and whose superior intellects and capabilities have been lately brought before an enlightened British public in a microscopic exhibition in the Strand.

In the diligent performance of this

task, where Fidelio almost appeared (black as he was) in the attitude of "Old Scratch," his bony tail would thump loudly on the floor. This sound invariably aroused Mr. Waddilove, who, though ignorant of the cause, but hearing the knocking, I would look towards the door and mutter, "Come in." And again would he drop his treble chin upon his breast, again snore, until once more awakened by the rapping of Fidelio's tale. Again would Mr. Waddilove lift up his heavy head, and gruffly exclaim, "Come in, d--n you, whoever you are!"

Matters went on in this way for some time, Fidelio and his master rather increasing in the estimation of each other, when, not to be too prolix in my narrative, one day Mr. Waddilove had just picked a muttonchop bone at his dinner and left on it a piece of undigestible horny skin for his four-legged pet. He then called for "Fiddle," but the dog did not appear. This was considered strange conduct on the part of Fidelio. The bones, however, were ordered to be put by for him; and so they were the next day, and the next, and the next, but "Fiddle" was not forthcoming. Mr. Waddilove vehemently complained that some person must have feloniously decoyed away his dog, but he was invariably and positively assured that no one would steal such an animal! He was an useless mongrel, and not sufficiently fat to find his way to the bear's grease manufacturers.

In fact, the result of the inquiries produced the highest encomiums on Mr. Waddilove's philanthropy, as people were convinced that nobody else in the world but Mr. W. would have kept such a dog as Fidelio. But Mr. Waddilove never could be persuaded that his animal was either worthless or ugly (so does affection mislead us); and he actually had bills printed, offering a reward of one sovereign to whomsoever would restore Fidelio ("answers to the name of Fiddle") to his disconsolate master. But it was all in vain. The disappearance was veiled in impenetrable mystery.

After the usual mental mourning for the loss of a friend, Mr. Waddilove became even more secluded than ever. He was now always enveloped

in reeking clouds of tobacco-smoke; and the only times that he ever made use of pen, ink, or paper, were to write a pithy sentence to this effect:

"Messrs. Liverburn and Company,

"Please to send me two gallons

of your best pale brandy.

"Your obedient

"R. J. WADDILove."

Mr. Waddilove never went out of doors excepting he was compelled by such an event as having to receive his dividends of the remains of his property; and then he rode in an omnibus to the Bank, with his face turned towards the window, on the forlorn chance of seeing his absent Fidelio.

At length, in consequence of some family affair in which Mr. Waddilove had to act as trustee, it became absolutely necessary that he should call on his nephew, the surgeon and anatomical demonstrator. They had not met for some time; so Mr. Waddilove knocked at his nephew's door. He was shewn into the parlour, seated himself, and wiped his forehead, for he was of late unused to ambulatory exercise; when lo! the door was pushed open, and, to the utter surprise of Mr. Waddilove, in walked the dog Fidelio, who instantly rushed on his old master and overwhelmed him with canine caresses. Their joy at meeting was

mutual and sincere.

However astonished Mr. Waddilove was on discovering where Fidelio was domiciled and seemingly happy, he determined to have his curiosity satisfied as to how the dog had come into the possession of his nephew. He, therefore, carefully concealed the fact that the animal was his property.

The surgeon, Mr. Cartilage, now entered and greeted his uncle respectfully. There was no quarrel between them, merely a coolness; and after Waddilove had detailed the affair for which he had called, he carelessly asked Mr. Cartilage how long he had been possessed of that dog? Cartilage replied, that the dog had been in his premises about three months, that he wanted to keep him for one month longer; and then, having satisfied himself on a particular point, if Mr. Waddilove took a fancy to the poor beast, he, Mr.

Cartilage, would make him a present to him. Waddilove's eye twinkled at this liberal offer of bestowing his own dog on himself, but merely inquired what might be the particular point on which his nephew wished to be satisfied.

"Why, sir," replied Mr. Cartilage, "I had been for some time sceptical on the use of a certain organ of the interior economy of animals, and I determined on making some experiments to elucidate my theory; so I requested one of my pupils (whom I frequently employ in that way to keep him out of mischief) to endeavour to procure me a dog that was not of a ferocious aspect,-as such a dog is a dangerous subject." At the word "subject" Mr. Waddilove turned pale, and hastily glanced at Fiddle, who wagged his tail. Mr. Cartilage continued, "One day my pupil (whom I call my procurer-general) informed me that he had coaxed into my dissecting-room a fool of a dog, who had followed him very tranquilly, only by tying his handkerchief round his neck. And that" (pointing to Fidelio)" that is the animal, sir. And a curious fact it is: I have performed a singular operation on him. That dog is at this moment without his spleen, sir."

"Without his spleen ?" exclaimed Waddilove, aghast.

"It is true, I assure you," replied the surgeon;" and he has done without it these twelve weeks, and you perceive that the animal is remarkably well in health; see, his coat has become quite glossy."

"Are you aware, Mr. Cartilage," said Waddilove gravely, "that the animal you have been cutting up in this cruel way is mine, and that he has been smugged from me some time ?"

An ill-repressed smile crossed the pale face of the anatomist, and he remarked:-"I certainly was not aware, uncle, that it was your dog, but the experiment has proved my conjectures correct: that the removal of the spleen does not affect the general health; and, indeed, in this instance, it has evidently improved it. Now, Mr. Waddilove, if you will allow me to try the operation on you, I think it would be highly desirable, for if you could get rid of your spleen you would again be an agreeable

member of society. Come, I will do it in a friendly way, and not charge you any thing!"

Mr. Waddilove grasped his stick, started up, and without bidding Cartilage good day, opened the streetdoor, hastily walked off the step followed by Fidelio, and never stopped until he got into his own back-parlour; where, at this moment, he and his "Fiddle" (now in good case) are sitting (two years and a half since the experiment!)

The Master with his spleen-the Dog without it!

We will now refer to No. 2.

MR. HELVETIUS PARTLETT'S

SNOB.

Mr. Helvetius Partlett was a surveyor; and his dog, Snob, was a wire-haired terrier of a lightish brindle; a compact, strong, stanch little fellow, who would play the very devil with a cat; and as for rats oh! it was one down and another come on for as long as you pleased! Snob had dwelt some time with Mr. Partlett, while he was a bachelor residing in chambers, and he was the terror of all the old vice-chancery cats frequenting the garden of Clifford's Inn.

But both dog and master were now about to alter their situation in life; for Mr. Helvetius Partlett, tired of single blessedness, fell in love with Miss Evelina Brookman, at one of the Concerts de "Shiver" (held in the very cold weather at Drury Lane theatre). Miss Evelina Brookman's papa was proprietor of a good business in the oil and Italian warehouse line; and Mr. Helvetius Partlett discovering that he was not disagreeable to Miss Evelina, commenced his acquaintance with her father, by purchasing a Bologna sausage, and half a pound of macaroni. Negotiations were soon pending to bring the match about, and Mr. Helvetius Partlett's prospects and person passed muster. Consent was obtained; and after the proper allowance for courtship, the auspicious day was fixed. But it was agreed on all hands that the young couple were to commence housekeeping with economy. Helvetius Partlett accordingly became the tenant of rather a solitary cottage surrounded by a garden, in the distant province of Vauxhall.

Mr.

The rent was so very low, that Partlett thought that instead of his landlord taking him in, that he had taken his landlord in; for the house was in substantial repair, and Partlett had himself critically and scientifically surveyed it. The lease was signed, sealed, and delivered. When one day as Helvetius was standing close under his garden-pales, thinking how soon the currants and gooseberries would be ripe, his ear was greeted with the following dialogue from some persons in the lane outside:

"Oh! there's that board down at last the cottage is let!"

"I hope the new tenant will be more lucky than the last." "Hope so too."

"Did they ever find out who murdered her ?"

"Never! Poor old lady: you see the place is so lonely."

"It is. I would not live there rent free."

"They say the house was built by some coiners ?"

66

Ay, I suppose they have got some poor devil to live there, who knows nothing about such unlucky premises as these have been."

Mr. Helvetius Partlett now thought he had been a little too hasty in completing his bargain. At any rate he determined that neither Miss Evelina nor her family should be put into any alarm about the matter; so he omitted to mention that which he had overheard, though his mind was rather uneasy.

The nuptial day at length arrived, and the whole affair was voted to be quiet and without ceremony (the church ceremony excepted).

The fatal knot was tied, and Mr. Brookman handed his daughter over to Helvetius:

"Her gentle spirit Commits itself to yours to be directed, As from her lord, her governor, her king."

It was planned that the bride and bridegroom were to have their wedding dinner at the father's; and that in the evening without any fuss, they should retire and take permanent possession of the Vauxhall cottage. No expensive honeymoon at a watering-place; no trip to Paris, where every thing domestic is uncomfortable, and half a year's income may be spent on the journey.