ANOTHER "FOUR-FOOTED FRIEND."

[To THE EDITOR OF THE "SPECTATOR."]

STR,—I dare not hope to equal the eloquent and most touching biography of "Nero," with whom I had the honour of a slight acquaintance. But I was the possessor of an animal who, in his way as a dog, not a cat, for originality of character, reasoning- power, talent, and devoted affection I have never seen equalled in this species, and you and your readers may possibly be interested by a sketch of his biography.

Where " Sprig " was born I do not know, nor had I any acquaintance with his parents. One morning several years ago I chanced to go down stairs early, and found the milk-boy at the hall door, delivering his daily supply to the cook. In the courtyard before my house was a bright-looking rough terrier of small size, ;frisking about very cheerfully, trying to catch the small stump of of a tail which some cruel despoiler had left him. As he was engaged in this pastime, a large brown retriever entered the gate, to look on, I suppose, for he had an amused expression of face, and was wagging his tail amicably. Sprig, however, though but a mite in comparison, decidedly resented the intrusion, and flew at the retriever's throat, from which he had to be choked off by his owner, who brought him back in his arms. The little fellow was in the ilighest state of excitement and anger, his bright, intelligent eyes flashily, and his hair bristling. He was indeed most amusingly fierce, but was soon calmed when he was shown, and told, that his enemy had fled, whereupon the following colloquy ensued between myself and his owner :—Myself "And where did you get that dog, boy? You did not steal him, I hope?" Boy, in a rich Dublin brogue " Ah now I would I stale anythin, yer honner, an' me the poor milk-boy? Is it stale him ? Bedad, it's my father's cuzin that's at the Curragh I Sure he's a corporal, so he is. He brought him, and he sez, Yez'll get me a pound for him, and no less.' So it's apound I want for him, Sur, and nothin' less. An' sure John Lambert knows me well, —so he does!" When John, my servant, was sent for, he gave a good account of the lad, and as he entirely approved of Sprig, I gave the sovereign, showing it to the dog, whose wonder- ing eyes were glancing from one to the other. Then I said to the

boy, "Put him into my arms, and tell him he belongs to me ;" and he did so. The little fellow looked curiously and wistfully at the lad, who, to do him justice, had tears in his eyes, and then nestled into my breast, licking my hands and face. When my daughter came down stairs, I took up Sprig and placed him in my youngest daughter's arms, a process he appeared to comprehend perfectly, and told him she was his mistress ; nor to the day of his death did he ever falter in his devoted allegiance to her. He was very fond of me and of us all, but his deepest love was for his mistress, and on many °cousins was most affecting to see. She was often delicate, and once had a sharp attack of typhus fever. In this ill- ness Sprig never left her. He would lie at the foot of her bed watching her, and would sometimes creep gently up to her, put his paws round her neck, and lick her hands softly, while the plead- ing of his large eyes looking from his mistress, in her unconscious delirium, to her sister and me, was touching in the extreme. Indeed, there were then many sad illnesses, but Sprig was always the same. As my child grew stronger and better her little friend would amuse her by the hour together ; sit up, beg, preach, play with his ball, and try in humble doggie fashion to beguile her of her pain. But I am anticipating.

Sprig, was, 1 believe, what is called a Dandie Dinmont, and as he grew up he became, for his class, a very handsome, as he was a sturdy little fellow, with great strength for his size. He was a reddish-brown colour, more dark-red than brown, like a squirrel, with white below, and a delightfully fuzzy head, and a breast of long soft white hair. His eyes were that peculiar bright liquid " dog " brown which is capable of so much expression, and he grew to have a long moustache and beard. Even the most unobservant of dogs admired him, for he resembled no terrier I have ever seen. I think he would have won the prize of his class at the Dublin Dog Show, had it not been for a terrible accident he met with in being wounded by a large foxhound in a neighbouring orchard. His neck was then torn open, and he was rescued by John only in time to prevent his being killed. As it was, it was weeks before he could walk,—and how patient he was all the time! and as the wound healed it left a thickening of his skin which had an awkward look. Sprig was however" highly commended." In his youth he was perhaps rather short in his temper, and always resented in the most distinct manner any liberty that was taken with him. To tread upon his foot was perilous, but he was at once pacified if an apology was made that it was accidental ; but to pull his tail wilfully was an insult which he resented bit.. terly, and for which much atonement was necessary, or he would go under the sofa and cry in his peculiar manner when offended.

As he grew up, Sprig developed various talents which were highly cultivated. His greatest pleasure, perhaps, was in an indiarubber ball, with which his gambols were indescribably pretty and constant. It was a great distress when he lost or mislaid his ball, and he was miserable till he found it, or another was brought him. It was a cruel thing to say, when one of us went to town, "Sprig, I will bring you a new ball," and as some- times happened, to forgot to do so. On return he would sniff about the person who had gone, poke his nose into his or her pockets, and if disappointed could hardly be soothed, but would go away and have his quiet cry to himself. Sometimes a kind friend who knew him might bring him a new ball ; but it very much depended on who presented it whether it was accepted or not, and I am afraid that too frequently for his good manners he turned it over contemp- tuously with his nose and left it for the old one, which, gnawed, bitten, and broken, was still the favourite. I used sometimes to make a ball squeak by pressing the hole against my hand, and I believe he thought it was in pain, for he would whine piteously, and would not let me rest till he had it again in his possession. It was most amusing to see him when a parcel of new balls arrived, he having been told beforehand that one was coming. He would find out directly who had it, and become impatient and cross indeed if he did not get it directly. When the parcel was given him, his great delight was to open it himself and select one. A red ball was usually preferred, but not always. All were sub- jected to the most varied trials,—gnawed, smelt, and rolled, till the one which pleased his fancy was finally selected ; of the rest he would take no notice whatever.

Sprig was thoroughly a gentleman, and on most occasions he was most attentive to lady visitors. He never noticed gentlemen. On one occasion, when my daughters were out, a dear friend called (Nero's mistress). She told us afterwards that Sprig had been a most attentive beau. He met her at the ball door, welcomed her in his odd fashion, trotted before her into the drawing-room, look- ing behind him to see if she followed. He then jumped upon the ottoman, inviting her to sit down ; when she was seated he brought his ball and went through all his tricks with it, sat up on his hind legs, begged with his paws, preached to her in his own

queer way, and kept her amused till, no longer able to remain, she bid him good morning and left, evidently to his disgust. " Could he have spoken," she said afterwards, "he would have told me to wait, for his mistresses would soon be back ; the look

was in his face, but the words were wanting." His attention to visitors was never omitted. When we had a ball or evening party, he would await, with John Lambert, the several arrivals at the ball door, welcome each new party, and usher them in a solemn manner into the drawing-room or tea-room, returning for a new set to his former place. Nor did he want for an occasional cake or biscuit at the tea-table ; "he was so amiable," said the young ladies, "he could not be resisted."

As an instance of how perfectly he understood what was said to him, I may relate that one hot day I had walked out from

town, and being thirsty wont into the dining-room for a drink of water.- I saw Sprig's ball under the table, and when I went into the garden where my girls were sitting they said, "Sprig has lost his ball, and is perfectly miserable." After I had sent him to look about for it, I said, "Now Sprig, I know where it is ; I saw it in the dining-room under the table ; go fetch it." He looked brightly

at me, and I repeated what I had said. He trotted off, and while we were wondering whether he had understood me, he returned with it in his mouth quite delighted. I have mentioned his preaching, which may sound rather irreverent, but it was an accomplishment entirely of his own invention. When seated in a chair after dinner, and requested to preach, he would sit, up, place his forepaws gravely on the table, and then lifting up one

paw as high as his head, and then the other, deliver a discourse to the company in a sort of gurgling, growling manner, with an occasional low bark, which was indescribably ludicrous to see and

hear. What he meant by it we could never find out, but I ques- tion whether he prized any of his accomplishments more than this. Sometimes, but not often, he would go out by himself to take a walk, we supposed to see his friends, for I never heard that he

had any love affairs. If we all, or my daughters or myself, met him on his return, I, or they, or we all might call to him, notice him as he brushed past us, or ask him to come for a walk. No. He would have none of our company ; he would cut us dead, and go toddling home, his tail more erect and quivering than ever ; never hastening his sedate pace, and giving his usual kick-out with one hind leg every third or fourth step, as was his custom. He would have no connection with us ; that was quite clear and decided. Sprig was very fond, too, of a walk with his mistresses or with me, and, though never taught it, would always

wipe his feet clean on the hall mat as he came in. I am now going to relate an anecdote of Sprig which I know is almost be-

yond credibility, but the occurrence so displayed his power of thought and reason that I cannot withhold it. My usual haunt is my den, as I call it, a large room at one end of our old rambling house. There Sprig never came unless with his mistresses, and indeed never was easy when he was there. I had begun a large full- length picture of my daughter, and Sprig and Whisky, a small Skye puppy, were to be painted lying at their feet. As the picture pro- gressed, Sprig seemed to understand all about it, and paid me the compliment of wagging his tail at the portraits. One day my girls had been sitting to me, and it was now Sprig's turn to sit. I put him into the proper position and told him to lie still, and he proved a most patient sitter. When the sketch of him was

finished, I showed it to him ; I think he was pleased with his likeness, for he licked my face ; but as he smelt at his portrait, he did not like himself, and growled. Whisky was now put into position, but was very restless, although Sprig scolded her by snarling at her. Next day I had put the picture against the wall near the window, and before a few steps which led up into my bed-room, and was busy perched on a step-ladder with the after-

portion of it. By and by I heard a great scratching at my bed- room door, which was closed, and Sprig whining to get in. I thought this odd, but it was too much trouble to come down from

my perch, and I told him to go away. He, however, only whined and scratched the more. I therefore descended, and getting behind the picture, went up the steps and opened the door. Sprig

did not notice me, but pushing past me hurried down the steps,

and then, as I emerged into the room, looked up to me blandly, and actually sat down in the place in which I had put him the day before. I said to him gravely, though infinitely amused, "No, Sprig, I don't want you to-day ; look, the colour is all wet, go away to your mistress." He looked very blank and greatly dis- appointed, and stood up with his tail drooped. Suddenly a bright thought seemed to strike him, as if he had said, "Now I have it!" Whisky had got hold of one of my slippers, and was playing with it in my bed-room, and Sprig, rushing up the steps, seized her by the " scruff " of her neck, dragged her howling down the steps, and put her, I can use no other words, into the place where she had been the day before. He then came to me frisking about, and could he but have spoken, would have said, "If you don't want me, you must her, and there she is !" He was quite triumphant. about it; and dirty as I was, and palette in hand, I took him forthwith to the drawing-room and told them what had happened..

I could tell numberless other stories of the reasoning power and intelligence of our little pet, but I should trespass at too great length on your patience. I could describe a curious friendship which sprang up between him and a German friend who was staying some time with us ; how he learned many new tricks from him, and was taught to hop on his hind legs from one end of the drawing-. room to the other, with our friend hopping backwards before him;. I could describe his evening romps with my dear father, never omitted while my father lived ; and the many curious traits by which his great love for us was perpetually displayed,—how he learned to crack nuts of all kinds, and to pick out the kernels like a squirrel,—how he never went into the servants' hall or the' kitchen, and refused to associate with the servants, though friendly with them, and especially with John Lambert, his fast friend.. But I must bring this sketch to a close.

We had been absent about a year in Germany and the South of

France. After we left, Sprig was inconsolable, and would not eat ; but the cook made him little curries and rice, and after a. time he became more resigned. We only heard that he wan, well, and hoped we should find him so. The day we arrived I thought he would have died for joy. He gasped for breath, and lay down, and when taken up by his mis- tress lay in her arms almost insensible. It was long before he came to himself, and when he did revive, it is quite impossible to. describe his delight, or what he did. He was, indeed, quite be- side himself with joy, scouring about, dragging his mistress here and there, doing all his tricks in a confused manner, and, in short,. behaving after a very insane fashion indeed. We noticed he had. a slight cough ; but he seemed otherwise quite well, and we- thought it would go away ; but it increased, and at that time- there was an epidemic of bronchitis among dogs. We sent him to an eminent veterinary surgeon, who blistered him (and how- patient the poor fellow was under the pain cannot be told), but though relieved for the time, the end was near. One morning he was seen to do an apparently quite unaccountable thing. He took his son Terry (whom be was never known to notice except by knocking him over and standing upon him, growling fiercely,) all round our- village, and visited all the dogs in it. John saw him doing this. early in the morning, and told me of it. I suppose he was com- mending Terry to their favour. He coughed a great deal all day,. and breathed heavily ; but in the evening he was very bright, and to all appearance much better, and insisted on doing all his tricks. till it was time to go to bed. Sprig never would go to bed will- ingly. John used to come to the drawing-room door and call him, and he would go to it, but stand growling till he was caught up and carried off. That evening, as we remembered, he seemed more than ever unwilling to go, but was caught up and carried away.

In the morning, about six o'clock—it was summer-time—I was-

just about to get up, when John Lambert knocked at my door,. and came in with Sprig in his arms. He did not speak, and I asked him whether Sprig was worse. "He's dead, Sir," said he, with the tears rolling down his face, and hardly able to speak.. "Quite dead, Sir; he must have died only a little while ago, for when I went to let him out, I found him dead and quite warm,. as he is still." I am not ashamed to write that my eyes felt very blind, but there was no hope ; the dear little fellow was quite- dead ; he had died calmly, and his eyes were bright ; they had. not glazed.

We buried him, John and myself, when he was quite cold and

stiff, by a rose-tree at the end of the garden. Poor John could hardly dig the grave, and his tears fell fast and silently and upon, dear old Sprig as we covered him up for ever. I wish I could write a fitting epitaph for a creature who, through his life, was a constant source of pleasure to all who knew him.—I am, Sir, &c.,,

M. T.