A DOG-STORY.
[TO THE EDITOR OF THE "SPECTATOR."]
SIR,—I have a fox-terrier whose idiosyncrasies excite much interest. Professor Lloyd Morgan, of University College, Bristol, chronicled the same in one of his articles dealing with animal instinct. This dog never sees a match lighted without attempting to put it out, and jumps and snaps at it in a most excited manner. When he was quite young, I dropped some- thing on the floor, and as it was growing dark, lit a candle and stooped down to look for it. The dog jumped at the candle and extinguished it. I thought it was done by accident and relit it. The animal snapped again at the flame, and again put it out. He has often singed himself subsequently, but has always persevered, when permitted, till he has put out a match lighted and held within jumping reach, or a lighted candle ; but as paraffin lamps are used in our house, we have thought it rather dangerous to encourage his proclivity lest it might lead to accident. He also, if a small pair of tongs be taken out of the fireplace and given to him, behaves in a most singular manner, whining over them most plaintively, seizing them in his teeth, and then letting them go again, and whining as if begging them not to hurt him, just as, in "Robinson Crnsoe," Friday is said to have talked to the gun. We can only account for this by the fact that, when a very young dog, one of the servants threatened to pinch him with the tongs—perhaps she actually did so—but the reason for his light-extinguishing propensity is totally an enigma to us.
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