Dogs I Have Known. By the Rev. Harry Jones. (S.P.C.K.)—
This is a charming little book, especially interesting to sym- pathetic readers of the Spectator, because it gives first-hand evidence of " dog-stories " quite as remarkable as any that have appeared in our columns. What could be stranger, for instance, than the story of 'Nep P He had accompanied his master on a visit to a country-house in Suffolk. The next time Mr. Jones went down to Suffolk, ` Nep ' was left behind. He escaped from the house throe hours afterwards, and found his way to the railway- station,—but not the station from which he had travelled on the former occasion. This time he went to Liverpool Street, which had been opened in the interval. ` who used to spend hours every day of his life, winter and summer, in a mere, hunting water- fowl, which he never by any chance caught, was another remark- able character. He was a tyrant, and the relief felt by the other dogs at his death was curiously manifested. A deer-hound, for instance, was emboldened to come and try to get on his master's lap. It is not only of dogs that Mr. Jones has curious tales to tell. There is one of a black, one-eyed cat, which always came to his room in the morning and mewed for admission. In its old age, it taught a kitten, precisely like itself, even to the loss of one eye, to do the same; and then, as Mr. Jones puts it, "contentedly laid. herself down to die, knowing that a black, one-eyed cat would punctually visit our room betimes every day."
Previous page
