plenty of wit, and he often proves it by what he says; but it’s an evil kind of wit, mischievous and wicked!”

“Oh! doctor, consider that he is not eight years old, so you told us! One would think, to hear you talk, that you do not love children.”

“I do love them dearly until they are two years old; but very little when they are growing up.”

“If this one has intelligence, there is still hope; only the unintelligent are hopeless.”

“Ah! but what I love,” cried Agathe, “is that splendid dog, who throws himself into the water as soon as he sees anyone in danger; that is magnificent!”

“That is not at all extraordinary, mademoiselle, in a dog of that breed. I do not mean to decry Ami’s merit, I acknowledge that it is very great—although our acquaintance began in such strange fashion, as you remember. I simply mean to say that history, both ancient and modern, relates such astounding facts with respect to dogs that one would be tempted to doubt them, if they did not come from authors deserving of credit. Moreover, we ourselves constantly witness actions which do honor to the canine race. I have read not a little—for one must do something with one’s time, and in this small place my profession leaves me a great deal of leisure. If I were not afraid of making myself a bore, I would tell you some of these remarkable stories.”

“Far from boring us, it will interest us deeply; but you will allow us to work while we listen.”

The doctor, having taken a pinch of snuff, bowed to the ladies, because he thought that he was going to sneeze, and continued, with that supremely happy expression which appears upon the faces of people who are given to gossiping when they see that their listeners are profoundly attentive:

“What I am about to tell you, mesdames, you know already, perhaps; for, I say again, they are facts reported by historians or travellers; you will please stop me if I tell what is familiar to you.

“In a history of the Indies, by Oviedo, I have read that a man who was guilty of a heinous crime was abandoned to a dog who was accustomed to eat the poor devils who were placed at his mercy. Well, the criminal having thrown himself at the dog’s feet, praying for mercy, the beast took pity on him and did him no injury. The authorities, believing that they saw the hand of God in the incident, pardoned the culprit. To my mind this is far more wonderful than the story of Androcles; for Androcles had previously rendered the lion a service by removing a thorn from his foot, and the king of beasts recognized his benefactor; whereas the dog had never before seen the man who knelt at his feet. The learned men of those days—who were men of merit too—declared that this miracle was to be attributed to the power of the man’s eyes over those of the dog; and this is the opinion of modern scholars as well; they attribute to the human glance a mighty power of intimidation, let us rather say of fascination, over all animals; and it is this power of the glance which enables men to subdue the wildest horses; but I return to the dog.

“A tyrant of a small principality in Italy had a pack of hounds trained to hunt men and regularly fed on human flesh. A child was tossed to this pack and the dogs did not touch it. In this case it may have been that the victim’s tender age awoke a secret compassion in their hearts. We often have proofs that dogs are very fond of children; they display with respect to them a gentleness and patience really extraordinary. Jean-Jacques Rousseau saw a child bite a poodle until it yelped with pain, and yet it did not manifest the slightest temper. The Genevan philosopher, who claimed to be a friend of mankind, did not fail to draw this conclusion: that dogs are superior to men.

“The dog displays unwavering attachment to his master; he understands his wishes, knows his habits, always submits to his will: to serve him is a necessity of his existence. In Siberia, during the summer, the dogs are allowed to run wild, so that they may provide themselves with food. No matter how much they may be overworked, brutally treated, beaten even, they return to their masters none the less, at the approach of winter, to be harnessed anew to the sledge and resume their laborious service.

“In India there are the pariah dogs, which have neither master, nor friend, nor home. They try to attach themselves to strangers, they exhaust every means of persuasion to induce them to adopt them. It often happens that one of them will follow for a long distance the palanquin of the traveller whose service he begs to enter, and he does not leave it until he falls in his tracks, utterly exhausted.

“According to Cuvier, mankind made the most useful and complete of all conquests when it domesticated the dog. ‘Without the dog,’ he says, ‘men would have fallen victims to the wild beasts they have subdued.’ Other animals surpass the dog in strength and beauty, but throughout the world the dog alone is the ally of man, because his nature makes him susceptible to man’s advances and obedient to his will. He is a turncoat, who has deserted the ranks of our enemies and passed into our camp, in order to aid us to become masters of the other animals.

“To obtain a just idea of the dog’s real worth, we must take note of the value which savage races attach to him. In Australia, women have been known to give the breast to puppies. I hasten to add that this has never been seen in France, because the women here are not savages.

“Men in general are very fond of hunting; there are some men indeed who cannot exist without it; hunting is the first instinct of the dog. In unsettled countries they join in troops to hunt the buffalo, the wild boar, and sometimes even the lion and the tiger.

“Pliny relates the anecdote of Alexander’s Albanian dog, who conquered a lion and an elephant in succession, and whose tail, paws and ears were cut off, one after another, without making him give the slightest indication of pain.

“The terrier holds his own against beasts fifteen times as large as himself; no matter how cruelly his adversary may tear him, he dies without a groan. Few of the domesticated breeds possess courage and contempt of pain in so high a degree.

“Nature develops in dogs faculties suited to the countries in which they live. The dogs of the banks of the Nile drink while running, in order not to fall into the jaws of the crocodile. The dogs of New Orleans, when they wish to cross the Mississippi, stand barking on the bank to attract the alligators; and when they feel sure that the reptiles have all assembled at that point, they scamper away at the top of their speed and jump into the stream half a mile farther up.

“Dogs have been known to resort to ingenious wiles to increase their allowance of food; they scatter it all about, then pretend to sleep, in order to attract birds and rats, which by this means they add to their repast. As a proof of their intelligence, we are told of the setter who went into partnership with a greyhound for the purpose of hunting; the one having a keener scent, undertook to discover the game; the other, fleeter of foot, to run it down. The owner of the setter conceived some suspicion, and fastened a chain to his leg in order to make locomotion difficult. As he continued his wandering life none the less, they watched him, and soon discovered that his partner, the greyhound, in order to make it easier for him to perform his part of the task, carried the end of the chain in his mouth until it was time for himself to start in chase of the game.

“One of the most difficult services which the dog is called upon to perform is that of smuggler, in the contraband trade. In that dangerous service, which is often fatal to him, he displays the most surprising sagacity. He ordinarily sets out at night, laden with merchandise; he scents the customs officer in the