towards the other end, turn about and race back once more. Suddenly, however, in the very middle, they remain as if rooted to the ground, no longer longitudinal to the fence—but at right angles with it, and touch noses through the rails. They stand thus for a considerable time, and then once more resume their strange and ineffectual race, shoulder to shoulder on either side of the fence. Finally, however, my dog makes use of his liberty and races off. This is always a terrible moment for the imprisoned one. This sudden lighting out is to him something unendurable; it is villainy unutterable and unparalleled—to think that the other dog, his racial colleague, should really think of abandoning him! So he raves, howls, acts like one possessed, races up and down his territory, all by himself, threatens to jump over the fence and strangle the traitor, and keeps on hurling the vilest curses after him. Bashan cannot help hearing all this pother, and he is most disagreeably affected by it, as his guilty and diffident air proclaims. Still he refuses to look back, and jogs easily along. During this the terrible maledictions to our rear gradually decline in intensity and slowly die away into low whinings and thin yowls. Such is the customary course of events when one of the parties concerned happens to be under duress. But the strange contrariety of things reaches its apex when the _rencontre_ takes place under equal conditions and both happen to be free of foot. It is extremely unpleasant to be obliged to describe this—really, it is the most oppressive, embarrassing and ticklish situation conceivable. However—— Bashan, who has just been blithely gambolling about, comes to me, simply forcing himself upon my attention with that peculiar sniffling and whining which arise from the very profounds of his nature. These sounds cannot be interpreted as the expression of any particular emotion, though I at once recognise them as an attempt to tell me of the approach of a strange dog. I peer sharply about me. No mistake—there he comes—and it is clear even from afar, as proclaimed by his cautious and hesitant advance, that he has become conscious of the other. My own anxiety is scarcely less than that of the other two—I have premonitions that this meeting is going to be precarious and highly undesirable. “Go ’way!” I say to Bashan. “What d’ye mean by clinging to my leg! Can’t you two carry on negotiations amongst yourselves—and at a distance?” I try to push him away with my stick, for if it should come to a battle of bites, which—whether there be a reason for it or not—is extremely probable, it is sure to take place around my feet and I shall become the centre of a most unedifying tussle. “Go ’way!” I repeat hoarsely.