Hardly are the words uttered when up comes a monstrous right foot, which two small hands grasp at the slender ankle; for to hold the hoof itself would be somewhat like trying to hold half a ton. “That’s a dear horse. Now, find the buttons on my coat,--a lump of sugar for each button, you know.” Very gently the soft muzzle travels up the front of the little coat, and a sly nip is given to the top button. The reward is instantly offered, and crunched with a relish. Before it has had time to slip down the huge throat, Jack has found the second button, and won his second lump. Four buttons in all, and four lumps of sugar. A few more loving pats upon the dear old nose, the assurance that she “loves him _dearly, dearly_,” and Wee Winkles prances away up Broadway to Madison Square for her morning airing, while Jack watches her until she is lost in the throng. Nearly every day, during the winter months in town for almost two years, Jack was visited, and no matter how long a time elapsed during the summer, when his little friend was out of town, Jack never forgot her, but upon her return showed his delight in every possible way. But at length came a long separation, for the little girl moved far away uptown, where she lived for two years, and then moved to the country, and Big Jack was seen no longer. We often wondered whether he missed his morning visitor and lumps of sugar, but concluded that several other children, who knew and loved him, would doubtless remember him. Not only children loved Jack, but grown people find something very fascinating in the great creature, who is by turns affectionate or mischievous, and seems to act toward his friends with remarkable discrimination, showing to some all that is gentlest and sweetest--and this usually to the little people--in his disposition, and to others his mischief. To see Jack dissemble is too funny for words to express. He will pretend he does not know a friend is near him until that friend slips his hand into his pocket for the apple or sugar which Jack knows all the time is there. Then he will turn his head slowly, very slowly, toward the individual, who may have been standing there for the past two minutes,--time is of no value to Jack,--then a quiet, scarcely perceptible change in the position of the ears, a surprised opening of the eyes, as though to say: “Why, really, are _you_ there? I _am_ surprised! I had no idea that you were within half a mile. _So_ pleased to see you!” Then the sweet morsel is accepted in the most gracious manner imaginable, as though his lordship were conferring a great favor by condescending to accept the attention. And now I must tell you something which seems almost too wonderful to be true. After a lapse of five years we can tell a tale of Jack’s intelligence which is truly extraordinary, and which proves conclusively, if, indeed, the fact ever could be doubted, that our dumb friend has a memory which some of his two-footed friends might envy.