A gentleman on reading this account of Dr. Huggins’s Dog, wrote to say that he possessed a son of Sybil, daughter of Turk, who possessed the family antipathy in a marked degree, and another stated that he also possessed a grandson of the redoubted Mastiff, in whom the same peculiarity was developed. Thus we see that this most remarkable instinctive dread, arising no one knows how, existed not only in Dr. Huggins’s Dog, but in his father, grandfather, brothers, and nephews! It was suggested, and it seems highly probable, that the feeling in this case first arose from the fact of some ancestor of the Turk family being ill-treated by a butcher; but it is quite possible that it may have arisen spontaneously. Boswell, in his life of Johnson, quotes the “Great Lexicographer” as attributing a similar dislike to butchers noticed in the Dogs of some savage countries, where the animal was used for food, not to horror at the butcher’s cruelty, but merely to the smell of carnage. A very remarkable _trait_ in the Dog’s character, which has undoubtedly become instinctive, and is consequently transmitted from generation to generation, is his love of human society. A well cared-for Dog will always prefer his master’s company to that of his own kind, and will take any amount of trouble, and give up any amount of personal ease, that he may not be parted from him. [Illustration: MASTIFF.] But, undoubtedly, the most wonderful canine instinct is the sense of direction, the power possessed by so many Dogs of finding their way back to an old and well-loved home, after being forcibly removed from it to a new place of abode. Instances are numerous in which Dogs, taken from their usual habitation, shut up in a basket, or by night, or in a swift railway train, have unerringly found their way back, greatly to the surprise of both their new and their old masters. Mr. Wallace has suggested that this was not a true case of instinct, but that the Dog, in all probability, found his way back by smell; that he, as it were, takes a note of every smell he passes--a stagnant pool here, a haystack there, a wayside inn, a stable, &c. &c.--and, remembering not only the smells, but the order in which he smelt them, he follows the scent until he arrives at his destination. There is no doubt that the Dog’s olfactory sense is wonderfully acute, but this is certainly carrying it too far. Moreover, as has been remarked, the direction of the wind was quite likely to change between the Dog’s two journeys, and if one of his odoriferous landmarks happened to be movable, like a flock of Sheep, where would he be? But the one fact which completely disposes of the smell theory of the phenomenon is, that there is no evidence of a Dog’s ever returning to his old home by the way he was taken from it; he invariably takes a different route, usually a short cut. For instance: “A Hound was sent by Charles Cobbe, Esq., from Newbridge, county Dublin, to Maynalty, county Meath, and thence, long