The writer of the _Nugæ_ was Sir John Harrington--a man of literary tastes, witty, vivacious, warm-hearted and sarcastic. He put into his collection a little about a good many things. There are items of secret or curious history; there are good stories about “King Elizabeth and Queen James,” as some witty person entitled them; there are letters; and there is one letter, above all, full of interest and feeling, “concerninge his dogge, Bungey.” It was written to the young Prince Henry, King James’s oldest son; and Sir John evidently thought it worth while to make a copy, before sending away the original. It is only a trifle in the great sum of history--yet a trifle that means much. The brilliant Sir John comes very near us as we read; and none of his wit pleases us so well as this simple and affectionate tribute to the dog he had lost. One or two facts “concerninge” Bungey’s owner may not be amiss before giving the letter. [Illustration: PRINCE HENRY, ELDEST SON OF JAMES I. (_From rare print by Crispin Pass._)] When Elizabeth of England was a simply-dressed princess instead of the elaborately got-up potentate into which she afterwards developed, she had the ill-luck to be suspected of aiming at her sister’s throne. In consequence, not only was she herself put into the Tower, but various friends of hers were arrested, among them a gentleman named Harrington. He was heavily fined, besides being imprisoned. When, however, a few years later, Elizabeth became queen, she did not forget her old adherent, and among other marks of favor, stood godmother to his son John, afterwards Sir John Harrington. The fortunate baby grew up into a handsome and entertaining young man, with such an aptitude for saying bright things that his reputation spread far and wide. A maid-servant at an inn waited very carefully on him, for fear that if he were neglected, he “would make an epigram of her.” Even the Queen used to speak of him as her “witty godson.” She probably had no idea his wit ever turned on her own foibles, as well as those of other people. That it did so, however, appears from his journal. One item, remembering Elizabeth’s three thousand dresses, is especially amusing: “On Sunday, my Lorde of London preachede to the Queene’s Majestie, and seemede to touch on the vanitie of deckinge the bodie too finely. Her Majestie tolde the Ladies that if the Bishope helde more discorse on such matters, she wolde fit him for Heaven, but he shoulde walke thither withoute a staffe, and leave his mantle behinde him; perchance the Bishope hathe never soughte her Highnesse wardrobe, or he wolde have chosen another texte.”