During the next reign, in another county of England, lived another dog, the opposite of Bungey in appearance and manners, but who, nevertheless, has attained a wide fame. He was no dog of the courts, graceful and dapper; he knew no tricks to enchance the value of a faithful heart; in fact, he was only a large, ungainly mastiff, whose merits as a watch-dog were all that recommended him. He belonged to old Sir Henry Lee of Ditchley, and the way in which his name became notable, is this: He was a “yard-dog,” and of course slept outside of the house. One night, however, he persisted in following the master to his bedroom. Blows and persuasion were alike useless to drive him away. The Italian valet shut the door upon him, and then the animal sat down outside and howled. Probably Sir Henry reflected that at this rate he would get no sleep at all. At any rate, as the least of two evils, he ordered the door to be opened. In walked the mastiff, silenced at last, and content; for “with a wag of the tail, and a look of affection at his lord,” he crawled under the bed and lay down. Matters being thus peaceably adjusted, the valet left the room, and Sir Henry settled himself for sleep. About midnight, the quiet was broken by a sudden disturbance and uproar. The mastiff had sprung from his ambush, and seized some one by the throat. When the half-strangled victim, through Sir Harry’s interference, was released, it proved to be no other than the amiable Italian who had exerted himself a few hours before to drive the dog from the room. Now, under the influence of fright, and the fear of prosecution, he confessed that his object was the murder and robbery of his master. By this time, I take it, the house was roused. One can readily imagine the scene: Sir Harry in his laced night-gear, the frightened servants, the scared yet sullen criminal, still held in check by an occasional low growl from his late assailant. And the mastiff himself--can you not see the uncouth, powerful, sagacious figure, his whole attention centered on the would-be-thief, and quite unaware that he himself is the hero of the hour? But such he was, and Sir Harry Lee of Ditchley--a just man and gallant soldier--knew how both to appreciate and reward his fidelity. We set up statues to our great men, or, in Sir Harry’s own England, valor and genius find memorial in Westminster Abbey. To commemorate then, in like manner, the heroic deed of his mastiff, Sir Harry had a painting made by Johnson, an artist of note. It represents the old soldier wrapped in a leather cloak that harmonizes well with his powerful frame and look of activity. Beside him is the mastiff, and, at the bottom of the picture, this inscription: “More Faithful than Favoured.”