Of O’Brontë, Brontë’s son, with “the same still, serene, smiling and sagacious eyes.” Of Rover, the best beloved, whose master stood beside him when he died, “trying to soothe and comfort the poor animal. A very few minutes before death closed his fast-glazing eye, the professor said, ‘Rover, my poor fellow, give me your paw.’ The dying animal made an effort to reach his master’s hand; and so thus parted my father with his favorite, as one man taking leave of another.” Of Charlie, Fido, Tip, and Fang, Paris and many more, not to mention his friendly canine friends, Neptune, Tickler, Tory, Wasp, and Juba, who graciously kept him on their visiting-list. Should any one wish to know more of these dogs, he will find plenty to interest him in the writings of Christopher North, especially in that pleasant miscellany called the _Noctes Ambrosianæ_. [Illustration: “BABY RAB.” (_Sketch by Dr. John Brown._)] But the pet most singular and most fairy-like of all, was a sparrow, that for eleven years inhabited his study, dwelling with him in an intimacy so entire that the family declared it was developing both in size and character by the association, and if it lived, would in time become an eagle. To think of the tiny creature fluttering around great Christopher, nestling in his waistcoat pocket, carrying stray hairs from his shoulders to its cage, with nest intentions; perching on his inkstand, even pecking at his pen! What familiarity, what audacity with genius! And supposing the nest actually had been made, with those precious hairs inwoven, how relic-hunters would be seeking it to-day! The intimacy between this strangely dissimilar pair is only one more proof that “The brave are aye the tenderest The loving are the daring;” and I cannot but think that if his books should be forgotten, the legend of the sparrow would still keep Wilson’s memory green. A friend and brother-author of Scott and Wilson was the Ettrick Shepherd, James Hogg. To judge from his own account, and from that in the _Noctes_, his liking for dogs must have equaled theirs. His perception of canine character was acute; and through his description we feel well acquainted with Hector, the Collie. According to the Shepherd, Hector had a sense of humor matched only by his politeness, and once even, when intensely amused by a conversation between his master and a friend, “louped o’er a stone wa’,” that he might laugh unseen behind it. Maida used to grin; why not Hector?