Once, when Dick was a young dog, under some provocation he flew at and slightly bit his mistress, who had no resource but to show him the iniquity of the deed in a manner which, I believe, is effectual when it is possible to practise it. According to strict injunctions as to the conduct required in the circumstances, and in the stern necessity of preventing a repetition of the offence, which might have cost the life of the offender, she caught Dick by the refractory cuff of his neck, carried him to the door of a room into which she could throw him when the time came, and while holding him in the air—which is the great secret of the effectiveness of the punishment, since the culprit feels himself, during the infliction, absolutely powerless in the grasp of the dispenser of justice—cuffed him soundly, and then flung him from her into the open door at hand, closing it quickly after him, and so preventing any possibility of a hostile attack from the dog while still writhing and struggling under his penalty. The result was, that the tender-hearted young mistress withdrew sick from giving the painful lesson she had been imperatively called on to teach. But, as in the case of Wallace, and as in that of the mastiff which Emily Brontë cowed by one box in the ear, the lesson had been learned thoroughly; Dick never again, unless in such an instance of wilful protracted teasing as I have referred to, took to biting his friends. His affection was as ardent as his temper was quick, and the convulsions of delight, the ecstatic caresses he lavished on members of the family when they returned from a temporary absence, were demonstrations to see rather than to hear of. Dick is said to have been the most entertaining companion in a walk, always making amusing discoveries, full of the freshest zest and the most unwearied energy. He had a passion for sport, of which I shall have more to say hereafter; but, sport or no sport, he never failed to find objects of interest on his way, and to impart the interest to his fortunate companion. Like Wallace, Dick could be easily induced to go through a variety of tricks—which, in my opinion, are slightly disparaging to very sensible or bright dogs, seeing that these tricks are purely artificial, entirely distinct from the dog’s natural sagacity and genuine feats, and can be imparted, if proper pains be taken, to far inferior dogs—I mean dogs that have merely the faculty of mimicry, apart from intuition, steadfastness, and a power of love which makes wise. One of Dick’s many tricks was to go through the form of sitting in his own chair at table with the family when they were at meals (though his food was taken elsewhere), and of speaking when he was told—that is, at a certain word and sign, starting off in his own dog language of yelping and whining, till he was requested to be quiet.