Six years ago I brought him down, A baby dog, from London town; Round his small throat of black and brown A ribbon blue, And touched by glorious renown A dachshund true. His mother most majestic dame, Of blood unmixed, from Potsdam came, And Kaiser’s race we deemed the same— No lineage higher. And so he bore the imperial name; But ah, his sire! Soon, soon the day’s conviction bring: The collie hair, the collie swing, The tail’s indomitable ring, The eye’s unrest— The case was clear; a mongrel thing Kai stood confest. But all those virtues which commend The humbler sort who serve and tend, Were thine in store, thou faithful friend. What sense, what cheer, To us declining tow’rd our end, A mate how dear! Thine eye was bright, thy coat it shone; Thou hadst thine errands off and on; In joy thy last morn flew; anon A fit. All’s over; And thou art gone where Geist hath gone, And Toss and Rover. Well, fetch his graven collar fine, And rub the steel and make it shine, And leave it round thy neck to twine, Kai, in thy grave. There of thy master keep that sign And this plain stave. Miss Cobbe is a devoted, outspoken friend of all animals. She says: “I have, indeed, always felt much affection for dogs—that is to say, for those who exhibit the true dog character, which is far from being the case with every canine creature. Their sageness, their joyousness, their transparent little wiles, their caressing and devoted affection, are to me more winning—even, I may say, more really and intensely _human_ (in the sense in which a child is human)—than the artificial, cold, and selfish characters one meets too often in the guise of ladies and gentlemen.”