is the sheep-dog crossed with the terrier. He has long and somewhat deservedly obtained a very bad name, as a bully and a coward; and certainly his habit of barking at everything that passes, and flying at the heels of the horse, renders him often a very dangerous nuisance: he is, however, in a manner necessary to the cottager; he is a faithful defender of his humble dwelling; no bribe can seduce him from his duty; and he is likewise a useful and an effectual guard over the clothes and scanty provisions of the labourer, who may be working in some distant part of the field. All day long he will lie upon his master's clothes seemingly asleep, but giving immediate warning of the approach of a supposed marauder. He has a propensity, when at home, to fly at every horse and every strange dog; and of young game of every kind there is not a more ruthless destroyer than the village cur. Mr. Hogg draws the following curious parallel between the sheep-dog and the cur: "An exceedingly good sheep-dog attends to nothing but the particular branch of business to which he is bred. His whole capacity is exerted and exhausted in it; and he is of little avail in miscellaneous matters; whereas a very indifferent cur bred about the house, and accustomed to assist in everything will often put the more noble breed to disgrace in these little services. If some one calls out that the cows are in the corn or the hens in the garden, the house colley needs no other hint, but runs and turns them out. The shepherd's dog knows not what is astir, and, if he is called out in a hurry for such work, all that he will do is to run to the hill, or rear himself on his haunches to see that no sheep are running away. A well-bred sheep-dog, if coming hungry from the hills, and getting into a milk-house, would likely think of nothing else than filling his belly with the cream. Not so his initiated brother: he is bred at home to far higher principles of honour. I have known such lie night and day among from ten to twenty pails full of milk, and never once break the cream of one of them with the tip of his tongue, nor would he suffer cat, rat, or any other creature to touch it. While, therefore, the cur is a nuisance, he is very useful in his way, and we would further plead for him, that he possesses a great deal of the sagacity and all the fidelity of the choicest breed of dogs." The dog who, according to the well-known and authentic story, watched the remains of his master for two years in the churchyard of St. Olave's, in Southwark, was a cur. The following story is strictly authentic: