The round, thick head, turned-up nose, and thick and pendulous lips of this dog are familiar to all, while his ferocity makes him in the highest degree dangerous. In general he makes a silent although ferocious attack, and the persisting powers of his teeth and jaws enable him to keep his hold against any but the greatest efforts, so that the utmost mischief is likely to ensue as well to the innocent visitor of his domicile as the ferocious intruder. The bull-dog is scarcely capable of any education, and is fitted for nothing but ferocity and combat. The name of this dog is derived from his being too often employed, until a few years ago, in baiting the bull. It was practised by the low and dissolute in many parts of the country. Dogs were bred and trained for the purpose; and, while many of them were injured or destroyed, the head of the bull was lacerated in the most barbarous manner. Nothing can exceed the fury with which the bull-dog rushed on his foe, and the obstinacy with which he maintained his hold. He fastened upon the lip, the muzzle, or the eye, and there he hung in spite of every effort of the bull to free himself from his antagonist. Bull-dogs are not so numerous as they were a few years ago; and every kind-hearted person will rejoice to hear that bull-baiting is now put down by legal authority in every part of the kingdom. THE BULL TERRIER. This dog is a cross between the bull-dog and the terrier, and is generally superior, both in appearance and value, to either of its progenitors. A second cross considerably lessens the underhanging of the lower jaw, and a third entirely removes it, retaining the spirit and determination of the animal. It forms a steadier friendship than either of them, and the principal objection to it is its love of wanton mischief, and the dangerous irascibility which it occasionally exhibits. Sir Walter Scott, a warm friend of dogs, and whose veracity cannot be impeached, gives an interesting account of a favourite one belonging to him. "The cleverest dog I ever had was what is called a bull-dog terrier. I taught him to understand a great many words, insomuch that I am positive the communication between the canine species and ourselves might be greatly enlarged. Camp, the name of my dog, once bit the baker when bringing bread to the family. I beat him, and explained the enormity of the offence; after which, to the last moment of his life, he never heard the least allusion to the story without creeping into the darkest corner of the room. Towards the end of his life when he was unable to attend me while I was on horseback, he generally watched for my return, and, when the servant used to tell him, his master was coming down the hill, or through the moor, although he did not use any gesture to explain his meaning, Camp was never known to mistake him, but either went out at the front to go up the hill, or at the back to get down to the moor-side." THE MASTIFF