"When this dog left his master's house, he was often assailed by a number of little noisy dogs in the street. He usually passed them with apparent unconcern, as if they were beneath his notice; but one little cur was particularly troublesome, and at length carried his impudence so far as to bite the Newfoundland dog in the leg. This was a degree of wanton insult beyond what he could patiently endure; and he instantly turned round, ran after the offender, and seized him by the skin of the back. In this way he carried him in his mouth to the quay, and, holding him some time over the water, at length dropped him into it. He did not, however, seem to design that the culprit should be punished capitally. He waited a little while, until the poor animal, who was unused to that element, was not only well ducked, but nearly sinking, and then plunged in, and brought him safe to land." "It would be difficult," says Dr. Hancock, in his Essay on Instinct, "to conceive any punishment more aptly contrived or more completely in character. Indeed, if it were fully analyzed, an ample commentary might be written in order to show what a variety of comparisons and motives and generous feelings entered into the composition of this act." No one ever drew more legitimate consequence from certain existing premises. One other story should not be omitted of this noble breed of water-dogs. A vessel was driven on the beach of Lydd, in Kent. The surf was rolling furiously. Eight poor fellows were crying for help, but not a boat could be got off to their assistance. At length a gentleman came on the beach accompanied by his Newfoundland dog: he directed the attention of the animal to the vessel, and put a short stick into his mouth. The intelligent and courageous fellow at once understood his meaning, sprung into the sea, and fought his way through the waves. He could not, however, get close enough to the vessel to deliver that with which he was charged; but the crew understood what was meant, and they made fast a rope to another piece of wood, and threw it towards him. The noble beast dropped his own piece of wood and immediately seized that which had been cast to him, and then, with a degree of strength and determination scarcely credible,--for he was again and again lost under the waves,--he dragged it through the surge and delivered it to his master. A line of communication was thus formed, and every man on board was rescued. There is, however, a more remarkable fact recorded in the Penny Magazine.