"Why should he not go, daddy?" replied my mother, who was accustomed to addressing him in this manner. "Be your own judge of the world, my son, nor ever think bad of it until you have made your virtues an example to others, for they who condemn the world most have least to lay at its door." She then took my hand affectionately, and after gently rebuking my father for his attempt, as she styled it, to excite me to melancholy, which she held to be a great enemy to youth, kissed me and bade me adieu. And I set out, taking the road to Barnstable. They both leaned over the little gate, and twice exchanged adieus with me, as I turned to have a last look at all that had been so dear to my childhood. Faithful old Tray bore me company, and wagged his tail approvingly, and the rose tree tops, as I fancied, waved me a God speed; and the wind whispered joyously; and the birds flirted and sported before me on the sandy road, and tuned their songs to the temper of my feelings. Between me and Tray there existed the uninterrupted friendship of a lifetime, the recollections of which I have sometimes thought of writing for the benefit of future generations, seeing that to write one's recollections, (to which may be added the recollections of others,) is become extremely fashionable. Tray had been my companion in many an adventure, all of which I thought he at this moment treasured in his memory, and would have recounted were he possessed of the power of speech. Having ascended a piece of rising ground, about a mile from the house, I sat down by the road side, intending to take leave of him and send him back, according to the request of my mother. He immediately planted himself close by my side, laid his great paw incessantly upon my knee, and, with looks of regret, would have expressed the friendship he bore me with caresses. Indeed there seemed a hidden goodness in his heart, a nobleness that caused the current of his friendship to flow with much gentleness, and a singleness in his mute appeals to my approbation, that I could not help contrasting with the insincerity of those dogs who go about the world on two legs, and imagine themselves most valiant when devouring one another. After resting for a few minutes, and casting a longing look over the scene behind me, recalling, as it did, so many old associations, I told Tray that we must part; and that as he was now well down in years, perhaps we should never more meet again. He seemed to understand all I said to him, and, as I patted him gently upon the head, repaid my friendship by caressing my hand, and turning upon me several sympathetic looks. On telling him that he must go home, he hung his head, and drooped his tail, and moved slowly into the road, several times halting and casting reluctant looks back. Then he stretched himself down in the sand, and placing his head between his great paws, watched me out of sight.