For eight summers a little cocker spaniel (Archos) was daily with the writer in field and forest, and to his industry and sagacity is due no small part of the success in obtaining fresh specimens for the life size, hand-colored work by Mrs. N. E. Jones, entitled, “The Illustrations of the Nests and Eggs of Birds of Ohio.” Many of the rare small birds build on or near the ground in thick cover, and among those he was credited with finding may be mentioned the obscure nest and eggs of the Helminthophaga pinus--Blue-winged yellow warbler, and the nest of the Geothlypistrichas--Maryland yellow-throat. He knew the object of pursuit as well as his master, and delighted in finding these little homes, and would stand firmly on a point, as it was understood between us that the bird must be shot when flushed for positive identification. He knew what his master was doing, for he understood the meaning of almost all words used in ordinary conversation, and could transact business on orders with admirable accuracy. While out with a friend quail shooting, the sun was warm and we sat down on the cool grass in a fence corner shaded by the dead leaves on an oak bush. The little cocker was panting with heat and enjoyed the shade quite as much as his master. Soon a voice was heard from my friend, on the opposite border of a large field, calling: “Send Archos over here. I have a dead bird my dog can’t find.” The cocker paid no attention to the call, and no reply was made by the writer. And to show how much a dog may acquire of the meaning of words in a few years, I said to Archos in a conversational tone, as he ceased panting and fixed his great dark eyes on the speaker: “Ed has lost a dead bird--he can not find it; you go over and get it.” No sooner said than the little fellow started off in the tall ragweed which covered the field, and unknown to my friend scented the dead bird and brought it and laid it at my feet, all the time smiling and wagging the tail, as much as to say, “I would like to tell you how nicely that was done, but I can’t talk--dare not.” Bab says: “Away back in some old book there is a story how dogs used to talk, and were men’s advisers. One day a great prince met a beautiful woman, and despite of the advice of the dog who was his counselor, he married her, and he made her cousin, a beggar, his prime minister. Amid the festivities, the dog warned the prince to watch the woman, told the prince that she was unfaithful, that her cousin was her lover, and that between them they would rob the kingdom and drive him from the throne. He turned on the dog and cursed him--cursed him so that this good friend, looking at the prince, said: ‘Until men are grateful and women are faithful, I and my kind will never speak again.’”