In our observation of the dog, we seldom attach sufficient importance to the fineness of bis senses. They are so acute that a sleeping dog knows whether he is touched by his master or a stranger, remaining quiet in the first case, and growling in the last.

Whaterer opinion may be formed of the sagacity of the dog on particular points, it is impossible to deny that he possesses (acuities in addition to those which we ordinarily call instinct. We have no intention at present to plunge into the thorny discussion of the precise extent of his intellectual powers; but we feel assured that no one can follow the dog through the several phases of history, and not acknowledge in the words of Gaston Phce-bus, which M. Blaze has taken for his motto,' That he is the most noble, most reasonable, and most knowing beast that God ever made.' And, as all his rare endowments have been dedicated to man, there is no animal in creation that has a stronger claim upon oar gratitude and love. M. Blaze, whose affectionate earnestness for the welfare of the dog, is the great charm of his book, would extend his care beyond their lives, and erect monuments to their memory. A great poet, whose feelings are always warm and true, has supplied the answer in a tribute to a dog whose death he lamented, and whose ' name' he ' honored:' - Lie here, without a record of ihy worth, Beneath a covering of the common earth! It is not from unwillingiiess to praise, Or want of love, that here no stone we raise; More thou deserv'st; but this man gives to man, Brother to brother - this is all we can.'

But, if we raise no stone, the epitaph of the dog has been written in many splendid eulogies. M. Blaze has added one more to the number, which we think is not unworthy to stand beside the best: -

'The dog,' he says, 'possesses, incontestibly, all the qualities of a sensible man; and, I grieve to say it, man has not in general the noble qualities of the dog. We make a virtue of gratitude, which is nothing but a duty; this virtue, this duty, are inherent in the dog. We brand ingratitude, and yet all men are ungrateful. It is a vice which commences in the cradle, and grows with our growth; and, together with selfishness, becomes almost always the grand mover of human actions. The dog knows not the word virtue; that which we dignify by this title, and admire as a rare thing - and very rare it is in truth - constitutes his normal state. Where will you find a man always grateful, never ungrateful - always affectionate, never selfish - pushing the abnegation of self to the utmost limits of possibility; without gain, devoted to death, without ambition, rendering every service - in short, forgetful of injuries, and only mindful of benefits received? Seek him not - it would be a useless task: but take the first dog you meet, and from the moment he adopts you for his master, you will find in him all these qualities. He will love you without calculation entering into his affections.

His greatest happiness will be to be near you; and should you be reduced to beg your bread, not only will he aid you in this difficult trade, but he would not abandon you to follow even a king into his palace. Your friends will quit you in misfortune - your wife, perhaps, will forget her plighted troth; your dog will remain always near you - he will come and die at your feet; or, if you depart before him for the great voyage, he will accompany you to your last abode.'

Dogs #1

I haven't been "Coon hunting" for many years. I never follow the hounds after fox or deer - the only trailing game we have in this country, save now and then a wolf or bear, in the new settlements. Neither do I go out shooting, except to exercise my old fowling piece at a henhawk, or that viler brute, the carrion crow. I love dogs, however, and always keep a useful one of true breed, by me. The common ears that are kept in such quantities in every straggling village, and on many of our farms, are a standing nuisance, which ought to be abated. But it won't be, so long as there are neighbor's sheep to kill, and pigs to run at large, where a dog fence is necessary.