LXXXVIII.

Some four years since on a dark winter's evening, my clerk, W. Robertson, and myself, left the police office about half-past five or six p.m. My clerk told me next morning the circumstance of a farmer's dog, which had jumped up before him barking much just as he went out of the Inn gates. Robertson struck at the dog, but it would not go away. He then turned round to look if any one was in the road; the dog seemed pleased and ran on before him, barking; but after a few yards Robertson turned back. The dog again went after him and barked furiously, trying to lead him back up the road. He again turned and went on some twenty yards, following the dog, and then found the dog's master lying drunk on the high road. Had any vehicle come by, he must have been run over. Eventually the man was carried into the lock-up, the dog following. The police were debating about locking the dog up too, when it bolted and ran home.

LXXXIX.

"My other anecdote about dogs referred to a splendid black Newfoundland, the property of the Grenadier Company of the 39th Regiment when in Sydney, New South Wales, in 1831; which dog would take jackets, bundles, and even soup in tins (covered) from the barracks to men on the main guard, a distance of half a mile, through the streets of the town. Once being annoyed and attacked by another dog, he quickly growled at him and showed fight by putting the tin on the ground two or three times, but at last succeeded in taking the dinner safe to the man on guard. He (Charley, for that was his name) then rushed after the other dog and nearly worried him to death. The Company were offered £20 for him when ordered on to India, which they refused. Alas, poor Charley! he died of liver complaint in six weeks after landing, duly buried, and duly mourned for by the whole troops."

XC.

A very singular and interesting occurrence was on Friday brought to light in the Burgh Court, by the hearing of a summons in regard to a dog-tax.

Eight and a half years ago, it seems, a man named Gray, of whom nothing now is known, except that he was poor, and lived in a quiet way in some obscure part of the town, was buried in Old Greyfriars' Churchyard. His grave, levelled by the hand of time, and unmarked by any stone, is now scarcely discernible; but though no human interest

would seem to attach to it, the sacred spot has not been wholly disregarded and forgotten. During all these years, the dead man's faithful dog has kept constant watch and guard over the grave; and it was this animal for which the collectors sought to recover the tax.

James Brown, the old curator of the burial ground, remembers Gray's funeral; and the dog, a Scotch terrier, was, he says, one of the most conspicuous of the mourners. The grave was closed in as usual, and the next morning,

Bobby," as the dog is called, was found lying on the newly made mound. This was an innovation which old James could not permit, for there was an order at the gate stating, in the most intelligible characters, that dogs were not admitted. "Bobby" was accordingly driven out; but the next morning he was there again, and for a second time was discharged. The third morning was cold and wet, and when the old man saw the faithful animal, in spite of all chastisement, still lying shivering on the grave, he took pity on him and gave him some food. This recognition of his devotion gave "Bobby" the right to make the churchyard his home; and from that time to the present he has never spent a night away from his master's grave. Often in bad weather attempts have been made to keep him within doors, but by dismal howls he has succeeded in making it known that this interference is not agreeable to him, and latterly he has always been allowed to have his way.

"Bobby" has many friends, and the tax. gatherers have by no means proved his enemies. A weekly treat of steaks was allowed him by Sergeant Scott of the Engineers; but for more than six years he has been regularly fed by Mr. John Trail, of the Restaurant, 6, Greyfriars' Place. He is constant and punctual in his calls, being guided in his midday visits by the sound of the time-gun. On the ground of ‘harbouring” the dog in this way, proceedings were taken against Mr. Trail for payment of the tax. The defendant expressed his willingness, could he claim the dog, to be responsible for the tax; but so long as the animal refused to attach himself to any one, it was impossible, he argued, to fix the ownership; and the Court, seeing the peculiar circumstances of the case, dismissed the summons. The old curator, of course, stands up as the next claimant to Mr. Trail, and on Friday offered to pay the tax himself rather than have "Bobby"-" Greyfriars' Bobby," to allow him his full name-put out of the way.

VI.

The Roses.

N a cloudless morning, up rose the sun
To welcome the bright June weather;
Alone in the Heavens his course was run,
While the roses sang together.

They sang with the gladness of beautiful things,
They sang of youth, and of health,
Of the joy of nature when summer-time brings
To the garden its fulness and wealth.

They sang of the morning, they sang of the day,
Of noon with its glorious light;
And, when lengthening shadows began to play,
They sang of the dewy night.

Then evening came, and up rose the moon
To welcome the balmy weather;
Lonely she looked on the flowers of June,
But the roses sang together.

Song of the Roses.

AIR is the glow on the eastern hills,

When the sun sinks in the west, And out of his fountain of glory fills With molten gold the thousand rills

That leap, and sparkle, and glide,
Down-down the mountain's side,
Seeking their home in the ocean's breast.

Oh, sweet is that glow with its tints so rare,
When the evening sun goes down;
But the rose-the rose has a blush as fair,
With a beauty all her own.

Soft is the bloom on the infant's cheek,

When it sleeps so peaceful and fair;

And the mother sits watching, but dare not speak,

Afraid that innocent charm to break

With even the whisper of love;
Still-still, as a brooding dove,

Pouring her soul in a silent prayer.

Oh, soft is that glow with its tints so rare,
Ere childhood's bloom has flown;
But the rose-the rose has a blush as fair,
With a beauty all her own.

Tender and sweet are the hues that spread
Where smiles and dimples play,
When the maiden blushes, and turns her head
To catch what the one loved voice may have said
In words more precious than gold;
Soft-soft, and sweetly told,

And fondly remembered for many a day.

Oh, lovely and sweet are the tints so rare

By tenderest feeling shown;

But the rose the rose has a blush as fair,
With a beauty all her own.

Bright is the glow when the warrior hears
The distant bugle blow,

And he knows by the shouts, and the manly cheers,

And gathering hosts, that the battle nears;
While quick from his heart of pride
High-high, the living tide
Rises, and swells with a crimson glow.

Oh, red is the warrior's cheek, when the might
Of the gathering host comes down;
But the rose-the rose has a blush as bright,
With a beauty all her own.

Deep is the dye of that deadlier fight,

Where the soul its conflict bears; And suffers, and stands for the holy right, With human sorrow, but heavenly might; Torn with burning thoughts that start Deep-deep, in the martyr's heart, From the mingled fountain of hopes and tears.

Oh, that crimson dye is deep and true,

Where the martyr's faith is shown; But the rose can blush with as deep a hue, And a beauty all her own.

Letters.

HEY come like birds of many-tinted hues;

Some dark, some sparkling bright with pleasant news;

Some silver grey, in soothing tones expressed; Some sharp and strong, in jarring discord.

dressed.

Yet as the child who loves her garden home, Listens and watches when the gay birds

come,

So sits the maiden in her favourite bower, And reads, and thinks, through the soft evening hour;

Tracing each chequered page with heightening zest,

Eager to find the last words and the best; Yet sad when all is found, for small it seems To her who sits alone, and waits, and dreams, And watches day by day, and night by night, And thinks, like those who live by faith not sight,

The coming bird will surely wear a plumage bright.

Twelve months have passed since last we saw that face

Of girlish sweetness, but of woman's grace. Roses have bloomed and faded-trees have shed

Their leafy burden-summer birds have fled

Cold wintry skies, with beating storm and rain,

These all have passed, and summer smiles again.

Tidings have come, not frequent, but still true

Letters like birds of many-tinted hueExulting now in youth's assured success, Now touched with shadow, and exulting less. Then silence! Darker than all times were those

Days without sunshine, nights without

repose,

When the tired spirit wished and watched in vain

For that which came not, and then watched again,

Wearing its life out with the long unchanging pain.

Now comes the closely-written page at last;

And now the sun shines forth, the clouds have passed.

Among the roses sits the maiden fair; While songs and perfumes fill the evening air.

Once paled her cheek, as if with sudden pain,

And then with joy as sudden flushed again; For mingled tidings come from that far land

Which all too well her heart can understand

How the poor brother, he of purpose weak, Has yet the ever-promised good to seek ; While he of firmer nature, stronger will, With rising hopes seems ever gaining still.

Ah, fluttering heart! how shall the weight be borne

Of tenderest love, with all these feelings torn,

Wanting that armour youth and love have seldom worn?

Ah! but a secret lives within that breast. Time has not passed in vain. A heavenly

rest

A calm beyond all human skill to gain Now smoothes her brow, and stills her every pain.

What though the tangled scheme of life looks strange,

And startling fears awake with every change,

Through wildest tumult still she hears the call,

"Rest thee, my child-thy Father knows it all!

Deep in the mystery of His sovereign power

He hides the path, but leads thee hour by hour.

Grasp thou the outstretched hand, nor quit that hold;

So will He guide thee to the peaceful fold, Safe through the perils of this dubious

way,

Safe through the darkness, to eternal day, Whence never weakest lamb with wandering feet shall stray."

The learned blacksmith is himself an illustrious example of philanthropic effort and self-denial for the benefit of others. The readers of OUR OWN FIRESIDE will doubtless remember the biographical sketch of this remarkable man which appeared in our second volume (p. 273). The re-perusal of that sketch will give additional interest to the volume which he has just written. We have quoted an extract from the work this month, which affords a fair specimen of its character. It comprises ten chapters, and abounds in similar thrilling and eloquent passages. The political sentiments of the writer, indicating his strong Northern sympathies, some may consider are a little too prominently advanced in the concluding chapters; but the spirit in which he expresses his opinions will conciliate even those who may not be altogether convinced. We admire the high estimate Mr. Burritt has formed of the philanthropy of the age; but "all is not gold that glitters;" and whilst we thankfully recognize the generous response ever made to special appeals for national subscriptions, we wish the necessity did not exist for urging the ordinary appeals for charitable funds with such frequent importunity. We fear the explanation of this necessity, particularly in its bearings upon distinctly religious missionary works-the highest kind of charity-is to be found in the low estimate which is formed by so many of the Redeeming Mission of the GREAT SUFFERER, who " gave Himself for us," that we might no longer "live unto ourselves," but "unto Him who loved us."

The Holy Bible, consisting of the Old and New Covenants, translated according to the letter and idioms of the original languages. By ROBERT YOUNG. Second Edition. London: A. Fullarton and Co. Edinburgh: G. A. Young and Co.

Mr. Young states that this work "is not intended to come into competition with the ordinary use of the English version." We very much question whether any version will ever be produced equalling that which we possess. At the same time we need not shrink from admitting that "defective renderings" exist; and since Mr. Young has simply aimed to assist the ordinary reader to discover these "defective renderings" by giving what he believes to be a "literal translation of the original," we gladly welcome the result of his labours. Unquestionably, the study of this literal version will help to guard the reader against many of the

blunders into which the spirit of scepticism has betrayed captious minds. The first edition was published before Bishop Colenso published the first part of his notorious work, and entirely takes away the ground of several of his most prominent difficulties. We recommend Mr. Young's work to the students of Scripture. Studies for Sunday Evening. By LORD KINLOCH. Second Edition. Edinburgh: Edmonston and Douglas.

The grasp of the gifted author's mind, and the fervent piety which characterises his Scriptural meditations, will alike commend this volume to the reader. It deals with topics of general interest, combining the thoughtful and the practical aspects of Christian life. Precept upon Precept. London: Hatchard and Co.

Parents will be glad to learn that the author of "The Peep of Day" is about to publish, under the above title, a sequel to that popular work, of which we understand 250,000 copies have been sold in England, and the same num. ber in the United States. Micah the Priestmaker. A handbook on Ritualism. By T. BINNEY. London: Jack. son, Walford, and Hodder. Without aiming directly at controversy, Mr. Binney, in his well-known sententious and vigorous style of writing, gives us his own conclusions as an "outside observer." For the most part his volume indicates that he fully recognises the thoroughly Protestant character of the Church of the Reformation: but here and there we notice the natural influence of Nonconformist principles leading him to a somewhat different conclusion. We only hope Nonconformists will maintain the principles of the Reformation as faithfully and decisively as we believe they are maintained in the Prayer Book and Homilies of the Church of England. The Reformers knew what Romanism is better than we do, and they wrote accordingly. Conversations on the Bible and Science. By the Rev. EDWIN SIDNEY, A.M. London: Jarrold and Sons.

The author's name will be the best pledge of the excellence of this work. We wish to call special attention to it. For our sons and daughters who are beginning to think for themselves, it will prove invaluable. Geology, Astronomy, the Atmosphere, the Sea, Light and Heat, Vegetable and Animal Physiology, Chemistry, Electricity, and Magnetism, are the topics of conversation: and the result of all that is advanced is to make clear to demonstration that "what God has said is in unison with what God has made."