highly developed. Bull's Eye is this creature's name. He has been reared in the worst company-or rather has reared himself-in a desperate shifty way. Nor is it surprising that his normal gait should be a suspicious, skulking progress along the public ways, or that he should settle it down that the invariable salutation of his tribe by the great human race was a stick or a stone.

Here is Bull's Eye making his bow:

'A white, shaggy dog, with his

face scratched and torn in twenty different places, skulked into the room. "Why didn't you come in afore," said the man, "you're getting too proud to own me afore company, are you?" This command was accompanied by a kick which sent the animal to the other end of the room. He appeared well used to it, however, for he coiled himself up in a corner very quietly, without uttering a sound, and winking his very ill-looking eyes about twenty times in a minute, appears to occupy him

self in taking a survey of the apartment.'

Mr. William Sikes has an appointment presently at a low public-house in the filthiest part of Saffron Hill. Here Bull's Eye makes his second appearance. A white-coated, redeyed dog, who occupied himself alternately in winking at his master with both eyes at the same time, and in licking a large fresh cut on one side of his mouth, which appeared to be the result of some recent conflict.'

"Keep quiet, you warmint; keep

quiet," "" said Mr. Sikes, suddenly breaking silence. Whether his meditations were so intense as to be disturbed by the dog's winking, or whether his feelings were so wrought upon by his reflections that they required all the relief derivable from kicking an unoffending animal to allay them, is matter for argument and consideration. Whatever was the cause, the effect was a kick and a curse bestowed upon the dog simultaneously.

Dogs are not generally apt to

revenge injuries inflicted on them by their masters; but Mr. Sikes' dog having faults of temper in common with his owner, and labouring, perhaps, at that moment under a powerful sense of injury, made no more ado, but at once fixed his teeth in one of the half-boots, and having given it a good hearty shake, retired, growling, under a form, thereby just escaping the pewter measure which Mr. Sikes levelled at his head.

"You would, would you?" said Sikes, seizing the poker in one hand, and deliberately opening with the other a large clasp knife, which he drew from his pocket. "Come here, you born devil! Come here! D'ye hear?"

The dog, no doubt, heard, because Mr. Sikes spoke in the very harshest key of a very harsh voice; but appearing to entertain some unaccountable objection to having his throat cut, he remained where he was.' Then follows an unseemly contest. The dog jumped from right to left, and from left to right, snapping, growling, and barking: the man thrust, and swore, and struck, and blasphemed; and the struggle was reaching a most critical point for one or other, when, the door suddenly opening, the dog darted out, leaving Bill Sikes with the poker and the clasp knife in his hands.'

In his indignation at this interruption of purpose the gentle housebreaker gives utterance to some pleasant satire on the watchful providence exercised by his country over the well-being of animals.

"I wish you had been the dog, Fagin, half a minute ago."

"Why?" inquired the Jew, with a forced smile.

"Cause Government, as cares for the lives of such men as you, as haven't half the pluck of a cur, lets a man kill his dog as how he likes," replied Sikes, shutting up his knife, with a very expressive look. "That's why.'

Still the poor quadruped keeps faithfully to his master, bearing no malice; for suffering is the badge of all his tribe. At the breaking up of that meeting the two principal act

ors departed together, 'followed at a little distance by the dog, who slunk out of a back yard as soon as his master was out of sight.'

The details of poor Oliver's recapture on the open highway are familiar to all readers, in which nefarious proceeding it cannot be concealed that Bull's Eye played a considerable part. When Mr. Sikes burst out of the beer-shop there was a 'white dog at his heels,' in nowise slack to second his master's views.

666

"

Here, Bull's Eye," said he. The dog looked up and growled. 'See here, boy," said Sikes, putting his other hand to Oliver's throat, and uttering a savage oath, "if he speaks ever so soft a word, hold him! D'ye mind?" The dog growled again, and, licking his lips, eyed Oliver as if he were anxious to attach himself to his windpipe without any unnecessary delay. "He's as willing as a Christian, strike me blind if he isn't," said Sikes, regarding the animal with a kind of grim and ferocious approval. "Get on, young'un." Bull's Eye wagged his tail in acknowledgment of this unusually endearing form of speech, and, giving vent to another admonitory growl for the benefit of Oliver, led the way onward.'

Later on, among a select company composed of Messrs. Dawkins, Charles Bates, and other gentlemen of the same profession, playful allusion is made to their honourable calling, of which Mr. Dawkins (better known as the Dodger) insists that Bull's Eye is an influential member. "He is the downiest one of the lot." "And the least given to peaching," added Charley Bates. "He wouldn't so much as bark in a witness-box-no, not if you tied him up in one, and left him there without wittles for a fortnight," said the Dodger. "He's a rum dog. Don't he look fierce at any strange cove that laughs or sings when he's in company?" pursued the Dodger. "Won't he growl at all when he hears a fiddle playing; and don't he hate other dogs as ain't of his breed -oh, no!"

"He's an out-and-out Christian," said Charley. This was merely intended as a tribute to the animal's

abilities, but it was an appropriate remark in another sense if Master Bates had only known it; for there are a great many ladies and gentlemen claiming to be out-and-out Christians between whom and Mr. Sikes's dog there exist very strong and singular points of resemblance.'

Bull's Eye does not reappear again until late in the drama, when he is seen sitting by his master's bed on guard, as it were, 'eyeing him with a wistful look, and now pricking up his ears and uttering a low growl as some noise in the street attracted his attention.'

Presently enters the pleasant fraternity lately mentioned, on a visit of comfort to the indisposed burglar, bearing with them several good things in the shape of pies and strong drink.

""Drive him down, Charley," Mr. Sikes said, alluding to Bull's Eye, who was doubtless rendered troublesome by the sight of the cheer.

""I never see such a jolly dog as that," cried Master Bates, doing as he was desired, "smelling the grub like an old lady agoing to market! He'd make his fortun' on the stage, that dog would, and rewive the drayma besides."

But, returning again to Bull's Eye, the fortunes of his master and his own have grown to be overcast, and wicked Mr. Sikes is led into commission of that murder which, but for an accident, would have subjected him to the penalty of death at the hands of the common executioner. In spite, however, of kicks, blows, curses, and every degradation, his faithful dog keeps with him-with, indeed, an inconvenient fidelity; for, having done his work, he has to go forth on that wandering journey of his, which reads like a horrid nightmare, 'dragging the dog with him lest he should carry out new evidences of the crime into the streets.' Then, after that awful night's walk, the scenes in the lonely public-houses, and at the village conflagration, he resolves to go back to London, and to destroy his dog, for fear of detection. He resolved to drown him, 'and walked on looking for a pond, picking up a heavy stone and tying

it to his handkerchief as he went. The animal looked up into his master's face while these preparations were making, and, whether his instinct apprehended something of this purpose as the robber's sidelong look at him was steadier than ordinary, skulked a little further in the rear than usual, and cowered as he came more slowly along. When his 'master halted at the brink of a pool, and looked round to call him, he stopped outright.

The

""Do you hear me call? come here," cried Sikes, whistling. The animal came from the very force of habit, but as Sikes stooped to attach the handkerchief to his throat he uttered a low growl and started back. "Come back," said the robber, stamping on the ground. dog wagged his tail, but moved not. Here Sikes made a running noose, and called him again. The dog advanced, retreated, paused an instant, turned, and scoured away at his hardest speed. The man whistled again and again, and sat down, and waited in the expectation that he would return. But no dog appeared, and he resumed his journey.'

Mr.

But the end is at hand. Sikes is hunted down, and in that exciting scene where he is all but captured, is hanged in a noose of his own make. 'A dog, which had lain concealed till now, ran backwards and forwards on the parapet with a dismal howl, and, collecting himself for a spring, jumped for the dead man's shoulders. Missing his aim he fell into the ditch, turning completely over as he went, and striking his head against a stone, dashed out his brains.'

It will be observed with what art Mr. Dickens has managed, by means of this faithful creature, to inspire an interest in the fortunes of his otherwise repulsive master. And thus the reader is led into the agreeable delusion that there must be still some kind spot in that hardened heart which could inspire such faithfulness. Mr. Dickens has worked this dog-portrait skilfully, and with touches that show he observed their habits long and closely, of which that 'running backwards and forwards on the parapet' before

afford to part with a single figure, or quaint bit of furniture, or cranny, or projecting nob. The withdrawal of the old clock and the unwearied mower would leave a chasm; but the absence of Boxer, who does chorus after the Greek fashion, would be loss irreparable. What would that little domestic circle, now busy at the fire, and thinking of supper, be without him?

'Boxer, feeling that his attentions were due to the family in general, and must be impartially distributed, dashed in and out with bewildering inconstancy; now describing a circle of short barks round the horse, where he was being rubbed down at the stable-door; now feigning to make savage rushes at his mistress, and facetiously bringing himself to sudden stops; now eliciting a shriek

from Tilly Slowboy in the low nursing-chair near the fire by the unexpected application of his moist nose to her countenance; now exhibiting an obtrusive interest in the baby; now going round and round upon the hearth, and lying down as if he had established himself for the night; now getting up and taking that nothing of a fag-end of a tail of his out into the weather as if he had just remembered an appointment, and was off to keep it.'

What an unapproachable stroke this last! Presently the disguised old gentleman, who has been asleep in the cart, is brought in, but under surveillance of Boxer; for that good dog, more thoughtful than his master, had, it seemed, been watching the old gentleman in his sleep lest he should walk off with a few

young poplar trees that were tied up behind the cart; and he still attended on him very closely, worrying his gaiters in fact, and making dead sets at his buttons.'

What geniality in every line is here, and thorough appreciation of that humour which in truth lurks in dogs' habits and movements, and which hitherto no one has thought of translating to the world! Then comes the famous journey to the picnic, and Boxer is of the party.

Everybody knew him all along the road, especially the fowls and pigs, who, when they saw him approaching with his body all on one side, and his ears pricked up inquisitively, and that knob of a tail making the most of itself in the air, immediately withdrew into remote back settlements, without waiting for the honour of a nearer acquaintance. He had business everywhere, going down all the turnings, looking into all the wells, bolting in and out of all the cottages, dashing into the midst of all the dame schools, fluttering all the pigeons, magnifying the tails of all the cats, and trotting into the public-houses like a regular customer.'

Then he meets with the blind girl, and makes certain delicate distinctions of his own in his communications with her, which persuaded me fully that he knew her. He never sought to attract her attention by looking at her, as he often did with other people, but touched her invariably. What experience he could ever have had of blind people, or of blind dogs, I don't know. He had never lived with a blind master; nor had Mr. Boxer the elder, nor Mrs. Boxer, nor any of his respectable family on either side, ever been visited with blindness that I am aware of.'

That long, weary night for John Peery bingle follows. The mystery is then cleared up; the wrong made right; and the story closes riotously and in a tumult of happiness. Where was Boxer though? There wanted but one living creature to make the party complete; and in the twinkling of an eye, there he was; very thirsty with hard running, and engaged in hopeless en

deavours to squeeze his head into a narrow pitcher. He had gone with the cart to its journey's end, very much disgusted with his master's absence, and stupendously rebellious to the deputy. After lingering about the stable for some little time, vainly attempting to incite the old horse to the mutinous act of returning on his own account, he had walked into the tap-room and laid himself down before the fire. But suddenly yielding to the conviction that the deputy was a humbug, and must be abandoned, he had got up again, turned tail, and come home."

That is our last glimpse of famous Boxer. Sir Edwin, with skilful pencil, has shown us what he was like; but has made him a little too wicked and ferocious of aspect. Boxer was not a savage mastiff, but a smart, rough, brisk terrier, with a lively sense of the humorous bound up in his nature.

Room now for a dog of another order, one bred in drawing-rooms, and that figures briefly in a sort of short dream, in the life of one David Copperfield. He is but a spectral creature, and passes away along with that delicate fairy image of Doady Dora. That tiny abstraction flits by too swiftly, and in its shadow is seen the dim outline of Jip, the King Charles's dog, whose nature it is not to fancy strangers exceedingly. For Mr. Copperfield, on his first introduction to Dora, approached him tenderly, for I loved even him: but he showed his whole set of teeth, got under a chair expressly to snarl, and wouldn't hear of the least familiarity.' They walk together in the garden, Dora and Mr. Copperfield. He was mortally jealous of me, and persisted in barking at me. She took him up in her arms-oh, my goodness!-and caressed him, but he insisted upon barking still. He I wouldn't let me touch him when I tried, and then she beat him. It increased my sufferings greatly to see the pats she gave him for punishment on the bridge of his blunt nose, while he winked his eyes, and licked her hand, and still growled within himself like a little double bass.' The poor youth is nearly