pension of £300 a year. In 1847 he was restored to the order of the Bath, from which he had been so cruelly removed thirty-three years before; and not restored merely, but graced with the higher rank of K.G.C., instead of his former rank of simply K.B. In 1848 he received the appointment of naval commander-in-chief of the North American and West India stations-a high and honourable command, and one of the most trustworthy which the government had to bestow. This service, of three years' duration, involved no fighting, but called for administrative tact and professional knowledge, combined with a hearty love for everything which tended to the welfare of the navy. In 1854 he was made Rear-admiral of England, with an additional salary of £342 per annum. A few years after this, Queen Victoria ordered the restoration of his knightly bearings in Henry VII.'s Chapel-the banner, the brass plate containing his lordship's arms, the helmet, the crest, the mantling, the sword-all, which the King at Arms had torn down so many years before, were now restored.

Let us understand the significancy of the proceedings noticed in the last paragraph. They were virtually the homage paid by the national government to an injured man. When a jury has given a verdict, and a judge has passed sentence, it is an awkward thing for the government to disavow the proceedings; but public men, of all ranks and parties, had gradually come to the conclusion that an immense injustice had been done; and they were all willing that the Earl of Dundonald should receive some reparation for the ill rendered to him as Lord Cochrane. Happily for him, he lived to see this restitution.

The Earl of Dundonald retained his faculties in vigour to the last. In 1855, when eighty years of age, he entered eagerly into the discussions concerning the possibility of destroying the Russian fleets and forts by means of new and formidable explosive agents.

DEATH AND FUNERAL.

He died on the 30th October 1860, having nearly completed his eighty-fifth year. His death was not so painless as his friends could have wished, for he had in his old age undergone two operations for lithotomy. It was worthy of the authorities and the nation to deposit his remains in Westminster Abbey, by the side of so many other gallant members of the public service. He was buried on the 14th of November. There assembled round his grave many whose names are dear to all of us, headed by the venerable Lord Brougham. The Admiralty, which had long before ill-used him, was represented by many gallant officers; and Chili and Brazil, which had made him an ungrateful return for invaluable services, were represented by the ministers of those nations at the court of St James's.

Thus died a great sea-captain an ardent lover of liberty, an

indomitable opposer of official corruption at all times and places, a friend of seamen and of everything that could tend to seamen's welfare, an acute inventor of mechanical and chemical appliances, and a warm-hearted and generous man in all the relations of life. His unhesitating audacity often brought him into troubles which he might easily have avoided; but it resulted from a firm reliance on the honesty of his own intentions. A journal whose vocation is to supply weekly budgets of fun and frolic, but whose pages have been open to the pathos of Thomas Hood and other noble spirits, gave some stanzas of burning eloquence to the memory of Dundonald. Let us transcribe three of the earlier and four of the later of these stanzas:

32

'A sea-king, whose fit place had been by Blake,
Or our own Nelson, had he been but free
To follow glory's quest upon the sea,
Leading the conquered navies in his wake.

A captain, whom it had been ours to cheer
From conquest on to conquest, had our land
But set its wisest, worthiest in command,
Not such as hated all the good revere.

We let them cage the lion while the fire

In his high heart burnt clear and unsubdued ;
We let them stir that frank and forward mood
From greatness to the self-consuming ire.

He came

Back to his England, bankrupt, save of praise,
To eat his heart, through weary, wishful days,
And shape his strength to bearing of his shame.

Till, slow but sure, drew on a better time,

And statesmen owned the check of public will;
And, at the last, light pierced the shadow chill
That fouled his honour with the taint of crime.

And then they gave him back the knightly spurs
Which he had never forfeited-the rank
From which he ne'er by ill-deserving sank,
More than the lion sinks for yelp of curs.

Justice had lingered on its road too long:
The lion was grown old; the time gone by,
When for his aid we vainly raised a cry,

To save our flag from shame, our decks from wrong.'

HE dog has not inaptly been described as a gift of Providence to man-an aid almost indispensable for his conquest and management of the lower animals. Unlike other creatures, he voluntarily abandons the companionship of his own species, becomes a deserter from their camp, and, enlisting himself as a humbler member of human society, is found a willing and loving servant, the companion and friend of his master. Unlearned in virtue or any of the ordinary actions which command popular approbation, the dog, from the prompting of his own feelings alone, practises the most perfect integrity. Uncalculating as regards his own comfort or convenience, he is found adhering to his master through all shades of fortune, even unto disgrace, penury, and want; nor will any temptation make him abandon the fond and stricken object of his undying affection. A long course of domestication and peculiar treatment have, as is well known, divided the canine race into nearly a hundred varieties, all less or more distinct as respects size, appearance, and special qualities and dispositions; yet no kind of cultivation has altered, nor can misusage obliterate, the leading features of the animal. The character of the dog for tractability, attachment,

No. 7.

I

general docility to his master's interest, and benevolence, remains the same. In all ages and countries, therefore, has this remarkable animal been cherished for his services; and these, in a rude state of society, are so essential to personal enjoyment, that the happiness of a future state of existence has been supposed to be incomplete without them.

'Lo, the poor Indian! whose untutored mind
Sees God in clouds, or hears him in the wind;
His soul proud science never taught to stray
Far as the solar walk or Milky-way;
Yet simple nature to his hope has given,
Behind the cloud-topt hill, a humbler heaven;
Some safer world, in depths of woods embraced,
Some happier island, in the watery waste;
Where slaves once more their native land behold;
No fiends torment, no Christians thirst for gold;
But thinks, admitted to that equal sky,

His faithful dog shall bear him company!'

The admirable quality of inflexible attachment has rendered dogs the familiar and esteemed companions of men of the highest attainments and rank. Emperors, prelates, statesmen, judges, men of all ranks and professions, and, it may be added, ladies of the highest fashion, have been gratified by their companionship. The late Lord

Eldon had a small dog, Pincher, which he highly valued, and pensioned at his decease. Scott was immoderately fond of dogs-one in particular, a stag-hound, called Maida, being the constant companion of his rambles. Byron, likewise, if we may judge from the following lines, supposed to be inscribed on the monument of a Newfoundland dog, must have entertained a kindly feeling towards these animals:

'When some proud son of man returns to earth,
Unknown to glory, but upheld by birth,
The sculptor's art exhausts the pomp of woe,
And storied urns record who rests below;

When all is done, upon the tomb is seen,

Not what he was, but what he should have been.
But the poor dog, in life the firmest friend,
The first to welcome, foremost to defend;
Whose honest heart is still his master's own,
Who labours, fights, lives, breathes, for him alone,
Unhonoured falls, unnoticed all his worth,
Denied in heaven the soul he held on earth:
While, man, vain insect! hopes to be forgiven,
And claims himself a sole exclusive heaven.
O man! thou feeble tenant of an hour,
Debased by slavery, or corrupt by power;

Who knows thee well, must quit thee with disgust,
Degraded mass of animated dust!

Thy love is lust; thy friendship, all a cheat;
Thy smiles, hypocrisy; thy words, deceit !
By nature vile, ennobled but by name,

Each kindred brute might bid thee blush for shame.

Ye who perchance behold this simple urn,

Pass on-it honours none you wish to mourn :

To mark a friend's remains, these stones arise;
I never knew but one-and here he lies.'

PERSONAL ATTACHMENT.

The attachment of the dog to his master becomes a ruling passion, and, united with a retentive memory, has led to some remarkable disclosures of crime. We are told by Plutarch of a certain Roman slave in the civil wars, whose head nobody durst cut off, for fear of the dog that guarded his body, and fought in his defence. It happened that King Pyrrhus, travelling that way, observed the animal watching over the body of the deceased; and hearing that he had been there three days without meat or drink, yet would not forsake his master, ordered the body to be buried, and the dog preserved and brought to him. A few days afterwards there was a muster of the soldiers, so that every man was forced to march in order before the king. The dog lay quietly by him for some time; but when he saw the murderers of his late owner pass by, he flew upon them with extraordinary fury, barking, and tearing their garments, and frequently turning about to the king; which both excited the king's suspicion, and the jealousy of all who stood about him. were in consequence apprehended, and though the circumstances which appeared in evidence against them were very slight, they confessed the crime, and were accordingly punished.

The men

An old writer mentions a similar case of attachment and revenge which occurred in France in the reign of Charles V. The anecdote has been frequently related, and is as follows: A gentleman named Macaire, an officer of the king's body-guard, entertained, for some reason, a bitter hatred against another gentleman, named Aubry de Montdidier, his comrade in service. These two having met in the Forest of Bondy, near Paris, Macaire took an opportunity of treacherously murdering his brother-officer, and buried him in a ditch. Montdidier was unaccompanied at the moment, excepting by a greyhound, with which he had probably gone out to hunt. It is not known whether the dog was muzzled, or from what other cause it permitted the deed to be accomplished without its interference. Be this as it might, the hound lay down on the grave of its master, and there remained till hunger compelled it to rise. It then went to the kitchen of one of Aubry de Montdidier's dearest friends, where