standing that Devonshire had the advantage of such a splendid kennel located within its broad boundaries, the northern counties-those fine homes of dog development-can claim a greater share in the fostering and perfecting of the wire-haired fox terrier than any other. And this is more especially true of Yorkshire and Durham and some of the otter hunting districts of Cumberland and Westmoreland. Venture, belonging

to Mr. Carrick, of Carlisle, and that dog's sire, Old Tip, are regarded as the original pillars of this branch of the fox terrier family. They were whelped in the 'Sixties, and Venture was being shown and winning in the early 'Seventies.

It happens that my own humble experience of sporting dogs begins with a wire-haired fox terrier, and dates back some forty years ago to the occasion of spending my summer holidays with an uncle in Yorkshire, a fine old sporting parson of a by-gone type, whose living was in a little old-world village on the borders of a wild Yorkshire moor, albeit it was called a Common. He kept several good dogs, setters and pointers, with which, after his eightieth year, he was wont to walk up his birds for long days through stubble and turnip, and waste fewer cartridges than any man I have ever shot with. He divided his affection for animals between his shooting dogs, a couple of horses, and a stye full of exceedingly choice pigs. But his love was confined to and centred in his wire-haired fox terrier Wick, called partly after a brother parson, who had sent it up to him as a present from the south of England. In addition to his love for it he valued it beyond words, and it comes to my memory that he was wont to speak of its breeding as something out of the common, and I have a suspicion it may have. emanated from Devonshire, and (my uncle himself a

west country man) been imported into Yorkshire to put a head on the tykes!

Wick and I struck up the friendship that easily cements between a schoolboy and a dog whom he will lead afield. We practically spent these holidays together, mostly on the moor, and he gave me my first insight into poaching, ratting, rabbiting, and, on one occasion, fishing.

For I remember one day, it being a very droughty summer, we came across a secluded pond in a far corner of the moor, wherein all the water had evaporated, and there was only left behind a muddy residue about the consistency of cream; and in this wriggled, in a sort of snaky inferno, myriads of eels.

For myself, town-schooled and tender in years, I did not relish the look or attitudes of those serpentine eels, and rather wanted to pursue a butterfly, until Wick, with the courage of his kind, dashed into the mud, and bringing himself to believe that they were water-rats, treated the eels to an impartial slaughter. Whereupon I tucked up my breeches and followed, being persuaded that I had seen the prototypes of these fearful wild things on fishmongers' slabs, and with the memory of stewed eels, eaten at Evesham or Tewkesbury, to encourage me. It was the finest fishing I ever had in my life, for I merely had to scoop them up and shoot them out on to the banks of the pond, where I very shortly had a hundred or more, writhing and wriggling to get back to their native home. Wick went crazy, and I was cock-a-hoop at this monstrous stroke of luck that made splendid my morning ramble with such glorious spoil, for in that remote village fish was a luxury never seen. The fun waxed fast and furious as Wick and I sought to shepherd our restless victims, and I cast about for a method of transport, and would

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have given two weeks' pocket money for a sack. course there was only one thing to be done; I divested myself of my breeches, tied up the ends with rushes, and, cramming the legs full of eels, swung the burden athwart my neck, and, garbed something after the fashion of a famous character in King Solomon's Mines, stalked home in semi-attire, with Wick heralding my approach with frantic barks and yells, and amazing leaps to try and get at the obtruding heads that squirmed out most uncomfortably round my neck.

That dog led me into more mischief than did any of the bad companions I have consorted with in my life; and I love his memory better than that of all my pastors, masters, and spiritual mentors lumped together. He was such a fascinating, confidential little blackguard, and so thoroughly sinful, and was continually fox-hunting by himself at midsummer, not to mention snapping up leverets on the moor in distinct defiance of all game laws and landlords' rights. If my recollection of him can be relied on, and his appearance and conformation still remain very vivid in my mind's eye -faith! an' he came to life again, I would undertake to single him out from a crowd of his kind—he might have got his V.H.C. in a ring of wire-haired terriers today. He was on the small side, with a very long head, marked with tan, a rough coat, as wiry as you could wish, and the wickedest dark eyes, that even delighted with their unfathomable expression of demonry and wickedness. And to this day I can never pass a bench of wire-haired fox terriers at a show but the spirit of that gay little fellow seems to rise before my eyes, and, like the odour of brine from the ocean, come the thoughts of many scrapes. The day we shivered the new cucumber frame, killing a cat, he got chained up, and I sent to bed.

A little while back I made allusion to the wire-haired fox terrier being muddled up in certain Stud Books with Irish terriers. In this connection, and as harking back to ancient history and old-time colour of the breed, it is interesting to note that Mr. Wootton, an enthusiastic fancier, who did much to popularise the variety, considered the best wire-haired fox terrier he had ever seen was a dog called Trimmer, which came from Lord Southampton's kennels. It weighed about 16 lbs., and was a black with tan, or rather tawny muzzle and feet. "Had the dog lived to-day," says Mr. Rawdon Lee, who gives full particulars about him, and his deeds of derring-do," he would no doubt have been classed as a Welsh terrier." Indeed, all the wire-haired terrier tribe are, on the face of them, first cousins, and it is only during recent years that the skill of the fancier, and the exact science to which he has reduced breeding, have narrowed them into their own grooves, and endowed them with individual characteristics which distinguish them from each other. Put a wire-haired fox terrier, a Welsh and an Irish terrier, into a ring, and you shall have a trio which, apart from colour, can match as closely as an Englishman, an Irishman, and a Welshman.

The wire-haired fox terrier has one serious drawback, regarded from a show point of view: he must be trimmed. He does not grow his crop of hair to a common standard, and his skin is as capable of hirsute variation as the cheeks of his masters. You may read of a winning specimen, claimed at a show at his catalogue price, developing into something of the Maltese type as regards the length of that coat which satisfied the critical eye of the judge two months previously; and for the hair on the dog's face, it requires to be treated with the skill of an eyebrow-barber. If I say