cold, strange cradle of weeds and slime. Seizing her clothes, and
holding them fast in his teeth, he brought her up to the surface of the
water, a very little distance from the boat, and with looks that told
his joy, he gave the little girl into the hands of her astonished
father. Then, swimming back to the shore, he shook the water from his
long, shaggy coat, and laid himself down, panting, to recover from the
fatigue of his adventure.

[Illustration: NERO SAVING LITTLE ELLEN.]

Ellen seemed for awhile to be dead; her face was deadly pale; it hung
on her shoulder; her dress showed that she had sunk to the bottom. But
by and by she recovered gradually, and in less than a week she was as
well as ever.

But the Glasgow Chronicle tells a story of the most supremely humane dog
I ever heard of--so humane, in fact, that his humanity was somewhat
troublesome. This dog--a fine Newfoundland--resided near Edinburgh.
Every day he was seen visiting all the ponds and brooks in the
neighborhood of his master's residence. He had been instrumental more
than once in saving persons from drowning. He was respected for his
magnanimity, and caressed for his amiable qualities, till, strange as it
may be considered, this flattery completely turned his head. Saving life
became a passion. He took to it as men take to dram-drinking. Not having
sufficient scope for the exercise of his diseased benevolence in the
district, he took to a very questionable method of supplying the
deficiency. Whenever he found a child on the brink of a pond, he watched
patiently for the opportunity to place his fore-paws suddenly on its
person, and plunged it in before it was aware. Now all this was done for
the mere purpose of fetching them out again. He appeared to find intense