cry of fear, and started back a little way from the dog. The dog
approached the boy again, and tried, after his own fashion, to make the
little fellow understand that he came there to do him good, and not to
hurt him. Then he licked the face and hands of the child. By and by the
child confided in his visitor, and began to entertain a hope that he
might yet be saved. When Barry saw that his errand was understood, he
lifted his head, and showed the child a bottle covered with willow,
which was hanging around his neck. This bottle contained wine, some of
which the little fellow drank, and felt refreshed. Then the dog lay down
by the side of the child, and gave him the benefit of the heat of his
own body for a long time. After this, the dog made a sign for the boy to
get upon his back. It was some time before the boy could understand what
the sign meant. But it was repeated again and again, and at last the
child mounted the back of the kind animal, who carried him safely to the
convent."

Here is a capital story about a bloodhound, taken from the excellent
book by Mr. Bingley, to which I have before alluded. Aubri de Mondidier,
a gentleman of family and fortune, traveling alone through the Forest of
Bondy, in France, was murdered, and buried under a tree. His dog, a
bloodhound, would not quit his master's grave for several days; till at
length, compelled by hunger, he proceeded to the house of an intimate
friend of the unfortunate Aubri at Paris, and, by his melancholy
howling, seemed desirous of expressing the loss they had both sustained.
He repeated his cries, ran to the door, looked back to see if any one
followed him, returned to his master's friend, pulled him by the
sleeve, and with dumb eloquence, entreated him to go with him. The
singularity of all these actions of the dog, added to the circumstance
of his coming there without his master, whose faithful companion he had
always been, prompted the company to follow the animal. He conducted