"The hound he yowled and back he fled,
As struck with fairy charm."


It is a fact known to many people, and I believe it has been
frequently stated, that no large and fierce dog or animal of any
kind, with the exception of the bull, which shuts its eyes and
rushes blindly forward, will venture to attack an individual who
confronts it with a firm and motionless countenance. I say large
and fierce, for it is much easier to repel a bloodhound or bear of
Finland in this manner than a dunghill cur or a terrier, against
which a stick or a stone is a much more certain defence. This will
astonish no one who considers that the calm reproving glance of
reason, which allays the excesses of the mighty and courageous in
our own species, has seldom any other effect than to add to the
insolence of the feeble and foolish, who become placid as doves
upon the infliction of chastisements, which if attempted to be
applied to the former would only serve to render them more
terrible, and like gunpowder cast on a flame, cause them in mad
desperation to scatter destruction around them.

The barking of the dog brought out from a kind of alley an elderly
man, whom I supposed to be his master, and of whom I made some
inquiries respecting the place. The man was civil, and informed me
that he served as a soldier in the British army, under the "great
lord," during the Peninsular war. He said that there was a convent
of nuns a little farther on, which he would show me, and thereupon
led the way to the south-east part of the wall, where stood a large