side."

Honest Johnny Bower! so many years have elapsed since the time I treat
of, that it is more than probable his simple head lies beneath the
walls of his favorite Abbey. It is to be hoped his humble ambition has
been gratified, and his name recorded by the pen of the man he so loved
and honored.

* * * * *

After my return from Melrose Abbey, Scott proposed a ramble to show me
something of the surrounding country. As we sallied forth, every dog in
the establishment turned out to attend us. There was the old stag-hound
Maida, that I have already mentioned, a noble animal, and a great
favorite of Scott's, and Hamlet, the black greyhound, a wild,
thoughtless youngster, not yet arrived to the years of discretion; and
Finette, a beautiful setter, with soft, silken hair, long pendent ears,
and a mild eye, the parlor favorite. When in front of the house, we
were joined by a superannuated greyhound, who came from the kitchen
wagging his tail, and was cheered by Scott as an old friend and
comrade.

In our walks, Scott would frequently pause in conversation to notice
his dogs and speak to them, as if rational companions; and indeed there
appears to be a vast deal of rationality in these faithful attendants
on man, derived from their close intimacy with him. Maida deported
himself with a gravity becoming his age and size, and seemed to
consider himself called upon to preserve a great degree of dignity and
decorum in our society. As he jogged along a little distance ahead of
us, the young dogs would gambol about him, leap on his neck, worry at