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THE Newfoundland Dog is a very large and burly animal. He stands over two feet and a half high.

His

legs are strong; and he plants his broad paws firmly on

the ground, while he looks at you mildly and calmly. He is a very handsome fellow, and he is as wise as he is handsome.

At home in Newfoundland he has rather a bad time of it, especially in the long winter. Then his master is commonly employed in cutting wood and fetching it down from the forest to serve as fuel. The dog is strong

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and willing to work; so his master yokes him into a cart and makes him drag home the fuel that he has been cutting in the forest. The load is sure enough to be heavy, perhaps much too heavy for even the dog's great strength; the weather is always very severe; and the roads are rough, or there may be no regular road at all. Besides, the food that the dog gets is by no means.

enough to keep up his strength for the trying work he has to do. It is not often anything better than salt fish, and that too in a condition not fit to be eaten. We need not wonder if the dogs that happen to live through the winter break away from their masters in the fresh days of spring, and fall upon the flocks in the neighbouring fields. The Newfoundland Dog does not seem to be well treated in his native home.

When the Newfoundland Dog leaves his native country, he ceases to be the slave, and becomes the friend, of man. And a very useful friend he would wish to be. There is nothing that he likes better than to be doing something to help his master. He delights to carry his stick, or to run back to fetch some article that his master has lost or left behind him. He is not easily tired when he knows that he is expected to be working. He will search patiently for a long time, and exert himself to the utmost of his strength, in order to do what he thinks his master would like. He is a very good, faithful, and diligent animal, the Newfoundland Dog.

Perhaps the Newfoundland Dog is happiest when he is in the water; and he does not mind whether it be salt or fresh. He is a capital swimmer. His broad paws catch the water, and his strong legs propel him through it at very great speed. If a ship were in danger near the shore he would rush through such big waves as no man could meet, carrying a rope in his mouth to the vessel or to the land. If a person were drowning, he would hurry to his rescue, and support him by the neck, with as much sense and skill as any human being.

Many are the people that have been saved from death in the water, by the courage and wisdom of the Newfoundland Dog.

The Newfoundland Dog shows his wisdom and dignity in a very marked way when other smaller dogs try to annoy him. He takes no notice of them; he goes on his way calmly as if he did not know they were yelping at him; he seems to think that he is too far above them to mind what they do. But if they presume too much upon his quiet and gentle bearing he will let them know that he can easily punish their rudeness. He may seize his tormentor and place him in danger, and then when he has given him a good fright he will let him go, perhaps with a quiet laugh to himself at the other's silliness. A story is told of a little quarrelsome wretch of a bull-dog, which once fixed itself upon a Newfoundland Dog's nose and would not let go. The big dog, however, knew there was a vessel of boiling tar quite near, and rushing up to it, he dipped the bull-dog in, and at once recovered his freedom and punished his enemy.

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MY POOR DOG TRAY.

On the green banks of Shannon when Sheelah was nigh,
No blithe Irish lad was so happy as I;

No harp like my own could so cheerily play,
And wherever I went was my poor dog Tray.

When at last I was forced from my Sheelah to part,
She said (while the sorrow was big at her heart),
Oh I remember your Sheelah when far, far away,
And be kind, my dear Pat, to our poor dog Tray.

Poor dog! he was faithful and kind to be sure,
And he constantly loved me although I was poor;
When the sour-looking folk sent me heartless away,
I had always a friend in my poor dog Tray.

When the road was so dark, and the night was so cold,
And Pat and his dog were grown weary and old,
How snugly we slept in my old coat of grey,
And he licked me for kindness-my old dog Tray.

Though my wallet was scant, I remembered his case,
Nor refused my last crust to his pitiful face;
But he died at my feet on a cold winter's day,
And I played a lament for my poor dog Tray.

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