nfolding my dog's tale.

This attachment of mine to the canine family in general, and their
affection towards myself, have induced me, like the Vizier in the
"Arabian Nights," of happy memory, to devote some time to the study of
their language. Its idiom is not so difficult as many would suppose.
There is a simplicity about it that often shames the dialects of man;
which have been so altered and refined that we discover people often
saying one thing when they mean exactly the reverse. Nothing of the sort
is visible in the great canine tongue. Whether the tone in which it is
uttered be gruff or polished, sharp or insinuating, it is at least
sincere. Mankind would often be puzzled how to use it.

Like many others, its meaning is assisted by gestures of the body, and,
above all, by the expression of the eye. If ever language had its seat in
that organ, as phrenologists pretend, it lies in the eye of the dog. Yet,
a good portion finds its way to his tail. The motion of that eloquent
member is full of meaning. There is the slow wag of anger; the gentle wag
of contentment; the brisker wag of joy: and what can be more mutely
expressive than the limp states of sorrow, humility, and fear?

If the tongue of the dog present such distinctive traits, the qualities
of the animal himself are not less striking. Although the dispositions of
dogs are as various as their forms--although education, connections, the
society they keep, have all their influence--to the credit of their name
be it said, a dog never sullies his mouth with an untruth. His emotions
of pleasure are genuine, never forced. His grief is not the semblance of
woe, but comes from the heart. His devotion is unmixed with other
feelings. It is single, unselfish, profound. Prosperity affects it not;
adversity cannot make it swerve. Ingratitude, that saddest of human
vices, is unknown to the dog. He does not forget past favours, but, when
attached by benefits received, his love endures through life. But I shall
have never done with reciting the praises of this noble animal; the
subject is inexhaustible. My purpose now has narrower limits.

From the archives of the city of Caneville, I lately drew the materials
of a Bear's Biography. From the same source I now derive my "Adventures
of a Dog." My task has been less that of a composer than a translator,
for a feline editoress, a Miss Minette Gattina, had already performed her
part. This latter animal appears, however, to have