s peculiar and as strong as his tail. My father, in his reserved
way, was very fond of him, and there must have been very funny scenes
with them, for we heard bursts of laughter issuing from his study when
they two were by themselves; there was something in him that took that
grave, beautiful, melancholy face. One can fancy him in the midst of his
books, and sacred work and thoughts, pausing and looking at the secular
Toby, who was looking out for a smile to begin his rough fun, and about
to end by coursing and _gurrin'_ round the room, upsetting my father's
books, laid out on the floor for consultation, and himself nearly at
times, as he stood watching him--and off his guard and shaking with
laughter. Toby had always a great desire to accompany my father up to
town; this my father's good taste and sense of dignity, besides his fear
of losing his friend (a vain fear!), forbade, and as the decision of
character of each was great and nearly equal, it was often a drawn game.
Toby ultimately, by making it his entire object, triumphed. He usually
was nowhere to be seen on my father leaving; he however saw him, and lay
in wait at the head of the street, and up Leith Walk he kept him in view
from the opposite side like a detective, and then, when he knew it was
hopeless to hound him home, he crossed unblushingly over, and joined
company, excessively rejoiced of course.

One Sunday he had gone with him to church, and left him at the vestry
door. The second psalm was given out, and my father was sitting back in
the pulpit, when the door at its back, up which he came from the vestry,
was seen to move, and gently open, then, after a long pause, a black
shining snout pushed its way steadily into the congregation, and was
followed by Toby's entire body. He looked somewhat abashed, but snuffing
his friend, he advanced as if on thin ice, and not seeing him, put his
forelegs on the pulpit, and behold there he was, his own familiar chum.
I watched all this, and anything more beautiful than his look of
happiness, of comfort, of entire ease when he beheld his friend,--the
smoothing down of the anxious ears, the swing of gladness of that mighty
tail,--I don't expect soon to see. My father quietly opened the door,
and Toby was at his feet and invisible to all but himself; had he sent
old George Peaston, the "minister's man," to put him out, Toby would
probably have shown his teeth, and astonished George. He slunk home as
soon as he could, an