n dogs of high and low
degree,--dogs they had read of, and dogs they had seen; and, in fact, we
much doubt, if ever before or since--this side of "Seven Dials" or St.
Giles', there was a more thorough and animated discussion, on dogs,
witnessed.

An old and rusty codger, one whose outward bruises might have led a
disciple of _Paley_ to imagine they had caused a secret enjoyment
within, sat back in the nearest corner, towards the stove, a most
attentive auditor to the thrilling debate. Between his outspread feet, a
dog was coiled up, the only indifferent individual present, apparently
unconcerned upon the subject.

"Look here," says the old codger, tossing one leg over t'other, and
taking an easy and convenient attitude of observation; "look here, boys,
you're talkin' about _dogs!_"

"Dogs?" says one of the most prominent speakers.

"Dogs," echoes the old one.

"Why, yes, daddy, we are talking about dogs."

"What do you know about _dogs?_" says a full-blown _Jakey_, looking
sharply at the old fellow.

"Know about _dogs?_"

"A' yes-s," says _Jakey_. "I bet dis five dollars, ole feller, you don't
know a Spaniel from a butcher's _cur!_"

"Well," responds the old one, transposing his legs, "may be I _don't_,
but it's _my_ 'pinion you'd make a sorry _fiste_ at best, if you had
tail and ears a little longer!"

This _sally_ amused all but the young gentleman who "run wid de
machine," and attracted general attention towards the old man, in whose
eyes and wrinkles lurked a goodly share of mother wit and shrewdness.
_Jakey_ backing down, another of the by-standers put in.

"Poppy, I expect you know what a good dog is?"

"I reckon, boys, I orter. But I'm plaguy dry listening to your dog
talk--confounded dry!"

"What'll you drink, daddy?" said half a dozen of the dog fanciers,
thinking to wet the old man's whistle to get some fun out of him.
"What'll you drink?--come up, daddy."

"Sperrets, boys, good old sperrets," and the old codger drank; then
giving his lips a wipe with the back of his hand, and drawing out a
long, deep "ah-h-h-h!" he again took his seat, observing, as he
partially aroused his ugly and cross-grained mongrel--

"Here's a _dog_, boys."

"That your dog, dad?" asked several.

"That's my dog, boys. He _is_ a dog."

"Ain't he, tho'?" jocularly responded the dog men.

"What breed, daddy, do you call that dog of yours?" asked one.

"Breed? He ain't any breed, _he_ ain't. Stand up, Barney, (jer