Did I sit fondly at his feet
As you, dear Blanco, sit at mine,
And watch him with a love as sweet,
My life would grow divine!

Almost all our great men have more than one dog in their homes. When I
spent a day with the Quaker poet at Danvers, I found he had three dogs.
Roger Williams, a fine Newfoundland, stood on the piazza with the
questioning, patronizing air of a dignified host; a bright-faced Scotch
terrier, Charles Dickens, peered at us from the window, as if glad of a
little excitement; while Carl, the graceful greyhound, was indolently
coiled up on a shawl and took little notice of us.

Whittier has also a pet cow, favorite and favored, which puts up her
handsome head for an expected caress. The kindly hearted old poet, so
full of tenderness for all created things, told me that years when nuts
were scarce he would put beech nuts and acorns here and there as he
walked over his farm, to cheer the squirrels by an unexpected find.

Miss Mitford's tribute to her defunct doggie shows to what a degree of
imbecility an old maid may carry fondness for her pets, but it is
pathetically amusing.

"My own darling Mossy's hair, cut off after he was dead by dear Drum,
August 22, 1819. He was the greatest darling that ever lived (son of
Maria and Mr. Webb's 'Ruler,' a famous dog given him by Lord Rivers),
and was, when he died, about seven or eight years old. He was a large
black dog, of the largest and strongest kind of greyhounds; very fast
and honest, and resolute past example; an excellent killer of hares, and
a most magnificent and noble-looking creature. His coat was of the
finest and most glossy black, with no white, except a very little under
his feet (pretty white shoe linings I used to call them)--a little
beautiful white spot, quite small, in the very middle of his neck,
between his chin and his breast--and a white mark on his bosom. His face
was singularly beautiful; the finest black eyes, very bright, and yet
sweet, and fond, and tender--eyes that seemed to speak; a beautiful,
complacent mouth, which used sometimes to show one of the long white
teeth at the side; a jet black nose; a brow which was bent and flexible,
like Mr. Fox's, and gave great sweetness and expression, and a look of
thought to his dear face. There never was such a dog! His temper was,
beyond comparison, the sweetest ever known. Nobody ever saw him out of
humor. And his sagacity was equal to his temper. Thank God, he went off
wi