een wearing a
medal, and regarded with much affection by all. This noble dog had
well deserved the distinction; for one stormy day he had saved
twenty-two individuals buried in their snowy envelope. Unfortunately,
he met, at a subsequent period, the very fate from which he had
rescued so many persons. At the worst season an Italian courier was
crossing the pass, attended by two monks, each escorted by a dog
(one being the wearer of the medal), when suddenly a vast avalanche
shot down upon them with lightning speed, and they were all lost.

Another of these dogs, named "Barry," had served the St. Bernard
Convent during twelve years, and had saved the lives of fifteen
persons during that time. Whenever the pass was obscured by fogs and
wintry snow-storms, he would go forth in search of lost travellers. It
was his practice to run barking till he lost his breath, and he would
venture into the most dangerous places. If, as sometimes happened, he
did not succeed in drawing out from the snow some traveller stiffened
with cold or overcome with exhaustion, he would run back to the
convent and fetch some of the monks.

One day this brave dog found a little child in a half-frozen state. He
began directly to lick him, and having succeeded first in restoring
animation, and next in the complete resuscitation of the boy, he
induced the child, by his caresses, to tie himself on his back. When
this was effected, he transported the poor child, as if in triumph, to
the hospice. When overtaken by old age, the glorious dog was pensioned
off by way of reward, and after his death his body was stuffed and
placed in the museum at Berne.

It is said that dogs of this variety inherit the faculty of tracking
footsteps in snow. A gentleman once obtained a pup which had been
produced in London by a female of the St. Bernard breed. The young
animal was brought to Scotland, where it was never observed to give
any particular tokens of a power of tracking footsteps until winter.
Then, when the ground was covered with snow, it showed the utmost
inclination to follow footsteps; and such was its power of doing so,
that though its master might attempt to confuse it by walking in the
most irregular fashion, and by inducing other persons to cross his
path in all directions, yet it always followed his course with great
precision.

Sir Thomas Dick Lander, who for many years resided at Grange House,
Edinburgh, had a fine dog of the St. Bernard breed present