we had one; he will let the chickens and pigeons perch upon him, or walk between his feet; and last year I had half a dozen tame mice, which I used to let out upon him, when they would nestle in his warm coat, run races over and under him, and he would not move a limb, for fear of hurting one.  As to a bone, he will allow me to take it out of his mouth at any time; and, what is more, he will readily give it up to Fiddy, whose little teeth can only nibble off the meat; and when he has done that, Bronti takes it, and munches the bone.

His mother was full grown when I had her, and she was very fierce:  if any workman came to the house, unless her master or I was by to restrain her, she would put him in fear of his life; and would have bitten him too, if she could have seized him.  We gave her away to a friend who would be kind to her, and keep her out of mischief; and we brought up a puppy for ourselves, this same Bronti.  Now he is more than three years old; and though he will sometimes fight a big dog who affronts him in the street, he never frightened anybody who came to the house.  He watches, and gives one single, deep, quiet bark, to let us know that there is a stranger; and seeing that we are satisfied, he sits with one ear thrown back, listening and watching.  If he meets a workman in the house, he does not even growl; only keeps him in sight, following him about, but with such a sweet-tempered look, that the greatest coward, if honest, could not contrive to be afraid of him.  I might leave a joint of meat under his care, if he were ever so hungry; he would not touch it, because he is truly honest:  and as to his sense, you would hardly believe if I told you how sensible he is.  When I am putting on my boots, he comes up to me, and looks very eagerly in my face; if I say “Yes,” or, “Bronti shall go,” he is just wild with joy, tearing about, barking, and making no small riot.  If I say “No,” or shake my head sorrowfully and say nothing, he steals away, lies down, and never attempts to follow me:  but he gets on a chair, and Fiddy on a table, to see me go out at the gate; and then they both begin to cry and moan most piteously, so that nobody can comfort them.

On Sunday morning, Bronti looks very melancholy; how he knows the day I cannot tell.  Of course, we all go to church, but he begins to be sad as soon as we get up.  Neither he, nor Fiddy would attempt to follow us then, if the doors and gate were all set open:  they seat themselves at the window to see us go.  And now I recollect one time when Bronti was as savage as his mother.  You shall hear about it.

One Sunday, when were all at church, a friend, just landed from a voyage, came to the house.  He opened the garden gate, and was walking towards the door, when up jumped Bronti on a chair at window, barking, growling, and behaving so violently, that he really dared not try to get into a house where such a wild beast stood ready to seize him.  So he went off to the church, found us, and after service returned with us; and Bronti, seeing him as a friend of the family, gave him an affectionate welcome.  Then he told us of his ferocious behaviour; and we were very glad to find that our gentle dog knew how to protect our house and property when it was left entirely to his care.