His avocations frequently took him by the side of St. Bride's
Churchyard, in London. Whenever he passed it, in the course of some
two or three years, he always saw a spaniel at one particular
grave--it was the grave of his master. There, month after month, and
year after year, did this faithful animal remain, as if to guard the
remains of the being he loved. No cold, however severe, no rain,
however violent, no sun, however hot, could drive this affectionate
creature from a spot which was so endeared to him. The good-natured
sexton of the churchyard, (and the fact is recorded to his honour,)
brought food daily to the dog, and then pitying his exposure to the
weather, scooped out a hole by the side of the grave, and thatched it
over.