Two hounds belonged to a gentleman in Lancashire, and he, wishing to
make them a present to a friend, sent them to Kilkenny, the place where
he lived in Ireland. But the hounds apparently did not like their new
quarters, and, no doubt, missed their old master; for after a few days
they disappeared, and could not be found or heard of, until at last
their master got a letter from their former owner in Lancashire to say
that the hounds had returned to him. It was afterwards discovered that
they had gone to the North Vale in Dublin, jumped on board a steamboat,
which fortunately was going to England, and had found their way to their
old home.
Some dogs take offence very easily. I know one absurd, diminutive
creature, who has the greatest dislike to being talked about, and
directly he hears any one mention his name even, he gets up and walks
out of the room in the most dignified way possible, looking round all
the time, as much as to say, "How dare you talk about me?"
Another dog belonging to a friend took great offence because he could
not have his own way. He is a nice old dog, very old and quite blind,
and has always lived with the same master, to whom he is quite devoted,
accompanying him everywhere, and at night keeping guard on the mat at
his bedroom door. A short time ago his master went on a visit to a
house about sixty miles distant from his own home, and as usual his old
favorite went with him. When night came, the old dog, having found out
his master's room, posted himself, as he had always been accustomed to
do, at his door. But the servants of the house, not knowing his ways,
drove him downstairs. The next day the dog was gone; but was heard of
soon afterwards, having returned to his own home. He had taken offence
at not being allowed to sleep where he liked, and had found his way
back, in spite of the distance and his blindness.