The anonymous author of _"Spot," an Autobiography_ (HOULSTON AND SONS,
Paternoster Square), whoever he may be, has a remarkable insight into
dog-nature, so far, that is, as one who is not a dog, but a mere lover
of dogs, can judge. _Spot_ tells his own story in a straightforward,
honest, doggy style, which must commend him at once to the hearts
of his readers. His reflections, from the canine point of view, are
admirably just. He never cared for flowers. "How vapid," he says,
"is the scent of a rose, for instance, compared with that of an old
seasoned bone." The force of the remark must be appreciated by anyone
who has watched a dog exhuming with furtive labour a bone he had
buried a week before. A firm foe to cats, he yet makes an exception in
favour of his house-cat, as all civilised cat-destroying dogs do. The
bull-dog's greeting to him is, in itself, a revelation of character.
"Cheer up, youngster! Any good smells hereabouts?" says that
redoubtable animal; whereupon they saunter together round by the back
of the house, "passing few smells of any importance until we arrived
at the ashpit." But I cannot here quote at greater length from
his wise remarks. I can honestly advise all lovers of dogs (boys
especially) to read this wholesome, pleasant, clever little book.