Of the moral and intellectual qualities of the dog a great deal of very silly rubbish has been written. His intelligence is of such a high order that it is not improved, but made ridiculous by the embellishments of those who write without practical knowledge, and concoct foolish stories about him, which are merely the reflex of their own love for the marvellous rather than for the truth. It would, indeed, be difficult to over-estimate the intelligence of a good colley; he thinks and acts for himself under difficulties and conditions new to him, and in matters relative to his special duties rarely fails to strike out the true path. That he feels the responsibility of his charge and acts independently of special orders, all who have had opportunities of observing him must have noted. Even the cottager's dog, when he has been once initiated into it as a duty, will turn the poultry out of the garden without bidding. I have seen a dog in charge under the shepherd of a flock of white-faced sheep on the south side of a hill, and where the watershed was the boundary, and no fence to mark it, over and over again, without the slightest hint from his master, get up and leisurely pick out and drive back to the north side of the hill the hardier black faces that had stolen over the crest and down the south slope among their white-faced friends in search of the better bite they well knew grew there.

These are among the common duties and everyday practice of trained colleys, which might be extended and illustrated almost ad libitum, and are a sufficient proof of high intelligence without intrenching on special doings of individual dogs, which in some instances are certainly very remarkable; but what higher display of that craftiness and cunning with which the colley is credited can we have than in the performances of trained specimens under the intelligent handling of the shepherds at those sheepdog trials instituted by Mr. J. LI. Price, of Rhiwlas, Bala ? The craft and cunning is of a high order, and to me clearly indicates considerable reasoning power; and, indeed, the highest encomium a Scotch shepherd can pass on a colley is that he is "gey wyse," i.e., very wise.

Instances and anecdotes innumerable could be given illustrative of the colley's cleverness and fidelity to his trust and to his master, were this the place for so doing, but I take it that my readers are fully aware of his capability for marvellous displays of intelligence, and need neither ancient saws nor modern instances to confirm them in their faith.

It is just worth notice that the colley is one among other sheepdogs that writers have credited with being the origin of all the varieties of our domestic dogs; but as each writer has selected the sheepdog of his own country as the real original, the idea is considerably damaged, the sheepdog's of various countries differing quite as widely from each other as the people do, so that I feel bound to accept the colley as he is, without being too curious as to his origin - the theory that each country had a special breed of dog manufactured for its special behoof, from which all its varieties spring, not commending itself to my judgment.

There is one point I think most people will agree upon, namely, that the colley is in physical properties more nearly allied to several races of wild dogs than any other of our domestic breeds. The likeness between the colley and the Indian hare dog, as given by Youatt, is very striking.

In general appearance the colley stands clear and distinct from any other of our domestic breeds - his build is light and graceful, no superabundance of needless bone or tissue to cumber him in his work, and no sacrifice of these at the shrine of elegance; yet his style and carriage are eminently elegant in every outline and graceful movement, and there is a fitness about him for the rough yet important work he has to do, and a combination of wisdom and self-reliance, toned down by an expression of loyalty and love for his master, that commends him to us and commands our admiration.

The general contour, with its filling in, shows a combination of agility, speed, suppleness, with a power of endurance that no other breed possesses. There is no waste, no lumber about him; even his heavy coat is so in appearance only, being essentially wet-resisting and a necessity of his exposed existence.

There is no dog that excels the colley in good looks, high intelligence, and unswervable loyalty to his master, and to these qualities does he owe his high position as a general favourite with the public, whilst his many practical excellencies render him indispensable to the shepherd.

As a general complete poetic yet accurate description of the colley, I know of nothing to compare with Burns' description of his own dog Luath, which I therefore transcribe:

He was a gash and faithfu' tyke As ever lap a sheugh or dyke. His honest, sonsie, bawsint face, Aye gat him friends in ilka place. His breast was white, his towzie back Weel clad wi' coat o' glossy black. His gawcie tail, wi' upward curl, Hung ower his hurdies wi' a swurl.

The wise and faithful, yet sonsie - that is, open, jolly, engaging look - is admirably descriptive; and the bawsint face - that is, with the bold white blaze down it, like a badger ; and the gawcie, or large abundant swirling tail, are eminently characteristic of the breed.

To take the points seriatim:

The head should be in size proportionate to the whole body, although it looks rather small in the best specimens from the long thick ruff of hair round the neck and throat in which it is set. The skull is broad and rather flat, slightly narrowing towards the front. The forehead is slight, and there is more or less fulness over the eyes, but this, if much exaggerated, is a suspicious point. It should not, however, be a long lean and gradually tapering head from occiput to nose, but the muzzle gradually tapering and of fair length, without becoming what is termed snipey. The teeth should be strong, white, and those of the upper and lower jaw should meet. I have never seen a decidedly undershot colley. Such a feature would be a great disfigurement, and the opposite, overshot or pig-jaw, is so also, although not to the same extent. This was a great fault in Old Jack and in Carlyle, the subject of our illustration.