The Scotch Colley resembles the English type in character, although it differs from that animal in form. It possesses a sharp nose, bright and mild eye, and a most sagacious aspect. Its body is abundantly supplied or covered with long woolly hair, which forms a most effectual screen against heat, or the cold piercing sleety blasts of the northern wintry winds. The tail is exceedingly bushy, and curves upwards towards the end. The colour of the fur is generally dark, but is sometimes variegated with a very little white. These distinctive marks are greatly admired by some fanciers, while others give their decided preference for the tint that is black and tan. However, it sometimes happens that the coat is a peculiar mixture of these colours, or it may be one uniform colour, in which case the dog is not so highly valued.

The Colley, Or Shepherd's Dog.

The "dew claws" are as a rule generally double, and are not attached to the bone, as is the case with the other claws. It used to be the practice to remove these appendages, on the ground that they are apt to be torn off by the various obstacles through which the animal is often obliged to force its way, or by the many accidents to which it is liable in its laborious and somewhat thankless vocation. Now, however, it is almost obsolete.

This dog, again, perhaps enjoys a special claim upon our attention, for has not Caledonia's bard, the immortal Robert Burns, poured forth the praises of this noble animal in such language that it may be truly said

"His twa doge preach to every land?"

Yes, the more we know of this wonderful animal the greater reason have we to thank that beneficent Being who gave the dog to man as his companion and friend, and ill may betide the wretch who abuses the devotion of this most affectionate and docile creature.

Burns with his characteristic enthusiasm says, "Man is the god of the dog. He knows no other, he can understand no other, and see how he worships him; with what reverence he crouches at his feet, with what love he fawns upon him, with what dependence he looks up to him, and with what cheerful alacrity he obeys him. His whole soul is wrapt up in his god; all the powers and faculties of his nature are devoted to his service, and these powers and faculties are ennobled by the intercourse. Divines tell us that it ought just to be so with the Christian, but the dog puts the Christian to shame."

The tale of "The Twa Dogs" was composed by Burns after some evil-disposed person had wantonly killed his favourite Colley, called Luath. The following lines are fraught with keen penetration, and describe the characters and physical appearance of "The Twa Dogs" that no other poet has been able to imitate. They run thus: -

"Upon a bonnie day in June, When wearing through the afternoon, Twa dogs that were na thrang at hame, Forgathered ance upon a time. The first I'll name, they ca'd him Ceasar, Was keepit for hit honour's pleasure:

His hair, his size, his mouth, his lugs,

Showed he was nane o' Scotland's dogs.

But whalpit some place far abroad,

Where sailors gang to fish for cod.

His locked, lettered, braw brass collar,

Showed him the gentleman and scholar;

But though he was o' high degree,

The fient o' pride - nae pride had he;

But wad hae spent an hour caressin',

E'en wi' a tinkler-gipsy's messan.

At kirk or market, mill or smiddie,

Nae tawted tyke, though e'er sae duddie,

But he wad stan't, as gled to see him,

And stroan't on stanes and hillocks wi' him.

The tither was a ploughman's colley,

A rhyming, ranting, roving billie,

Wha for his friend and comrade had him,

And in his freaks had Luath ca'd him,

After some dog in Highland sang,

Was made lang syne - Lord knows how lang!

He was a gash and faithfu' tyke

As ever lap a sheugh or dike.

His honest, sonsie, bawsent face

Aye gat him friends in ilka place.

His breast was white, his towzie back

Weel clad wi' coat o' glossy black,

His gaucie tail, wi' upward curl,

Hung o'er his hurdies wi' a swirl.

Nae doubt but they were fain o' ither,

And unco pack and thick thegither;

Wi' social nose whyles snuffed and snowkit,

Whyles mice and moudieworts they howkit,

Whyles scoured awa in lang excursion,

An' worried ither in diversion;

Until wi' daffin' weary grown,

Upon a knowe they sat them down,

And there began a lang digression

About the lords o' the creation."

The poet then proceeds to criticise numerous faults and follies of the human race and concludes as follows: -

"By this, the sun was out o' sight, And darker gloaming brought the night;

The bum-clock hummed wi' lazy drone, The kye stood rowtin' i' the loan, When up they gat, and shook their lugs, Rejoiced they were nae men, but dogs; And each took aff his several way, Resolved to meet some ither day."

Now it is scarcely possible to overrate the marvellous intelligence of a well-taught Colley, for if the shepherd were deprived of the help of his dog, his office would be impracticable, especially in the Highlands of Scotland. It has also been asserted that if the work of the dog had to be performed by men, their maintenance would more than swallow up the entire profits of the flock. The dog is the direct medium through which the instructions of the man are communicated to the flock, and being in intelligence the superior of his charge and the inferior of his master, he is equally capable of communicating with either extreme.

The memory of the Colley is singularly tenacious; in fact, he forgets nothing, while some assert that he can distinguish the seventh day from the ordinary working days of the week. Hogg, the "Ettrick Shepherd," says that he has known one of these dogs to mount guard night and day over a dairy full of milk and cream, and never so much as break the cream with the tip of its tongue, nor permit a cat, or rat, or any other creature to touch the milk-pans. Many incidents could be related concerning this faithful animal, but we trust sufficient has been said to ensure the sympathy of all those that have in any way to do with his comfort through life.

We pass on now to consider the merits of a much-maligned animal, recognised in ordinary language as