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teresting by the enormous dark circles under them, which gave him the air of a Spanish beauty. We feel certain that "Smut" must have been the perfection of languid and sentimental exquisiteness, if it had not been for a certain latent roguishness about the corners of his eyes during five o'clock tea-time, and a hopelessly vulgar habit of hanging out just half an inch of his tongue. Most of the names are of themselves eloquent: such as "Duchie," "Impy," "Titsey," "Sonnie," "Tip," "Faust," "Bunda," "Sprite," "Cirrie," "Topsy," "Waldine." The last name must have been owned by a romantic King Charles's spaniel, nothing less. With regard to "Boxer," it is difficult to form any idea of him from his appellation, which sounds formidable. Could he have been a bull-terrier? But it is hard to believe that a bull-terrier could ever have earned for himself the crowning glory of a marble tombstone.

When we come to inquire into the history and record of some of these once treasured animals, we are confronted by a sad but essentially human fact: oblivion has in many cases passed over them. Although the earliest date on any of the tombstones is 1881, and although we may therefore assume, as will presently be shown, that the cemetery has a history of no more than twelve years, it is extremely difficult to get any authentic information concerning the dogs themselves or their owners. Twelve years is a long time; few people continue to mourn for their friends or even their relations for so long a period; and when it comes to dogs—what wonder that they should be forgotten!

"Poor little 'Prince,'" whose tomb has no date to say when it met its sad death, belonged to H.R.H. the Duke of Cambridge, who is Ranger of the Park, and was run over at Victoria Gate in front of the lodge. The gatekeeper, being, as already stated, an old servant of His Royal Highness, rushed forward to save the poor little fellow, but too late, and so little "Prince" was appropriately buried in the adjoining cemetery. But no record seems to have been kept of him, for we have received from Colonel Fitz-George, the Duke's private secretary, a letter stating that "His Royal Highness the Duke of Cambridge has no sketch or picture of the dog 'Prince,' and has no history of him." In the case of Colonel Montefiore's dog, "Our Prinnie," we find that his memory is still affectionately treasured. Colonel Montefiore writes to say:—

"Our little dog, 'Prince'—'Prinnie'—came of a very good stock of dachshunds. His mother, 'Princess Frederica,' is in the possession of my cousin, and he had many relations with very high-sounding titles. 'Prinnie' was of a rich-brown colour, his temper was perfect, and he was devoted to my wife and children, and would allow the latter to do anything with him. His tricks were varied and entertaining. He was nine months old when he was given to us, and he died about three years later. His death was caused by a chill which he caught one very cold day, waiting at our door to be let in, after a long, solitary ramble. He used, when let out in the early morning, to scamper off into the Park, and sometimes he would remain away for a considerable time, always returning and scratching for admittance. He was never lost.

"My children tell me I have not said half enough in praise of their pet. I regret I have no photograph."

Here we find that the hand of Time has dealt leniently with the memory of a universal favourite. His name is clearly a household word, and the children apparently jealously treasure and preserve it. To their minds, no