[Enclosure 1]

Woodgate, near Wellington,

12th mo. 8, 1859.

The Hotel Dog.—(Copy of a letter from Mr. R. Fry,² formerly of Woodgate, now of Exeter.)

There is a very pretty light tawny-coloured dog, with a fine bushy tail, at the Queen’s Hotel, Exeter, that has attracted my attention by his sagacity as well as his beauty.

I watched his contrivance a week or two ago to get out of the coffee-room. The door is a double swinging door, opening either way, but so stiffly that the dog has not strength enough to put it open with his nose. He therefore walked back several yards, and ran against the door. This manœuvre opened the door, but not wide enough to please him; he therefore repeated the act, taking a longer run than the first, and having acquired a greater impetus. This done, he opened the door wider, and then passed through.

On speaking to his owner about the cleverness of the dog, he said the dog had learnt by experience that it was unsafe to attempt to pass through if the door was not pretty far opened, for he had twice had his tail caught and pinched from the door falling fast before he was completely through. Is not the above an exhibition of something more than instinct?

[Enclosure 2]

Honiton,

November 19, 1868.

The Isle of Wight Dog.—(Copy of two letters from Mr. Kirkpatrick,³ Banker, Honiton.)

In compliance with your wish expressed by you when I had the pleasure of meeting you in the train on Tuesday last, I will now recapitulate the little anecdote I told you about the terrier dog belonging to my late father, Joseph Kirkpatrick, of St. Cross, Isle of Wight.

About the commencement of the present century, before the days of quick coaches and railways, my father crossed from Cowes to Southampton with his horse and terrier, and rode to London viâ Basingstoke. On reaching town he put up his horse at an inn in Westminster, and, as he was going into the city, directed the ostler to tie up, and take care of, his dog.

When he returned from the city, he found the dog had broken loose and disappeared. Exactly twenty-four hours afterwards the dog arrived at St. Cross.

About a month after this my father was at Cowes with the dog, and on meeting Captain Stevens⁴ of the Fox cutter, which plied as a passage vessel between Cowes and Portsmouth, Stevens remarked, ‘Is that your dog, sir?’ ‘Yes,’ was the reply. Stevens then added, ‘He was my passenger a few weeks ago from Portsmouth to this place’ (Cowes), ‘and on the vessel sailing into Cowes harbour, without waiting to get into the boat, jumped overboard and swam ashore.’

This is the story I have often heard my father relate.

[Enclosure 3]

Honiton,

November 20, 1868.

I quite forgot to tell you in my note of yesterday that the terrier to which I referred was born in the Isle of Wight, and had never been out of the isle til the day my father rode to London by Southampton.