The Beggar’s Dog. Rambling one day in London city, I saw a dog that raised my pity, A wretched cur all skin and bone, That in the gutter crawled along ; And in his mouth (I smiled at that) He held an old and crownless hat. With quick and deferential eye, He watched the bustling passers-by, Who in their haste, as on they fared, Nor cast a glance at him nor cared. Yet some, when they had passed some paces, Would halt with grins upon their faces ; His story was so plain indeed, So clear, that he who ran might read : ‘ A beggar’s dog—his master dead— The beast still carries on the trade, And trusts by diligence and care, The public patronage to share.’ I sauntered on ; but as I went, My thoughts upon that dog were bent. ‘ Behold !’ I said in meditation, ‘ The force of custom, education ; And though we laugh at him—’tis sad— Some human plans are quite as bad. How many schemes in this same town Are merely hats without the crown ; Ways indirect, but most complete, Of tossing money on the street.’ J. Sands.