REASONING IN A DOG — (From a Correspondent). — "Nelson," a fine Newfoundland dog, was a favourite playfellow with my schoolfellows and myself. He seemed glad whenever he could find the opportunity of appearing in the ground, and his presence was always welcome to us. He was particularly well pleased with the hoop when it came into use in the fine cold days of autumn, and would never tire of running barking after it, as dogs are fond of doing after coach-wheels. It was a pretty sight when he took up a hoop himself in his mouth, holding it by the lower edge, the upper part encircling his head, and rising far above him as he marched slowly along, apparently as proud of his ornament as a savage belle of her huge nose-ring. But winter was his grand season of enjoyment, when the snow on the ground made England no bad substitute for his native Newfoundland. Not to mention his natural expression of delight by rolling over and over on the cold carpet, he furnished us with a never tiring mark for our snow-balls. Our snow-balling matches were at once suspended when he appeared; there was no need of calling sides, for Nelson would stand against the whole school. Pelt him as hard as we pleased, he would never lose his temper, but stand barking at every ball, trying to catch in his mouth each as it came, and jumping to one side and the other to humour the stragglers, apparently unwilling to let any slip. Thus would he go on day after day, well knowing our times of play, and very frequent in his attendance to share our sports. At last, however, one year the Christmas holydays came on, the sports were interrupted or transferred elsewhere, and Nelson had had no notice. He came as usual, but the playground door was closed, and none of his playfellows were to be seen. After waiting for some time in vain, he found other people going to the front door of the house, and as he could not gain entrance by his usual way he too would try the other. There he posted himself, and whenever the door was opened, wagged his tail, and solicited admission; but in vain, for though he was a favourite with the servant as well as others, she was frightened at the thought of four great unwiped feet passing through the clean hall. Nelson was repulsed, but not dismayed. A single knock called the servant again. She found nobody but Nelson, and supposed some kind person passing by had knocked for him. Another single knock, still nobody but Nelson. Again! and now the case seemed singular; and the servant looking into it more closely traced on the door the wet marks of Nelson's feet reaching up to the knocker. What shall say that a dog cannot reason? The trying a door to which he had never been accustomed to seems more than instinct, and the knocking at that door implies something very like a syllogism — "People who want to go in here, knock at the door, and are let in. I want to go in. I will knock, and shall be let in." But poor Nelson was not let in. The servant brought me to hear the tale and see the footmarks on the door; but Nelson was gone — his patience quite exhausted (few people knock more than three times), or he should have come in and had his snow-balling match despite his great wet feet and the clean hall. Poor Nelson! he was a good, honest, fine-spirited playfellow; and now, as long as it is since we played together, I think of him — not so much in the character of a dog as in that of a playfellow.