A thousand times I have said, 'I want my Mossy,' when that dear Mossy was close by and would put his dear black nose under my hand on hearing his name.

God bless you, my Mossy! I cried when you died, and I can hardly help crying whenever I think of you.

All who loved me loved Mossy.

He had the most perfect confidence in me--always came to me for protection against any one who threatened him, and, thank God, always found it.

I value all things he had lately or ever touched; even the old quilt that used to be spread on my bed for him to lie on, and which we called Mossy's quilt; and the pan that he used to drink out of in the parlor, and which was always called Mossy's pan, dear darling! "I forgot to say that his breath was always sweet and balmy; his coat always glossy like satin; and he never had any disease or anything to make him disagreeable in his life.