While she was sick, her parents did every thing
to make her comfortable and happy. They had a dog which Lizzy set a
great deal by, and with him she used to play in the house and in the
garden. When Lizzy was so sick that she could not play with him, he
would come and lay himself down at her bed side, and appeared to be
very sad on her account. When she died [and] was buried, the dog
followed with the parents in the funeral, to the grave-yard where
Lizzy was laid away. One day, about five months afterwards, I went
with her father to see the grave of Lizzy.
As we went into the grave-yard, we walked slowly along, reading the
names of persons buried there, while the dog followed us. We soon
missed the dog, supposing he had wandered into some other part of the
cemetery. But when we came within a few yards of Lizzy's grave we saw
him sitting at its head, leaning against the stone which was erected
in memory of the lovely daughter. It was a very affecting scene--the
attachment of the dog, as well as the power of his memory. Dogs are
faithful creatures, and we can never bear to see them abused.
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