Chapter III: Part 3

Such was the account of this interesting animal as it appeared in the newspapers, to which were shortly afterwards appended several circumstances communicated by a fireman at one of the police offices. A magistrate having asked him whether it was a fact that the dog was present at most of the fires that occurred in the metropolis, the fireman replied that he never knew "Tyke," as he was called, to be absent from a fire upon any occasion that he (the fireman) attended himself. The magistrate said the dog must have an extraordinary predilection for fires. He then asked what length of time he had been known to possess that propensity. The fireman replied that he knew Tyke for the last nine years; and although he was getting old, yet the moment the engines were about, Tyke was to be seen as active as ever, running off in the direction of the fire. The magistrate inquired whether the dog lived with any particular fireman. The fireman replied that Tyke liked one fireman as well as another; he had no particular favourites, but passed his time amongst them, sometimes going to the house of one, and then to another, and off to a third when he was tired. Day or night, it was all the same to him; if a fire broke out, there he was in the midst of the bustle, running from one engine to another, anxiously looking after the firemen; and, although pressed upon by crowds, yet, from his dexterity, he always escaped accidents, only now and then getting a ducking from the engines, which he rather liked than otherwise. The magistrate said that Tyke was a most extraordinary animal; and having expressed a wish to see him, he was shortly after exhibited at the office, and some other peculiarities respecting him were related. There was nothing at all particular in the appearance of the dog; he was a rough-looking small animal, of the terrier breed, and seemed to be in excellent condition, no doubt from the care taken of him by the firemen belonging to the different companies. There was some difficulty experienced in bringing him to the office, as he did not much relish going any distance from where the firemen are usually to be found, except in cases of attending with them at a conflagration, and then distance was of no consequence. It was found necessary to use stratagem for the purpose. A fireman commenced running. Tyke, accustomed to follow upon such occasions, set out after him; but this person, having slackened his pace on the way, the sagacious animal, knowing there was no fire, turned back, and it was necessary to carry him to the office.

The following striking anecdote, of a similar kind, appeared in the first number of the new issue of Cassell's "Illustrated Family Paper." After giving a short account of a fire-escape man, named Samuel Wood, the writer thus alludes to his dog Bill:--

"As to Bill, he regards him evidently in the light of a friend; he had him when he was a pup from a poor fellow who died in the service, and he and his 'Bill' have been on excellent terms ever since.

"The fire-escape man's dog takes after his master in courage and perseverance. He is of the terrier breed, six years old. An alarm of fire calls forth all his energy. He is the first to know that something is wrong--the first to exert himself in setting it right. He has not been trained to the work--'it is a gift,' as his master says; and if we all used our gifts as efficiently as the dog Bill, it would be the better for us. On an alarm of fire Bill barks his loudest, dashes about in a frantic manner, till his master and the escape are on their way to it. He, of course, is there first, giving the police and the crowd to understand that Wood and his fire-escape are coming. When the escape is fixed, and Wood begins to ascend the ladder, Bill runs up the canvas; as soon as a window is opened, Bill leaps in and dashes about to find the occupants, loudly barking for assistance as soon as he has accomplished his errand of mercy. His watchfulness and sagacity are never at fault, although on more than one occasion he has stood a fair chance of losing his life, and has sustained very severe injury. Not long ago a collar was presented to Bill as a reward for his services; unfortunately for him, he has since lost this token of public regard--a misfortune much to be regretted. The following verse was engraved on the collar:--

'I am the fire-escape man's dog: my name is Bill.
When 'fire' is called I am never still:
I bark for my master, all danger brave,
To bring the escape--human life to save.'

Collared or collarless, Bill is always ready to lend a helping bark. May his life be long, and his services properly esteemed!"

The following anecdote shows extraordinary sense, if not reasoning faculty, in a dog:--

A lady of high rank has a sort of colley, or Scotch sheep-dog. When he is ordered to ring the bell, he does so; but if he is told to ring the bell when the servant is in the room whose duty it is to attend, he refuses, and then the following occurrence takes place. His mistress says, "Ring the bell, dog." The dog looks at the servant, and then barks his bow wow, once or twice. The order is repeated two or three times. At last the dog lays hold of the servant's coat in a significant manner, just as if he had said to him--"Don't you hear that I am to ring the bell for you?--come to my lady." His mistress always had her shoes warmed before she put them on, but one day during the hot weather her maid was putting them on without their having been previously placed before the fire. When the dog saw this he immediately interfered, expressing the greatest indignation at the maid's negligence. He took the shoes from her, carried them to the fire, and after they had been warmed as usual, he brought them back to his mistress with much apparent satisfaction, evidently intending to say, if he could, "It is all right now."

The dispositions and characters of dogs, as well as their intelligence, vary very much. Let me give a few instances of this.

When that benevolent man, Mr. Backhouse, went to Australia, in hopes of doing good among the convicts, he was residing in the house of a gentleman who had a son about four years of age. This boy strayed one morning into the bush, and could not be found after a long search had been made for him. In the evening a little dog, which had accompanied the child, scratched at the door, and on its being opened showed unmistakeable signs of wishing to be followed. This was done; and he led the way to the child, who was at last found sitting by the side of a river three or four miles from the house.

At Albany in Worcestershire, at the seat of Admiral Maling, a dog went every day to meet the mail, and brought the bag in his mouth to the house. The distance was about a half-a-quarter of a mile. The dog usually received a meal of meat as his reward. The servants having, on _one day only_, neglected to give him his accustomed meal, the dog on the arrival of the next mail buried the bag, nor was it found without considerable search.

M. D'Obsonville had a dog which he had brought up in India from two months old; and having to go with a friend from Pondicherry to Bengalore, a distance of more than nine hundred miles, he took the animal along with him. "Our journey," says M. D'O., "occupied nearly three weeks; and we had to traverse plains and mountains, and to ford rivers, and go along by-paths. The animal, which had certainly never been in that country before, lost us at Bengalore, and immediately returned to Pondicherry. He went directly to the house of my friend, M. Beglier, then commandant of artillery, and with whom I had generally lived. Now the difficulty is not so much to know how the dog subsisted on the road (for he was very strong, and able to procure himself food), but how he should so well have found his way after an interval of more than a month! This was an effort of memory greatly superior to that which the human race is capable of exerting."

A gentleman residing in Denmark, Mr. Decouick, one of the king's privy councillors, found that he had a remarkable dog. It was the habit of Mr. Decouick to leave Copenhagen on Fridays for Drovengourd, his country seat. If he did not arrive there on the Friday evening, the dog would invariably be found at Copenhagen on Saturday morning, in search of his master. Hydrophobia becoming common, all dogs were shot that were found running about, an exception being made in the case of Mr. Decouick's dog on account of his sagacity and fidelity, a distinctive mark being placed upon him.

The following anecdotes are from Daniel's "Rural Sports:"--

Upon the fidelity of dogs, the following facts deserve to be here recorded: of this property, or other peculiar traits, if they appertain to any class of sporting dogs, in that class they will be noticed.

Dr. Beattie, in one of his ingenious and elegant essays, relates a story, in his own knowledge, of a gentleman's life being saved, who fell beneath the ice, by his dog's going in quest of assistance, and almost forcibly dragging a farmer to the spot.

Mr. Vaillant describes the losing of a bitch while travelling in Africa, when after firing his gun, and fruitlessly searching for her, he despatched one of his attendants, to return by the way they had proceeded; when she was found at about two leagues' distance, seated by the side of a chair and basket, which had dropped unperceived from his waggon: an instance of attentive fidelity, which must have proved fatal to the animal, either from hunger or beasts of prey, had she not been luckily discovered.

As instances of the dog's sagacity, the following are submitted. In crossing the mountain St. Gothard, near Airola, the Chevalier Gaspard de Brandenberg and his servant were buried by an avalanche; his dog, who escaped the heap of snow, did not quit the place where he had lost his master: this was, fortunately, not far from the convent; the animal howled, ran to the convent frequently, and then returned. Struck by his perseverance, the next morning the people from the house followed him; he led them directly to the spot, scratched the snow, and after thirty-six hours passed beneath it, the chevalier and his domestic were taken out safe, hearing distinctly during their confinement the howling of the dog and the discourse of their deliverers. Sensible that to the sagacity and fondness of this creature he owed his life, the gentleman ordered by his will that he should be represented on his tomb with his dog; and at Zug, in the church of St. Oswald, where he was buried in 1728, they still show the monument and the effigy of this gentleman, with the dog lying at his feet.

In 1792, a gentleman, who lived in Vere Street, Clare Market, went with his family to the pit of Drury Lane Theatre, at about half-past five in the evening, leaving a small spaniel, of King Charles's breed, locked up in the dining-room, to prevent the dog from being lost in his absence. At eight o'clock his son opened the door, and the dog immediately went to the playhouse and found out his master, though the pit was unusually thronged, and his master seated near its centre.

A large dog of Mr. Hilson's, of Maxwelhaugh, on the 21st of October, 1797, seeing a small one that was following a cart from Kelso carried by the current of the Tweed, in spite of all its efforts to bear up against the stream, after watching its motions attentively, plunged voluntarily into the river, and seizing the tired animal by the neck, brought it safely to land.

The docility of the dog is such, that he may be taught to practise with considerable dexterity a variety of human actions: to open a door fastened by a latch, and pull a bell when desirous to be admitted. Faber mentions one belonging to a nobleman of the Medici family, which always attended at its master's table, took from him his plates, and brought him others; carried wine to him in a glass upon a salver, which it held in its mouth, without spilling; the same dog would also hold the stirrup in its teeth while its master was mounting his horse. Mr. Daniel had formerly a spaniel, which he gave the honourable Mr. Greville, that, beyond the common tricks which dogs trained to fetch and carry exhibit, would bring the bottles of wine from the corner of the room to the table by the neck, with such care as never to break one; and, in fact, was the _boots_ of the mess-room.

Some few years since, the person who lived at the turnpike-house, about a mile from Stratford-upon-Avon, had trained a dog to go to the town for any small parcels of grocery, &c. which he wanted. A note, mentioning the things required, was tied round his neck, and in the same manner the articles were fastened, and arrived safe to his master.

Colonel Hutchinson relates the following anecdote:--

"A cousin of one of my brother-officers was taking a walk at Tunbridge Wells, when a strange Newfoundland snatched her parasol from her hand, and carried it off. The lady followed the dog, who kept ahead, constantly looking back to see if she followed. The dog at length stopped at a confectioner's, and went in, followed by the lady, who, as the dog would not resign it, applied to the shopman for assistance. He then told her that it was an old trick of the dog's to get a bun, and that if she would give him one he would return the property. She cheerfully did so, and the dog as willingly made the exchange."

The above anecdote proves that dogs are no mean observers of countenances, and that he had satisfied himself by a previous scrutiny as to the probability of his delinquencies being forgiven.

Of the abstinence and escape of a dog, the following narrative may not be uninteresting:--

In 1789, when preparations were making at St. Paul's for the reception of his majesty, a favourite dog followed its master up the dark stairs of the dome. Here, all at once, it was missing; and calling and whistling were to no purpose. Nine weeks after this, all but two days, some glaziers were at work in the cathedral, and heard a faint noise amongst the timbers which support the dome. Thinking it might be some unfortunate human being, they tied a rope round a boy, and let him down near the place whence the sound came. At the bottom he found a dog lying on its side, the skeleton of another dog, and an old shoe half eaten. The humanity of the boy led him to rescue the animal from its miserable situation, and it was accordingly drawn up. Much emaciated, and scarce able to stand, the workmen placed it in the porch of the church, to die or live as it might happen. This was about ten o'clock in the morning. Some time after, the dog was seen endeavouring to cross the street at the top of Ludgate Hill; but its weakness was so great, that, unsupported by a wall, it could not accomplish it. The miserable appearance of the dog again excited the compassion of a boy, who carried it over. By the aid of the houses it was enabled to get to Fleet Market, and over two or three narrow crossings in its way to Holborn Bridge, and about eight o'clock in the evening it reached its master's house in Red Lion Street, Holborn, and laid itself down on the steps, having been ten hours in its journey from St. Paul's to that place. The dog was so much altered, its eyes being so sunk in its head as to be scarce discernible, that the master would not encourage his faithful old companion, who when lost was supposed to weigh twenty pounds, but now only weighed three pounds fourteen ounces. The first indication it gave of knowing its master was by wagging its tail when he mentioned its name, Phillis; for a long time it was unable to eat or drink, and it was kept alive by the sustenance it received from its mistress, who used to feed it with a teaspoon. At length it recovered. It must not be supposed that this animal existed for nine weeks without food; she was in whelp when lost, and doubtless ate her young. The remains of another dog, killed by a similar fall, were likewise found, and were most probably converted by the survivor to the most urgent of all natural purposes; and when this treat was done, the shoe succeeded, which was almost half devoured. What famine and a thousand accidents could not do, was effected a short time after by the wheels of a coach, which unfortunately went over her, and ended the life of poor Phillis.

Of dogs that have supported themselves in a wild state, to the great loss and annoyance of the farmer, there are two instances worthy of notice, from the cunning with which both these dogs frustrated, for a length of time, every secret and open attack. In December, 1784, a dog was left by a smuggling vessel near Boomer, on the coast of Northumberland. Finding himself deserted, he began to worry sheep, and did so much damage that he was the terror of the country, within the circuit of above twenty miles. It is asserted, that when he caught a sheep, he bit a hole in its right side, and after eating the fat about the kidneys, left it. Several of them, thus lacerated, were found alive by the shepherds; and being properly taken care of, some of them recovered, and afterwards had lambs. From this delicacy of his feeding, the destruction may in some measure be conceived, as the fat of one sheep in a day would scarcely satisfy his hunger. Various were the means used to destroy him: frequently was he pursued with hounds, greyhounds, &c., but when the dogs came up with him, he laid down on his back, as if supplicating for mercy, and in that position they never hurt him; he therefore laid quietly, taking his rest, until the hunters approached, when he made off without being followed by the hounds, until they were again excited to the pursuit, which always terminated unsuccessfully. He was one day pursued from Howick to upwards of thirty miles' distance, but returned thither and killed sheep the same evening. His constant residence was upon a rock on the Heugh Hill, near Howick, where he had a view of four roads that approached it; and there, in March 1785, after many fruitless attempts, he was at last shot.

Another wild dog, which had committed similar devastation among the sheep, near Wooler, in the same county (Northumberland), was, on the 6th of June, 1799, advertised to be hunted on the Wednesday following, by three packs of hounds, which were to meet at different places; the aid of men and fire-arms was also requested, with a reward promised of twenty guineas to the person killing him. This dog was described by those who had seen him at a distance as a large greyhound, with some white in his face, neck and one fore-leg white, rather grey on the back, and the rest of a jet-black. An immense concourse of people assembled at the time appointed, but the chase was unprosperous; for he eluded his pursuers among the Cheviot Hills, and, what is singular, returned that same night to the place from whence he had been hunted in the morning, and worried an ewe and her lamb. During the whole summer he continued to destroy the sheep, but changed his quarters, for he infested the fells, sixteen miles south of Carlisle, where upwards of sixty sheep fell victims to his ferocity. In September, hounds and firearms were again employed against him, and after a run from Carrock Fell, which was computed to be thirty miles, he was shot whilst the hounds were in pursuit by Mr. Sewel of Wedlock, who laid in ambush at Moss Dale. During the chase, which occupied six hours, he frequently turned upon the headmost hounds, and wounded several so badly as to disable them. Upon examination, he appeared of the Newfoundland breed, of a common size, wire-haired, and extremely lean. This description does not tally with the dog so injurious to the farmers in Northumberland, although, from circumstances, there is little doubt but it was the same animal.

With a laughably philosophical account of dogs, under the supposition of a transmigration of souls, and with their general natural history from Linnaeus and Buffon, this introductory chapter will be concluded.

A facetious believer in the art of distinguishing at the sight of any creature from what class of animals his soul is derived, thus allots them:--

The souls of deceased bailiffs and common constables are in the bodies of setting dogs and pointers; the terriers are inhabited by trading justices; the bloodhounds were formerly a set of informers, thief-takers, and false evidences; the spaniels were heretofore courtiers, hangers-on of administrations, and hack journal-writers, all of whom preserve their primitive qualities of fawning on their feeders, licking their hands, and snarling and snapping at all who offer to offend their master; a former train of gamblers and black-legs are now embodied in that species of dog called lurchers; bull-dogs and mastiffs were once butchers and drovers; greyhounds and hounds owe their animation to country squires and foxhunters; little whiffling, useless lap-dogs, draw their existence from the quondam beau; macaronies, and gentlemen of the tippy, still being the playthings of ladies, and used for their diversion. There are also a set of sad dogs derived from attornies; and puppies, who were in past time attornies' clerks, shopmen to retail haberdashers, men-milliners, &c. &c. Turnspits are animated by old aldermen, who still enjoy the smell of the roast meat; that droning, snarling species, styled Dutch pugs, have been fellows of colleges; and that faithful, useful tribe of shepherds' dogs, were, in days of yore, members of parliament, who guarded the flock, and protected the sheep from wolves and thieves, although indeed of late some have turned sheep-biters, and worried those they ought to have defended.

Linnaeus informs us, the dog eats flesh, and farinaceous vegetables, but not greens, (this is a mistake, for they will eat greens when boiled); its stomach digests bones; it uses the tops of grass as a vomit; is fond of rolling in carrion; voids its excrements on a stone; its dung (the _album graecum_) is one of the greatest encouragers of putrefaction; it laps up its drink with its tongue; makes water side-ways, by lifting up one of its hind-legs; is most diuretic in the company of a strange dog, and very apt to repeat it where another dog has done the same: _Odorat anum alterius, menstruans catulit cum variis; mordet illa illos; cohaeret copula junctus_. Its scent is most exquisite when its nose is moist; it treads lightly on its toes; scarce ever sweats, but when hot, lolls out its tongue; generally walks frequently round the place it intends to lie down on; its sense of hearing is very quick when asleep; it dreams. It goes with young sixty-three days, and commonly brings from four to ten; the male puppies resemble the dog, the female the bitch (an assertion by no means accurate, any more than the tail always bending to the left is a common character of the species). It is the most faithful of animals, is very docile, fawns at his master's approach, runs before him on a journey, often passing over the same ground; on coming to crossways, stops and looks back; drives cattle home from the field; keeps herds and flocks within bounds, protects them from wild beasts; points out to the sportsman the game; brings the birds that are shot to its master; will turn a spit; at Brussels, and in Holland, draws little carts to the herb-market; in more northern regions, draws sledges with provisions, travellers, &c.; will find out what is dropped; watchful by night, and when the charge of a house or garden is at such times committed to him, his boldness increases, and he sometimes becomes perfectly ferocious; when it has been guilty of a theft, slinks away with its tail between its legs; eats voraciously, with oblique eyes; enemy to beggars; attacks strangers without provocation; hates strange dogs; howls at certain notes in music, and often urines on hearing them; will snap at a stone thrown at it; is sick at the approach of bad weather, (a remark vague and uncertain); is afflicted with worms; spreads its madness; grows blind with age; _saepe gonorrhaea infectus_; driven as unclean from the houses of the Mahometans; yet the same people establish hospitals for, and allow them daily food.

The dog, says Buffon, like every other animal which produces above one or two at a time, is not perfectly formed immediately after birth. Dogs are always brought forth blind; the two eyelids are not simply glued together, but shut up with a membrane, which is torn off, as soon as the muscles of the upper eyelids acquire strength sufficient to overcome this obstacle to vision, which generally happens the tenth or twelfth day. At this period, the bones of the head are not completed, the body and muzzle are bloated, and the whole figure is ill defined; but in less than two months, they learn to use all their senses; their growth is rapid, and they soon gain strength. In the fourth month, they lose some of their teeth, which, as in other animals, are soon replaced, and never again fall out: they have six cutting and two canine teeth in each jaw, and fourteen grinders in the upper, and twelve in the under, making in all forty-two teeth; but the number of grinders sometimes varies in particular dogs.

The time of gestation is nine weeks, or sixty-three days; sometimes sixty-two or sixty-one, but never less than sixty.

The bitch produces six, seven, and even so far as twelve puppies, and generally has more at the subsequent litters than she has at the first; but the observation of Buffon, that a female hound, covered by a dog of her own kind, and carefully shut up from all others, has been known to produce a mixed race, consisting of hounds and terriers, is totally void of foundation. A curious circumstance, in the account of the setter, will be mentioned, of an impression made upon the mind of a bitch of that sort by the attention of a cur, which never had access to her, and yet her whelps were always like him, and possibly this hound bitch had a violent hankering after some terrier.

Dogs continue to propagate during life, which is commonly limited to fourteen or fifteen years, yet some have been known to exceed twenty, but that is rare. The duration of life in this, as in other animals, bears proportion to the time of his growth, which in the dog is not completed in less than two years, and he generally lives fourteen. His age may be discovered by his teeth; when young, they are white, sharp, and pointed; as he increases in years, they become black, blunt, and unequal: it may likewise be known by the hair, which turns grey on the muzzle, front, and round the eyes.

The manner in which the shepherds of the Pyrenees employ their peculiar breed of dogs, which are large, long-haired, of a tawny white colour, and a very strong build, with a ferocious temper, exhibits a vivid instance of the trust they repose in the courage and fidelity of these animals, and of the virtues by which they merit and reward it. Attended by three or more dogs, the shepherds will take their numerous flocks at early dawn to the part of the mountain side which is destined for their pasture. Having counted them, they descend to follow other occupations, and commit the guardianship of the sheep to the sole watchfulness of the dogs. It has been frequently known, that when wolves have approached, the three sentinels would walk round and round the flock, gradually compressing them into so small a circle that one dog might with ease overlook and protect them, and that this measure of caution being executed, the remaining two would set forth to engage the enemy, over whom, it is said, they invariably triumph.

The following interesting remarks are extracted from Chambers:--

The educability of the dog's perceptive faculties has been exemplified in a remarkable manner by his acquired knowledge of musical sounds. On some dogs fine music produces an apparently painful effect, causing them gradually to become restless, to moan piteously, and, finally, to fly from the spot with every sign of suffering and distress. Others have been seen to sit and listen to music with seeming delight, and even to go every Sunday to church, with the obvious purpose of enjoying the solemn and powerful strains of the organ. Some dogs manifest a keen sense of false notes in music. Mrs. Samuel Carter Hall, at Old Brompton, possesses an Italian greyhound, which screams in apparent agony when a jarring combination of notes is produced, accidentally or intentionally, on the piano. These opposite and various manifestations show what might be done by education to teach dogs a critical knowledge of sounds. A gentleman of Darmstadt, in Germany, as we learn, has taught a poodle dog to detect false notes in music. We give the account of this remarkable instance of educability as it appears in a French newspaper.

Mr. S----, having acquired a competency by commercial industry, retired from business, and devoted himself, heart and soul, to the cultivation and enjoyment of music. Every member of his little household was by degrees involved more or less in the same occupation, and even the housemaid could in time bear a part in a chorus, or decipher a melody of Schubert. One individual alone in the family seemed to resist this musical entrancement; this was a small spaniel, the sole specimen of the canine race in the mansion. Mr. S---- felt the impossibility of instilling the theory of sounds into the head of Poodle, but he firmly resolved to make the animal bear _some_ part or other in the general domestic concert; and by perseverance, and the adoption of ingenious means, he attained his object. Every time that a _false note_ escaped either from the instrument or voice--as often as any blunder, of whatever kind, was committed by the members of the musical family (and such blunders were sometimes committed intentionally)--down came its master's cane on the back of the unfortunate poodle, till she howled and growled again. Poodle perceived the meaning of these unkind chastisements, and instead of becoming sulky, showed every disposition to howl on the instant a false note was uttered, without waiting for the formality of a blow. By and by, a mere glance of Mr. S----'s eye was sufficient to make the animal howl to admiration. In the end, Poodle became so thoroughly acquainted with, and attentive to, false notes and other musical barbarisms, that the slightest mistake of the kind was infallibly signalised by a yell from her, forming the most expressive commentary upon the misperformance.

When extended trials were made of the animal's acquirements, they were never found to fail, and Poodle became, what she still is, the most famous, impartial, and conscientious connoisseur in the Duchy of Hesse. But, as may be imagined, her musical appreciation is entirely negative; if you sing with expression, and play with ability, she will remain cold and impassible. But let your execution exhibit the slightest defect, and you will have her instantly showing her teeth, whisking her tail, yelping, barking, and growling. At the present time, there is not a concert or an opera at Darmstadt to which Mr. S---- and his wonderful dog are not invited; or, at least, _the dog_. The voice of the prima donna, the instruments of the band--whether violin, clarionet, hautbois, or bugle--all of them must execute their parts in perfect harmony, otherwise Poodle looks at its master, erects its ears, shows its grinders, and howls outright. Old or new pieces, known or unknown to the dog, produce on it the same effect.

It must not be supposed that the discrimination of the creature is confined to the mere _execution_ of musical compositions. Whatever may have been the case at the outset of its training, its present and perfected intelligence extends even to the secrets of composition. Thus, if a vicious modulation, or a false relation of parts, occur in a piece of music, the animal shows symptoms of uneasy hesitation; and if the error be continued, will infallibly give the grand condemnatory howl. In short, Poodle is the terror of all the middling composers of Darmstadt, and a perfect nightmare to the imagination of all poor singers and players. Sometimes Mr. S---- and his friends take a pleasure in annoying the canine critic, by emitting all sorts of discordant sounds from instrument and voice. On such occasions the creature loses all self-command, its eyes shoot forth fiery flashes, and long and frightful howls respond to the immelodious concert of the mischievous bipeds. But the latter must be careful not to go too far; for when the dog's patience is tried to excess, it becomes altogether wild, and flies fiercely at the tormentors and their instruments.

This dog's case is a very curious one, and the attendant phenomena not very easy of explanation. From the animal's power of discerning the correctness of musical composition, as well as of execution, one would be inclined to imagine that Mr. S----, in training his dog, had only called into play faculties existing (but latent) before, and that dogs have in them the natural germs of a fine musical ear. This seems more likely to be the case, than that the animal's perfect musical taste was wholly an acquirement, resulting from the training. However this may be, the Darmstadt dog is certainly a marvellous creature, and we are surprised that, in these exhibiting times, its powers have not been displayed on a wider stage. The operatic establishments of London and Paris might be greatly the better, perhaps, for a visit from the critical Poodle.

It is now settled, as a philosophical question, that the instruction communicated to dogs, as well as various other animals, has an hereditary effect on the progeny. If a dog be taught to perform certain feats, the young of that dog will be much easier initiated in the same feats than other dogs. Thus, the existing races of English pointers are greatly more accomplished in their required duties than the original race of Spanish pointers. Dogs of the St. Bernard variety inherit the faculty of tracking footsteps in the snow. A gentleman of our acquaintance, and of scientific acquirements, obtained some years ago a pup, which had been produced in London by a female of the celebrated St. Bernard breed. The young animal was brought to Scotland, where it was never observed to give any particular tokens of a power of tracking footsteps until winter, when the ground became covered with snow. It _then_ showed the most active inclination to follow footsteps; and so great was its power of doing so under these circumstances, that, when its master had crossed a field in the most curvilinear way, and caused other persons to cross his path in all directions, it nevertheless followed his course with the greatest precision. Here was a perfect revival of the habit of its Alpine fathers, with a degree of specialty as to external conditions at which, it seems to us, we cannot sufficiently wonder.

Such are some of the qualities of dogs in a state of domestication, and let me hope that the anecdotes related of them will tend to insure for them that love and gratitude to which their own fine disposition and noble character give them a claim from us.

It is pleasing to observe that men of the highest acquirements and most elevated minds have bestowed their sincere attachment upon their favourite canine companions; for kindness to animals is, perhaps, as strong an indication of the possession of generous sentiments as any that can be adduced. The late Lord Grenville, a distinguished statesman, an elegant scholar, and an amiable man, affords an illustration of the opinion: It is thus that he eloquently makes his favourite Zephyr speak:--

"Captum oculis, senioque hebetem, morboque gravatum,
Dulcis here, antiquo me quod amore foves,
Suave habet et carum Zephyrus tuus, et leviore
Se sentit mortis conditione premi.
Interiere quidem, tibi quae placuisse solebant,
Et formae dotes, et facile ingenium:
Deficiunt sensus, tremulae scintillula vitae
Vix micat, in cinerem mox abitura brevem.
Sola manet, vetuli tibi nec despecta ministri,
Mens grata, ipsaque in morte memor domini.
Hanc tu igitur, pro blanditiis mollique lepore,
Et prompta ad nutus sedulitate tuos,
Pro saltu cursuque levi, lusuque protervo,
Hanc nostri extremum pignus amoris habe.
Jamque vale! Elysii subeo loca laeta, piorum
Quae dat Persephone manibus esse canum."

In the previous pages I have endeavoured to give my readers some idea of the general character of the dog, and I will now proceed to illustrate it more fully by anecdotes peculiar to different breeds. These animals will then be found to deserve the encomiums bestowed upon them by Buffon, "as possessing such an ardour of sentiment, with fidelity and constancy in their affection, that neither ambition, interest, nor desire of revenge, can corrupt them, and that they have no fear but that of displeasing. They are, in fact, all zeal, ardour, and obedience. More inclined to remember benefits than injuries; more docile and tractable than any other animal, the dog is not only instructed, but conforms himself to the manners, movements, and habits of those who govern him. He is always eager to obey his master, and will defend his property at the risk of his own life." Pope says, that history is more full of examples of fidelity in the dog than in friends; and Lord Byron characterises him as--

"in life the firmest friend,
The first to welcome, foremost to defend;
Whose honest heart is still his master's own;
Who labours, fights, lives, breathes for him alone;"

and truly indeed may he be called

"The rich man's guardian, and the poor man's friend."

"His bulk and beauty speak no vulgar praise.

* * * *

Oh had you seen him, vigorous, bold, and young,
Swift as a stag, and as a lion strong;
Him no fell savage in the plain withstood,
None 'scap'd him, bosomed in the gloomy wood;
His eye how piercing!"
POPE.

THE IRISH AND HIGHLAND WOLF-DOG.

A certain degree of romance will always be attached to the history of the Irish wolf-dog, but so contradictory are the accounts handed down to us respecting it, that, with every disposition to do justice to the character of this noble animal, the task is one of no small difficulty.

This dog seems to have flourished, and to have become nearly extinct, with the ancient kings of Ireland, and, with the harp and shamrock, is regarded as one of the national emblems of that country. When princely hospitality was to be found in the old palaces, castles, and baronial halls of fair Erin, it is hardly possible to imagine anything more aristocratic and imposing than the aspect of these dogs, while attending the banquets of their masters. So great, indeed, was their height, that it has been affirmed, that when their chieftain was seated at table these dogs could rest their heads on his shoulders. However this may have been, it is certain that the bold, majestic, and commanding appearance of the animal, joined to the mild and softened look with which he regarded those to whom he was attached, and whom he was always ready to defend, must have rendered him worthy of the enthusiasm with which the remembrance of him is still cherished by the warm-hearted people of Ireland.

The following anecdote, which has been communicated to me by an amiable Irish nobleman, will at all events serve to show the peculiar instinct which the Irish wolf-dog was supposed to possess.

A gentleman of an ancient family, whose name it is unnecessary to mention, from his having been engaged in the troubles which agitated Ireland about fifty or sixty years since, went into a coffee-room at Dublin during that period, accompanied by a noble wolf-dog, supposed to be one of the last of the breed. There was only one other gentleman in the coffee-room, who, on seeing the dog, went up to him, and began to notice him. His owner, in considerable alarm, begged him to desist, as the dog was fierce, and would never allow a stranger to touch him. The gentleman resumed his seat, when the dog came to him, showed the greatest pleasure at being noticed, and allowed himself to be fondled. His owner could not disguise his astonishment. "You are the only person," he said, "whom that dog would ever allow to touch him without showing resentment. May I beg of you the favour to tell me your name?"--mentioning his own at the same time. The stranger announced it, (he was the last of his race, one of the most ancient and noble in Ireland, and descended from one of its kings.) "I do not wonder," said the owner of the dog, "at the homage this animal has paid to you. He recognizes in you the descendant of one of our most ancient race of gentlemen to whom this breed of dogs almost exclusively belonged, and the peculiar instinct he possesses has now been shown in a manner which cannot be mistaken by me, who am so well acquainted with the ferocity this dog has hitherto shown to all strangers."

Few persons, Sir Walter Scott excepted, would perhaps be inclined to give credit to this anecdote. So convinced was he of the extraordinary instinct exhibited by dogs generally, that he has been heard to declare that he would believe anything of a dog. The anecdote, however, above related, was communicated to me with the strongest assurance of its strict accuracy.

In a poem, written by Mrs. Catherine Philips, about the year 1660, the character of the Irish wolf-hound is well portrayed, and proves the estimation in which he was held at that period.

"Behold this creature's form and state!
Him Nature surely did create,
That to the world might be exprest
What mien there can be in a beast;
More nobleness of form and mind
Than in the lion we can find:
Yea, this heroic beast doth seem
In majesty to rival him.

Yet he vouchsafes to man to show
His service, and submission too--
And here we a distinction have;
That brute is fierce--the dog is brave.

He hath himself so well subdued,
That hunger cannot make him rude;
And all his manners do confess
That courage dwells with gentleness.

War with the wolf he loves to wage,
And never quits if he engage;
But praise him much, and you may chance
To put him out of countenance.
And having done a deed so brave,
He looks not sullen, yet looks grave.

No fondling play-fellow is he;
His master's guard he wills to be:
Willing for him his blood be spent,
His look is never insolent.
Few men to do such noble deeds have learn'd,
Nor having done, could look so unconcern'd."

This is one of the finest descriptions of a noble dog which I have yet met with in English poetry. Courage and modesty are well portrayed, and contrasted.

The following anecdotes relate to an animal which must have strongly resembled the Irish wolf-dog:--

Plutarch mentions a certain Roman in the civil wars, whose head nobody durst cut off for fear of the dog that guarded his body, and fought in his defence. The same author relates that King Pyrrhus, in the course of one of his journies, observed a dog watching over a dead body; and hearing that he had been there three days without meat or drink, ordered the body to be buried, and the dog taken care of and brought to him. A few days afterwards there was a muster of the soldiers, so that every man had to march in order before the king. The dog lay quiet for some time; but when he saw the murderers of his late master pass by, he flew upon them with extraordinary fury, barking, and tearing their garments, and frequently turning about to the king; which both excited the king's suspicion, and that of all who stood about him. The men were in consequence apprehended, and though the circumstances which appeared in evidence against them were very slight, they confessed the crime, and were accordingly punished.

Montfaucon mentions a similar case of attachment and revenge which occurred in France, in the reign of Charles V.[E] The anecdote has been frequently related, and is as follows:--A gentleman named Macaire, an officer of the king's body-guard, entertained, for some reason, a bitter hatred against another gentleman, named Aubry de Montdidier, his comrade in service. These two having met in the Forest of Bondi, near Paris, Macaire took an opportunity of treacherously murdering his brother-officer, and buried him in a ditch. Montdidier was unaccompanied at the moment, excepting by a dog (probably a wolf-hound), with which he had gone out, perhaps to hunt. It is not known whether the dog was muzzled, or from what other cause it permitted the deed to be accomplished without its interference. Be this as it might, the hound lay down on the grave of its master, and there remained till hunger compelled it to rise. It then went to the kitchen of one of Aubry de Montdidier's dearest friends, where it was welcomed warmly, and fed. As soon as its hunger was appeased the dog disappeared. For several days this coming and going was repeated, till at last the curiosity of those who saw its movements was excited, and it was resolved to follow the animal, and see if anything could be learned in explanation of Montdidier's sudden disappearance. The dog was accordingly followed, and was seen to come to a pause on some newly-turned-up earth, where it set up the most mournful wailings and howlings. These cries were so touching, that passengers were attracted; and finally digging into the ground at the spot, they found there the body of Aubry de Montdidier. It was raised and conveyed to Paris, where it was soon afterwards interred in one of the city cemeteries.

The dog attached itself from this time forth to the friend, already mentioned, of its late master. While attending on him, it chanced several times to get a sight of Macaire, and on every occasion it sprang upon him, and would have strangled him had it not been taken off by force. This intensity of hate on the part of the animal awakened a suspicion that Macaire had had some share in Montdidier's murder, for his body showed him to have met a violent death. Charles V., on being informed of the circumstances, wished to satisfy himself of their truth. He caused Macaire and the dog to be brought before him, and beheld the animal again spring upon the object of its hatred. The king interrogated Macaire closely, but the latter would not admit that he had been in any way connected with Montdidier's murder.

Being strongly impressed by a conviction that the conduct of the dog was based on some guilty act of Macaire, the king ordered a combat to take place between the officer and his dumb accuser, according to the practice in those days between human plaintiffs and defendants. This remarkable combat took place on the isle of Notre Dame at Paris, in presence of the whole court. The king allowed Macaire to have a strong club, as a defensive weapon; while, on the other hand, the only self-preservative means allowed to the dog consisted of an empty cask, into which it could retreat if hard pressed. The combatants appeared in the lists. The dog seemed perfectly aware of its situation and duty. For a short time it leapt actively round Macaire, and then, at one spring, it fastened itself upon his throat, in so firm a manner that he could not disentangle himself. He would have been strangled had he not cried for mercy, and avowed his crime. The dog was pulled from off him; but he was only liberated from its fangs to perish by the hands of the law. The fidelity of this dog has been celebrated in many a drama and poem, and there is a monument of him in basso relievo still to be seen in the castle of Montargis. The dog which attracted such celebrity has been usually called 'the dog of Montargis,' from the combat having taken place at the chateau of that name.

The strength of these dogs must have been very great. A nobleman informed me, that when he was a boy, and staying on a visit with the Knight of Kerry, two Irish wolf-dogs made their escape from the place in which they were confined, and pulled down and killed a horse, which was in an adjoining paddock.

The following affecting anecdote of an Irish wolf-dog, called "the dog of Aughrim," affords a proof of the extraordinary fidelity of these animals to their masters, and puts to shame the vaunted superiority of many human brutes.

At the hard-fought battle of Aughrim, or Vidconnel, an Irish officer was accompanied by his wolf-hound. This gentleman was killed and stripped in the battle, but the dog remained by his body both by day and night. He fed upon some of the other bodies with the rest of the dogs, yet he would not allow them or anything else to touch that of his master. When all the other bodies were consumed, the other dogs departed, but this used to go in the night to the adjacent villages for food, and presently to return again to the place where his master's bones were only then left. This he continued to do from July, when the battle was fought, until the January following, when a soldier being quartered near, and going that way by chance, the dog, fearing he came to disturb his master's bones, flew upon the soldier, who, being surprised at the suddenness of the thing, unslung his carbine, he having been thrown on his back, and killed the noble animal. He expired with the same fidelity to the remains of his unfortunate master, as that master had shown devotion to the cause of his unhappy country.

In the "Irish Penny Journal" there is an interesting account of the Irish wolf-dog, from which the following anecdote is taken.