Chapter III: Part 3

How much the death of King William retarded progress in Great Britain can never be judged or determined. His appointed hour had come. It was no bullet with its billet on the banks of the Boyne that laid the Dutchman low, but the cast-up earth of a specimen of a little insectivorous quadruped called the mole, which laid him on that bed from which he never arose.

FOOTNOTES:

[28] Jeremy Taylor, if I remember aright.

[29] Vol. V., pp. 305-310.

BEARS.

A most comfortably clad set of plantigrade creatures, as fond, most of them, of fruits as they are of flesh. No creatures are more amusing in zoological gardens to children, who wonder at their climbing powers. Who is so heartless as not to have pitied the roving polar bear, caged, on a sultry July day, in a small paddock with a puddle, and wandering about restlessly in his few feet of ground, as the well-dressed mob lounged to hear the military band performing in the Regent's Park Zoological Gardens? Even young bears have an _adult_ kind of look about them. The writer remembers the manner of one, disappointed at its bread sap, most of the milk of which had been absorbed. A little girl standing by, not two years old, perfectly understood what the little creature was searching for, and, looking up, said "milka," or something closely resembling it. We recently saw a little brown bear, on board a Russian ship at Leith. He acted as a capital guard. The little creature had a grown-up face, more easily observed than described.

Bear hams, we speak from rare experience, are truly excellent. Bears, in our early London days, were kept by many hairdressers and perfumers. The anecdote or passage from Dickens's "Humphrey's Clock" is very characteristic.

In one of Wilkie's pictures the brown bear is figured on its way with its owners to the parish beadle's "house of detention." We remember the very bear and its owners. A fine chapter might be written on the animals that used to be led about the country by wandering foreigners. Our first sight of guinea-pigs, our first view of the black-bellied hamster, our first sight of the camel and dromedary, with a monkey on his neck, and our first bear, were seen in this way. Boys and girls in those days seldom saw menageries. A muzzled bear on its hind legs in Nicolson Street, or at the Sciennes, was an exotic sight seldom witnessed, and not easily forgotten. The last we saw was in Bernard Street, Leith, in 1869. That very day, the police were hunting for Bruin and its leaders all over Edinburgh. Bears are now debarred from parading our streets.

AN AUSTRIAN GENERAL AND A BEAR.[30]

Mr Paget was told an excellent story of a bear hunt, which took place in the mountains of Transylvania, and in the presence of the gentleman who told him the story.

"General V----, the Austrian commander of the forces in this district, had come to Cronstadt to inspect the troops, and had been invited by our friend, in compliment to his rank, to join him in a bear hunt. Now, the general, though more accustomed to drilling than hunting, accepted the invitation, and appeared in due time in a cocked hat and long gray greatcoat, the uniform of an Austrian general. When they had taken up their places, the general, with half a dozen rifles arrayed before him, paid such devoted attention to a bottle of spirits he had brought with him, that he quite forgot the object of his coming. At last, however, a huge bear burst suddenly from the cover of the pine forest, directly in front of him. At that moment the bottle was raised so high that it quite obscured the general's vision, and he did not perceive the intruder till he was close upon him. Down went the bottle, up jumped the astonished soldier, and, forgetful of his guns, off he started, with the bear clutching at the tails of his greatcoat as he ran away. What strange confusion of ideas was muddling the general's intellect at the moment it is difficult to say, but I suspect he had some notion that the attack was an act of insubordination on the part of Bruin, for he called out most lustily, as he ran along, 'Back, rascal! back! I am a general!' Luckily, a poor Wallack peasant had more respect for the epaulettes than the bear, and, throwing himself in the way, with nothing but a spear for his defence, he kept the enemy at bay till our friend and the jaegers came up, and finished the contest with their rifles."

BYRON'S BEAR AT CAMBRIDGE.

When at Trinity College, Cambridge, Lord Byron had a strange pet. He "brought up a bear for a degree." He said to Captain Medwyn,[31] "I had a great hatred of college rules, and contempt for academical honours. How many of their wranglers have ever distinguished themselves in the world? There was, by the by, rather a witty satire founded on my bear. A friend of Shelley's made an ourang-outang (Oran Hanton, Esq.) the hero of a novel ('Melincourt'), had him created a baronet, and returned for the borough of One Vote."

CHARLES DICKENS ON BEARS' GREASE AND ITS PRODUCERS.

Any one who has been long resident in London, or who has passed through Fenchurch Street, or Everett Street, Russell Square, must have been struck with the way in which "bears' grease" is or used to be advertised in these localities. Dickens makes Mr Samuel Weller tell of an enthusiastic tradesman of this description.[32]

"His whole delight was in his trade. He spent all his money in bears, and run in debt for 'em besides, and there they wos a growling away in the front cellar all day long and ineffectually gnashing their teeth, vile the grease o' their relations and friends wos being retailed in gallipots in the shop above, and the first floor winder wos ornamented with their heads; not to speak o' the dreadful aggrawation it must have been to 'em to see a man always a walkin' up and down the pavement outside, with the portrait of a bear in his last agonies, and underneath, in large letters, 'Another fine animal was slaughtered yesterday at Jenkinson's!' Hous'ever, there they wos, and there Jenkinson wos, till he was took very ill with some inward disorder, lost the use of his legs, and wos confined to his bed, vere he laid a wery long time; but sich wos his pride in his profession even then, that wenever he wos worse than usual the doctor used to go down-stairs, and say, 'Jenkinson's wery low this mornin', we must give the bears a stir;' and as sure as ever they stirred 'em up a bit, and made 'em roar, Jenkinson opens his eyes, if he wos ever so bad, calls out, 'There's the bears!' and rewives agin."

The author of a most amusing article in the seventy-seventh volume of the _Edinburgh Review_, on the modern system of advertising, records that, in his puff, the first vendor of bears' grease cautioned his customers to wash their hands in warm water after using it, to prevent them from assuming the hairy appearance of a paw.

A BEARABLE PUN.

An illiterate vendor of beer wrote over his door at Harrowgate, "_Bear_ sold here." "He spells the word quite correctly," said Theodore Hook, "if he means to apprise us that the article is his own _Bruin_."[33]

SHAVED BEAR.

Robert Southey ("Common-Place Book," 4th ser., p. 359) says:--"At Bristol I saw a shaved monkey shown for a fairy; and a shaved bear, in a check waistcoat and trousers, sitting in a great chair as an Ethiopian savage. This was the most cruel fraud I ever saw. The unnatural position of the beast, and the damnable brutality of the woman-keeper, who sat upon his knee, put her arm round his neck, called him husband and sweetheart, and kissed him, made it the most disgusting spectacle I ever witnessed. Cottle was with me."

He also tells of a fellow exhibiting a dragon-fly under a magnifier at a country fair, and calling it the great High German "Heiter-Keiter."

THE POLAR BEAR.

(_Thalassarctos maritimus._[34])

Notwithstanding ice and snow, and the darkness of a nine months' winter, the Arctic regions are tenanted by several mammalia. Some of these are constant residents, the rest are migratory visitors. Of the former division, one of the most conspicuous, as it is certainly the most formidable, is the polar bear,--a creature between eight and nine feet in length, which, shuffling along the snow at a very quick pace, and being an excellent swimmer besides, cannot fail to inspire dread. The large wide head and fearfully armed jaws are united by a strong neck to powerful shoulders, from which spring the thick and muscular fore-legs. The paws, both of the fore and of the hind feet, are broad and admirably adapted, with their long hairy covering, to keep the polar bear from sinking in the snow. Although the creature has an appearance of clumsiness, it is the reverse of inactive. Every one who knows the boundless spaces it has to traverse, when in a state of liberty and the "monarch of all it surveys," cannot but pity it as a prisoner in the Regent's Park, where a tolerably capacious den, supplied with a bath of water of very limited dimension, affords the restless creature less liberty than a squirrel has in its round-about, or a poor lark in its cage.

Voyagers to the Arctic regions describe it as wandering over the fields of ice, mounting the hummocks,[35] and looking around for prey. With outstretched head, its little but keen eye directed to the various points of a wide horizon, the polar bear looks out for seals; or scents with its quick nostrils the luscious smell of some stinking whale-blubber or half-putrid whale-flesh. Dr Scoresby relates[36] that a piece of the _kreng_ of a whale thrown into the fire drew a bear to a ship from the distance of miles. Captain Beechey mentions, that his party in 1818, as they were off the coast of Spitzbergen, by setting on fire some fat of the walrus, soon attracted a bear to their close vicinity. This polar Bruin was evidently unaccustomed to the sight of masts, and, when approaching, occasionally hesitated, and seemed half inclined to turn round and be off. So agreeable a smell as burning walrus fat dispelled all distrust, and brought him within musket-shot. On receiving the first ball, he sprang round, growled terrifically, and half raised himself on his hind-legs, as if expecting to seize the object which had caused so much pain; woe to any one who had at that moment been within reach of his merciless paws! Although a second and third ball laid him writhing on the ice, he was not mastered; and on the butt end of a musket directed at his head breaking short off, the bear quickly seized the thigh of his assailant, and, but for the immediate assistance of two or three of his shipmates, the man would have been seriously injured. In these very seas--nearly fifty years before--the hero of Trafalgar encountered this Arctic tyrant, and, when missed from his ship, was discovered with a comrade attacking a large specimen, separated from them by a chasm in the ice. On being reprimanded by his captain for his foolhardiness, "Sir," said the young middy, pouting his lips, as he used to do when excited, "I wished to kill the bear that I might carry the skin to my father."[37]

Barentz, in his celebrated voyage in 1595, had two of his men killed by "a great leane white beare." In these early days, so unused were polar bears to man, that though thirty of their comrades attempted a rescue, the prey was not abandoned. The purser, "stepping somewhat farther forward, and seeing the beare to be within the length of a shot, presently levelled his peece, and discharging it at the beare, shot her into the head, betweene both the eyes, and yet shee held the man still fast by the necke, and lifted up her head with the man in her mouth, but shee beganne somewhat to stagger; wherewith the purser and a Scottishman drew out their courtlaxes (cutlasses), and stroke at her so hard, that their courtlaxes burst, and yet shee would not leave the man. At last Wm. Geysen went to them, and with all his might stroke the beare upon the snowt with his peece, at which time the beare fell to the ground, making a great noyse, and Wm. Geysen leaping upon her cut her throat. The 7th of September wee buried the dead bodies of our men in the States Island, and having fleaed the beare, carryed her skinne to Amsterdam."

This is about the earliest record of an encounter with this formidable creature; sailors now find that they can be attacked with most advantage in the water. When in this element, they try to escape by swimming to the ice, and when the ice is in the form of loose and detached small floes, Dr Sutherland has seen them dive underneath, and appear on the opposite side. Scoresby records, that when shot at a distance, and able to escape, the bear has been observed to retire to the shelter of a hummock, and, as if aware of the styptical effect of cold, apply snow to the wound.

In common with nearly every animal, this huge despot of the North is strongly attached to its young. Captain Inglefield, on his return home from Baffin's Bay in 1852, pursued three bears, as he was anxious to get a supply of fresh meat for his Esquimaux dogs. The trio were evidently a mother and twins. The captain was anxious to secure the cubs alive as trophies, and was cautious in shooting at the mother. All three fell, and were brought on board the _Isabel_. He records that it was quite heartrending to see the affection that existed between them. When the cubs saw their mother was wounded, they commenced licking her wounds, regardless of their own sufferings. At length the mother began to eat the snow, a sure sign that she was mortally wounded. "Even then her care for the cubs did not cease, as she kept continually turning her head from one to the other, and, though roaring with pain, she seemed to warn them to escape if possible. Their attachment was as great as hers, and I was thus obliged to destroy them all. It went much against my feelings, but the memory of my starving dogs reconciled me to the necessity."

The female bear when pursued carries or pushes her cubs forwards, and the little creatures are described as placing themselves across her path to be shoved forwards. Scoresby mentions an instance where, when projected some yards in advance, the cubs ran on until she overtook them, when they alternately adjusted themselves for a second throw.

It is chiefly on the seal that this bear feeds, and it displays great cunning in catching them as they sleep on the ice, or come to the holes in the ice to breathe, when it destroys them with one blow of its formidable and heavy paw. For its mode of getting the walrus we refer the reader to "Excelsior," vol. i. p. 37. Notwithstanding his strength and ferocity, the Esquimaux frequently kill the polar bear, as they esteem its flesh and fat, and highly prize its skin. The flesh is not so prized by Saxons, whether they be European or American. Dr Kane's opinion would differ but little from that of Arctic voyagers on our side of the Atlantic. The surgeon to the "Grinnell Expedition" in search of Sir John Franklin thus characterises its flesh: "Bear is strong, very strong, and withal most capricious meat; you cannot tell where to find him. One day he is quite beefy and bearable; another, hircine, hippuric, and detestable."

It is but fair to say that Captain Parry[38] regards the flesh of the polar bear to be as wholesome as any other, though not quite so palatable. His men suffered from indigestion after eating it; but this he attributes to the quantity, and not to the quality, of the meat they had eaten.

There seems to be little doubt that the liver is highly deleterious. Some of the sailors of Barentz, who made a meal of it, were very sick, "and we verily thought we should have lost them, for all their skins came off from the foot to the head."

The skin of the bear is covered with long yellowish white hair, which, is very close, and forms a wonderful defence against the cold, and against the tusk of the animals on which it feeds. We heard of another use of this hair from an officer on one of the late Arctic searching expeditions. A bear was seen to come down a tolerably high and steep declivity by sliding down on its hinder quarters, in an attitude known, in more than one part of the British Islands, by the expressive name of "katy-hunkers;" the shaggy hair with which it was covered serving like a thick mat to protect the creature from injury. The Esquimaux prepare the skin sometimes without ripping it up, and turning the hairy side inward a warm sack-like bed is formed, into which they creep, and lie very comfortably. Otho Fabricius, in his "Fauna Graenlandica" (p. 24), informs us that the tendons are converted into sewing threads. The female bear has one or two, and sometimes three, cubs at a time. They are born in the winter, and the mother generally digs for them and for herself a snug nestling-place in the snow. The males in the winter time leave the coast, and go out on the ice-fields, to the edge of the open water after seals.--_Adam White, in "Excelsior" (with additions)._

NELSON AND THE POLAR BEAR.

In 1773, Captain Phipps, afterwards Lord Mulgrave, sailed on a voyage of discovery towards the North Pole. In this expedition sailed two Norfolk young men, one in his twenty-third year, the other a mere lad in his fifteenth year. The former sailed from a spirit of curiosity, and being sorely distressed by sea-sickness was landed in Norway. He afterwards became famous in the British Parliament, and the speeches of the Right Hon. William Windham, Secretary at War, are often referred to even now. The younger man was Horatio Nelson, cockswain under Captain Lutwidge, who was killed at the battle of Trafalgar, thirty-two years after his Polar expedition, and left a name which is synonymous with the glory of the British navy.

Southey, in his admirable life,[39] records an instance of his hardihood on this expedition:--"One night, during the mid-watch, he stole from the ship with one of his comrades, taking advantage of a rising fog, and set off over the ice in pursuit of a bear. It was not long before they were missed. The fog thickened, and Captain Lutwidge and his officers became exceedingly alarmed for their safety. Between three and four in the morning the weather cleared, and the two adventurers were seen at a considerable distance from the ship attacking a huge bear. The signal for them to return was immediately made; Nelsons' comrade called upon him to obey it, but in vain; his musket had flashed in the pan; their ammunition was expended; and a chasm in the ice, which divided him from the bear, probably preserved his life. 'Never mind,' he cried; 'do but let me get a blow at this devil with the butt-end of my musket, and we shall have him.' Captain Lutwidge, however, seeing his danger, fired a gun, which had the desired effect of frightening the beast; and the boy then returned, somewhat afraid of the consequences of his trespass. The captain reprimanded him sternly for conduct so unworthy of the office which he filled, and desired to know what motive he could have for hunting a bear. 'Sir,' said he, pouting his lip, as he was wont to do when agitated, 'I wished to kill the bear, that I might carry the skin to my father.'"

A CLEVER POLAR BEAR.

Mr Markham,[40] when the ship _Assistance_ was in the Wellington Channel, observed several bears prowling about in search of seals. "On one occasion," he writes, "I saw a bear swimming across a lane of water, and pushing a large piece of ice before him. Landing on the floe, he advanced stealthily towards a couple of seals, which were basking in the sun at some little distance, still holding the ice in front to hide his black muzzle; but this most sagacious of bears was for once outwitted, for the seals dived into a pool of water before he could get within reach. On another occasion, a female Bruin having been shot from the deck of the _Intrepid_, her affectionate cub, an animal about the size of a large Newfoundland dog, remained resolutely by the side of its mother, and on the approach of the commander of the _Intrepid_ with part of his crew, a sort of tournament ensued, in which the youthful bear, although belaboured most savagely, showed a gallant resistance, and at length rushing between the legs of the corporal of marines, laid him prostrate on the ice, floored another man, who had seized hold of his tail, and effected his escape."

CAPTAIN OMMANEY AND THE POLAR BEAR.

Captain Ommaney,[41] who led one of the travelling parties in 1851 sent out from the ships under Austin in search of Franklin on the 12th of June, the day before he arrived at the ships, met with a laughable accident, although it might have had a serious termination. They had all of them but just got into their blanket bags, when a peculiar noise, as if something was rubbing up the snow, was heard outside. The gallant captain instantly divined its cause, seized, loaded, and cocked his gun, and ordered the tent door to be opened, upon which a huge bear was seen outside. Captain Ommaney fired at the animal, but, whether from the benumbed state of his limbs, or the dim glimmering light, he unfortunately missed him, and shot away the rope that supported the tent instead. The enraged monster then poked his head against the poles, and the tent fell upon its terrified inmates, and embraced them in its folds. Their confusion and dismay can more easily be imagined than described, but at length one man, with more self-possession than the rest, slipped out of his bag, scrambled from under the prostrate tent, and ran to the sledge for another gun; and it was well that he did so, for no sooner had he vacated his sleeping sack than Bruin seized it between his teeth, and shook it violently, with the evident intention of wreaking his vengeance on its inmate. He was, however, speedily despatched by a well-aimed shot from the man, the tent was repitched, and tranquillity restored.

FOOTNOTES:

[30] "Hungary and Transylvania," &c., by John Paget, Esq., vol. ii. p. 445.

[31] "Conversations of Lord Byron," p. 72.

[32] "Master Humphrey's Clock."

[33] Mark Lemon, "Jest Book," p. 331

[34] [Greek: Thalassa], sea; [Greek: arktos], bear.

[35] Those "Arctic hedge-rows," as Mr David Walker calls them, when, on the 30th November 1857, he was on board the Arctic yacht _Fox_, wintering in the floe-ice of Baffin's Bay. "The scene apparent on going on deck after breakfast was splendid, and unlike anything I ever saw before. The subdued light of the moon thrown over such a vast expanse of ice, in the distance the loom of a berg, or the shadow of the hummocks (the Arctic hedge-rows), the only thing to break the even surface, a few stars peeping out, as if gazing in wonder at the spectacle,--all united to render the prospect striking, and lead one to contemplate the goodness and power of the Creator." On the 2d November, they had killed a bear, which had been bayed and surrounded by their Esquimaux dogs. Captain M'Clintock shot him. He was 7 feet 3 inches long. Only one of the dogs was injured by his paws. Much did the hungry beasts enjoy their feast, for they "were regaled with the entrails, which they polished off in a very short time."--_Mr Walker, in_ _"Belfast News Letter," quoted in "Dublin Natural History Review," 1858_, p. 180.

[36] "Account of Arctic Regions," i. 517.

[37] The anecdote is given with more detail at p. 67.

[38] "Attempt to Reach the North Pole," p. 115.

[39] "Life of Nelson," by Robert Southey, Esq., LL.D., Poet Laureate, p. 11.

[40] "Franklin's Footsteps," by Clement R. Markham, p. 65.

[41] "Franklin's Footsteps," by Clement Robert Markham, late of H.M.S. _Assistance_, p. 93.

RACCOON.

A strikingly pretty, well-clad, and pleasingly coloured North American quadruped, of which many zoological anecdotes might be given. Linnaeus named it _Ursu lotor_, or the Washer, from its curious habit of putting any food offered to it, at least when in confinement, into water, before attempting to eat it.

"A GONE COON."

An American phrase for "the last extremity," or, "it's all up." They say that a Major, or Colonel, or General Scott "down South" was notorious as a dead shot. Once on a time, when out with his gun, he espied a raccoon on a lofty tree. The poor raccoon, noticing the gun pointed at him, cried to the dead shot, "Air _you_ General Scott?"--"I air."--"Then wait, I air a comin' down, for I air _a gone coon_."

BADGER.

The badger, or brock, as it is called in Scotland, is yearly becoming more and more rare. In a few years, this curious and powerful member of the _ferae_, will figure, like the bear and beaver, as among the extinct quadrupeds of these islands. Naturalists will be recording that in the days of Robert Burns it must have been not at all uncommon, and not rare in those of Hugh Miller, since low dram-shops kept them for the entertainment of their guests. The Ayrshire bard makes the Newfoundland dog, Caesar, say to his comrade Luath, the collie, when, speaking of most of the gentry of his day--

"They gang as saucy by poor folk
As I wad by a stinking brock."[42]

The author of "Old Red Sandstone" and "My Schools and Schoolmasters," has recorded in the latter work the history of his employment as a hewer of great stones under the branching foliage of the elm and chestnut trees of Niddry Park, near Edinburgh, and how, in the course of a strike among the masons, he marched into town with several of them to a meeting on the Links, where, conspicuous from the deep red hue of their clothes and aprons, they were cheered as a reinforcement from a distance. On adjourning, Hugh Miller, in his racy style, gives the following account of a badger-baiting more than forty years ago:--

HUGH MILLER AND THE BADGER-BAITING IN THE CANONGATE.

"My comrades proposed that we should pass the time until the hour of meeting in a public-house, and, desirous of securing a glimpse of the sort of enjoyment for which they sacrificed so much, I accompanied them. Passing not a few more inviting-looking places, we entered a low tavern in the upper part of the Canongate, kept in an old half-ruinous building, which has since disappeared. We passed on through a narrow passage to a low-roofed room in the centre of the erection, into which the light of day never penetrated, and in which the gas was burning dimly in a close, sluggish atmosphere, rendered still more stifling by tobacco-smoke, and a strong smell of ardent spirits. In the middle of the crazy floor there was a trap-door, which lay open at the time; and a wild combination of sounds, in which the yelping of a dog, and a few gruff voices that seemed cheering him on, were most noticeable, rose from the apartment below. It was customary at this time for dram-shops to keep badgers housed in long narrow boxes, and for working men to keep dogs; and it was part of the ordinary sport of such places to set the dogs to unhouse the badgers. The wild sport which Scott describes in his 'Guy Mannering,' as pursued by Dandy Dinmont and his associates among the Cheviots, was extensively practised twenty-nine years ago amid the dingier haunts of the High Street and Canongate. Our party, like most others, had its dog,--a repulsive-looking brute, with an earth-directed eye; as if he carried about with him an evil conscience; and my companions were desirous of getting his earthing ability tested upon the badger of the establishment; but on summoning the tavern-keeper, we were told that the party below had got the start of us. Their dog was, as we might hear, 'just drawing the badger; and before our dog could be permitted to draw him, the poor brute would require to get an hour's rest.' I need scarce say, that the hour was spent in hard drinking in that stagnant atmosphere; and we then all descended through the trap-door, by means of a ladder, into a bare-walled dungeon, dark and damp, and where the pestiferous air smelt like that of a burial vault. The scene which followed was exceedingly repulsive and brutal,--nearly as much so as some of the scenes furnished by those otter-hunts in which the aristocracy of the country delight occasionally to indulge. Amid shouts and yells the badger, with the blood of his recent conflict still fresh upon him, was again drawn to the box-mouth; and the party returning satisfied to the apartment above, again betook themselves to hard drinking. In a short time the liquor began to tell, not first, as might be supposed, on our younger men, who were mostly tall, vigorous fellows, in the first flush of their full strength, but on a few of the middle-aged workmen, whose constitutions seemed undermined by a previous course of dissipation and debauchery. The conversation became very loud, very involved, and though highly seasoned with emphatic oaths, very insipid; and leaving with Cha--who seemed somewhat uneasy that my eye should be upon their meeting in its hour of weakness--money enough to clear off my share of the reckoning, I stole out to the King's Park, and passed an hour to better purpose among the trap rocks than I could possibly have spent it beside the trap-door of that tavern party. I am not aware that a single individual, save the writer, is now living; its very dog did not live out half his days. His owner was alarmed one morning, shortly after this time, by the intelligence that a dozen of sheep had been worried during the night on a neighbouring farm, and that a dog very like his had been seen prowling about the fold; but in order to determine the point, he would be visited, it was added, in the course of the day, by the shepherd and a law-officer. The dog meanwhile, however, conscious of guilt,--for dogs do seem to have consciences in such matters,--was nowhere to be found, though, after the lapse of nearly a week, he again appeared at the work; and his master, slipping a rope round his neck, brought him to a deserted coal-pit half-filled with water, that opened in an adjacent field, and flinging him in, left the authorities no clue by which to establish his identity with the robber and assassin of the fold."[43]

THE LAIRD OF BALNAMOON AND THE BROCK.

The laird, so Dean Ramsay had the story sent him, once riding past a high steep bank, stopped opposite a hole in it, and said, "John, I saw a brock gang in there."--"Did ye?" said John; "wull ye haud my horse, sir?"--"Certainly," said the laird, and away rushed John for a spade. After digging for half an hour, he came back, nigh speechless to the laird, who had regarded him musingly. "I canna find him, sir," said John.--"'Deed," said the laird, very coolly, "I wad ha' wondered if ye had, for it's ten years sin' I saw him gang in there."[44]

FOOTNOTES:

[42] Poems, chiefly in the Scottish Dialect, 1787, p. 14, "The Twa Dogs."

FERRET.

A truly blood-thirsty member of that slim-bodied but active race, the weasel tribe. He is certainly an inhabitant of a warmer climate than this, being very sensitive to cold. He is used in killing rats and _ferreting out_ rabbits, a verb indeed derived from his name. He has been known to attack sleeping infants.

COLLINS AND THE RAT-CATCHERS _grip_ OF HIS FERRETS.

That delightful painter of cottage life, says his son,[45] often found cottagers who gloried in being painted, and who sat like professional models, under an erroneous impression that it was for their personal beauties and perfections that their likenesses were portrayed. The remarks of these and other good people, who sat to the painter in perfect ignorance of the use or object of his labours, were often exquisitely original. He used to quote the criticism of a celebrated country rat-catcher, on the study he had made from him, with hearty triumph and delight. When asked whether he thought his portrait like, the rat-catcher, who--perhaps in virtue of his calling--was a gruff and unhesitating man, immediately declared that the face was "not a morsel like," but vowed with a great oath, that nothing could ever be equal to the correctness of the _dirt shine on his old leather breeches_, and the _grip_ that he had of _the necks of his ferrets_!

FOOTNOTES:

[43] "My Schools and Schoolmasters; or, The Story of my Education," by Hugh Miller, fifth edition, 1856, pp. 321-323.

[44] "Reminiscences of Scottish Life and Character," tenth edition, 1864, p. 183.

POLE-CAT.

An equally blood-thirsty member of the weasel family, with the subject of the preceding paragraph.

FOX AND THE POLE-CAT.--(POLL-CAT.[46])

Francis Grose relates the following as having happened during one of the famous Westminster elections:--"During the poll, a dead cat being thrown on the hustings, one of Sir Cecil Wray's party observed it stunk worse than a fox, to which Mr Fox replied, there was nothing extraordinary in that, considering it was a poll-cat."

FOOTNOTES:

[45] "Memoirs of the Life of William Collins, R.A," by his son, W. Wilkie Collins, i. p. 222.

DOGS.

One who seems to love the race of dogs, and who has written a most readable book on them,[47] remarks, that the dog "even now is rarely the companion of a Jew, or the inmate of his house." He quotes various terms of reproach still common among us, and which seem to have originated from a similar feeling to that of the Jew. For instance, we say of a very cheap article, that it is "dog cheap." To call a person "a dog," or "a cur," or "a hound," means something the very opposite of complimentary. A surly person is said to have "a dogged disposition." Any one very much fatigued is said to be "dog weary." A wretched room or house is often called "a dog hole," or said to be only fit for "a dog." Very poor verse is "doggerel." It is told of Lady Mary Wortley Montague, that when a young nobleman refused to translate some inscription over an alcove, because it was in "dog-latin," she observed, "How strange a puppy shouldn't understand his mother tongue."

What, too, can be more expressive of a man being on the verge of ruin, than the common phrase, that "such a one is going to the dogs." Of modern describers of the very life and feelings of dogs, who can surpass Dr John Brown of Edinburgh? His "Rab," and his "Our Dogs," are worthy of the brush of Sir Edwin Landseer. Who has not heard the answer _said_ to have been given by Sydney Smith to the great painter, when he wanted to make a portrait of the witty canon, "_Is thy servant a dog, that he should do this thing?_"

There is great diversity of standard in matters of taste. In China, a well-roasted pup, of any variety of the very variable _Canis familiaris_, is a dainty dish. In London the greatest exquisite delights in the taste of a half-cooked woodcock, but would scruple to eat a lady's lap-dog, even though descended, by indubitable pedigree, from a genuine "liver-and-tan" spaniel, that followed King Charles II. in his strolls through St James's Park; and which was given to her ladyship's ancestress on a day recorded, perhaps, in the diary of Mr Samuel Pepys. Again, in the country of the Esquimaux, who has not read in the intensely interesting narratives of the Moravian missionaries, how the dogs of the "Innuit"--of "the men," as they call themselves--are, in winter, indispensable to their very existence? Parry, Lyon, Franklin, Richardson, Ross, Rae, Penny, Sutherland, Inglefield, and Kane, have told us what excellent "carriage"-pullers these hardy children of the snow become from early infancy; and how the more they work, like the wives of savages in Australia, the more they are kicked. Passing over the dogs of the Indian tribes of North America and the gaunt race in Patagonia, the reader may remember that the Roman youth, like the young Briton, had, in the days of Horace, his outer marks--one was, that he loved to have a dog, or a whole pack beside him--"_gaudet canibus_." This attachment to the dog is given us "from above," and is one of the many "good gifts" which proceed from Him, who made man and dog "familiar," as the apt specific name of Linnaeus denominates the latter. One of our greatly-gifted poets, in a cynical mood, could write an epitaph on a favourite Newfoundlander, and end it with the dismal lines on his views of "earthly friends"--

"He never knew but one,--and here he lies."

Our genial and home-loving Cowper has made his dog Beau classical. We must beg our readers to refresh their memories, by looking into the Olney bard's exquisite story,

"My spaniel, prettiest of his race,
And high in pedigree,"

and they will find that _that_ story of "The Dog and the Water-lily" was "no fable," and that Beau really understood his master's wish when he fetched him a water-lily out of "Ouse's silent tide." How graceful are the last two stanzas of that sweet little poem--

"Charm'd with the sight, 'The world,' I cried,
'Shall hear of this thy deed;
My dog shall mortify the pride
Of man's superior breed.

'But chief myself I will enjoin,
Awake at duty's call,
To show a love as prompt as thine
To Him who gives me all.'"[48]

That the world might know the very "mark and figure" of this spaniel, the late able illustrator of so many topographical works (Mr James Storer) published in his "Rural Walks of Cowper"[49] a figure of Beau, from the stuffed skin in the possession of Cowper's kinsman, the Rev. Dr Johnson.

Mr Montague, in a letter to the son and biographer of Sir James Mackintosh,[50] gives many reminiscences of that eminent man, who was much attached to the memory of Cowper. He says, "We reached Dereham about mid-day (it was in 1801), and wrote to Mr Johnson, the clergyman, who had protected Cowper in the last years of his life, and in whose house he died. He instantly called upon us, and we accompanied him to his house. In the hall, we were introduced to a little red and white spaniel, in a glass case--the little dog Beau, who, seeing the water-lily which Cowper could not reach, 'plunging, left the shore.'"

"I saw him with that lily cropp'd,
Impatient swim to meet
My quick approach, and soon he dropp'd
The treasure at my feet."

We saw the room where Cowper died, and the bell which he last touched. We went to his grave, and to Mrs Unwin's, who is buried at some distance. I lamented this, "Do not live in the visible, but the invisible," said your father,--"his attainments, his tenderness, his affections, his sufferings, and his hardships, will live long after both their graves are no more."

We could linger over a prized octavo volume, published in Edinburgh in 1787; the first poem of this, "The Twa Dogs, a Tale," occupies some thirteen pages, written with that "rare felicity" so common to _the_ Bard of Scotland. We mention it, because of the peculiar happiness with which the collie, or Scottish shepherd-dog, is described in lines that Sir Edwin Landseer alone has equalled on canvas, or his brother Thomas with the graver--

"He was a gash an' faithfu' tyke
As ever lap a sheugh or dyke.
His honest, sonsie, bawsn't[51] face,
Aye gat him friends in ilka place.
His breast was white, his touzie back
Weel clad wi' coat of glossy black;
His gaucie tail, wi' upward curl,
Hung owre his hurdies wi' a swirl."

_That's_ the shepherd-dog, as we have heard him described from a specimen, which was the friend and follower of a valued one, who, when a boy ('tis many years ago), frisked with the dog, over _one_ of the many ferny haughs that margin the lovely Tweed above and below Peebles. It is _the_ collie we have seen, on one of the sheep-farms of Lanarkshire, obey its young master by a word or two, as unintelligible to us as Japanese. But to the Culter "Luath," to hear was to obey; and in a quarter of an hour a flock of sheep, which had been feeding on a hillSide half a mile off, were brought back, driven by this faithful "bit doggie." We wonder not that shepherds love their dogs. Why, even the New Smithfield cattle-drovers, who drive sheep along the streets of London on a Monday or Friday, never even require to urge their faithful partners. Well may the gifted authoress of "The Dream" address "the faithful guardian"--

"Oh, tried and trusted! thou whose love
Ne'er changes nor forsakes,
Thou proof, how perfect God hath stamp'd
The meanest thing He makes;
Thou, whom no snare entraps to serve,
No art is used to tame
(Train'd, like ourselves, thy path to know,
By words of love and blame);
Friend! who beside the cottage door,
Or in the rich man's hall,
With steadfast faith still answerest
The one familiar call;
Well by poor hearth and lordly home
Thy couchant form may rest,
And Prince and Peasant trust thee still,
To guard what they love best."

_Hon. Mrs Norton, "The Dream," &c._, p. 192.

No ordinary-sized volume, much less a short article, could give a tithe of the true anecdotes of members of the dog race. Mere references to their biography would take up a volume of Bibliography itself, just as their forms, and character, and "pose," give endless subject to the painter. Of modern authors, no one loved dogs more truly than Sir Walter Scott, as the reader of his writings and of his biography is well aware;[52] but it may not be generally known that, on the only occasion when the great novelist met the Ayrshire peasant,--

"Virgilium tantum vidi,"--

the poem, which had made Burns a wonder to the boy then "unknown," was that of "The Twa Dogs;" so that, even then, Scott had commenced to show his attachment to these faithful followers. It was in the house of Sir Adam Ferguson, when Scott was a mere lad; and the scene was described most vividly to the writer by the late Scottish knight, after whose battle in South Italy the author of "Marmion" named his pet staghound Maida, or, as Scott pronounced it, "Myda." It was as the author of "The Twa Dogs" that young Ferguson and Scott regarded Burns on his entrance into the room with such wistful attention. The story is told in Lockhart, and we will not quote it further; but, leaving dogs of our own days and lands to Mr Jesse, who has given an interesting volume on them, we will close with a few paragraphs on the dog of the East--a very differently treated animal to that generally prized and esteemed "friend" of man in these lands of the West.

The Holy Scriptures show us that dogs were generally despised. We select three, out of many instances. "Is thy servant a _dog_ that he should do this thing?" was the question with which Hazael, ignorant of the deceitfulness of his own heart, indignantly replied to Elisha, when the prophet told him of the evil that he would yet do unto the children of Israel (2 Kings viii. 13). He, "who spake as never man spake," knowing the faith of the Syrophoenician woman, and giving her an opportunity of manifesting it "for our example," said, in the Syriac fashion of thought, "It is not meet to take the children's bread, and to cast it to _the dogs_" (Mark vii. 27). And the apostle John, in that wondrous close of the prophetical writings, says, "For without," _i.e._, outside of the New Jerusalem, "are _dogs_" (Rev. xxii. 5). In the East up to the present day, with but few exceptions, dogs are treated with great dislike. We might quote passages in proof from almost every Eastern traveller, and may venture to extract one from the graphic page of the Rev. W. Graham, who lived five years in Syria, and who has given some noble word-pictures of men, and streets, and scenes in Damascus and other Turkish towns. Writing of Damascus,[53] he remarks, "The dogs are considered unclean, and are never domesticated in the East. They are thin, lean, fox-like animals, and always at the starving point. They live, breed, and die in the streets. They are useful as scavengers. They are neither fondled nor persecuted, but simply tolerated; and no dog has an owner, or ever follows and accompanies a man as the sheep do. I once went out in the evening at Beyrout, with my teacher to enjoy the fresh air and talk Arabic. My little English dog, the gift of a friend, followed us. We passed through a garden, where a venerable Moslem was sitting on a stone, silently and solemnly engaged in smoking his pipe. He observed the dog _following_ us, and was astonished at it, as something new and extraordinary; and rising, and making out of the way, he cried out, 'May his father be accursed! Is that a dog or a fox?'" Again, in Damascus, should a worn-out horse, donkey, or camel die in the streets, in a few hours the dogs have devoured it; and the powerful rays of the sun dry up all corrupt matter. Mr Graham tells us that the dogs of Damascus are brown, blackish, or of an ash colour, and that he saw no white or spotted specimens. He never saw a case of hydrophobia, nor did he hear a _bark_. The dogs "howl, and make noise enough," he continues, "but the fine, well-defined _bow-wow_ is entirely wanting." With a quiet humour, he hints at the bark being a mark of the civilised, domesticated dog, and as denoting, apparently, "the refinement of canine education." We have been struck with the attempts of Penny's Esquimaux dogs, deposited by the gallant Arctic mariner in the Zoological Gardens, to _get up_ a bark somewhat like the "well-bred" dogs in the cages near them. Mr Graham tells us of the Damascus dogs having established a kind of police among themselves, and, like the rooks, driving all intruders far from their district.

Dogs were not always disregarded in the East. Herodotus informs us,[54] during the Persian occupation the number of Indian dogs kept in the province of Babylon for the use of the governor was so great, that four cities were exempted from taxes for maintaining them. In the mountain parts of India, travellers describe the great dogs of Thibet and Cashmere as being much prized.

"The domestic dog of Ladak," says Major Cunningham,[55] "is the well-known shepherd's dog, or Thibetan mastiff. They have shaggy coats, generally quite black, or black and tan; but I have seen some of a light brown colour. They are usually ill-tempered to strangers; but I have never found one that would face a stick, although they can fight well when attacked. The only peculiarity that I have noticed about them is, that the tail is nearly always curled upward on to the back, where the hair is displaced by the constant rubbing of the tail." And that the same massive variety was also prized in ancient times we know, by a singularly fine, small bas-relief in baked clay, found in 1849 in the Birs-i-Nimrud, Babylon, by Sir Henry Rawlinson, which is preserved in the British Museum, to which it was presented by the late Prince Albert, and an outline of which, reduced one-half, will convey a good idea to the reader of its form. We may add that this bas-relief was first noticed and figured, in 1851, in the third edition of a truly learned and excellent work on "Nineveh and Persepolis," by Mr Vaux of the British Museum (p. 183). These dogs, then, were nothing else than big, "low jowled" Thibetan mastiffs, such as we occasionally see brought over by some Indian officer; and the use for which they were employed by the ancient kings and their attendants is strikingly exhibited on some slabs from a chamber in the north palace of Koujunjik, a part of the great Nineveh. On some of these slabs, dogs are seen engaged in pulling down wild asses, deer, and other animals; and they were evidently kept also to assist in securing nobler game--"the king of beasts;"--the sport of which animals shows how truly the Assyrian king was named "Nimrod, the mighty hunter before the Lord."--_Adam White, in "Excelsior" (with additions)._

BISHOP BLOMFIELD BITTEN BY A DOG.

His natural temperament was quick, and he was fond of authority. "A saying of Sydney Smith's has been preserved, humorously illustrative of the view which he took of Bishop Blomfield's character. The bishop had been bitten by a dog in the calf of the leg, and fearing possible hydrophobia in consequence, he went, with characteristic promptitude, to have the injured piece of flesh cut out by a surgeon before he returned home. Two or three on whom he called were not at home; but, at last, the operation was effected by the eminent surgeon, Mr Keate. The same evening the bishop was to have dined with a party where Sydney Smith was a guest. Just before dinner, a note arrived, saying that he was unable to keep his engagement, a dog having rushed out from the crowd and bitten him in the leg. When this note was read aloud to the company, Sydney Smith's comment was, '_I should like to hear the dog's account of the story_.'

"When this accident occurred to him, Bishop Blomfield happened to be walking with Dr D'Oyly, the rector of Lambeth. A lady of strong Protestant principles, mistaking Dr D'Oyly for Dr Doyle, said that she considered it was a judgment upon the bishop for keeping such company."[56]

"PUPPIES NEVER SEE TILL THEY ARE NINE DAYS OLD."

It is related, that when a former Bishop of Bristol held the office of Vice-Chancellor of the University of Cambridge, he one day met a couple of under-graduates, who neglected to pay the accustomed compliment of _capping_. The bishop inquired the reason of the neglect. The two men begged his lordship's pardon, observing they were _freshmen_, and did not know him. "How long have you been in Cambridge?" asked his lordship. "Only _eight_ days," was the reply. "Very good," said the bishop; "_puppies_ never see till they are _nine_ days old."[57]

MRS ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING'S DOG FLUSH.

Few have written so lovingly on the dog as this gifted poetess. Her dog Flush is described so well that Landseer could paint the creature almost to a hair. She has entered into the very feeling created in us by this favoured pet of our race. The beautiful stanzas[58] I have copied give also many little touches of her autobiography. This gifted lady was long an invalid. She could enter with rare sympathy into Cowper's attachments to animals. Her experience of the friendship of Flush is well told in the following lines, so different from Lord Byron's misanthropic verses on his dog:--

TO FLUSH, MY DOG.

Loving friend, the gift of one
Who her own true faith has run
Through her lower nature,
Be my benediction said
With my hand upon thy head,
Gentle fellow-creature!

Like a lady's ringlets brown
Flow thy silken ears adown
Either side demurely
Of thy silver-suited breast,
Shining out from all the rest
Of thy body purely.

Darkly brown thy body is,
Till the sunshine, striking this,
Alchemise its dulness,
When the sleek curls manifold
Flash all over into gold
With a burnish'd fulness.

Underneath my stroking hand,
Startled eyes of hazel bland
Kindling, growing larger,
Up thou leapest with a spring,
Full of prank and curveting
Leaping like a charger.

Leap! thy broad tail waves a light;
Leap! thy slender feet are bright,
Canopied in fringes;
Leap! those tassell'd ears of thine
Flicker strangely, fair and fine,
Down their golden inches.

Yet, my pretty, sporting friend,
Little is 't to such an end
That I praise thy rareness;
Other dogs may be thy peers
Haply in these drooping ears
And this glossy fairness.

But of _thee_ it shall be said,
This dog watch'd beside a bed
Day and night unweary--
Watch'd within a curtain'd room,
Where no sunbeam brake the gloom,
Round the sick and dreary.

Roses gather'd for a vase
In that chamber died apace,
Beam and breeze resigning;
This dog only waited on,
Knowing that, when light is gone,
Love remains for shining.