Chapter IV: Part 4

Other dogs in thymy dew
Track'd the hares, and follow'd through
Sunny moor or meadow;
This dog only crept and crept
Next a languid cheek that slept,
Sharing in the shadow.

Other dogs of loyal cheer
Bounded at the whistle clear,
Up the woodside hieing;
This dog only watch'd in reach
Of a faintly-utter'd speech,
Or a louder sighing.

And if one or two quick tears
Dropp'd upon his glossy ears,
Or a sigh came double,
Up he sprang in eager haste,
Fawning, fondling, breathing fast
In a tender trouble

And this dog was satisfied
If a pale, thin hand would glide
Down his dewlaps sloping,
Which he push'd his nose within,
After--platforming his chin
On the palm left open.

This dog, if a friendly voice
Call him now to blither choice
Than such chamber-keeping,
"Come out!" praying from the door,
Presseth backward as before,
Up against me leaping.

Therefore to this dog will I,
Tenderly, not scornfully,
Render praise and favour:
With my hand upon his head
Is my benediction said,
Therefore, and for ever.

And because he loved me so,
Better than his kind will do,
Often man or woman,
Give I back more love again
Than dogs often take of men,
Leaning from my Human.

Blessings on thee, dog of mine,
Pretty collars make thee fine,
Sugar'd milk make fat thee!
Pleasures wag on in thy tail,
Hands of gentle motion fail
Nevermore to pat thee!

Downy pillow take thy head,
Silken coverlet bestead,
Sunshine help thy sleeping!
No fly's buzzing wake thee up,
No man break thy purple cup
Set for drinking deep in.

Whisker'd cats arointed flee,
Sturdy stoppers keep from thee
Cologne distillations;
Nuts lie in thy path for stones,
And thy feast-day macaroons
Turn to daily rations!

Mock I thee in wishing weal?
Tears are in my eyes to feel
Thou art made so straightly;
Blessing needs must straighten too;
Little canst thou joy or do,
Thou who lovest _greatly_.

Yet be blessed to the height
Of all good and all delight
Pervious to thy nature;
Only _loved_ beyond that line,
With a love that answers thine,
Loving fellow-creature!

SIR THOMAS FOWELL BUXTON, BART., AND HIS DOG "SPEAKER."

Sir Thomas Fowell Buxton was very fond of dogs; his son[59] tells an anecdote of the singular manner in which one of his pets came into his possession. "He was standing at the door of the House of Commons talking to a friend, when a beautiful black and tan terrier rushed between them, and immediately began barking furiously at Mr Joseph Pease, who was speaking. All the members jumped up, shouting and laughing, while the officers of the house chased the dog round and round, till at last he took refuge with Mr Buxton, who, as he could find no traces of an owner, carried him home. He proved to be quite an original. One of his whims was, that he would never go into the kitchen nor yet into a poor man's cottage; but he formed a habit of visiting by himself at the country houses in the neighbourhood of Cromer, and his refined manners and intelligence made 'Speaker' a welcome guest wherever he pleased to go."

LORD BYRON AND HIS DOG BOATSWAIN.

In November 1808 Lord Byron lost his favourite dog Boatswain; the poor animal having been seized with a fit of madness, at the commencement of which so little aware was Byron of the nature of the malady, that he more than once, with his bare hand, wiped away the slaver from the dog's lips during the paroxysms. In a letter to his friend Mr Hodson, he thus announces this event:--"Boatswain is dead! he expired in a state of madness on the 18th, after suffering much, yet retaining all the gentleness of his nature to the last, never attempting to do the least injury to any one near him. I have now lost everything except old Murray."

The monument raised by him to this dog--the most memorable tribute of the kind since the dog's grave, of old, at Salamis--is still a conspicuous ornament of the gardens of Newstead. The misanthropic verses engraved upon it may be found among his poems, and the following is the inscription by which they are introduced:--

"Near this spot Are deposited the remains of one Who
possessed beauty without vanity, Strength without insolence, Courage
without ferocity, And all the virtues of man without his vices. This
praise, which would be unmeaning flattery If inscribed over human ashes,
Is but a just tribute to the memory of BOATSWAIN, a dog, Who was born at
Newfoundland, May 1803, And died at Newstead Abbey, November 18, 1805."

The poet Pope, when about the same age as the writer of this inscription, passed a similar eulogy on his dog, at the expense of human nature; adding that "histories are more full of examples of the fidelity of dogs than of friends." In a still sadder and bitterer spirit, Lord Byron writes of his favourite:--

"To mark a friend's remains these stones arise;
I never knew but _one_, and _here_ he lies."[60]

Moore relates a story of this dog, indicative, not only of intelligence, but of a generosity of spirit, which might well win for him the affections of such a master as Byron. A fox-terrier of his mother's, called Gilpin, was an object of dislike to Boatswain, who worried him nearly to the death. Gilpin was sent off and Boatswain was missed for a day. To the surprise of the servants, towards evening Gilpin and Boatswain were in company, the former led by the latter, who led him to the kitchen fire, licked him and lavished on him every possible demonstration of joy. He had been away to fetch him, and ever after caressed him, and defended him from the attacks of other dogs. (P. 44.)

"PERCHANCE"--A LADY'S _reason_ FOR SO NAMING HER DOG.

A lady had a favourite lap-dog, which she called Perchance. "A singular name," said somebody, "for a beautiful pet, madam; where did you find it?"--"Oh," drawled she, "it was named from Byron's dog. You remember where he says, '_Perchance_ my dog will howl.'"[61]

COLLINS THE ARTIST AND HIS DOG "PRINNY"--A MODEL OF "_a model_."

William Wilkie Collins, after a most graphic account of the companions of his artist-father's home,[62] notices "one who was ever as ready to offer his small aid and humble obedience as were any of his superiors, to confer the benefit of their penetrating advice." I refer to Mr Collins's dog "Prinny" (Prince). This docile and affectionate animal had been trained by his master to sit in any attitude, which the introduction of a dog in his picture (a frequent occurrence) might happen to demand. So strict was "Prinny's" sense of duty, that he never ventured to move from his set position until his master's signal gave him permission to approach his chair, when he was generally rewarded with a lump of sugar, placed, not between his teeth, but on his nose, where he continued to balance it, until he was desired to throw it into the air and catch it in his mouth, a feat which he very seldom failed to perform. On one occasion his extraordinary integrity in the performance of his duties was thus pleasantly exemplified:--"My father had placed him on the backs of two chairs, his fore-legs on the rails of one, and his hind-legs on the rails of the other; and in this rather arduous position had painted from him for a considerable time, when a friend was announced as waiting for him in another apartment. Particularly desirous of seeing this visitor immediately, the painter hurried from the room, entirely forgetting to tell 'Prinny' to get down, and remained in conversation with his friend for full half an hour. On returning to his study the first object that greeted him was poor 'Prinny,' standing on his 'bad eminence' exactly in the position in which he had been left, trembling with fatigue, and occasionally vending his anguish and distress in a low piteous moan, but not moving a limb, or venturing even to turn his head. Not having received the usual signal he had never once attempted to get down, but had remained disconsolate in his position 'sitting' hard, with nobody to paint him, during the long half hour that had delayed his master's return."

THE SOLDIER AND THE MASTIFF.

A soldier passing through a meadow, a large mastiff ran at him, and he stabbed the dog with a bayonet. The master of the dog asked him why he had not rather struck the dog with the butt-end of his weapon? "So I should," said the soldier, "if he had run at me with his tail!"[63]

BARK AND BITE.

Lord Clare, who was much opposed to Curran, one day brought a Newfoundland dog upon the bench, and during Curran's speech turned himself aside and caressed the animal. Curran stopped. "Go on, go on, Mr Curran," said Lord Clare.--"Oh, I beg a thousand pardons," was the rejoinder. "I really thought your lordship was employed in _consultation_."[64]

MRS DREW AND THE TWO DOGS.

(A CURIOUSLY NEAR APPROACH TO MORAL PERCEPTION.)

In the biography of Samuel Drew, A.M., a great name among the metaphysical writers of this country, we read a very interesting anecdote of two dogs.

His father, a farmer and mail-carrier in Cornwall, had procured a Newfoundland dog for protection on his journeys, having been attacked by highwaymen. There was a smaller dog which had been bred in the house. The son was living at Poplea, in Cornwall, when the following circumstance occurred, and he witnessed it:[65]--

"Our dairy was under a room which was used occasionally as a barn and apple-chamber, into which the fowls sometimes found their way; and, in scratching among the chaff, scattered the dust on the pans of milk below, to the great annoyance of my mother-in-law. In this a favourite cock of hers was the chief transgressor. One day in harvest she went into the dairy, followed by the little dog, and finding dust again on her milk-pans, she exclaimed, 'I wish that cock were dead!' Not long after, she being with us in the harvest field, we observed the little dog dragging along the cock, just killed, which, with an air of triumph, he laid at my mother-in-law's feet. Highly exasperated at the literal fulfilment of her hastily-uttered wish, she snatched a stick from the hedge, and attempted to give the dog a beating. The luckless animal, seeing the reception he was likely to meet with, where he expected marks of approbation, left the bird and ran off, she brandishing her stick, and saying, in a loud angry tone, 'I'll pay thee for this by and by.' In the evening, when about to put her threat into execution, she found the little dog established in a corner of the room, and the large one standing before it. Endeavouring to fulfil her intention by first driving off the large dog, he gave her plainly to understand that he was not at all disposed to relinquish his post. She then sought to get at the small dog behind the other, but the threatening gesture, and fiercer growl of the large one, sufficiently indicated that the attempt would be not a little perilous. The result was that she was obliged to abandon her design. In killing the cock I can scarcely think that the dog understood the precise import of my stepmother's wish, as his immediate execution of it would seem to imply. The cock was a more recent favourite, and had received some attentions which had previously been bestowed upon himself. This, I think, had led him to entertain a feeling of hostility to the bird, which he did not presume to indulge, until my mother's tone and manner indicated that the cock was no longer under her protection. In the power of communicating with each other, which these dogs evidently possess, and which, in some instances, has been displayed by other species of animals, a faculty seems to be developed of which we know very little. On the whole, I never remember to have met with a case in which to human appearance there was a nearer approach to moral perception than in that of my father's two dogs."

THE DIFFERENCE OF EXCHANGE.--"DOG-CHEAP."

Dining at a nobleman's table, where the company were praising the claret, his lordship told them that he had received that hogshead of wine in return for a couple of hounds, which he sometime before presented to Count Lauragais. "Why, then, my lord," cried Foote, "I not only think your wine excellent, but _dog-cheap_."[66]

GAINSBOROUGH AND HIS WIFE AND THEIR DOGS.

Thomas Gainsborough, the rival of Sir Joshua in portraiture, wanted that evenness of temper which the President of the Royal Academy so abundantly possessed. He was easily angered, but as soon appeased, and says his biographer,[67] "If he was the first to offend, he was the first to atone. Whenever he spoke crossly to his wife, a remarkably sweet-tempered woman, he would write a note of repentance, sign it with the name of his favourite dog 'Fox,' and address it to his Margaret's pet spaniel, 'Tristram.' Fox would take the note in his mouth, and duly deliver it to Tristram. Margaret would then answer--'My own dear Fox, you are always loving and good, and I am a naughty little female ever to worry you, as I too often do, so we will kiss and say no more about it; your own affectionate Tris.'" The writers of such a correspondence could not have led what is called "a cat and dog life." Husbands and wives might derive a hint from this anecdote; for we know, from the old ballad, that they will be sulky and quarrel at times even about getting

"Up to bar the door, O!"

SIR WILLIAM GELL'S DOG.

The reviewer[68] of Sir Thomas Browne's works says--"We ourselves have witnessed an example of the curious and credulous exaggeration which has construed certain articulations in animals into rational speech. Some time since, in travelling through Italy, we heard, in grave earnest, from several Italians, of the prodigy of a Pomeranian dog that had been taught to speak most intelligibly by Sir William Gell. Afterwards, in visiting that accomplished and lamented gentleman at Naples, we requested to hear an animal possessed of so unusual a gift. And, as the friends of the urban scholar can bear witness, the dog undoubtedly could utter a howl, which, assisted by the hand of the master in closing the jaw at certain inflections, might be intelligibly construed into two words not to be repeated. Such a dog, with such an anathema in his vocabulary, would have hanged any witch in England three centuries ago."

ELIZABETH, THE LAST DUCHESS OF GORDON, AND THE WOLF-DOG KAISER.

The Rev. A. Moody Stuart, in his "Life of the last Duchess of Gordon,"[69] that truly Christian lady, refers to some old pets of the duke's and her own, which, on her becoming a widow, she took with her from Gordon Castle to Huntly Lodge, a bullfinch, an immense Talbot mastiff named Sall, and others. He adds--"To a stranger, the most remarkable of the duke's old favourites was Kaiser, an Hungarian wolf-dog, with a snow-white fleece, and most sheep-like aspect in the distance, but at whose appearance out of doors, man, woman, and child fled as from a wolf. The duchess called him 'The wolf in sheep's clothing.' Her husband's tastes having brought her much into contact with all sorts of dogs, she had learned to pat them confidently at their first introduction, when a large space between their eyes betokened a kindly temper. This open breadth of forehead was strongly marked in Sall, a fine old mastiff that used at this time to walk round the dining-room after breakfast, with her noble head reaching the level of the table. But the duke had chosen Kaiser for other qualities. Two of those wolf-dogs had been brought to him for sale when travelling on the Continent; the other was the larger and handsomer animal; but Kaiser's eyes, sunk deep in the head, and all but meeting under his shaggy hair, at once fixed his choice on him as 'likest his work.' That work was to defend the sheep from the wolves, and one mode of defence was by laying a strange trap for the enemy. The dog was remarkably like a sheep, his hair white without a dark speck, and he carried a great load of it, long and fleecy like wool. In the Hungarian steppes four or five of those dogs would lay themselves down on the grass in the evening, sleeping there like so many harmless lambs, with their faces inward for the heat of each other's breath. The keen eye of the wolf was soon attracted by the white fleeces, with no shepherd near to guard them. Eager for blood, he careered swiftly over the plain, and sprang unsuspecting into the midst of the flock, only to find himself clenched in the relentless jaws of Kaiser and his comrades, wolves more terrible than himself under the clothing of timid sheep. A conversation once took place at the Lodge on the character ascribed to dogs in Scripture. It slightly vexed the good duchess that they were so often mentioned in the Bible, but only as emblems of what is foul and fierce, except in a single instance, and that not of commendation, but neutrality. This exception, she said, occurred in the Book of Proverbs, where the greyhound is named, along with the lion and the goat, as 'comely in going,' yet merely in praise of his external beauty. But her difficulty was relieved by the reply, that in Isaiah lvi. 10, the "dog" is really used in a good sense as applied to the spiritual watchmen of the Lord's flock. For the unfaithful shepherds, being there likened to dumb dogs that cannot bark, were not censured under the simple image of watch-dogs, but because, as such, they were faithless and useless; implying that the good watch-dog is an honourable emblem of the true pastor, watching for the souls committed to his care, and solemnly warning them of approaching danger."

FREDERICK THE GREAT AND HIS ITALIAN GREYHOUNDS.

Dr John Moore, when travelling with the Duke of Hamilton, saw and heard a good deal of Frederick the Great, and has given in his second volume of "A View of Society and Manners in France," &c., many interesting particulars of his private and public life. Among these, he alludes to his using "a very large gold snuff-box, the lid ornamented with diamonds," and his taking "an immoderate quantity of Spanish snuff, the marks of which very often appear on his waistcoat and breeches. These are also liable to be soiled by the paws of two or three Italian greyhounds, which he often caresses" (vol. ii. p. 236).

THE DOG AND THE FRENCH MURDERERS. (AN OCCURRENCE IN THE SPRING OF 1837.)

Thomas Raikes,[70] in his Journal 8th March 1837, records:--"Eight years ago, a labouring man in the department of the Loire was found murdered in a wood near his house, and his dog sitting near the body. No clue could be gained to the perpetrators of the crime, and his widow continued to live in the same cottage, accompanied always by the faithful animal. Last week two men, apparently travellers, stopped at the house, requesting shelter from the storm, which was granted; but no sooner had the dog perceived them, than he flew at them with fury, and could not be pacified. As they were quitting the house, one of them said to the other, 'That rascally dog has not forgotten us.' This raised the suspicion of the widow, who overheard it, and applying to the gendarmes in the neighbourhood, they followed and arrested them. The result has been that, after a long examination, one of them has confessed the crime, and impeached his associate."

* * * * *

Hannah More wrote an ode addressed to Garrick's famous house-dog Dragon. A copy of this she gave to Sir Joshua Reynolds in 1777, while still unprinted, under an oath neither to take nor give a copy of it, which oath Sir Joshua had observed (she says) like a true knight, only reading it to his visitors till some of them learned it by heart. The "charming bagatelle" was afterwards printed, that posterity might be enabled to wonder what a small expenditure of wit in metre sufficed to purchase a large modicum of fame among the blues of that day.[71]

ROBERT HALL AND THE DOG.

The eloquent Robert Hall and Dr Leifchild were often in each other's company when at Bristol, travelling and preaching together at anniversaries and ordinations. The son and biographer of the latter says:[72]--"I rode with them from Bristol to Wells, and can now, in imagination, see Mr Hall smoking and reclining on one seat of the carriage, while my father sat on the other. I can see Mr Hall descending at a blacksmith's shop to re-light his pipe, making his way directly to the forge, and jumping aside with unwonted agility, when a huge dog growled at him. I can recall his look, when rallied on his agility, after his return to the carriage. 'You seemed afraid of the dog, sir,' said my father. 'Apostolic advice, sir--Beware of dogs,' rejoined Mr Hall." Dr Leifchild, in another part of the memoir (p. 360), relates that some housekeeper would exclaim to him, as he was about to enter the house of friend or stranger, "Don't be afraid of the dog, sir, he never bites."--"Are you quite sure he never bites?" was his prompt question.--"Quite sure, sir," rejoined the servant.--"Then," rejoined the good-humoured doctor, "if he never _bites_, how does he live?"

A QUEEN AND HER LAP-DOG.

Henrietta Maria, Queen of Charles I., on her return to Burlington Bay with assistance for her husband, was attacked in the house where she slept by the cannonade of five ships of war belonging to the Parliament. She left the house amid the whistling of balls, one of which killed one of her servants. When on her way to the shelter of a ditch, she remembered that an aged lap-dog, called "Mitte," was left behind. She was much attached to this old favourite, and returned to the house she had left. Rushing up-stairs into her chamber, she caught up her old pet, which was reposing on her bed, and carried her off in safety. Having done this, the queen and her ladies gained the ditch, and crouched down in it, while the cannon played furiously over their heads.[73]

THE CLEVER DOG THAT BELONGED TO THE HUNTERS OF POLMOOD.

The estate of Polmood, in Peeblesshire, was the subject of extraordinary litigation, and a volume of considerable bulk is devoted to its history. This work contains much curious evidence from aged country folks in the western parts of the country. Mr Chambers[74] tells us that in the history "reminiscences concerning a wonderfully clever dog are put forward as links in the line of propinquity." The deponent has heard his father say that Robert Hunter had a remarkable dog called "Algiers;" and that, when Robert lived at Woodend, he used to tie a napkin round the dog's neck with money in it, and send him for snuff to Lammington, which is about three miles from Woodend, and that the dog executed his message faithfully, and prevented everybody from laying hold of or stopping him. Another venerable deponent, aged eighty-nine, had heard his mother tell many stories about a dog belonging to Uncle Robert, which went by the name of "Algiers;" that they used to cut a fleece off him every year sufficient to make a pair of stockings; and that Uncle Robert used to tie a purse round his neck, with money in it, and the dog then swam the Tweed, and brought back tobacco from the Crook! And a third declares that "Algiers" could be sent to Edinburgh with a letter, and bring back a letter to his master.

THE IRISH CLERGYMAN AND THE DOGS.

Mr Fitzpatrick, in his anecdotal memoirs of Archbishop Whately, tells a story of an eccentric Irish parson. This person, when preaching, was interrupted in his homily by two dogs, which began to fight in church. He descended the pulpit, and endeavoured to separate them. On returning to his place, the clergyman, who was rather an absent man, asked the clerk, "Where was I a while ago?"--"Wasn't yer Riverence appaising the dogs?" responded the other.[75]

WASHINGTON IRVING AND THE DOG.

Patrick Fraser Tytler, author of "The History of Scotland," in a letter to his wife in 1830, says--"At Lady Morton's, one evening, I met with Washington Irving. I had heard him described as a very silent man, who was always observing others, but seldom opened his lips. Instead of which, his tongue never lay still; and he gets out more wee wordies in a minute than any ordinary converser does in five. But I found him a very intelligent and agreeable man. I put him in mind of his travelling with our dear Tommy. He had at first no recollection; but I brought it back to his memory by the incident of the little black dog, who always went before the horses in pulling up hill, and pretended to assist them. I put him in mind of his own wit, 'that he wondered if the doggie mistook himself for a horse;' at which he laughed, and added, 'Yes, and thought it very hard that he was not rubbed down at the end of the journey.'"[76]

DOUGLAS JERROLD AND HIS DOG.

Jerrold had a favourite dog that followed him everywhere. One day in the country, a lady, who was passing, turned round and said audibly, "What an ugly little brute!" Whereupon Jerrold, addressing the lady, replied, "Oh, madam! I wonder what he thinks _about us_ at this moment."[77]

SHERIDAN AND THE DOG.

After witnessing the first representation of a dog-piece by Reynolds, called the "Caravan," Sheridan suddenly came into the green-room, on purpose, it was imagined, to wish the author joy. "Where is he?" was the first question; "where is my guardian angel?"--"Here I am," answered Reynolds.--"Pooh!" replied Sheridan, "I don't mean _you_, I mean _the dog_."[78]

CHARLES LAMB AND HIS DOG.

Thomas Hood had a dog called "Dash." This dog he gave to Charles Lamb. The ready-witted Elia often took the creature out with him when walking at Enfield. On one occasion, the dog dashed off to chase some young sheep. The owner of the muttons came out quite indignant at the owner, to expostulate with him on the assault of Lamb's dog on his sheep. Elia, with his quiet ready wit, replied, "Hunt _Lambs_, sir?--why, he never hunted _me_."[79]

FRENCH DOGS, TIME OF LOUIS XI.--HISTORY OF HIS DOG "RELAIS" BY LOUIS XII.

Horace Walpole, in one of his gossiping letters to the Countess of Ossory in 1781, writes, "You must not be surprised if I should send you a collection of Tonton's _bons-mots_. I have found a precedent for such a work. A grave author wrote a book on the 'Hunt of the Grand Senechal of Normandy,' and of _les DITS du bon chien Souillard, qui fut au Roi Loy de France onzieme du nom_. Louis XII., the reverse of the predecessor of the same name, did not leave to his historian to celebrate his dog "Relais," but did him the honour of being his biographer himself; and for a reason that was becoming so excellent a king. It was _pour animer les descendans d'un si brave chien a se rendre aussi bons que lui, et encore meilleurs_. It was great pity the Cardinal d'Amboise had no bastard puppies, or, to be sure, his Majesty would have written his Prime Minister's life too, for a model to his successors."[80]

MARTIN LUTHER OBSERVES A DOG AT LINTZ.

In the "Table Talk" of Martin Luther, it is recorded:--"I saw a dog at Lintz, in Austria, that was taught to go with a hand-basket to the butchers' shambles for meat. When other dogs came about him, and sought to take the meat out of the basket, he set it down and fought lustily with them; but when he saw they were too strong for him, he himself would snatch out the first piece of meat, lest he should lose all. Even so does now our Emperor Charles; who, after having long protected spiritual benefices, seeing that every prince takes possession of monasteries, himself takes possession of bishoprics, as just now he has seized upon those of Utrecht and Liege."[81]

THE POOR DOG AT THE GROTTA DEL CANE.

Henry Matthews,[82] like other visitors of Naples, went to the celebrated _Grotta del Cane_, or Dog Grotto, on the borders of Lake Agnano, so called from the vapour in the cave, destructive to animal life, being shown by means of a dog. In his diary, of March 3, 1818, he records:--"Travellers have made a great display of sensibility in their strictures upon the spectacle exhibited here; but to all appearance the dog did not care much about it. It may be said, with truth of him, that he is _used_ to it; for he dies many times a day, and he went to the place of execution wagging his tail. He became insensible in two minutes; but upon being laid on the grass, he revived from his trance in a few seconds, without the process of immersion in the lake, which is generally mentioned as necessary to his recovery. From the voracity with which he bolted down a loaf of bread which I bought for him, the vapour does not seem to injure the animal functions. Addison seems to have been very particular in his experiments upon the vapour of this cavern. He found that a pistol would not take fire in it; but upon laying a train of gunpowder, and igniting it beyond the sphere of the vapour, he found that it could not intercept the train of fire when it had once begun flashing, nor hinder it from running to the very end. He subjected a dog to a second trial in order to ascertain whether he was longer in expiring the first than the second time; and he found there was no sensible difference. A viper bore it _nine minutes_ the first time he put it in, and _ten minutes_ the second; and he attributes the prolonged duration of the second trial to the large provision of air that the viper laid in after his first death, upon which stock he supposes it to have existed a minute longer the second time."

DOG, A POSTMAN AND CARRIER.

Robert Southey says, that "near Moffat a dog used for many years to meet the mail and receive the letters for a little post-town near."[83]

How often may you see a dog carrying a basket or a parcel. No enticement, even of a dog-friend or of a great bone, will induce this faithful servant to abandon his charge. Every one must have observed this.

DOG-MATIC.

In the great dispute between South and Sherlock, the latter, who was a great courtier, said--"His adversary reasoned well, but he barked like a cur." To which the other replied, "That _fawning_ was the property of a cur as well as barking."[84]

GENERAL MOREAU AND HIS GREYHOUND.

"The day after the battle of Dresden (27th Aug. 1812), a greyhound was brought to the King of Saxony, the ally of Napoleon. The dog was moaning piteously. On the collar were engraved the words, 'I belong to the General Moreau.' Where was the dog's master? By the side of the Emperor Alexander. Moreau had been mortally wounded. The dog had remained with his master until his death. While Moreau was conversing with the Emperor Alexander a cannon-shot nearly carried off both his legs. It is said that throughout the five days during which he lingered he uttered not a murmur of pain."[85]

* * * * *

At the battle of Solferino, where rifled cannon were first brought to bear in warfare, a dog excited great attention by its attachment to the body of its slain master. It became the chief object in a painting of the circumstance, from which an engraving was executed.

A DUKE OF NORFOLK AND HIS SPANIELS.

In Southey's "Common-place Book," 4th ser. p. 479, he writes--"Our Marlborough and King James's spaniels are unrivalled in beauty. The latter breed (black and tan, with hair almost approaching to silk in fineness, such as Vandyke loved to introduce into his portraits) were solely in the possession of the late Duke of Norfolk. He never travelled without two of his favourites in the carriage. When at Worksop he used to feed his eagles with the pups; and a stranger to his exclusive pride in the race, seeing him one day employed in thus destroying a whole litter, told his grace how much he should be delighted to possess one of them. The duke's reply was a characteristic one. 'Pray, sir, which of my estates should you like to have?'"

There are shepherds who possess collies, such _proud_, useful servants and friends, that no bribe would induce them to part with them. But what old favourite dog or even bird is there that any one would part with? Man, be he scavenger or duke, is very similar in this species of attachment.

LORD NORTH AND THE DOG.

In several of the caricatures published about the year 1783, when Fox and Burke had joined Lord North, and helped to form what is called the Coalition Ministry, a dog is represented. This, says Mr Wright,[86] is said to be an allusion to an occurrence in the House of Commons. During the last defensive declamation of Lord North, on the eve of his resignation, a dog, which had concealed itself under the benches, came out and set up a hideous howling in the midst of his harangue. The house was thrown into a roar of laughter, which continued until the intruder was turned out; and then Lord North coolly observed, "As the new member has ended his argument, I beg to be allowed to continue mine."

PERTHES DERIVES HINTS FROM HIS DOG.

In a letter, written when he first came to Gotha, Perthes, the publisher, says--"Do not laugh if I tell you that my dog has given me many a hint upon human nature. I never before had a dog constantly with me, and I now ask myself whether the poodle be not a man, and men poodles. I am not led to this thought by the animal propensities which we have in common, such as eating, drinking, &c., but by those of a more refined character. He too is cheerful and dejected, excited and supine, playful and morose, gentle and bold, caressing and snappish, patient and refractory; just like us men in all things, even in his dreams! This likeness is not to me at all discouraging; on the contrary, it suggests a pleasing hope that this flesh and blood which plagues and fetters us, is not the real man, but merely the earthly clothing which will be cast off when he no longer belongs to earth, provided he has not sinfully chosen to identify himself with the merely material. The devil's chief seat is not in matter but in the mind, where he fosters pride, selfishness, and hatred, and by their means destroys not what is transitory but what is eternal in man."[87]

PETER THE GREAT AND HIS FAVOURITE DOG LISETTE.

Mr Stoehlin[88] relates the following anecdote of the Czar Peter, on the authority of Miss Anne Cramer, the chambermaid to the empress. In the cabinet of natural history of the academy at St Petersburg, is preserved, among a number of uncommon animals, Lisette, the favourite dog of the Russian monarch. She was a small, dun-coloured Italian greyhound, and very fond of her master, whom she never quitted but when he went out, and then she laid herself down on his couch. At his return she showed her fondness by a thousand caresses, followed him wherever he went, and during his afternoon nap lay always at his feet.

A person belonging to the court, having excited the anger of the czar--I do not know by what means--was confined in the fort, and there was reason to suppose that he would receive the punishment of the knout on the first market-day. The whole court, and the empress herself, thought him innocent, and considered the anger of the czar as excessive and unjust. Every means was tried to save him, and the first opportunity taken to intercede in his favour. But, so far from succeeding, it served only to irritate the emperor the more, who forbade all persons, even the empress, to speak for the prisoner, and, above all, to present any petition on the subject, under the pain of incurring his highest displeasure.

It was supposed that no resource remained to save the culprit. However, those who in concert with the czarina interested themselves in his favour, devised the means of urging their suit without incurring the penalty of the prohibition.

They composed a short but pathetic petition, in the name of Lisette. After having set forth her uncommon fidelity to her master, she adduced the strongest proofs of innocence of the prisoner, entreated the czar to take the matter into consideration, and to be propitious to her prayer, by granting him his liberty.

This petition was tied to her collar, in such a manner as to be easily visible.

On the czar's return from the Admiralty and Senate, Lisette, as usual, came leaping about him; and he perceived the paper, folded in the form of a petition. He took, and read it--"What!" said he; "Lisette, do you also present me petitions? Well, as it is the first time, I grant your prayer." He immediately sent a denthtchick[89] to the fort, with orders to set the prisoner at liberty.

THE LIGHT COMPANY'S POODLE AND SIR F. PONSONBY.

Captain Gronow, in his gossiping book,[90] says--"Every regiment has a pet of some sort or another. One distinguished Highland regiment possesses a deer; the Welsh Fusiliers a goat, which is the object of their peculiar affection, and which generally marches with the band. The light company of my battalion of the 1st Guards in 1813 rejoiced in a very handsome poodle, which, if I mistake not, had been made prisoner at Vittoria. At the commencement of the battle of the 9th of December 1813, near the mayor's house, not far from Bidart, we observed the gallant Frederick Ponsonby well in front with the skirmishers, and by the side of his horse the soldiers' poodle. The colonel was encouraging our men to advance, and the poodle, in great glee, was jumping and barking at the bullets, as they flew round him like hail. On a sudden we observed Ponsonby struggling with a French mounted officer, whom he had already disarmed, and was endeavouring to lead off to our lines; when the French skirmishers, whose numbers had increased, fired several shots, and wounded Ponsonby, forcing him to relinquish his prisoner, and to retire. At the same time, a bullet broke one of the poor dog's legs. For his gallant conduct in this affair, the poodle became, if possible, a still greater favourite than he was before; and his friends, the men of the light company, took him to England, where I saw my three-legged friend for several years afterwards, the most prosperous of poodles, and the happiest of the canine race."

ADMIRAL RODNEY AND HIS DOG LOUP.

Earl Stanhope, in his History,[91] remarks--"To those who love to trace the lesser lights and shades of human character, I shall owe no apology if I venture to record of the conqueror of De Grasse, that even in his busiest hours he could turn some kindly thoughts not only to his family and friends, but to his dog in England. That dog, named Loup, was of the French fox-breed, and so attached to his master, that when the admiral left home to take the command of his fleet, the faithful animal remained for three days in his chamber, watching his coat, and refusing food. The affection was warmly returned. On many more than one occasion we find Rodney wrote much as follows to his wife--'Remember me to my dear girls and my faithful friend Loup; I know you will kiss him for me.'"[92]

RUDDIMAN AND HIS DOG RASCAL.

George Chalmers, in his Life of the learned Thomas Ruddiman,[93] tells us that "young Ruddiman was initiated in grammar at the parish-school of Boyndie, in Banffshire, which was distant a mile from his father's dwelling; and which was then taught by George Morison, whom his pupil always praised for his attention and his skill. To this school the boy walked every morning, carrying his daily provisions with him. He is said to have been daily accompanied by a dog, which, when he had proceeded to the top of Tooting-hillock, the halfway resting-place, always returned home after partaking of his victuals. This story is still (1794) remembered, as if there were in it something supernatural. We may suppose, however, that the excursion was equally agreeable to both parties; and when it was once known that the dog was to eat at a particular place at a stated hour, an appropriate allowance was constantly made for him. Whether Ruddiman had a natural fondness for dogs, or whether a particular attachment began, when impressions are easily made, which are long remembered, cannot now be ascertained. He certainly, throughout a long life, had a succession of dogs, which were invariably called _Rascal_; and which, being springing spaniels, ever accompanied him in all his walks. He used, with affectionate recollection, to entertain his friends with stories of dogs, which all tended to show the fidelity of that useful animal to man."

* * * * *

Mrs Schimmelpenninck, authoress of "Select Memoirs of Port Royal," died in 1856. Her interesting Autobiography and Life were published in 1858 by her relation, Christiana C. Hankin. In p. 467 it is remarked that "her love of animals formed quite a feature in her daily habits. Like St Francis, she delighted to attract the little birds, by tempting them with dainty food upon her verandah; and it was a positive pleasure to her to watch their feast. She had a bag made, which was always filled with oats, to regale any stray horse or ass; and she has been seen surrounded by four goats, each standing on its hind legs, with its uplifted front feet resting on her, and all eagerly claiming the salt she had prepared for them. But her great delight was in dogs. She never forgot those sad hours in childhood, when, unable to mix in the sports of children from illness (perhaps, too, from her want of sympathy in the usual pleasures of that age), the beautiful dogs at Barr were her companions and friends.

"It is no figure of speech to say that she had a large acquaintance amongst the dogs at Clifton. She always carried a pocketful of biscuit to feed them; and she had a canine friend who for years was in the daily habit of waiting at her door to accompany her morning walk, after which he received his little portion of biscuit, and returned to his home. Timid as Mrs Schimmelpenninck was by nature and by habit, she had no idea of personal fear of animals, and especially of dogs. I have seen her go up without hesitation to some splendid specimen of the race, of which everybody else was afraid, to stroke him, or offer food; when the noble creature, with that fine perception often so remarkably manifested by dogs and children, would look up in her face, and then return her caress, and crouch down at her feet in love and confidence. Her own two beautiful little spaniels were her constant companions in her walks; their happy gambols were always a source of pleasure."[94]

* * * * *

Sir Walter Scott loved dogs dearly. In his novels and poetical works his knowledge of them and his regard often appear. He loved them, from the stately deerhound to the wiry terrier. He was quite up to the ways of their education. Dandie Dinmont, in "Guy Mannering," speaking of his terriers, says, "I had them a' regularly entered, first wi' rottens, then wi' stots and weasels, and then wi' the tods and brocks, and now they fear naething that ever comes wi' a hairy skin on't." Then, again, read Washington Irving's description of his visit to Abbotsford, and how, on Scott taking him out for a walk, a host of his dogs attended, evidently as a matter of course. He often spoke to them during the walk. The American author was struck with the stately gravity of the noble staghound Maida, while the younger dogs gambolled about him, and tried to get him to gambol. Maida would occasionally turn round suddenly, and give one of the playful creatures a tumble, and look at Scott and Irving, as much as to say, "You see, gentlemen, I cannot help giving way to this nonsense;" when on he would go as grave as ever. "I make no doubt," said Scott to his companion, "when Maida is alone with these young dogs, he throws gravity aside, and plays the boy as much as any of them; but he is ashamed to do so in our company, and seems to say, "Ha' done with your nonsense, youngsters; what will the laird and that other gentleman think of me if I give way to such foolery?" A little volume might almost be made on Sir Walter Scott and his dogs. Wilkie, Allan, and especially Sir Edwin Landseer, have handed down to us the portraits of many of them. His works, and biography by Lockhart, and the writings of his many visitors, would afford many an interesting extract.

SHERIDAN ON THE DOG-TAX.

In 1796, a tax, which caused great discontent and ridicule, was laid for the first time upon dogs. Mr Wright, in his "England under the House of Hanover," says--"The debates on this tax in the House of Commons appear to have been extremely amusing. In opposing the motion to go into committee, Sheridan objected that the bill was most curiously worded, as it was, in the first instance, entitled, 'A bill for the protection of his Majesty's subjects against dogs.' 'From these words,' he said, 'one would imagine that dogs had been guilty of burglary, though he believed they were a better protection to their masters' property than watchmen.' After having entertained the House with some stories about mad dogs, and giving a discourse upon dogs in general, he asked, 'Since there was an exception in favour of puppies, at what age they were to be taxed, and how the exact age was to be ascertained?' The Secretary at War, who spoke against the bill, said, 'It would be wrong to destroy in the poor that _virtuous feeling_ which they had for their dog.' In committee, Mr Lechmere called the attention of the House to ladies' 'lap-dogs.' He knew a lady who had _sixteen_ lap-dogs, and who allowed them a roast shoulder of veal every day for dinner, while many poor persons were starving; was it not, therefore, right to tax lap-dogs very high? He knew another lady who kept one favourite dog, when well, on Savoy biscuits soaked in Burgundy, and when ailing (by the advice of a doctor) on minced chicken and sweetbread! Among the caricatures on this subject, one by Gillray (of which there were imitations) represented Fox and his friends, hanged upon a gallows, as 'dogs not worth a tax;' while the supporters of Government, among whom is Burke, with 'G. R.' on his collar, are ranged as well-fed dogs 'paid for.'"[95]

SYDNEY SMITH DISLIKES DOGS.

AN INGENIOUS WAY OF GETTING RID OF THEM.

Lady Holland tells us[96] that her father, the witty canon of St Paul's, disliked dogs. "During one of his visits to London, at a dinner at Spencer House, the conversation turned upon dogs. 'Oh,' said my father, 'one of the greatest difficulties I have had with my parishioners has been on the subject of dogs.'--'How so?' said Lord Spencer.--'Why, when I first went down into Yorkshire, there had not been a resident clergyman in my parish for a hundred and fifty years. Each farmer kept a huge mastiff dog ranging at large, and ready to make his morning meal on clergy or laity, as best suited his particular taste. I never could approach a cottage in pursuit of my calling but I rushed into the jaws of one of these shaggy monsters. I scolded, preached, and prayed without avail; so I determined to try what fear for their pockets might do. Forthwith appeared in the county papers a minute account of the trial of a farmer, at the Northampton Sessions, for keeping dogs unconfined; where said farmer was not only fined five pounds and reprimanded by the magistrates, but sentenced to three months' imprisonment. The effect was wonderful, and the reign of Cerberus ceased in the land.'--'That accounts,' said Lord Spencer, 'for what has puzzled me and Althorp for many years. We never failed to attend the sessions at Northampton, and we never could find out how we had missed this remarkable dog case.'"

SYDNEY SMITH ON DOGS.[97]

"No, I don't like dogs; I always expect them to go mad. A lady asked me once for a motto for her dog Spot. I proposed, 'Out, damned Spot!' But she did not think it sentimental enough. You remember the story of the French marquise, who, when her pet lap-dog bit a piece out of her footman's leg, exclaimed, 'Ah, poor little beast! I hope it won't make him sick.' I called one day on Mrs ----, and her lap-dog flew at my leg and bit it. After pitying her dog, like the French marquise, she did all she could to comfort me by assuring me the dog was a Dissenter, and hated the Church, and was brought up in a Tory family. But whether the bite came from madness or Dissent, I knew myself too well to neglect it, and went on the instant to a surgeon, and had it cut out, making a mem. on the way to enter that house no more."

SYDNEY SMITH'S "NEWFOUNDLAND DOG THAT BREAKFASTED ON PARISH BOYS."

The Rev. Sydney Smith used to be much amused when he observed the utter want of perception of a joke in some minds. One instance we may cite from his "Memoirs:"[98] "Miss ----, the other day, walking round the grounds at Combe Florey, exclaimed, 'Oh, why do you chain up that fine Newfoundland dog, Mr Smith?'--'Because it has a passion for breakfasting on parish boys.'--'Parish boys!' she exclaimed; 'does he really eat boys, Mr Smith?'--'Yes, he devours them, buttons and all.' Her face of horror made me die of laughing."

SOUTHEY ON DOGS.

Southey was likewise not a little attached to the memory at least of dogs, as may be inferred by the following passage in a letter to Mr Bedford, Jan. 27, 1823. Snivel was a dog belonging to Mr B. in early days. "We had an adventure this morning, which, if poor Snivel had been living, would have set up her bristles in great style. A foumart was caught in the back kitchen; you may perhaps know it better by the name of polecat. It is the first I ever saw or smelt; and certainly it was in high odour. Poor Snivel! I still have the hairs which we cut from her tail thirty years ago; and if it were the fashion for men to wear lockets, in a locket they should be worn, for I never had a greater respect for any creature upon four legs than for poor Sni. See how naturally men fall into relic worship; when I have preserved the memorials of that momentary whim so many years, and through so many removals."[99]

DOG, A GOOD JUDGE OF ELOCUTION.

When Dr Leifchild, of Craven Chapel, London, was a student at Hoxton Academy, there was a good lecturer on elocution there of the name of True. In the Memoir, published in 1863, are some pleasing reminiscences by Dr Leifchild of this excellent teacher, who seems to have taken great pains with the students, and to have awakened in their breasts a desire to become proficients in the art of speaking. The doctor himself was an admirable example of the proficiency thus attained under good Mr True. He records[100] a ludicrous circumstance which occurred one day. "In reciting Satan's address to the evil spirits from 'Paradise Lost,' a stout student was enjoined to pronounce the three words, 'Princes, potentates, warriors,' in successively louder tones, and to speak out boldly. He hardly needed this advice, for the first word came out like distant thunder, the second like approaching thunder, and the third like a terribly near and loud clap. At this last the large housedog, Pompey, who had been asleep under the teacher's chair, started up and jumped out of the window into the garden. 'The dog is a good judge, sir,' mildly remarked Mr True."

COWPER'S DOG BEAU AND THE WATER-LILY.

ILLUSTRATED BY THE STORY OF AS INTELLIGENT A DOG.