Chapter 8

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.

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 blessèd 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.