Heads And Tales Part 8

"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 ta.s.sell'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, St.u.r.dy 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, pa.s.sed 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 att.i.tude, 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 n.o.body to paint him, during the long half hour that had delayed his master's return."

THE SOLDIER AND THE MASTIFF.

A soldier pa.s.sing 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 b.u.t.t-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]