Part 11 (1/2)
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 paris.h.i.+oners has been on the subject of dogs.'--'How so?' said Lord Spencer.--'Why, when I first went down into Yorks.h.i.+re, 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 s.h.a.ggy 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, d.a.m.ned 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 a.s.suring 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 pa.s.sion for breakfasting on parish boys.'--'Parish boys!' she exclaimed; 'does he really eat boys, Mr Smith?'--'Yes, he devours them, b.u.t.tons 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 pa.s.sage 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 fas.h.i.+on 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 wors.h.i.+p; 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 b.r.e.a.s.t.s 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 circ.u.mstance which occurred one day. ”In reciting Satan's address to the evil spirits from 'Paradise Lost,' a stout student was enjoined to p.r.o.nounce 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.
ILl.u.s.tRATED BY THE STORY OF AS INTELLIGENT A DOG.
In _Blackwood's Magazine_ for 1818 there is an address, in blank verse, by Mr Patrick Fraser Tytler, ”To my Dog.” Mr Tytler's brother-in-law, Mr Hog,[101] recorded the fact on which this address was founded in his diary at the time. ”Peter tells a delightful anecdote of Cossack, an Isle of Skye terrier, which belonged originally to his brother at Aldourie. It was amazingly fond of his children, one of which, having fallen on the gravel and hurt itself, began to cry out. Cossack tried in vain to comfort it by leaping upon it and licking its face. Finding all his efforts to pacify the child fruitless, he ran off to a mountain-ash tree, and leaping up, pulled a branch of red _rowan_ berries and carried it in his mouth to the child.”
HORACE WALPOLE'S PET DOG ROSETTE.
Horace Walpole, writing to Lord Nuneham in November 1773,[102]
says:--”The rest of my time has been employed in nursing Rosette--alas!
to no purpose. After suffering dreadfully for a fortnight from the time she was seized at Nuneham, she has only languished till about ten days ago. As I have nothing to fill my letter, I will send you her epitaph; it has no merit, for it is an imitation, but in coming from the heart if ever epitaph did, and therefore your dogmanity will not dislike it--
'Sweetest roses of the year, Strew around my Rose's bier, Calmly may the dust repose Of my pretty, faithful Rose!
And if yon cloud-topp'd hill[103] behind This frame dissolved, this breath resign'd, Some happier isle, some humbler heaven, Be to my trembling wishes given; Admitted to that equal sky, May sweet Rose bear me company!'”
ARRIVAL OF TONTON, A PET DOG, TO WALPOLE.--TONTON DOES NOT UNDERSTAND ENGLISH.
Horace Walpole, in May 1781,[104] had announced Tonton's arrival to his correspondent, the Hon. H. S. Conway. He says:--”I brought him this morning to take possession of his new villa, but his inauguration has not been at all pacific. As he has already found out that he may be as despotic as at St Joseph's, he began with exiling my beautiful little cat, upon which, however, we shall not quite agree. He then flew at one of my dogs, who returned it by biting his foot till it bled, but was severely beaten for it. I immediately rung for Margaret (his housekeeper) to dress his foot; but in the midst of my tribulation could not keep my countenance, for she cried, 'Poor little thing; he does not understand my language!' I hope she will not recollect, too, that he is a Papist!” In a postscript he tells the general that Tonton ”is a cavalier, and a little of the _mousquetaire_ still; but if I do not correct his vivacities, at least I shall not encourage them, like my dear old friend.”
In a letter of about the same date to Mason the poet, he again alludes to his fondness of Tonton, but adds--”I have no occasion to brag of my dogmanity.”[105]