Part 32

Setters are difficult to break; but when well broken are invaluable as sporting dogs, for they will work all day if they can occasionally find water. John Dudley, duke of Northumberland, is said to have been the first that broke a setter dog to the net, about the year 1555.

Col. Hutchinson says that a French lady, who is fond of animals, at his request committed the following anecdote to paper:--

"My dear Médor, a beautiful red-and-white setter, was remarkable, I am told, for many rare qualities as a sporting dog; but, of course, none of these could be compared, in my eyes, to his faithfulness and sagacity. I looked upon him as a friend; and I know that our affection was mutual. I could mention several instances of his intelligence--I might say, reflection; but one in particular gave me such delight that, though years have since passed away, all the circumstances are as fresh in my memory as if they had occurred but yesterday. I was returning from school at Versailles; and having rang uselessly for a little time at the front door, I went round to the carriage-gate to have a chat with my silky-haired favourite. He barked anxiously, thrust his cold nose through an opening near the ground, scratched vigorously to increase its size, and in numerous ways testified great joy at again hearing my voice. I put my hand under the gate to caress him; and while he was licking it, I said in jest, but in a distinct, loud voice, 'Dear Médor, I am shut out--go, bring me the keys.' It so happened that the stable where they usually hung was not closed. Médor ran off, and in a few seconds returned and placed them in my hands. I will not attempt to describe my gratification at such a striking proof of his intelligence, nor his evident pride at seeing me enter the hall, nor yet the fright of the servant at thinking how long the street-door must have been carelessly left open. 'Médor deserves that his life should be written,' said I to my uncle, when afterwards telling him the whole story; 'I am sure his deeds are as wonderful as those related of the 'Chiens célèbres' by De Fréville.'

"My setter was immediately declared 'Keeper of the Keys,' and forthwith invested with all the rights of office. Nor was this confidence misplaced. He would never give up his charge to any one but to my uncle or myself; and always seemed fully sensible of the dignity and responsibility of his new position."

Tolfrey gives, in his "Sportsman in France," so beautiful an instance of a setter's untutored intelligence leading him to see the advantage of placing running birds between himself and the gun, that I will relate it.

"On gaining some high ground, the dog drew and stood. She was walked up to, but to my astonishment we found no birds. She was encouraged, and with great difficulty coaxed off her point. She kept drawing on, but with the same ill success.

"I must confess I was for the moment sorely puzzled; but knowing the excellence of the animal, I let her alone. She kept drawing on for nearly a hundred yards--still no birds. At last, of her own accord, and with a degree of instinct amounting almost to the faculty of reason, she broke from her point, and dashing off to the right made a détour, and was presently straight before me, some three hundred yards off, setting the game whatever it might be, as much as to say, 'I'll be ---- if you escape me this time.' We walked steadily on; and when within about thirty yards of her, up got a covey of red-legged partridges, and we had the good fortune to kill a brace each.

"It is one of the characteristics of these birds to run for an amazing distance before they take wing; but the sagacity of my faithful dog baffled all their efforts to escape. We fell in with several coveys of these birds during the day, and my dog ever after gave them the double, and kept them between the gun and herself."

THE PUG DOG.

"My pug makes a bad pet; he is useless in the field, is somewhat snappish, has little sagacity, and is very cowardly: but there is an air of bon ton about him which renders him a fashionable appendage to a fine lady."--Parisian Gossip.

Pugs came into fashion, and probably first into this country, in the early part of the reign of William the Third, and were then called Dutch pugs. At that time they were generally decorated with orange ribbons, and were in great request amongst the courtiers, from the king being very partial to them.

It is difficult to say how this partiality arose, though it may perhaps be accounted for by the following anecdote, related in a scarce old book, called "Sir Roger Williams' Actions in the Low Countries," printed in 1618.

"The Prince of Orange (father of William III.) being retired into the camp, Julian Romero, with earnest persuasions, procured license of the Duke D'Alva to hazard a camisado, or night attack, upon the prince. At midnight Julian sallied out of the trenches with a thousand armed men, mostly pikes, who forced all the guards that they found in their way into the place of arms before the Prince's tent, and killed two of his secretaries. The Prince himself escaped very narrowly, for I have often heard him say that he thought but for a dog he should have been taken or slain. The attack was made with such resolution, that the guards took no alarm until their fellows were running to the place of arms, with their enemies at their heels, when this dog, hearing a great noise, fell to scratching and crying, and awakened him before any of his men; and though the Prince slept armed, with a lacquey always holding one of his horses ready bridled and saddled, yet, at the going out of his tent, with much ado he recovered his horse before the enemy arrived. Nevertheless, one of his equerries was slain taking horse presently after him, as were divers of his servants. The Prince, to show his gratitude, until his dying day kept one of that dog's race, and so did many of his friends and followers. These animals were not remarkable for their beauty, being little white dogs, with crooked noses, called Camuses (flat-nosed)."

It is difficult to account for the origin of this breed of dogs. So far from having any of the courage of the bulldog, which they resemble somewhat in miniature, they are extremely cowardly. They are also occasionally treacherous in their disposition, and will take strong dislikes to particular persons.

The passion of the late Lady Penrhyn for pugs was well known. Two of these, a mother and daughter, were in the eating-room of Penrhyn Castle during the morning call of a lady, who partook of luncheon. On bonnets and shawls being ordered for the purpose of taking a walk in the grounds, the oldest dog jumped on a chair, and looked first at a cold fowl, and then at her daughter. The lady remarked to Lady Penrhyn that they certainly had a design on the tray. The bell was therefore rung, and a servant ordered to take it away. The instant the tray disappeared, the elder pug, who had previously played the agreeable with all her might to the visitor, snarled and flew at her, and during the whole walk followed her, growling and snapping at her heels whenever opportunity served. The dog certainly went through two or three links of inference, from the disappearance of the coveted spoil to Lady Penrhyn's order, and from Lady Penrhyn's order to the remark made by her visitor.

Monsieur Blaze, in his "History of Dogs," mentions one who was taught to pronounce several words. The editor of the "Dumfries Courier" has declared most solemnly that he "heard a pug repeatedly pronounce the word 'William,' almost as distinctly as ever it was enunciated by the human voice. He saw the dog lying on a rug before the fire, when one of his master's sons, whose name is William, and to whom he is more obedient than to any one else, happened to give him a shove, when the animal ejaculated, for the first time, the word 'William.' The whole party were as much amazed as Balsam was when his ass spoke; and though they could hardly believe their own ears, one of them exclaimed, 'Could you really find it in your heart to hurt the poor dog after he has so distinctly pronounced your name?' This led to a series of experiments, which have been repeated for the satisfaction of various persons, but still the animal performs with difficulty. When his master seizes his fore-legs, and commands him to say 'William,' he treats the hearer With a gurring voluntary; and after this species of music has been protracted for a longer or a shorter period, his voice seems to fall a full octave before he comes out with the important word."

In the "Bibliothèque Germanique," published in 1720, there is an account of a dog at Berlin, who was made to pronounce a few words, but the one which he ejaculated most distinctly was "Elizabeth." Sir William Gell also had a dog which was well known to repeat some words, but it should be mentioned that he never did this except his master held his jaws in a peculiar way.

It has been said of the pug dog that he is applicable to no sport, appropriated to no useful purpose, susceptible of no predominant passion, and in no way remarkable for any pre-eminent quality. He seems, indeed, intended to be the patient follower of a ruminating philosopher, or the adulatory and consolatory companion of an old maid; but is now gradually becoming discarded as a pet, and is seldom seen peeping out of a carriage window or basking in a London balcony.

The Comforter, of which a portrait is given at the head of the present chapter, is a rare and beautiful little dog, apparently a cross between the Maltese and King Charles spaniel. His colour is generally white, with black or brown patches; his ears are long, and his head broad on the upper part, with an acute muzzle; the hair is long over the whole body, with the fore legs feathered; his tail is curled, and feathered with very long hairs. This is the smallest of any of the distinct races of dogs, and is frequently not above a foot from the tip of the nose to the point of the tail.

THE TURNSPIT.

How well do I recollect, in the days of my youth, watching the operations of a turnspit at the house of a worthy old Welsh clergyman in Worcestershire, who taught me to read. He was a good man, wore a bushy wig, black worsted stockings, and large plated buckles in his shoes. As he had several boarders, as well as day-scholars, his two turnspits had plenty to do. They were long-bodied, crooked-legged, and ugly dogs, with a suspicious, unhappy look about them, as if they were weary of the task they had to do, and expected every moment to be seized upon to perform it. Cooks in those days, as they are said to be at present, were very cross, and if the poor animal, wearied with having a larger joint than usual to turn, stopped for a moment, the voice of the cook might be heard rating him in no very gentle terms. When we consider that a large solid piece of beef would take at least three hours before it was properly roasted, we may form some idea of the task a dog had to perform in turning a wheel during that time. A pointer has pleasure in finding game, the terrier worries rats with considerable glee, the greyhound pursues hares with eagerness and delight, and the bull-dog even attacks bulls with the greatest energy, while the poor turnspit performs his task by compulsion, like a culprit on a tread-wheel, subject to scolding or beating if he stops a moment to rest his weary limbs, and is then kicked about the kitchen when the task is over. There is a story (it is an old one) of the Bath turnspits, who were in the habit of collecting together in the abbey church of that town during divine service. It is said, but I will not vouch for the truth of the story, that hearing one day the word "spit," which occurred in the lesson for the day, they all ran out of the church in the greatest hurry, evidently associating the word with the task they had to perform.

These dogs are still used in Germany, and her Majesty has two or three of them amongst her collection of these quadrupeds. They are extremely bandy-legged, so as to appear almost incapable of running, with long bodies and rather large heads. They are very strong in the jaws, and are what are called hard-bitten. It is a peculiarity in these dogs that they generally have the iris of one eye black and the other white. Their colour varies, but the usual one is a bluish grey, spotted with black. The tail is generally curled on the back.

As two turnspits were generally kept to do the roasting work of a family, each dog knew his own day, and it was not an easy task to make one work two days running. Even on his regular day a dog would frequently hide himself, so cordially did he hate his prescribed duties. A story is said to have been related to a gentleman by the Duke de Liancourt, of two turnspits employed in his kitchen, who had to take their turns every other day to get into the wheel. One of them, in a fit of laziness, hid himself on the day he should have worked, so that his companion was forced to mount the wheel in his stead, who, when his employment was over, began crying and wagging his tail, and making signs for those in attendance to follow him. This was done, and the dog conducted them into a garret, where he dislodged his idle companion, and killed him immediately.

The following circumstance is said to have taken place in the Jesuits' College at La Flèche.

After the cook had prepared his meat for roasting, he looked for the dog whose turn it was to work the spit, but not being able to find him, he attempted to employ for this service another that happened to be in the kitchen. The dog, however, resisted, and, having bitten the cook, ran away. The man, with whom the dog was a particular favourite, was much astonished at his ferocity. The wound he had received was a severe one, and bled profusely, so that it was necessary to dress it. While this was doing, the dog, which had run into the garden, and found out the one whose turn it was to work the spit, came driving him before him into the kitchen, when the latter immediately went of his own accord into the wheel.

Buffon calls the turnspit the Basset à jambes torses, but some of the breed are said to have straight legs. Short as they are, the body is extremely strong and heavy in proportion to the height of the dog, and this weight must facilitate the turning of the wheel.

THE FOXHOUND.

"Warn'd by the streaming light and merry lark, Forth rush the jolly clan; with tuneful throats They carol loud, and in grand chorus joined, Salute the new-born day.