May 27, 1869. ] 



JOUBNAL OF HORTICULTUEE AND COTTAGE GAKDENEE. 



365 



an hour after, while the chiming of the bella of near churches, 

 whoso service begins earlier than mine, was falling pleaHantly 

 on my ear. I Lad been Btanding a few minutes befure on the 

 sunny slope of the churchyard, lost in admiration, looking 

 at and delighting in tho rich wide view beneath— the sweep of 

 the park close below, the stately elms, broad oaks, and prim 

 chestnuts, down to the humbler thorn bushes. I had been 

 noticing the nearer trees in their first clean pure spring dress ; 

 then I had watched how, farther off, the trees lost individuality, 

 and blending to the eye formed one high thick wood, and 

 farther still, whore along the horizon, half indistinct from a 

 Bommer mist, " a pale stream," I could just trace the whole 

 line of the road up those downy slopes miscalled Salisbury 

 Plain. Having watched, and loved, and listened to bells and 

 birds (oh, what a sweet calm time is a summer Sunday morn- 

 ing !) I had roused myself from this delicious reverie, and had 

 left " God's acre." Each year ia that beautiful burial ground 

 more endeared to me — to me, an old resident — for more and 

 more loved parishioners lie beneath as years succeed each other. 

 In the act of crossing the village lane, elm-shaded, a pure 

 English-bred black and tan terrier raised its intelligent head 

 for a pat. I saying, " You are the very dog I should like," 

 " You may have her, sir, if you likes to buy her," said a one- 

 eyed, rather doubtful-looking man, who was off, like too many 

 artisans, for a Sunday walk during church time. Explaining 

 to Cyclops that Sunday was no day for purchase or sale, I take 

 down his address, again pat the dog, notice and admire her 

 large, bright, trusting eyes, and determine if possible to free 

 her from the tyranny of that one-eyed, ill-favoured being who 

 was now her master. " Six o'clock to-morrow night, and don't 

 oome earlier, as I sha'n't be home sooner." "All right. What 

 ia your dog's name ?" "Fanny." A christian name, thought I, 

 and the dog first seen on a Sunday. 



The next evening at the time appointed I was at the house 

 of Cyclops, a poor house in a back lane of a manulactuiing 

 town, low-ceilinged and close-aired. How different, alas ! are 

 the town dwellings of the poor from my village cottages with 

 freshair and good gardens. A timid woman (is Cyclops a cruel 

 husband y) received me and bade me be seated. Presently 

 Cyclops came in, even less prepossessing in his workday garb 

 than in his Sunday suit — Cyclops, not, indeed, one of Vulcan 

 the blacksmith's workmen, but his near kin by looks, for he 

 was stained blue with cloth dye. He leads the way to a little 

 back yard, high-walled and filthy, where was Fanny tied by a 

 rope which had worn through the skin of her neck. She was 

 a beautiful, glossy, black and tan creature, in all the lithenesa 

 and grace which a well-bred teirier has when a year old, before 

 the form is widened and made bulky by age. I longed to 

 release the dog from such a prison and such a galling chain. 

 "How did Cyclops come by the dog?" "It was give I by a 

 lodger a fortnight ago." "Where did lodger get her V" "From 

 Squire Dash's keeper." Stolen, thought I. Cyclops does not 

 ask an exorbitant price, and in five minutes the dog is bought 

 and paid for. One of my two boys, quite little boys then, and 

 very eager for the dog, produces a light chain and collar, and we 

 are off with our prize, Fanny buoyant, loving, and delighted, 

 as if foreknowing the many happy years she was destined to 

 spend with us. 



Arrived at home, it seemed the dog's delight to win every 

 heart ; but still from the first, as if she knew it was I who 

 freed her from her misery, she was to me devoted — she was 

 my dog especially, only fully happy when lying at my feet. 

 Still, I had the fear upon me that she was stolen, and that I 

 should have to give her up to her rightful owner ; but it proved 

 in the end that Cyclops' tale was correct. She had been the one- 

 too-many at the gamekeeper's lodge, and she was given by him 

 to a friend, who valued her so little, or feared the tax-gatherer 

 so much, that in a fortnight's time he left her with Cyclops. 



Fanny proved to be of Nature's very finest meal. She was 

 known for years by a clerical neighbour as " the christian dog," 

 partly from her christian name, but chiefly from her nature, so 

 kindly, and gentle, and loving. People who were not nsnally 

 fond of dogs were struck by and pleased with Fanny. I have 

 said she was of the brightest black and richest tan. Unfortu- 

 nately, she had been subjected to the cruel process of cropping 

 and docking, so ears and taU were not as Nature made them ; 

 but her eyes told her character, and attracted attention. The 

 eyes of some terriers are brown of various shades ; hers were 

 glittering coal-black balls, with a liquid lustre, as like as 

 possible to a gazelle's as a dog's eyes could be in shape, colour, 

 and prominence. Fanny, happily, adapted herself to her 

 company ; with the children she played hide-and-seek, enjoy- 



ing the game thoroughly. When they went blackberrying she 

 went too, and all her share plucked by herself. From me she 

 would never willingly part. When I %vaB writing she lay at my 

 feet, and looked up now and then to make sure I was there 

 and then she dozed off secure and happy. Whither I went she 

 went. She was prime playmate with the young ones, even to 

 the youngest that could not toddle, but could sit and pull her 

 tail. There is an engraving seen sometimes in print-shop 

 windows of a terrier, at least of such a dog's head and neck, 

 with a face full of intelligence — that, save the white throat, 

 which my dog had not, is just like Fanny. 



I could never bring myself to make Fanny a kennel dog; 

 she had felt the galling "chain of Cyclops, she should never 

 know mine. So she had full range. Soon she grew to under- 

 stand where I was going. If a felt hat was on my head she 

 knew it was only for a stroll in the garden; if a stick in_my 

 hand, she knew it was for a parochial stroll, and she went into 

 every cottage, hurting neither child nor cat. If I had on that 

 detestable thing (why are EngUshmen slaves to it ?), a high hat, 

 called by boys, aptly and rij^htly, a chimney-pot — for it ia as hard 

 on the brow as if made of pottery, and as ugly as a chimney- 

 pot — then Fanny knew it was for a long walk, a call, perhaps, 

 and she was extra happy, leaping to my hand and bounding by 

 my side. At first she was much puzzled by Sunday. Poor 

 dog! she had not "ever been where bells have knoUed to 

 church." At the kennels in the wood, where she had passed 

 her puppyhood, she had heard the sweet music of the church 

 bells, doubtless, but had no association with them, and knew 

 of no duty connected by man with them. When in the posses- 

 sion of Cyclops, he never went to church, so to him and her 

 Sunday bells were as nothing, save connected with a walk in 

 the morning ; or, perhaps, s-he thought of them only in connec- 

 tion with kicks from a drunkard's foot in the evening. So 

 when Fanny saw me high-hatted and dressed for church while 

 the bells were ringing, she thought she had a right to go out 

 ' with me. Eat soon she learned to know the day. I was wont 

 to look at the dog, point to my gown and bands, and say, 

 I " Listen to the bells, Fanny, it is Sunday ;" and she retired to 

 her sleeping-box in the kitchen. After mastering her lesson, 

 which she soon did, nothing would induce her to go out on her 

 accustomed barking runs round the house and garden on a 

 Sunday, until the afternoon service was over. She knew the 

 day as well as we knew it. Once she was sorely puzzled ; that 

 j was by the first funeral which took place after I had her. She 

 , knew it was not Sunday, but the bell was going, and I went 

 ' over to church. Very much perplexed, and not knowing what 

 I to make of it, she committed her one fault, for when she saw 

 me in the churchyard she jumped through the window of my 

 I study in order to get to me, though cutting herself sorely in 

 '' doing it. Upon being punished the kept the house at funerals 

 ' as well as on Sundays and at other service times. 



Fanny had some recommendations to favour, which terriers 

 seldom have : thus, she swam, hence she was beautifully clean ; 

 then she never would eat raw meat, and cared most for bread 

 and milk, so she was scentless— a great comfort in a house- 

 Uving dog. When accidentally lost in the town near, she 

 would either remain on the door step of the house she last saw 

 me in, or place herself at a point which commanded a view of 

 divergent roads. I was wont occasionally to stay at a house 

 where was one of the most snarling, ill-tempered creatures, 

 half terrier, half Italian greyhound, called toy terriers ; and 

 when its mistress's back was turned I used to avenge myself 

 upon the ill-tempered, ill-conditioned (not in body, far from it), 

 ill-bred little brute, by saying to him, " Well, Mister Tiney, 

 Dr. Watts said some dogs will go to heaven ; but on my word 

 as a clergyman, I assure yoitthat you will not be one of them." 

 But if the fond dream of the little doctor is ever realised, and 

 some of the animal creation be for ever happy with redeemed 

 man in the second paradise, as they were happy with unfallen 

 man in the first paradise, it must be that such dogs as Fanny 

 will be there. Her devotion to me was shown daily ; if left 

 alone in the house she lay on my chair, or on my bed ; but it 

 was in an illness of mine that my heart was most drawn out 

 towards her. And is it net also true in regard to human 

 friends, that companionship in scenes of sorrow makes the 

 truest friend ? The boon companions of the spendthrift, where 

 are they when he has spent all and bfgins to be in want? 

 Gone ! What is the worth of the friendship of the drunkard's 

 jovial choice cronies when the drink is out ? Nothing. But if 

 you make a friend in scenes of sorrow— a friendship springing 

 up first, perhaps, from sympathy shown — then, whenever you 

 meet that one, there is a special pressure of the hand, a 



