Dogs. 2 1 



the piercing call. The inert thing in the arm-chair 

 becomes galvanised with sudden life, tumbles down upon 

 the floor, crawls towards the sound, finds the beloved hand, 

 and licks it. They pass whole evenings together still, that 

 gentle master and his poor old friend. And still in 

 that dark decrepitude beats the heart of inextinguishable 

 love. . . . 



Although dogs have been more or less painted and carved 

 since men used brush and chisel, they have never held so 

 important a position in art as they do now. The modern 

 love of incident in pictures, the modern delight in what 

 has been aptly called "literary interest" as distinguished 

 from the pure pleasure of the eyes, naturally induce us to 

 give a very high place to dogs, which more than all other 

 animals are capable of awakening an interest of this kind. 

 The dog is so close to man, so intimately associated with 

 his life, both in the field and in the house, that he becomes 

 a sharer in many of its incidents, and the painter scarcely 

 needs a pretext for introducing him. In such a picture, 

 for example, as the " Order of Release " (by Millais), the 

 dog has his due importance as a member of the family, 

 and the painter does not ignore the canine gladness and 

 affection. And so in the illustration by the same artist, of 

 that charming old Scottish song, " There is nae luck about 

 the house," the dog is first out of doors to go and meet the 

 gudeman. In Landseer's " Shepherd's Chief Mourner," 

 the dog is alone in his lamentation, and yet we feel that 

 the bereaved creature is in the place that is his by a natural 

 right, by right of long service, of constant companionship, 

 of humble faithful friendship and deep love. You paint a 

 portrait of Sir Walter Scott, why not introduce Maida ? — 

 of young Lord Byron, why not put brave Boatswain by 

 his side ? These creatures rejoice with us in our sports 



