34 
BIZZ AND HER FOES. 
[Nature and Alt, February 1, 1867. 
the top of the potato-basket, while her keen eye 
shone like a star above her determined tail. 
“ Please, ma’am, am I to send over the dog and 
the potato-basket?” inquired Hatchment, as I was 
leaving the shop. 
Now, whenever I am undecided about anything, 
I fall back with the most wifely meekness upon my 
superior, so I answered, “ I must ask my husband, 
and will let you know.” 
“ Oh ! ” said the greengrocer, while a bright smile 
illuminated his good-natured face, “it’s only to tell 
him I’m going to drown the dog, and he’ll have her, 
I know that. Bizz, you’re sure of a good home 
now, old girl, for life.” 
Hatchment was right. 
The following day, Bizz and her favourite potato- 
basket were installed in the little yard, the potato- 
basket in comfortable shelter, and, lest she might 
escape through the coach-house or stable into the 
Gloucester Hoad, the communicating door was 
locked, the yard being considered by cook the 
weak point of our premisees, as she pronounced it. 
The manner in which cook altered, and refined, 
and elongated the English language, in her desire 
to be considered English, would have been ex- 
ceedingly amusing, if it had not in time, as I have 
already said, quite destroyed my belief in her 
veracity : that made me uncomfortable. ® If I used 
an Irish phrase, or relieved an Irish child (she was 
as steel against a full-grown Irish pauper, but a 
ragged child melted her heart), she would turn 
away, muttering, “ May the heavens be your bed 
when the time comes ! ” or, “ The Lord blesses the 
dew that falls on the young corn.” Tears would 
rush into her great grey eyes, at any tale of distress 
connected with Ireland. It was the time of the 
cruel famine which fell upon my poor country, and 
I received subscriptions, to assist in even so small 
a way the good Samaritans who came forward 
to aid their fellow-creatures in their time of sore 
need. Our servants, and the servants of many of 
my friends, brought me their mites, and children, 
now grown to be brave men and good women, by 
' rigid self-denial heaped their pennies together, and 
not only gave a donation great for their small 
means, but continued their half-penny or penny a 
week despite all temptations, until thei’e was no 
longer need of help. Cook’s donation was very 
liberal, and she thus, so to say, excused it : — 
“ I’m sure I’ve no call to the country, or the 
country to me, only in memory of my dear grand- 
mother. I ought to do my best, for it’s no rest on 
my bed I’d get if I thought one of her people 
wanted anything I could send ; you’ve no right, 
ma’am dear, to be evenin’ the country to me. I’d 
never have come to live with an Irish lady, if I’d 
a’ thought she’d lay claim to me.” 
“ Well, cook, it is very easy to remedy that now.” 
“ Oh, don’t ! I beg your honour’s pardon. I did 
not think you’d get that maning out of it, only I 
never could bear any one to take me for Irish, just 
out of my grandmother.” 
I do not think that Bizz enjoyed the security 
and tranquillity of her new quarters half as much 
as her more active life at the corner of Steward’s 
Grove. Not that she was forgotten by her foes ; 
the greengrocer and butcher boys seldom passed 
the yard gate without drawing a stick across it, 
in a manner peculiar to boys, accompanied by 
“ Hallo, Bizz, old girl ! how’s your sheep’s head ? ” 
or, “ Bizz, my beauty, how’s your eye?” This 
Bizz found very hard to endure, and I have seen 
her tearing the wood of the gate with her sharp, 
strong teeth, anxious to revenge the cruel insidt. 
The cats, too, found her out, and would sit on the 
wall aggravating her, so that cook had to spend a 
considerable portion of her time in dislodging them. 
Bizz and cook used to hold confidential communi- 
cations together, in cooing sort of whispers, and in 
what was an unknown tongue to all but me, who 
observed that whenever cook murmured to Bizz 
“ Thurum pogue,” the animal would stand on its 
hind legs, and endeavour to lick her face or hands. 
I spell the words perhaps not correctly, but as it is 
pronounced. “ Thurum pogue ” means in Irish 
“ Give me a kiss.” I would have asked in the 
most direct manner if Bizz was Irish born, but 1 
knew cook would deny it, and the manner in which 
the dog pricked her ears at an Irish voice, and 
screamed and jumped with delight when a passing 
organ (patronized slyly by cook,) ground out “ St. 
Patrick’s Day,” told a tale poor cook would not 
have liked to tell. Dogs are frequently affected by 
particular tunes. I have one of the beautiful dogs 
of Malta, who, after washing, looks like a heap 
of snow-flakes, and this creature, by name Tiny, 
recognises “ God Save the Queen” with determined 
loyalty, joining in, if not in excellent tune, certainly 
in good time ; she takes no notice of other music. 
Even so did “ St. Patrick’s Day” excite the patriot- 
ism of “ Bizz, the baste.” Indeed, I once caught 
cook dancing a jig to this very tune, which she 
whistled sotto voce, to Bizz, snapping her fingers, 
“ covering the buckle,” “ heeling and toeing ” it, to 
perfection, while Bizz capered on her hind legs 
opposite to hei', changing sides with marvellous 
dexterity. The other servants were out for a 
holiday, and cook thought I was in the green-house. 
She had brought Bizz in to tea, and after tea, 
doubtless wished for a little national exercise. It 
was a scene never to be forgotten, particularly the 
conclusion, when Bizz sprang from off the ground 
into cook’s arms, and they hugged each other with 
every demonstration of affection. Bizz winked, 
and absolutely moved her tail in a near approach 
to a wag, and then there was such “ cooing” and 
whining, and “ cushla machreeing,” as I never 
heard before ! 
After this, I felt that Bizz and cook were united 
by the memory of some early companionship or 
affection, which was kept a profound secret from 
me, though I half suspected it was known in a 
degree to Platchment. 
Certainly the dog was a character. At first, she 
licked her lips at the Italian greyhounds, as she 
used to do at the cats, and they, pretty things ! 
arched their necks and tossed their heads disdain- 
fully, as they passed the trellised gate, which, 
