68 
BIZZ AND HEB FOES, 
[Nature and Art, March 1, 1867. 
friend of mv childhood — black Charger. Charger 
was once dreadfully mauled by the butcher of 
Garrick’s big clog' — and we thought he must have 
died. I considered myself very ill-used because my 
mother would not let me sit up with Charger 
at night : I cried myself to sleep, curled up like a 
cat in the window-seat, and fancied the sea moaned 
in sympathy with my sorrow ! But Charger re- . 
covered, and then his steady friend and firm ally, 
Neptune, — a colossal Newfoundland, as large and 
in general as dreamy as a calf, a giant among dogs, 
who seldom barked, or ran, or wagged his tail, but 
lay “ i’ the sun in summer ” on the square stone 
that topped the steps leading to the hall-door, and 
in winter, on his own particular mat in front of the 
old clock in the hall : — this great dog entertained 
the deepest feeling of revenge towards the dog 
that had so grievously ill-treated his friend, and 
when poor Charger was able to limp up the hill of 
Garrick, which was more than a mile from Graigue 
(the dear old home of my young days), Neptune 
accompanied him, cold and silent and stately as 
ever, step by step with his lame friend, and they 
soon discovered the great bull-dog, nodding in the 
sun before the butcher’s house. Charger was a 
little in advance of Neptune, and when Bull saw 
him, he arose, and shook himself, and glared, 
advancing a step or two, as though to say, “ Oh, 
it is you, — I will soon finish you, puppy.” But 
Neptune stood between them, not suffering the 
bull-clog to touch his friend, and meeting the charge 
like a hero. The bull-dog was fierce and active, but 
independent of his great strength, Neptune’s throat 
was protected by a brass collar, and his thick, 
shaggy coat was a natural armour of defence. 
The dogs fought like tigers, the bull-blood was 
thoroughly heated, and the Newfoundland knew 
the value of his weight and size ; yet the odds 
would, for all that, have been dead against Nep, 
who was aged, while his antagonist was in his 
prime, but for the protecting collar. The bull-dog 
held on to it like grim death, wondering, doubtless, 
that his opponent was not strangled : both dogs were 
punished, but Neptune would have certainly closed 
Bull’s fighting calendar, only that the fight was put 
an end to by the butcher and the smith, — the 
butcher anxious for the safety of his dog, and Mr. 
Bow, the smith, determined that Neptune should 
not be “ kilt intirely.” Charger, we heard, stood 
calmly at a distance, looking on : now he was not a 
clog to do that when his friend was spilling his best 
blood in his cause, if it had not been previously 
arranged between them, that Charger should keep 
out of the fray : it was the more remarkable as 
Charger was generally pugnacious, hearing the sound 
of battle afar-off, and rushing into the combat in 
true Irish fashion, without waiting to investigate 
the question of rights or wrongs. Neptune must 
have had great influence to compel his remaining 
stationary. The dogs were away the entire day, 
and when Nep was discovered with unmistakable 
marks of recent combat on his person, and Charger 
in the very act of licking his wounds, the household 
surged into great commotion. “ Where had he been ? 
Who had dared to hurt him 1 Charger and he 
couldn’t have fought 1” “No, Charger was as 
smooth as satin.” The arrival of the smith, who 
was also somewhat of a clog-doctor, solved the 
mystery : he related the whole affair with eloquence 
and emphasis, and gave a sorry account of the state 
of Bull’s shoulder, which was supposed to have 
been broken. It was well known how the brute 
had fallen upon poor Charger, so he had very little 
sympathy from our household ; and Neptune’s 
health was drunk that night in the servants’ hall, 
with I fear more than three times three, the senti- 
ment which accompanied the toast being — “ May 
we all have as true a friend when 'needed !” 
Generally speaking, if clogs are not sagacious, it 
is to be attributed to a defective education. Those 
who neglect to cultivate relations with the animal 
kingdom lose a great deal of what assists to cheer 
and invigorate life. 
While my greyhounds and Rose, and a new 
importation, a lovely little white Lion dog of 
Malta (with various other beasts and birds), formed 
a very happy family at our country house, a puppy 
was given to me with the assurance that it was a 
beautiful Skye, a “ Blue” Skye. Her rough little 
jacket was decidedly “ foxy ” — but my kind friend 
persisted in the assurance that she was a “ Blue 
Skye,” all her relatives were “ Blue Skyes ; ” and 
she could not fail to be a “ Blue Skye.” 
It was hoping against fact. Every day I looked 
at her, I trusted in her turning “ blue;’’ but no, the 
fox deepened, and the hair grew fast and furious, 
hard, sticking-out hair. She certainly had beauti- 
ful eyes, and a lovely little round head, but it was 
far nearer akin to a spaniel’s than to a Skye’s : there 
had been a mesalliance somewhere. The short- 
rounded nose told a history, and some went so far 
as to stigmatize my “ blue” foxy Skye as a “ cur.” 
This was hard to bear, for I always prided myself 
on the respectability and purity of my different 
canine families. I know “curs” are wonderfully 
intelligent and affectionate ; and I have sheltered 
many a one. I once carried off a cur triumphantly 
from a conclave of boys who had broken its leg, 
and were debating whether it should be “ swum,” 
or “ danced “ swum” I am told means drowned, 
and “danced,” hung. I carried it across Hyde 
Park at three o’clock, until we (doggie and I) got 
a hackney coach : poor, little, dirty, screaming 
thing ! but when I laid it on my lap, and the 
creature looked up in my face, with such an ap- 
pealing look, half agony and whole trust, I felt 
I could have carried half a dozen, if so rewarded. 
I cured that cur, but did not keep it : I found it a 
good home at our milkman’s, and saw it frequently ; 
and to confess the truth, the “blue” “foxy” Skye 
was a little like my long-ago cur of the “ Long 
Water.” I had not made up my mind what to do 
with her, when, with admirable sagacity, she placed 
herself ! She adopted our excellent gardener : she 
fixed her affections on him, before she had quite 
shed her first teeth, and from that day to the 
present moment — and she is a very old dog now — 
Effie has never — I really may say never— left 
