THE DOGS AT CREMORNE.
THE Estates-General of English dogs, which were summoned for a short summer session just before the last dog-days, and met in the unfinished, and then, at least, roofless crystal palace at Islington, have already been convoked again, in spite of the very unsuccessful financial results of that step, and are now in session at Ashburnbam Hall, Cremorne. The new palace is, in some respects, better suited to its purpose than the old— certainly for the season of year, since the dogs are not at all exposed in it to the caprices of the weather, and certainly also for compactness of arrangement and the social benefits (if any) to the dogs them- selves ; but, on the other hand, the sanitary arrangements, excel- lent as they are, cannot quite remove the aspiration in the sense of smell for a building open to the sky ; and the echoes of a thousand canine voices, shrill or baritone, reflected from the roof, not unfrequently induce the sense of healing also to take a lively share in that aspiration. We do not sup- pose, however, that the dogs themselves perceive any but the advantages of the change from the Islington to the Cre- morne palace ; yet some of the more remarkable canine leaders — those who seemed to be pillars — are missing in the new as- sembly. The foxhounds do not find a spring session convenient. The two imposing mastiffs who lent a dignity, and even a solemnity, to the summer session at Islington, and some of their brethren, have found, no doubt, "on returning," as the Queen's speech at the close of a session always says, "to their several counties," that the "discharge of the important duties which their various stations impose upon them" would not leave them at liberty to indulge in the gaieties of an annual metropolitan visit. Still, the new parliament is very nearly as striking a spectacle as the last, and certainly quite as numerous. Ashburnham Hall echoes with the cheerful voices not only of noble pointers, setters, and retrievers, who seem to share their masters' triumph at the recent defeat of Mr. Forster's Game-law Committee by a more rational, though to those who heard the debate it would scarcely have seemed a more reasonable assembly, but of almost every other species, from the deep-tongued bloodhound to the cracked treble of the daintiest spaniel. The clamour is not at all unlike that of the House of Commons in its less reasonable humours— and sometimes when, during an instant's cessation, a slim grey- hound is heard pleading eagerly some cause, perhaps that of too swift a progress, and the retriever on the opposition bench barks out angrily that there is property to be recovered first, the spaniel following up with a petulant conservative whimper, the Pome- ranian with a tart sceptical snap, the terrier with an inquisitive note of canine admiration, and the mastiff with a deep Tory growl —we could almost imagine that we are listening to Home Secre- tary Sir George Grey seeking in vain to pierce the obstructive in- articulate cries of the Conservative benches. There was one moment when the analogy to a parliament struck us even more closely. The entrance into the canine convocation of men or women
in no way affects the dogs, who apparently regard the advent of human beings with much such apathy as the House would regard the entrance of its own attendants or messengers ; but once a fresh dog, a dog still at large, entered the assembly, trotting meekly enough by the side of a gentleman, up one of the central aisles,— its eyes fixed rigidly upon the air before it, in the manner of a new member who has won a critical election, and is about to take the oaths, and then immediately the great assembly burst out into such a clamour of vehement, but intelligent comment, notes of congratu- lation mingling with notes of displeasure irony and reproach, as scarcely greeted Mr. Ferrand, when he took his seat the other day for Devonport. Modestly, and with dignified self-restraint, but no way surprised, the incoming dog, a spurious-looking Newfound- land, trotted quietly—while the sudden clamour slowly sub- sided into the normal clang with which the hall always rings—towards the speaker's chair. This, in the absence of the big mastiffs, was occupied by a shy, embarrassed-looking boarhound of experienced air and foreign extraction, who was con- spicuous also in the summer session at Islington, but who certainly never expected this promotion. His ears closely clipped, his big shamefaced-looking head, and small though sharp eyes, proclaim him quite too awkward and bashful for the post of dignity.
One of the curious psychological points, however, in these big assemblies of dogs is, that in spite of the parliamentary appear- ance, the dogs take so little notice of each other, except now and then during a short conversation, or when, as in this last case, one happens to be at large, and so to excite the envy or admiration of the others. In general, they scarcely speak to their next neighbours at all, but bark into space, contributing their voice as a sort of abstract moral expression of their characters to a common fund or pool. Instead of in any way appearing to form a canine public opinion, all their individual manners are reserved for their own attendants first, or, next, in the case of the more sociable dogs like the bloodhounds, setters, or retrievers, for the visitor who will pay them a little attention. And it is surprising what a variety of character, what curiously varied tones of expres- sion, Tou find in these domesticated animals, compared with the range of character displayed in a wild-beast, show. Within one genus in wild animals, nay, even some tame ones, like some of the barn-door poultry, there is little difference of character and none of manners. One wolf differs from another wolf in little but size and colour. But amongst these chained dogs, with quite as little moral verge for expression as the animals in a wild-beast show, there are the most curiously distinct social and individual charac- teristics,—even different schools of manners. The reserved, but often tender solicitude with which the mastiffs look out from beneath those dark horse-shoe arches round their eyes, which give them the air of anxious responsibility ; the playful and caressing refinement of the bloodhound ; the noble retriever, whose eager questioning gaze when on duty is exchanged in this time of enforced leisure for a lively unembarrassed exchange of social compli- ments with his visitors ; the depressed Dalmatian, painfully conscious of the prophetic dictum that he can never change his spots ; the kingly Newfoundland (of whom there is, however, but one good specimen), condescending to receive an obsequious attention which is evidently pleasant to him ; and the gracious but over-
cultivated deerhound (the finest dog in the Hall), who bends his delicate head, with a sort of melancholy consciousness that his organization and blue blood have given him finer feelings and lighter thoughts than his powers will ever enable him to gratify or express, and acknowledges the attentions he receives with sad aristocratic courtesy,—all these are studies in them- selves which would not soon tire us. And then there are those monstrous creatures, the bulldogs and pugs, which make one grumble at the artificial influence exerted by man over the world of creation. "it is clear," remarks a scientific naturalist, "from what we know of the harmonious laws by which a Divine Providence regulates the economy of the animal kingdom, that no such creature as a pug-dog could ever have existed as an independent being in a state of nature, or formed one of those golden links by which creation is so softly blended.
It would have marred the immaculate beauty of the primmval world." That may be true, and yet why does the type reproduce itself even in man ? Do we not all know men who have obviously passed through the bulldog stage of existence, with a snub tenacity of feature,—a mouth that is a mere double lever of extraordinary power, and a nose that only strives to get itself as much as possible out of the way, that the mouth may have full play,—and still retain- ing in moral characteristics the qualities of which these features are the symbols? And then the stall more monstrous pugs, —are they not
exactly copied into human nature in Dickens's sketch of the sour servantanaid Miss Miggs ? As we contemplated through the wires of their cages some of these fearfully made and yelping creatures, Blanche, Blue, Judy, and the rest which belong to the enormous canine menagerie of Gilling Lodge, Hampstead, we could not help thinking of Miss Miggs crying 'allelujah through the keyhole, and ready to spring spitefully at her deliverer directly she was let out. It is possible these triumphs of monstrosity might never have existed as a distinct species but for artificial care, just as many of the most efficient and disagreeable drugs might never have existed but for chemical inventiveness ; still they appear to represent a distinct type of countenance, with moral analogues that we must accept as belonging, not so much to the monstrosities, as the ugly stages in the development of human nature. The same must be said of many others of the toy dogs. For instance, there is a little toy (terrier, we think it was) to be seen, about as big as a lady's hand, "from Prussia, formerly the property of Prince Frederick Charles," called "Petite," smothered in hair, and sitting on a crimson cushion in a cage, from which luxurious seat she freely expresses the only sentiment of which she is probably capable—feeble, not quite uncomfortable pique at the stream of people as it drifts past her ; and yet she, too, is a type of that frail acrimonious nature in little delicate ladies which feels, and likes to feel, its own prettiness, but also is annoyed that it seems scarcely important enough to the world at large. This wonderful analogy to man, of course, holds still more in more natural and healthy breeds. There is an old Esquimaux dog, " Etah," said to be the last remnant of Dr. Kane's arctic expedi- tion, and on which the marks of harness are still visible, which has all the air and the peculiar sort of worn tameness which belongs to veterans—a kind of gentle, obdurate, experienced demeanour, that seems to take your patting good- humouredly, but estimates it at its true worth—as an amenity that is not of much importance, after all, when you come to think of what life means. He turns short round and looks up with a dry kindliness that seems to say, "I don't protest, if you like it ; indeed, you're very welcome indeed to pat mess long as you please; but it's no object to me, who have seen life ; "—and you stop with a sort of humiliated feeling that the dog is patronizing you, not you the dog, after all.
There are, of course, many canine characteristics which it is impossible to display within the allotted area of a few square feet of straw, like the greyhound's especially, whose wonder- ful power of stopping himself, and "getting away at his turns" after his hare, are some of his closest resemblancts to the lithe rapid intellects of the expert cross-examiner, but whose Cha- racter in this way is a sealed book while be is tied up in his place. Still, on the whole, there is wonderful intellectual amuse- ment to be got out of the dog show ; and long after the stunning cry has died out of our ears, we find ourselves recalling the plea- sant faces among the dogs, thinking of the graceful and expressive gestures which they contrive to make with their tails, and laugh- ing at the odd caprices displayed in the elaboration of those breeds which have not so much achieved ugliness as had ugliness thrust upon them.
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