ROUNDABOUT READINGS.
I have been staying recently at Oxford, the home of perennial youth—and of innumerable dogs. In fact, it was the canine aspect of Oxford that impressed me on this occasion more than any other. Nearly every self-respecting undergraduate keeps his dog, and the mediæval, academic look of the place is pleasantly tempered by these careless, happy, intrusive, "warlike wearers of the wagging tail," who career up the High, make the meadows to resound with their barkings, and bring the bicycled rowing coach to eternal smash on the tow-path. There being, roughly speaking, some 3,000 undergraduates, the floating population of Oxford dogs cannot be less than 2,500.
Perhaps, however, the most remarkable thing about Oxford dogs is the variety of their migrations. Some dogs, of course, remain constant to one owner. Others spend their lives under the general ownership of the whole University. These know the best rooms for bones from term to term; they can track the perfumed ash-pan to its lair, and indulge in hideous orgies of fish-heads and egg-shells. The most prominent representative of this class is, of course, Oriel Bill, who has, perhaps, the most gorgeously ugly and tenderly pathetic face ever granted by nature to a bull-dog.
But ordinary dogs, though they remain nominally the possession of one original owner, migrate from sub-owner to deputy-sub-owner, and thence to pro-deputy-sub-owner, with a wonderful rapidity. For instance, I once gave a retriever puppy to an Oxford friend. This is the life-history of that amiable animal, so far as I can gather it up to a recent date.
A. (my friend) kept the dog faithfully for a term. As he was going down, it occurred to A. that Ponto would be happier in Oxford than in London, so when the following term began, Ponto, still in his gay puppyhood, was once more found in Oxford under a different master, B. B. kept Ponto in his lodgings in the High. They were prettily furnished; there were cretonnes, and embroidered cushions, and handsome rugs. One day Ponto was left in solitary charge for one short hour. Upon B.'s return he found that remarkable dog sleeping soundly, with a well-gnawed slipper under each of his forepaws, amidst a ruin of tattered stuffs. Not a hanging, not a cushion, not a rug remained entire. This was too much, and Ponto promptly became the fleeting property of C., a Balliol man, who changed his name to Jowler (this happened in the time of the late Master), and taught him to worry cats.
After three weeks of glorious scrimmages amongst the surrounding feline inhabitants, Jowler took it into his head to get lost for a week. C. mourned him, but took no further steps when he found him living under the protection of D., a Brasenose man, totally unknown to A., the original owner. D. took him home in the vac, broke him to the gun, imbued him with an extraordinary fondness for beer, and re-christened him "Hebby."
At the beginning of the following term Hebby once more turned up in Oxford, being then almost a full-grown dog. He again lived in lodgings, this time in Turl Street. By this time he had acquired luxurious habits, and was particularly fond of taking his naps in any bed that might be handy. Having on four separate occasions covered himself with mud and ensconced himself in the bed of the landlady, he was not as popular as a dog of his parts ought to have been. But the culminating point was reached when Hebby, having stolen a cold pheasant and the remains of a leg of mutton, took the bones to the bed of his master, into which he tucked himself. After this he was passed onto E., a Magdalen man, and was called The Pre.
I cannot follow his wanderings after this point in any detail. I know he has gone the round of the Colleges twice. He has been a boating dog, a cricketing dog, an athletic dog, and a footballing dog. He has been a canine member of Vincent's Club; he has waited outside the Union unmoved while a debate, on which the fate of the Ministry hung, was in progress. He has been smuggled into College, he has disgraced himself, and caused a change of carpets in nearly every lodging in Oxford. He has lived near New College under the name of Spoo, has been entered at Christ Church as Fleacatcher (a delicate compliment to distinguished oarsman), and has frequented the precincts of the Radcliffe Infirmary, and been joyfully hailed as Pego by budding doctors. I believe he is still a resident member of the University, but his exact place of residence is more than I can tell. His original owner endeavoured to trace him not long ago. He got as far as Lincoln College, and there lost the clue.
This, I am sure, is no solitary example. Hundreds of Oxford dogs are at this very time undergoing the same vicissitudes, through a similar Odyssey of wanderings. And probably, if the truth were known, there are Cambridge dogs in no better case.