Sir Felix fired at the accusation, divested as it was of the shadow of truth, yet unsuspicious of design, would have instantly relinquished his canine acquaintance, but for the interposition of Dashall, who suspected this intrusive personage to be neither more nor less than a dog-stealer, of whom there are many in London continually on the alert for booty. These fellows pick up all stray dogs, carry them home, and detain them until such time as they are advertised, and a commensurate reward is offered by the respective owners. If, then, the dog is intrinsically of no value, and consequently unsaleable, the adept in this species of depredation, finding he can do no better, takes the dog home, receives the promised reward, and generally an additional gratuity in compensation of keep and trouble; but, should it so happen, that the proffered remuneration is not equivalent to the worth of the animal, the conscientious professor of knavery carries his goods to a more lucrative market. At the instance of Dashall, therefore, Sir Felix was determined to retain the animal until the claimant brought irrefragable proof of ownership. The fellow blustered,—the Baronet was immovable in his resolution;—when the other threw off all disguise, and exhibiting himself in pristine blackguardism, inundated Sir Felix with a torrent of abuse; who disdaining any minor notice of his scurrility, seized the fellow, with one hand by the cape of his coat, with the other by the waistband of his breeches, and bearing him to the door, as he would any other noxious animal, fairly pitched him head foremost into the street, to the manifest surprise and dismay of the passengers, to whom he told a “pitiable tale,” when one of the crowd pronounced him to be a notorious dog-stealer, and the fellow, immediately on this recognition, made a precipitate retreat. “I am glad,” said Dashall to his friends, who had witnessed the result of this affair from one of the windows of the coffee-room, “that our canine acquaintance (patting the animal at the same time) is now clearly exonerated from any participation of knavery. I had my suspicions that he was a well-disciplined associate in iniquity, taught to follow any person whom his pretended owner might point at, as a fit object of prey.”
The Baronet and the Squire, particularly the latter, had heard much of the “Frauds of London,” but neither of them was aware that metropolitan roguery was carried on and accelerated through the medium of canine agency.
In confirmation of this fact, however, Dashall mentioned two circumstances, both of which had occurred within these few years back, the one of a man who, in different parts of the suburbs, used to secrete himself behind a hedge, and when a lady came in view, his dog would go forth to rob her; the reticule was the object of plunder, which the dog seldom failed to get possession of, when he would instantly carry the spoil to his master. The other case was that of a person who had trained his dog to depredations in Whitechapel-market. This sly thief would reconnoitre the butcher's stalls, particularly on a Saturday night amidst the hurry of business, and carry off whatever piece of meat was most conveniently tangible, and take it home with all possible caution and celerity. We have heard of their answering questions, playing cards, and casting accompts,—in fact, their instinctive sagacity has frequently the appearance of reasoning faculties; they even now are competent to extraordinary performances, and what further wonders the ingenuity of man may teach them to accomplish, remains hereafter to be ascertained.{1}
1 The following anecdote is particularly illustrative of canine sagacity. It shews that the dog is sensible of unmerited injury, and will revenge it accordingly; it exhibits the dog also, as a reflective animal, and proves that, though he has not the gift of speech, he is yet endowed with the power of making himself understood by his own species. Some years ago, the traveller of a mercantile house in London, journeying into Cornwall, was followed by his favourite dog, to Exeter; where the traveller left him, in charge of the landlord of the Inn, until his return. The animal was placed in an inner yard, which, for sometime back, had been in the sole occupation of the house-dog; and the latter, considering the new comer an intruder, did not fail to give the poor stranger many biting taunts accordingly. Deserted, scorned, insulted and ill-treated, the poor animal availed himself of the first opportunity, and escaped. The landlord scoured the country in quest of the fugitive, without effect. After the lapse of a few days, the traveller's dog returned to the Inn, accompanied by two others, and the triumvirate entering the yard, proceeded to execute summary vengeance on the house-dog, and drove him howling from his territories. The two dogs were from London,— “Their locket letter'd braw-brass collars, Shew'd they were gentlemen and scholars.” Hence it appears, that the traveller's dog went to London, told his grievance to his two friends, and brought them to Exeter to avenge his cause!
Emerging from the coffee-house, companied by their newly acquired canine friend, our observers proceeded along Piccadilly, when reaching its extremity, and turning into the Park by Constitution-hill, they were met by the servant, Thady.
“Your honour,” said the valet, “haven't I been after soaking you, here and there, and every where, and no where at all, at all, vrid this letter, bad luck to it, becays of the trouble it may give you; and indeed I was sent after your honour by Miss Macgilligan;—there's ill luck at home, your honour.”
“Then I shall not make any haste,” said Sir Felix, “to meet such a guest.”
He then read aloud the ominous epistle:—
“My dear Nephew.—A vexatious affair has occurred.—I shall be glad to see you, as soon as possible.—J. M.”
“Perhaps you can oblige us with the history,” said the Baronet, “of this same 'vexatious affair;' but observe me, let it be an abridgement,—Miss Macgilligan will favour us with it in detail.”