Sharing in the shadow.”
What wonder that she returned his love with—
—“more love again
Than dogs often take of men”?
Flush was a gift from Miss Mitford, another authoress devoted to dogs; and the rival claims of these ladies for their pets, may still pleasantly amuse us. “How is your Flushie?” inquires Miss Mitford. “Mine becomes every day more and more beautiful, and more and more endearing. His little daughter Rose is the very moral of him, and another daughter (a puppy four months old, your Flushie’s half-sister) is so much admired in Reading that she has already been stolen four times—a tribute to her merit which might be dispensed with; and her master having offered ten pounds reward, it seems likely enough that she will be stolen four times more. They are a beautiful race, and that is the truth of it.”
Now hear Miss Barrett (as she was at this time) telling Mr. Horne:
“Never in the world was another such dog as my Flush. Just now, because after reading your note, I laid it down thoughtfully without taking anything else up, he threw himself into my arms, as much as to say, ‘Now it’s my turn. You’re not busy at all now.’ He understands every thing I say, and would not disturb me for the world. Do not tell Miss Mitford—but her Flush, (whom she brought to see me) is not to be compared to mine! quite animal and dog—natural, and incapable of my Flush’s hyper-cynical refinement.”
“My Flush,” she writes elsewhere, “my Flush, who is a gentleman.”
Our next glimpse of this well-bred favorite is due to Mr. Westwood, a friend and correspondent of the lady. “On one occasion,” he says, “she had expressed to me her regret at Flush’s growing plumpness, and I suppose I must have been cruel enough to suggest starvation as a remedy, for her next letter opens with an indignant protest: