There was a strain of sentiment in Sylvia that showed itself in a passionate affection for all young things. Babies, children, and even young hares were equal objects of adoration to her. Though all the early part of her life was passed in the country, Sylvia took to town pleasures as if born to them. The tiny thing often went to concerts and other entertainments safely perched in her mistress’s arms. She never broke the rules of the strictest decorum. No bark or fussiness disturbed the even calm of her manner, or the haughty indifference she showed to the presence of strangers. Her special delight was to be taken to one of the large confectioners, when tea was in question for her friends. Here, seated on a chair at one of the small tables, Sylvia’s eyes shone with delight when a sponge cake was put in front of her, and she proceeded to make her own dainty meal in a way that was sure to give her the respectful admiration and attention her soul loved. On the occasions when she was left at home, the maids declared that Sylvia would not take her milk unless it was brought to her in the drawing room.
The extremity of passion into which Sylvia would throw herself on occasions was counterbalanced by a surprising tenderness for, and comprehension of, sickness or suffering in any form among her special friends. No dog could be more fascinating in the gentle sympathy she displayed than the little Blenheim. Her eyes had a wealth of tenderness in them, while with the daintiest caresses she made her little efforts at consolation. When the health of her mistress’s mother was failing, she singled her out for special attentions. One of the ways in which she showed her affection for the invalid was very charming. Taking up a position at her feet, Sylvia would hold her feathery little paws firmly in front of her, and wait to be asked to “give a paw.” To some the invitation would be refused, while others had one paw daintily extended to them, her own mistress coming in for no more attention at this time than any one else. But directly the invalid asked gently for the favour she would thrust both paws into her hand with an effusion of manner that never failed to give pleasure to the sufferer.
But such soft moments only came to lighten the contrast of her ordinary demeanour. To the end of her life she was passionate and headstrong, and in her care of her mistress she was stern and unbending. I have had more than one mark of resentment from her, when I unwarily came up to take leave of her owner while she had Sylvia in her arms. Her mistress might not be touched in her presence, and to the rule Sylvia made no exception. In illness she was almost impossible to manage, for she would fight against remedies like a wild animal. When an injury to her leg required the attention of the veterinary surgeon, her doctor never escaped from a dressing of the wounded member without at least one bite to remind him of the occasion. There is no doubt that Sylvia’s great personal beauty carried her over many rough places, where a less favoured dog would have come to grief.
XIII
“A dog is the only thing on this earth that loves you more than he loves himself.”
AMONG the higher gifts of the dog that culminate in the devotion to his owner that is an adumbration of the religious sense in ourselves, the discrimination between right and wrong takes an important place. If the dog succumbs to sudden temptation it does not need an expression of anger or even the presence of his owner to make him feel shame at his lapse from virtue. Those who can have no fear of harsh or hasty correction will show it to the full as much as others to whom the unconsidered blow is one of the daily experiences of their life. While the effects of past training must of course account for much in the dog’s attitude, it is not possible that in the unusual circumstance or unforeseen emergency that has put the dog in the way of temptation, such training can be the only cause of the moral sense he shows. It is because he has failed in the performance of one of the simple virtues that bound his knowledge of ethics that he feels shame for his failure.
I was much struck with a sense of right and wrong as such that a wire-haired fox-terrier, named Bosky, showed. This little dog is a charming pet, gentle, affectionate, and dainty in her ways, but not even by her best friends can she be said to shine in intelligence. Her beautiful form and her show points have indeed been secured by much inbreeding, and it is to this that Bosky owes a nervous temperament that entirely unfits her for any of the rougher give and take of life. If a cat even looks at her round a corner she is paralyzed with fright, and if she comes across one at closer quarters she will scream herself almost into a fit with terror. Even in her home, where she is a favourite with all the household, Bosky will never leave the safe shelter of her mistress’s room, whenever the latter is absent. If any one comes in at the front door while her owner is out, a little white head will be seen peeping through the railing halfway down the stairs, but unless Bosky is sure her mistress is there she will go no further, and will fly back to her usual shelter if any one comes up to speak to her.
