A gentleman once possessed a mastiff which guarded the house and yard, but had never met with the least particular attention from his master. One night, as his master was retiring to his chamber, attended by his faithful valet, an Italian, the mastiff silently followed him upstairs, which he had never been known to do before, and, to his master’s astonishment, presented himself in his bedroom. He was instantly turned out; but the poor animal began scratching violently at the door, and howling loudly for admission. The servant was sent to drive him away; still he returned again, and was more importunate than before to be let in. The gentleman, weary of opposition, bade the servant open the door, that they might see what he wanted to do. This done, the dog deliberately walked up, and crawling under the bed, laid himself down as if desirous to take up his night’s lodging there. To save farther trouble, the indulgence was allowed. About midnight the chamber door opened, and a person was heard stepping across the room. The gentleman started from his sleep; the dog sprung from his covert, and seizing the unwelcome disturber, fixed him to the spot! All was dark; and the gentleman rang his bell in great trepidation, in order to procure a light. The person who was pinned to the floor by the courageous mastiff roared for assistance. It was found to be the valet, who little expected such a reception. He endeavoured to apologise for his intrusion, and to make the reasons which induced him to take this step appear plausible; but the importunity of the dog, the time, the place, the manner of the valet, all raised suspicions in his master’s mind, and he determined to refer the investigation of the business to a magistrate. The perfidious Italian at length confessed that it was his intention to murder his master, and then rob the house. This diabolical design was frustrated only by the instinctive attachment of the dog to his master, which seemed to have been directed on this occasion by the interference of Providence.
Anecdote XXXV.
The ease with which the elephant is taught to perform the most agile and difficult feats, forms a remarkable contrast to its huge unwieldiness of size. Aristotle tells us that in ancient times elephants were taught by their keepers to throw stones at a mark, to cast up arms in the air, and catch them again on their fall; and to dance not merely on the earth, but on the rope. The first, according to Suetonius, who exhibited elephant rope dancers, was Galba at Rome. The manner of teaching them to dance on the ground was simple enough (by the association of music and a hot floor); but we are not informed how they were taught to skip the rope, or whether it was the tight or the slack rope, or how high the rope might be. The silence of history on these points is fortunate for the figurantes of the present day; since, but for this, their fame might have been utterly eclipsed. Elephants may, in the days of old Rome, have been taught to dance on the rope, but when was an elephant ever known to skip on a rope over the heads of an audience, or to caper amidst a blaze of fire fifty feet aloft in the air? What would Aristotle have thought of his dancing elephants if he had seen some of the elephants who perform to-day?