With age Toby has taken on quite an amount of dignity. He is neither so noisy nor so companionable as formerly, but is more staid and useful. One of his favorite resting places, where he enjoys his after breakfast contemplations and his afternoon siestas, is among the branches of a fine old English oak, whose protecting shades, in the far-off past, were the scene of the stolen love-meetings of Amy Wentworth and the profligate Duke of Monmouth.
Neither of these knowing birds has been able to understand the mystery of a looking-glass. They spend many hours of patient investigation before a mirror in their master’s room, but all to no purpose, for the puzzle seems to remain as great as ever. They usually walk directly up to it, and betray great surprise when they find two other rooks advancing to meet them. For a while they remain silent and motionless, looking at the strangers, and waiting, apparently, for some sign of recognition. Then they go through a considerable flapping of wings and indulge in numerous caws, but after long waiting for an audible response they give up the useless effort, only to return next day as eager as ever to solve the mystery.
The older bird and his admiring junior are perfectly contented with their home, and never leave it. They often look out from their perches upon various wandering flocks of vagrant rooks, but are never tempted to new adventures. The old fellow is very wise. Like a fat old office-holder, he knows enough to appreciate a sinecure in which the emoluments are liberal and the service nominal. His devoted follower never falters in his dutiful imitation of his benefactor.
Toby proves by his actions that he appreciates the advantages of the situation, and in his simple way makes some return for the pleasures he enjoys. During a considerable portion of the pleasant days of the year he is in reality the watchman upon the tower, ever on the outlook to give notice of the approach of visitors to his castle, and no one can intrude upon the premises under his self-appointed watchmanship without exciting vigorous caws, which are enthusiastically reinforced by those of his faithful subordinate. Aside from his affectionate devotion to his master, displayed as often as occasion permits, this duty of “chief watchman of the castle” is Toby’s most substantial return for favors received!
In a letter of last May, the master wrote: “My two crows are sitting on chairs close to me, and cawing to me that it is time for me to let them out of the window, so I must obey.” This quotation gives but a faint intimation of the exceptionally friendly relations existing between these devoted friends. Blessed are the birds that can inspire such affection in the heart of a noble old man, and doubly blessed is he who is the object of such loving appreciation. Long may they all live to enjoy the fulness of their mutual attachments!
This brief sketch is not intended for an amusing story. It is only a narration of facts in support of an often repeated theory, viz: that the humblest creatures are worthy of our tender consideration, and, when properly treated, will make pleasing returns for the affection we may bestow upon them.
TWO DOGS
In 1877, at his English home, I first made the acquaintance of “Max,” a fine specimen of a Dandy Dinmont dog. He was of the usual size, with brown, velvety eyes—very expressive—a long body, tail, and ears, coarse hair of a blackish brown and light-tan color, and with short legs, not particularly straight. The ancient Greeks, with their severe ideas regarding lines of beauty, would not have called him beautiful to the sight. But, notwithstanding his looks, he was, to all who knew him well, very beautiful; for he was a dog of marked intelligence and superior moral character. So fine was his sense of integrity that a most delicious and canine-tempting bone might remain within his reach for days without his touching it, no matter if he were ever so hungry.
His usual daily occupation commenced with a very early walk with his master. Then, in regular order, after the family and guests had breakfasted, the butler would give him his napkin, folded in his own private ring, which he would carry from the dining-room to the kitchen, where it would be spread upon a table, slightly raised from the floor, arranged for serving his food. After the morning meal had been eaten, his napkin would be refolded, and he would return it to the butler. The same routine was always repeated for dinner. His time until evening, if possible, was devoted to his master, of whom he was exceedingly fond, but he would sometimes walk with the guests when told to do so by his master, to whom he always appealed when invited for a promenade by a stranger.