was as fond of the greyhound as his son Charles II was of the spaniel. Sir Philip Warwick thus writes of that unfortunate monarch;
"Methinks, because it shows his dislike of a common court vice, it is not unworthy the relating of him, that one evening, his dog scratching at his door, he commanded me to let in Gipsy; whereupon I took, the boldness to say, Sir, I perceive you love a greyhound better than you do a spaniel. Yes, says he, for they equally love their masters, and yet do not flatter them so much."
On most of the old tombs in the sculpture of which the dog is introduced, the greyhound is represented lying at the feet of his master; and an old Welsh proverb says that a gentleman may be known by his hawk, his horse, and his greyhound.
following poetical record of the fidelity, prowess, and ill-fate of Gêlert, the favourite greyhound of Llewellyn Prince of Wales, and son-in-law to King John, will he read with interest:
The spearman heard the bugle sound
And cheerly smiled the morn,
And many a brach and many a hound
Obeyed Llewellyn's horn.
And still as blew a lowder blast,
And gave a louder cheer,
"Come, Gêlert! why art thou the last
Llewellyn's horn to hear?"
"Oh, where does faithful Gêlert roam?
The flower of all his race!
So true, so brave; a lamb at home,
A lion in the chase?"
'Twas only at Lewellyn's board
The faithful Gêlert fed,
He watched, he served, he cheered his lord,
And sentinel'd his bed.
In sooth he was a peerless hound,
The gift of royal John;
But now no Gêlert could be found,
And all the chase rode on.
And now as over rocks and dells
The gallant chidings rise,
All Snowdon's craggy chaos yells
With many mingled cries.
That day llewellyn little loved
The chase of hart or hare;
And scan and small the booty proved,
For Gêlert was not there.
Unpleased Llewellyn homeward hied,
When near the portal seat
His truant Gêlert he espied,
Bounding his lord to greet.
But when he gained the castle-door,
Aghast the chieftan stood;
The hound was smeared with gouts of gore —
His lips and fangs ran blood.
Llewellyn gazed with wild surprise:
Unused such looks to meet,
His favourite check'd his joyful guise
And crouched and licked his feet.
Onward in haste Llewellyn pass'd,
And on went Gélert too;
And still where'er his eyes he cast,
Fresh blood-gouts shocked his view.
O'erturned his infant's bed he found,
The blood-stained covert rent;
And all around the walls and ground,
With recent blood besprent.
He called his child — no voice replied —
He searched with terror wild:
Blood! blood! he found on every side,
But nowhere found the child.
'Hellhound! by thee my child's devoured!'
The frantic father cried;
And to the hilt his vengeful sword
He plunged in Gélert's side.
His suppliant, as to earth he fell,
No pity could impart;
But still his Gélert's dying yell
Passed heavy o'er his heart.
Aroused by Gélert's dying yell,
Some slumberer wakened nigh:
What words the parent's joy can tell
To hear his infant cry!
Concealed beneath a mangled heap
His hurried search had missed,
All glowing from his rosy sleep,
His cherub boy he kissed.
Nor scratch had he, nor harm, nor dread,
But the same couch beneath,
Lay a great wolf, all torn and dead,
Tremendous still in death.
Ah, what was then Llewellyn's pain!
For now the truth was clear:
The gallant hound the wolf had slain,
To save Llewellyn's heir.
Vain, vain was all Llewellyn's wo:
"Best of thy kind, adieu!
The frantic deed which laid thee low,
This heart shall ever rue."
And now a gallant tomb they raise,
With costly sculpture decked;
And marbles, storied with his praise,
Poor Gélert's bones protect.
Here never could the spearman pass,
Or forester, unmoved;
Here oft the tear-besprinkled grass
Llewellyn's sorrow proved.
And here he hung his horn and spear;
And oft, as evening fell,
In fancy's piercing sounds would hear
Poor Gêlert's dying yell!
It will be evident, however, from the story of the noble hound whose history is just related, that the greyhounds of the time were very different from those which are used at the present day. There are no Gêlerts now to combat successfully with the wolf, if these ferocious animals were yet to be met with in our forests. The greyhound of this early period must have resembled the Irish wolf-dog of the present day, a larger, stronger, fiercer dog than we are accustomed to see.
The owner of Gêlert lived in the time of John, in the early part of the thirteenth century; but, at the latter part of the fifteenth century, the following singular description is given of the greyhound of that period. It is extracted from a very curious work entitled "The Treatise perteynynge to Hawkynge, Huntynge, &c., emprynted at Westmestre, by Wynkyn de Werde, 1496."
A greyhounde should be headed lyke a snake,
And neckyd lyke a drake,
Fotyd lyke a cat
Tayled lyke a ratte,
Syded like a teme
And chyned like a bream.
The fyrste yere he must lerne to fede,
The seconde yere to feld him lede.
The thyrde yere he is felow lyke.
The fourth yere there is non syke.
The fifth yere he is good ynough.
The syxth yere he shall hold the plough,
The seventh yere he will avaylle
Grete bytches for assayle.
But when he is come to the ninth yere
Have him then to the tannere;
For the best hounde that ever bytch had
At the ninth yere is full bad.