It has often been remarked that persons of the most rough and unfeeling disposition have displayed extraordinary tenderness towards their favourite animals, illustrations of which are of frequent occurrence in the pages of history. And perhaps one of the most touching pictures of animal love is that given by Homer, who tells how, unrecognised by his wife, the way-worn monarch Ulysses, though disguised in squalid rags, is at once remembered by his noble hound, even in the last moments of existence. Cautioned by his guide at the palace entrance of the wrong and insult he might encounter, Ulysses pauses at the door, but only to see his faithful dog perishing in want, misery, and neglect, yet still remembering his long-lost master, and making one final effort of expiring nature to give a sign of joy at his return:—
“The dog, whom Fate had granted to behold
His lord, when twenty tedious years had rolled,
Takes a last look, and having seen him—dies;
So clos’d for ever faithful Argus’ eyes.”

It has been remarked that dogs, like men, have their different ranks, and that “Fortune showers{248} her gifts among them with just as uneven a hand as she uses when busying herself with their masters:—
“Some wake to the world’s wine, honey, and corn,
Whilst others, like Colchester natives, are born
To its vinegar only, and pepper.”

Thus, during the middle ages the greyhound came in for such stars and blue ribands as are to be enjoyed in the canine world. A certain breed of them had the privilege of appearing with their masters whenever they pleased in the presence of the Emperor Charlemagne; and as a mark of this privilege the hound’s right paw was closely shaven, “a less oppressive distinction,” it has been remarked,[111] “than the richly damasked corselets and back-plates which were fastened about the best greyhounds when about to take part in the boar-hunt.”

In this country animals have in many cases shared the fame of their royal owners, and many an interesting anecdote has been handed down of pets that, through their associations with the Court, have gained a place in history.

Henry I.’s love of animals induced him to form an extensive menagerie at Woodstock during the life of his first queen, Matilda of Scotland, who was in all probability well acquainted with natural history. It was the first zoological collection ever seen in this country, and it is thus described by Stowe: “The King craved from other kinges lions, leopards, lynxes, and camels, and other curious beasts of which England hath none. Among{249} others there was a strange animal called a stryx or porcupine, sent him by William of Montpelier, which beast,” he adds, “is among the Africans counted as a kind of hedgehog, covered with pricking bristles, which they shoot out naturally on the dogs that pursue them.” But Henry’s second wife, Adelicia of Louvaine, evidently knew nothing of zoology previous to her marriage; but in order to adapt herself to his pursuits, she turned her attention to that study, for Philippe de Thuan wrote a work on the nature of animals for her special edification, thus alluding to the personal charms of his royal patroness in his dedication:—
“Philippe de Thuan, in plain French,
Has written an elementary book of animals,
For the praise and instruction of a good and beauteous woman,
Who is the crowned Queen of England, and named Alix.”

Richard II. had a favourite greyhound named Math, “beautiful beyond description,” writes Froissart, “who would not notice or follow any but the King. Whenever Richard rode abroad the greyhound was loosed by the person who had the care of him, and that instant he ran to caress his royal master by placing his two fore-feet on his shoulders. It fell out that as the King and his cousin Henry Bolingbroke were conversing in the courtyard of Flint Castle, when their horses were preparing, the greyhound Math was untied, but, instead of running as usual to King Richard, he passed him and leaped to Henry’s shoulders, paying him every court, the same as he used to his own master.{250}

“Henry, not acquainted with this greyhound, asked the King the meaning of his fondness.

“‘Cousin,’ replied Richard, ‘it means a great deal for you and very little for me.’

“‘How?’ said Henry, ‘pray explain it.’

“‘I understand by it,’ added the unfortunate king, ‘that this my favourite greyhound Math fondles and pays his court to you this day as King of England, which you will be, and I shall be deposed, for that the natural instinct of the creature perceives. Keep him therefore by your side, for, lo! he leaveth me, and will ever follow you.’ Henry treasured up what King Richard had said, and paid attention to the greyhound Math, who would no more follow Richard of Bordeaux, but kept by the side of Henry, as was witnessed by thirty thousand men.”

History has many pathetic traditionary stories of this kind, one of which Southey has painted in poetic colours. Roderick, the last king of the Visigoths, having escaped from the battlefield in the guise of a peasant, where he had been defeated by Count Julian and his Moorish allies, finally returned to his shattered kingdom after a hermit life of twenty years. His dog Theron alone knew him, yet not even he at once, but only after eyeing him long and wistfully, did he recognise at length his master—
“Changed as he was, and in those sordid weeds,
His royal master. And he rose and licked
His withered hand, and earnestly looked up
With eyes whose human meaning did not need
The aid of speech; and moaned as if at once
To court and chide the long withheld caress.”
{251}

Queen Mary was a lover of birds and animals, allusions to which occur in the entries relating to her household expenditure. Thus, in the year 1542, Boxley, a yeoman of the king’s chamber, was given by the princess 15s. for bringing her a present of a little spaniel. Sir Bryan Tuke sent her “a couple of little fair hounds,” evidently white Italian greyhounds, which we find frequently introduced in her portrait, and in those of her contemporaries. Then a woman of London had a present of 5s. for bringing her a bird in a cage; and the woodman of Hampton Court took charge of a white pet lark which the Princess had left there, and he was paid 3d. for bringing it to her at Westminster in April 1543.

Elizabeth, too, was very fond of singing-birds, apes, and little dogs; and there was the favourite lap-dog of Mary Queen of Scots, connected with which there is the well-known incident in the last tragic scene at Fotheringay. After the headsman had done his work, it appeared that the dog had followed its mistress, and was concealed under her clothes. When discovered it gave a short cry, and seated itself between the head and the neck, from which the blood was still flowing.

James I., as is well known, had a miscellaneous taste for all kinds of pet animals—Virginian spaniels, a cream-coloured fawn, the splendid white gryfalcon of Ireland, an elephant, five camels, and naturally dogs of every description forming his menagerie. His Majesty had a favourite dog Jewel, or Jowler, “his special and most favourite hound.” One day,{252} seeing his favourite lie dead, no one dared to tell him who had done the deed. At last one of the Queen’s attendants ventured to break the matter to him, saying that “the unlucky shaft proceeded from the hand of her Majesty,” which news at once pacified his Majesty’s anger. He sent word to her “not to be concerned at the accident, for he should never love her the worse,” and on the next day he gave her a jewel worth ￡2000, intimating that it was a legacy from his deceased dog.

Greyhounds, spaniels, and hounds are classed by Sir Philip Sidney—the first as the lords, the second the gentlemen, and the last “the yeomen of dogges.”[112] The gentlemen, in the opinion of Charles I., were the more courtly, though not for this reason the better companions. “Methinks,” writes Sir Philip Warwick, who was in attendance on the King at Newport, “because it shows his disesteem of a common court vice, it is not unworthy the relating of him that, one evening, his dog scraping at his door, he commanded me to let in Gipsey, whereupon I took the boldness to say: “Sir, I perceive you love a greyhound better than you do a spaniel.” “Yes,” replied the King, “for they equally love their masters, and yet do not flatter them so much.”

Charles II. was constantly followed by a number of small spaniels wherever he went. Indeed his fondness for these animals was extraordinary, for it is said that he even permitted them to litter in his own apartment; and, according to Evelyn, “neither the room itself, nor any part of the Court, was{253} rendered more savoury from the King’s fancy.” His Majesty’s liking for dogs is alluded to in more than one lampoon of the period, and in a rhyme sung at the Calve’s Head Club we are told:—
“His dogs would sit at Council Board,
Like judges in their furs;
We question much which had most sense,
The master or the curs.”

And, in another pasquinade, we read:—
“His very dog at Council Board
Sits grave and wise as any lord.”

In the early numbers of the London Gazette we find numerous instances in which rewards are offered for dogs stolen or strayed from Whitehall, many of which were undoubtedly the King’s. On the 12th of March 1667 a dog is notified as having been lost by Charles, the advertisement running thus:—

“Lost out of the Mews on the 6th of this present month, a little brindled greyhound bitch, belonging to his Majesty; if any one has taken her up, they are desired to bring her to the Porter’s Gate at Whitehall, and they shall have a very good content for their pains.”

And again, on the 17th of May following, a reward is offered for “a white hound bitch of his Majesty’s, with a reddish head, and red upon the buttocks, some black spots on the body, and a nick in the right hip.” Advertisements of this kind were constantly, it is said, attracting the public{254} gaze, and were from time to time the cause of considerable excitement.

And one of the favourite hobbies of Charles II. was to saunter into St. James’s Park, and to feed with his own hand the numerous birds with which it was stocked; constant allusion to which practice are made by contemporary writers.

At Oatlands the Duchess of York passed much of her time when the Duke was in Flanders. Her Royal Highness had an eccentric taste for keeping pet dogs, and near the grotto might be seen between sixty and seventy small upright stones inscribed with the names of an equal number of dogs, which were buried here by her direction. She supplied their epitaphs, one of which was as follows:—
“Pepper, near this silent grotto
Thy fair virtues lie confest;
Fidelity thy constant motto;
Warmth of friendship speak the rest.”

The Duchess of York extended her kindness even to the rooks which, when driven from the neighbouring fields, experienced a sure protection in this demesne, where, finding themselves in security, they soon established a flourishing rookery, to which Lord Erskine alludes in his little poem commemorative of this humane trait in the character of the Duchess:—
“Where close in the o’ershadowing wood,
They build new castles for their brood,
Secure, their fair Protectress nigh,
Whose bosom swells with sympathy.”
{255}

One of the most charming traits in Queen Victoria’s character was her love for animals, and it is pathetically recorded that when she lay dying she sent for her favourite little Pomeranian dog, Marco, and caressed it as it jumped on her bed.[113] She always had a large number of dogs of different breeds, and she raised the Scotch collie to its present proud position—her collies, Sharp and Noble, being the daily companions of her rides among the mountains. At Windsor, we are told that her dogs, instead of being kept in cold kennels in some sunless court of the castle, were all housed in a cosy part of the Home Park, where she could, if so disposed, have them under personal observation. Among the anecdotes recorded of the Queen’s ea............