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the wrong tack in England in perverting the character of a creature designed for these homely purposes, and compelling him to range the fields in search of game, and on occasion to assume that strained attitude which evoked Mr Winkle's astonishment.
law or by custom, invariably muzzled. I am on patting terms with more than one poodle, when in full dress always a satisfactory article to pat; but the poodled Spitz, in Germany apparently favourite animal, I avoid on principle. Dachshunds, some of them very good, others per- Dogs of these larger types haps from the connoisseur's connoisseur's are also much in favour with point of view equally good but petty hucksters, and those with an exaggeration of the whom I have heard spoken of bow in the front legs that in England as "kitchen-garden renders their gait wearisome farmers." What the big dog to themselves and painful to does here in his private life on the uninitiated observer, may the homestead I have had no be said to swarm in every opportunity of discovering, but street. Still, after making all from his well-cared-for appeardue allowance for the popu- ance and jaunty gait when he larity of the dachshund, it appears in his public capacity seems to me that substance of "draught animal" I conrather than quality in the clude that, like the Irishman's matter of his canine com- pig, he ranks as no unimportpanion appeals to the mind ant member of the family. At of the well-to-do German, and first I was inclined to pity that he does not thoroughly the poor animals as I watched enjoy his daily constitutional them either in single or double unless he is accompanied by harness, -the farmer himself either mastiff, St Bernard, or the farmer's boy being often Bismarck hound, or, most the yoke-fellow, dragging to or commonly of all, a pointer from the market a low-built, with his tail cut short. I but by no means lightly laden, must admit that to my insular cart. But, as in the case of mind it seemed at the first the pointer, I am beginning blush to be a sort of profana- to reverse my opinion. tion of a sporting dog's dignity the longer I watch the proto dock his tail and convert ceeding, the more convinced him into a non-sporting man's do I become that the animal is companion on an aimless walk performing his proper function through crowded crowded thorough- in life. As an American fares or along dusty roads. humourist once remarked, a Yet when I saw how naturally Newfoundland dog is an exhe played the part, sniffing at cellent animal to save the life likely corners, exchanging com- of a child who falls into a pond. pliments with canine friends, But, he added, if you have or picking up savoury morsels neither child nor pond handy, in the street, a suspicion crossed the Newfoundland is apt to bemy mind that we had been on come an expensive pensioner.
So, too, with the St Bernard, most valuable auxiliary to the distressed traveller lost in a snowdrift. What is the object of his existence on the outskirts of a country town, where there are neither distressed travellers nor snow - drifts? Clearly to warn off intruders from the homestead by his sonorous bark at night, and in the daytime to take his share of the day's work by acting as a draught animal. In that capacity he is less obstinate and more intelligent than the coster's donkey, a far more rapid mover than the ox, less sensitive to road alarms than the horse. And, if one can judge from appearances, he does his share of the day's work not only with hearty goodwill but with positive pleasure. For he wags his tail as he walks along, and when his master calls a halt at the end of a stiff incline he looks rather surprised than gratified. Let me lay emphasis on the fact that, of some hundred dogs which in my daily walks I have watched drawing carts, I have never seen one that did not appear to be on excellent terms with himself, his master, and the world at large. Nor have I witnessed a single instance of anything approaching ill-treatment. We all of us know, my good English farmer or miller, that uncouth creature which you choose to call your yard - dog, a poor beast which diversifies its long bouts of sleepy sulkiness in the daytime by growling savagely and springing to the full length of its chain in the attempt
to demolish some inoffensive stranger, and which disturbs your neighbours' rest by discordant barkings at the moon, or at other sight, or it may be sound, of the night. I grant you that the poor animal partly fulfils his purpose as a tramp-scarer. But if you will only condescend to take a leaf out of your German brotherfarmer's book, and give poor Phylax a little healthy exercise by day in the form of drawing a cart, you will at once be saving your own pocket and converting a savage, suspicious, and probably hypochondriacal barbarian into a healthy, happy, and self-respecting citizen. Nor will you be in any degree impairing the efficiency of your night-watchman. A dog who has done a good day's work may bury his nose in his paws and enjoy a healthy and invigorating sleep. But he will never slumber so soundly that the approach of a strange footfall will fail to awaken him, and if he merely omits to bay the moon or to bark at rustling leaves, neither you nor your neighbour will be the loser.
The German horses seem distinctly good, the best of them probably not better than good English horses, but the worst of them many classes superior to the wretched screws with which we are only too familiar. Possibly the Germans have discovered that a really bad horse saves his keep and brings grist to the mill by being converted into sausages. Curiously enough, in this district there is a great dearth of
ponies, and still more curiously, on asking the reason, I was told that the country round about was too hilly for them. I had always been led to believe that there was a natural affinity between hills and ponies.
being of the neuter gender, on the ground, I conclude, of its irresponsibility, must certainly rank after the dog, which, as being a working member of the community, is masculinestruck me when I saw it on the streets and roads as being a very independent and easily amused atom. Dirty, very dirty the village child; perhaps not really dirtier than its English cousin, but looking dirtier by reason of the bare legs and feet. The German toy-shop is a thing to dream of, and yet nothing more costly than a rag-doll seems to reach the cottager's child. Nor did I ever see a village boy with either hoop, top, or ball. But the children seem to get on excellently well without toys, and I have enjoyed watching their games. A week ago, when walking with my German friend, we came across a party of happy bare-legged girls, who, having bedizened themselves with wild-flowers and leaves, were playing at "Matrimony," the tiny bride being, in spite of her unwashed appearance, a really lovely child. Turned back in our walk by an evilsmelling pond, we found, ten minutes later, the same party still playing. But this time they were "christening the baby."
Never, except perhaps in the looking-glass, have I clapped eyes upon a donkey since I came to Germany. It is possible again that potted donkey may be in request for sausages. Standing on the bridge here on one market-day, I watched seven vehicles go past me. these, two were drawn by pairs of horses; two by single horses, looking very lop-sided by reason of being on one side of a pole instead of between the shafts; one was drawn by a pair of dogs; the sixth by a dog and a boy, and the last by-a cow. Not an ox, mind, but a bond-fide mother of the milky herd, and a good milker, too, I would warrant her. The dear old lady, who was moving at a snail's pace, looked singularly out of her element. And she wore a distinctly bored and even apologetic look, as of one who would like to have said to me, "Look here, Mr Englisher, this isn't my job at all, but one must lend a leg occasionally to oblige a neighbour."
The German child-which,
SLUMBER-SONGS OF THE MADONNA.
(TO CHRISTIANA THOMPSON.)
Dante saw the great white Rose
Dante saw the golden bees
Gathering from its heart of gold
Love's most honeyed harmonies.
Dante saw the threefold bow
Saw the Rainbow Vision rise,
And the Flame that wore the crown
O'er the flowers of Paradise.
Something yet remained, it seems;
Dante missed-as angels may
In their white and burning bliss-
Italy in splendour faints
'Neath her saints!
O, her great Madonnas, too,
Hooded with the night's deep blue!
What remains? I pass and hear
Ay, or see in silent eyes
Just the song she still would sing
O'er the cradle where He lies.
Sleep, little baby, I love thee;
Sleep, little king, I am bending above thee!
Here in my arms as I swing thee to sleep?
Kings may have wonderful jewels to bring,
Mother has only a kiss for her king!
Why should my singing so make me to weep?
Only I know that I love thee, I love thee,
Is it a dream? Ah yet, it seems
I can but think that angels sang,
The morning sun shuts out the stars,
Which are much loftier than the sun; But, could we burst our prison-bars
And find the Light whence light begun,
A ring of light was round thy head,
About the middle of the night
The black door blazed like some great star With a glory from afar,
Or like some mighty chrysolite
Wherein an angel stood with white
Blinding arrowy bladed wings
Before the throne of the King of kings;
And, through it, I could dimly see
Then, with crimson gems aflame