THE WIDOW'S DOG. 

By Mary Russell Mitford

One of the most beautiful spots in the north of Hampshire--a part of thecountry which, from its winding green lanes, with the trees meeting overhead-like a cradle, its winding roads between coppices, with wide turfymargents on either side, as if left on purpose for the picturesque andfrequent gipsy camp, its abundance of hedgerow timber, and its extensivetracts of woodland, seems as if the fields were just dug out of theforest, as might have happened in the days of William Rufus--one of theloveliest scenes in this lovely county is the Great Pond at Ashley End. 

Ashley End is itself a romantic and beautiful village, struggling down asteep hill to a clear and narrow running stream, which crosses the roadin the bottom, crossed in its turn by a picturesque wooden bridge, andthen winding with equal abruptness up the opposite acclivity, so thatthe scattered cottages, separated from each other by long strips ofgarden ground, the little country inn, and two or three old-fashionedtenements of somewhat higher pretensions, surrounded by their ownmoss-grown orchards, seemed to be completely shut out from this bustlingworld, buried in the sloping meadows so deeply green, and the hangingwoods so rich in their various tinting, along which the slender wreathsof smoke from the old clustered chimneys went smiling peacefully in thepleasant autumn air. So profound was the tranquillity, that the slenderstreamlet which gushed along the valley, following its natural windings, and glittering in the noonday sun like a thread of silver, seemed tothe unfrequent visiters of that remote hamlet the only trace of life andmotion in the picture. 

The source of this pretty brook was undoubtedly the Great Pond, althoughthere was no other road to it than by climbing the steep hill beyondthe village, and then turning suddenly to the right, and descending bya deep cart-track, which led between wild banks covered with heath andfeathery broom, garlanded with bramble and briar roses, and gay withthe purple heath-flower and the delicate harebell, * to a scene even morebeautiful and more solitary than the hamlet itself. 

 * One of the pleasantest moments that I have ever known, was that of the introduction of an accomplished young American to the common harebell, upon the very spot which I have attempted to describe. He had never seen that English wild- flower, consecrated by the poetry of our common language, was struck even more than I expected by its delicate beauty, placed it in his button-hole, and repeated with enthusiasm the charming lines of Scott, from the Lady of the Lake:--

 "For me, "--she stooped, and, looking round, Plucked a blue harebell from the ground, -- "For me, whose memory scarce conveys An image of more splendid days, This little flower, that loves the lea, May well my simple emblem be; It drinks heaven's dew as blithe as rose That in the King's own garden grows, And when I place it in my hair, Allan, a bard, is bound to swear He ne'er saw coronet so fair. "

 Still greater was the delight with which another American recognised that blossom of a thousand associations--the flower sacred to Milton and Shakspeare--the English primrose. He bent his knee to the ground in gathering a bunch, with a reverential expression which I shall not easily forget, as if the flower were to him an embodiment of the great poets by whom it has been consecrated to fame; and he also had the good taste not to be ashamed of his own enthusiasm. I have had the pleasure of exporting, this spring, to my friend Miss Sedgwick, (to whose family one of my visiters belongs, ) roots and seeds of these wild flowers, of the common violet, the cowslip, and the ivy, another of our indigenous plants which our Transatlantic brethren want, and with which Mr. Theodore Sedgwick was especially delighted. It will be a real distinction to be the introductress of these plants into that _Berkshire_ village of New England, where Miss Sedgwick, surrounded by relatives worthy of her in talent and in character, passes her summers. 

It was a small clear lake almost emfoofomed in trees, across which anembankment, formed for the purpose of a decoy for the wildfowl withwhich it abounded, led into a wood which covered the opposite hill; anold forest-like wood, where the noble oaks, whose boughs almost dippedinto the water, were surrounded by their sylvan accompaniments of birch, and holly, and hawthorn, where the tall trees met over the stragglingpaths, and waved across the grassy dells and turfy brakes with which itwas interspersed. One low-browed cottage stood in a little meadow--itmight almost be called a little orchard--just at the bottom of thewinding road that led to the Great Pond: the cottage of the widow King. 

Independently of its beautiful situation, there was much that was atonce picturesque and comfortable about the cottage itself, with itsirregularity of outline, its gable ends and jut-ting-out chimneys, its thatched roof and penthouse windows. A little yard, with a smallbuilding which just held an old donkey-chaise and an old donkey, a stillolder cow, and a few pens for geese and chickens, lay on one side of thehouse; in front, a flower court, surrounded by a mossy paling; a largerplot for vegetables behind; and, stretching down to the Great Pond onthe side opposite the yard, was the greenest of all possible meadows, which, as I have before said, two noble walnut and mulberry-trees, and afew aged pears and apples, clustered near the dwelling, almost convertedinto that pleasantest appanage of country life, an orchard. 

Notwithstanding, however, the exceeding neatness of the flower-court, and the little garden filled with choice beds of strawberries, andlavender, and old-fashioned flowers, stocks, carnations, roses, pinks;and in spite of the cottage itself being not only almost covered withclimbing shrubs, woodbine, jessamine, clematis, and musk-roses, and inone southern nook a magnificent tree-like fuchsia, but the old chimneyactually garlanded with delicate creepers, the maurandia, and the lotusspermus, whose pink and purple bells, peeping out from between theirelegant foliage, and mingling with the bolder blossoms and darkerleaves of the passion-flower, give such a wreathy and airy grace to thehumblest building;* in spite of this luxuriance of natural beauty, andof the evident care bestowed upon the cultivation of the beds, and thetraining of the climbing plants, we yet felt, we hardly could tellwhy, but yet we instinctively felt, that the moss-grown thatch, themouldering paling, the hoary apple trees, in a word, the evidences ofdecay visible around the place, were but types of the fading fortunes ofthe inmates. 

 * I know nothing so pretty as the manner in which creeping plants interwreath themselves one with another. We have at this moment a wall quite covered with honeysuckles, fuchsias, roses, clematis, passion flowers, myrtles, scobsea, acrima carpis, lotus spermus, and maurandia Barclayana, in which two long sprays of the last-mentioned climbers have jutted out from the wall, and entwined themselves together, like the handle of an antique basket. The rich profusion of leaves, those of the lotus spermus, comparatively rounded and dim, soft in texture and colour, with a darker patch in the middle, like the leaf of the old gum geranium; those of the maurandia, so bright, and shining, and sharply outlined--the stalks equally graceful in their varied green, and the roseate bells of the one contrasting and harmonising so finely with the rich violet flowers of the other, might really form a study for a painter. I never saw anything more graceful in quaint and cunning art than this bit of simple nature. But nature often takes a fancy to outvie her skilful and ambitious handmaiden, and is always certain to succeed in the competition. 

And such was really the case. The widow King had known better days. Herhusband had been the head keeper, her only son head gardener, ofthe lord of the manor; but both were dead; and she, with an orphangrandchild, a thoughtful boy of eight or nine years old, now gained ascanty subsistence from the produce of their little dairy, their fewpoultry, their honey, (have I not said that a row of bee-hives heldtheir station on the sunny side of the garden?). And the fruit andflowers which little Tom and the old donkey carried in their season toBelford every market-day. 

Besides these their accustomed sources of income, Mrs. King and Tomneglected no means of earning an honest penny. They stripped the downyspikes of the bulrushes to stuff cushions and pillows, and wove therushes themselves into mats. Poor Tom was as handy as a girl; and in thelong winter evenings he would phut the straw hats in which he went toBelford market, and knit the stockings, which, kept rather for show thanfor use, were just assumed to go to church on Sundays, and then laidaside for the week. So exact was their economy. 

The only extravagance in which Mrs. King indulged herself was keepinga pet spaniel, the descendant of a breed for which her husband had beenfamous, and which was so great a favourite, that it ranked next to Tomin her affections, and next to his grandmother in Tom's. The first timethat I ever saw them, this pretty dog had brought her kind mistress intono small trouble. 

We had been taking a drive through these beautiful lanes, never morebeautiful than when the richly tinted autumnal foliage contrasts withthe deep emerald hue of the autumnal herbage, and were admiring the fineeffect of the majestic oaks, whose lower branches almost touched theclear water which reflected so brightly the bright blue sky, when Mrs. King, who was well known to my father, advanced to the gate of herlittle court, and modestly requested to speak with him. 

The group in front of the cottage door was one which it was impossibleto contemplate without strong interest. The poor widow, in her neatcrimped cap, her well-worn mourning gown, her apron and handkerchiefcoarse, indeed, and of cheap material, but delicately clean, her greyhair parted on her brow, and her pale intelligent countenance, stoodleaning against the doorway, holding in one thin trembling hand a letternewly opened, and in the other her spectacles, which she had been fainto take off, half hoping that they had played her false, and that theill-omened epistle would not be found to contain what had so grievedher. Tom, a fine rosy boy, stout and manly for his years, sat on theground with Chloe in his arms, giving vent to a most unmanly fit ofcrying; and Chloe, a dog worthy of Edwin Landseer's pencil, a large andbeautiful spaniel, of the scarce old English breed, brown and white, with shining wavy hair feathering her thighs and legs, and clusteringinto curls towards her tail and forehead, and upon the long glossymagnificent ears which gave so much richness to her fine expressivecountenance, looked at him wistfully, with eyes that expressed thefullest sympathy in his affliction, and stooped to lick his hand, andnestled her head in his bosom, as if trying, as far as her caresses hadthe power, to soothe and comfort him. 

"And so, sir, " continued Mrs. King, who had been telling her littlestory to my father, whilst I had been admiring her pet, "this Mr. Poulton, the tax-gatherer, because I refused to give him our Chloe, whommy boy is so fond of that he shares his meals with her, poor fellow, haslaid an information against us for keeping a sporting dog--I don't knowwhat the proper word is--and has had us surcharged; and the first thatever I have heard of it is by this letter, from which I find that I mustpay I don't know how much money by Saturday next, or else my goods willbe seized and sold. And I have but just managed to pay my rent, andwhere to get a farthing I can't tell. I dare say he would let us off nowif I would but give him Chloe; but that I can't find in my heart to do. He's a hard man, and a bad dog-master. I've all along been afraid thatwe must part with Chloe, now that she's growing up like, because of ourliving so near the preserves--"

"Oh, grandmother!" interrupted Tom, "poor Chloe!"

"But I can't give her to _him_. Don't cry so, Tom! I'd sooner have mylittle goods sold, and lie upon the boards. I should not mind partingwith her if she were taken good care of, but I never will give her tohim. "

"Is this the first you have heard of the matter?" inquired my father;"you ought to have had notice in time to appeal. "

"I never heard a word till to-day. "

"Poulton seems to say that he sent a letter, nevertheless, and offers toprove the sending, if need be; it's not in our division, not even in ourcounty, and I am afraid that in this matter of the surcharge I cando nothing, " observed my father; "though I have no doubt but it's arascally trick to come by the dog. She's a pretty creature, " continuedbe, stooping to pat her, and examining her head and mouth with the airof a connoisseur in canine affairs, "a very fine creature! How old isshe?"

"Not quite a twelvemonth, sir. She was pupped on the sixteenth of lastOctober, grandmother's birthday, of all the days in the year, " said Tom, somewhat comforted by his visiter's evident sympathy. 

"The sixteenth of October! Then Mr. Poulton may bid good-bye to hissurcharge; for unless she was six months old on the fifth of April, shecannot be taxed for this year--so his letter is so much waste paper. I'll write this very night to the chairman of the commissioners, andmanage the matter for you. And I'll also write to Master Poulton, andlet him know that I'll acquaint the board if he gives you any farthertrouble. You're sure that you can prove the day she was pupped?"continued his worship, highly delighted. "Very lucky! You'll havenothing to pay for her till next half-year, and then I'm afraid thatthis fellow Poulton will insist upon her being entered as a sportingdog, which is fourteen shillings. But that's a future concern. As tothe surcharge, I'll take care of that A beautiful creature, is not she, Mary? Very lucky that we happened to drive this way. " And with kindadieus to Tom and his grandmother, who were as grateful as people couldbe, we departed. 

About a week after, Tom and Chloe in their turn appeared at our cottage. All had gone right in the matter of the surcharge. The commissionershad decided in Mrs. King's favour, and Mr. Poulton had been forced tosuccumb. But his grandmother had considered the danger of offendingtheir good landlord Sir John, by keeping a sporting dog so near hiscoverts, and also the difficulty of paying the tax; and both she and Tomhad made up their minds to offer Chloe to my father. He had admired her, and everybody said that he was as good a dog-master as Mr. Poulton was abad one; and he came sometimes coursing to Ashley End, and then perhapshe would let them both see poor Chloe; "for grandmother, " added Tom, "though she seemed somehow ashamed to confess as much, was at the bottomof her heart pretty nigh as fond of her as he was himself. Indeed, hedid not know who could help being fond of Chloe, she had so many prettyways. " And Tom, making manful battle against the tears that would startinto his eyes, almost as full of affection as the eyes of Chloe herself, and hugging his beautiful pet, who seemed upon her part to have apresentiment of the evil that awaited her, sate down as requested in thehall, whilst my father considered his proposition. 

Upon the whole, it seemed to us kindest to the parties concerned, thewidow King, Tom, and Chloe, to accept the gift. Sir John was a kind man, and a good landlord, but he was also a keen sportsman; and it wasquite certain that he would have no great taste for a dog of suchhigh sporting blood close to his best preserves; the keeper also wouldprobably seize hold of such a neighbour as a scapegoat, in case of anydeficiency in the number of hares and pheasants; and then their greatenemy, Mr. Poulton, might avail himself of some technical deficiency tobring Mrs. King within the clutch of a surcharge. There might not alwaysbe an oversight in that Shylock's bond, nor a wise judge, young or old, to detect it if there were. So that, upon due consideration, my father(determined, of course, to make a proper return for the present) agreedto consider Chloe as his own property; and Tom, having seen her verycomfortably installed in clean dry straw in a warm stable, and fed in amanner which gave a satisfactory specimen of her future diet, and beinghimself regaled with plum-cake and cherry brandy, (a liquor of whichhe had, he said, heard much talk, and which proved, as my fatherhad augured, exceedingly cheering and consolatory in the moment ofaffliction, ) departed in much better spirits than could have beenexpected after such a separation. I myself, duly appreciating themerits of Chloe, was a little jealous for my own noble Dash, whom sheresembled, with a slight inferiority of size and colouring; much sucha resemblance as Viola, I suppose, bore to Sebastian. But upon beingreminded of the affinity between the two dogs, (for Dash came originallyfrom the Ashley End kennel, and was, as nearly as we could make out, grand-uncle to Chloe, ) and of our singular good fortune, in having twosuch beautiful spaniels under one roof, my objections were entirelyremoved. Under the same roof they did not seem likely to continue. Whensent after to the stable the next morning, Chloe was missing. Everybodydeclared that the door had not been opened, and Dick, who had herin charge, vowed that the key had never been out of his pocket Butaccusations and affirmations were equally useless--the bird was flown. Of course she had returned to Ashley End. And upon being sent for to herold abode, Tom was found preparing to bring her to Aberleigh; and Mrs. King suggested, that, having been accustomed to live with them, shewould, perhaps, sooner get accustomed to the kitchen fireside than to astable, however comfortable. 

The suggestion was followed. A mat was placed by the side of the kitchenfire; much pains were taken to coax the shy stranger; (Dick, who lovedand understood dogs, devoting himself to the task of making himselfagreeable to this gentle and beautiful creature;) and she seemed so farreconciled as to suffer his caresses, to lap a little milk when surethat nobody saw her, and even to bridle with instinctive coquetry, whenDash, head and tail up, advanced with a sort of stately and consciouscourtesy to examine into the claims of the newcomer. For the firstevening all seemed promising; but on the next morning, nobody knew howor when, Chloe eloped to her old quarters. 

Again she was fetched back; this time to the parlour: and again she ranaway. Then she was tied up, and she gnawed the string; chained up, andshe slipped the collar; and we began to think, that unless we could findsome good home for her at a distance, there was nothing for it but toreturn her altogether to Mrs. King, when a letter from a friend at Bathgave a new aspect to Chloe's affairs. 

The letter was from a dear friend of mine--a young married lady, with aninvalid husband, and one lovely little girl, a damsel of some two yearsold, commonly called "Pretty May. " They wanted a pet dog to live inthe parlour, and walk out with mother and daughter--not a cross yelpingBlenheim spaniel, (those troublesome little creatures spoil every body'smanners who is so unlucky as to possess them, the first five minutes ofevery morning call being invariably devoted to silencing the lapdog andapologising to the visiter, )--not a pigmy Blenheim, but a large, nobleanimal, something, in short, as like as might be to Dash, with whom Mrs. Keating had a personal acquaintance, and for whom, in common with mostof his acquaintances, she entertained a very decided partiality: I donot believe that there is a dog in England who has more friends than myDash. A spaniel was wanted at Bath like my Dash: and what spaniel couldbe more like Dash than Chloe? A distant home was wanted for Chloe: andwhat home could open a brighter prospect of canine felicity than to bethe pet of Mrs. Keating, and the playmate of Pretty May? It seemedone of those startling coincidences which amuse one by their singularfitness and propriety, and make one believe that there is more in theexploded doctrine of sympathies than can be found in our philosophy. 

So, upon the matter being explained to her, thought Mrs. King; andwriting duly to announce the arrival of Chloe, she was deposited, with aquantity of soft hay, in a large hamper, and conveyed into Belford by myfather himself, who would entrust to none other the office of deliveringher to the coachman, and charging that very civil member of a very civilbody of men to have especial care of the pretty creature, who was partedwith for no other fault than an excess of affection and fidelity to herfirst kind protectors. 

Nothing could exceed the brilliancy of her reception. Pretty May, thesweet smiling child of a sweet smiling mother, had been kept up a fullhour after her usual time to welcome the stranger, and was so charmedwith this her first living toy, that it was difficult to get her tobed. She divided her own supper with poor Chloe, hungry after her longjourney; rolled with her upon the Turkey carpet, and at last fell asleepwith her arms clasped round her new pet's neck, and her bright face, coloured like lilies and roses, flung across her body; Chloe enduringthese caresses with a careful, quiet gentleness, which immediately wonfor her the hearts of the lovely mother, of the fond father, (for to anaccomplished and right-minded man, in delicate health, what a treasureis a little prattling girl, his only one!) of two grandmothers, of threeor four young aunts, and of the whole tribe of nursery attendants. Neverwas debut so successful, as Chloe's first appearance in Camden Place. 

As her new dog had been Pretty May's last thought at night, so was ither first on awakening. He shared her breakfast as he had shared hersupper; and immediately after breakfast, mother and daughter, attendedby nurserymaid and footman, sallied forth to provide proper luxuriesfor Chloe's accommodation. First they purchased a sheepskin rug; then asplendid porcelain trough for water, and a porcelain dish to match, forfood; then a spaniel basket, duly lined, and stuffed, and curtained--asplendid piece of canine upholstery; then a necklace-like collar withsilver bells, which was left to have the address engraved upon theclasp; and then May, finding herself in the vicinity of a hosier anda shoemaker, bethought herself of a want which undoubtedly had notoccurred to any other of her party, and holding up her own pretty littlefoot, demanded "tilk tocks and boo thoose for Tloë. "

For two days did Chloe endure the petting and the luxuries. On the thirdshe disappeared. Great was the consternation in Camden Place. PrettyMay cried as she had never been known to cry before; and papa, mamma, grandmammas, aunts, nursery and house-maids, fretted and wondered, wondered and fretted, and vented their distress in every variety ofexclamation, from the refined language of the drawing-room to thepatois of a Somersetshire kitchen. Rewards were offered, and handbillsdispersed over the town. She was cried, and she was advertised; and atlast, giving up every hope of her recovery, Mrs. Keating wrote to me. 

It happened that we received the letter on one of those soft Novemberdays, which sometimes intervene between the rough winds of October andthe crisp frosts of Christmas, and which, although too dirty under footto be quite pleasant for walking, are yet, during the few hours that thesun is above the horizon, mild enough for an open carriage in our shadylanes, strewed as they are at that period with the yellow leaves of theelm, whilst the hedgerows are still rich with the tawny foliage of theoak, and the rich colouring of the hawthorn and the bramble. It was suchweather as the Americans generally enjoy at this season, and call by thepretty name of the Indian summer. And we resolved to avail ourselves ofthe fineness of the day to drive to Ashley End, and inform Mrs. Kingand Tom (who we felt ought to know) of the loss of Chloe, and our fear, according with Mrs. Keating's, that she had been stolen; adding ourpersuasion, which was also that of Mrs. Keating, that, fall intowhatever hands she might, she was too beautiful and valuable not toensure good usage. 

On the way we were overtaken by the good widow's landlord, returningfrom hunting, in his red coat and top-boots, who was also bound toAshley End. As he rode chatting by the side of the carriage, we couldnot forbear telling him our present errand, and the whole story of poorChloe. How often, without being particularly uncharitable in judging ofour neighbours, we have the gratification of finding them even betterthan we had supposed! He blamed us for not having thought well enoughof him to put the whole affair into his management from the first, andexclaimed against us for fearing that he would compare the preserves andthe pheasant-shooting with such an attachment as had subsisted betweenhis good old tenant and her faithful dog. "By Jove!" cried he, "Iwould have paid the tax myself rather than they should have been parted. But it's too late to talk of that now, for, of course, the dog isstolen. Eighty miles is too far even for a spaniel to find its way back!Carried by coach, too! I would give twenty pounds willingly to replaceher with old Dame King and Master Tom. By the way, we must see what canbe done for that boy--he's a fine spanking fellow. We must consult hisgrandmother. The descendant of two faithful servants has an hereditaryclaim to all that can be done for him. How could _you_ imagine that Ishould be thinking of those coverts? I that am as great a dog-lover asDame King herself! I have a great mind to be very angry with you. "

These words, spoken in the good sportsman's earnest, hearty, joyous, kindly voice, (_that_ ought to have given an assurance of his kindlynature, --I have a religious faith invoices, ) these words brought uswithin sight of Ashley End, and there, in front of the cottage, we sawa group which fixed our attention at once: Chloe, her own identicalself--poor, dear Chloe, apparently just arrived, dirty, weary, jaded, wet, lying in Tom's arms as he sat on the ground, feeding her withthe bacon and cabbage, his own and his grandmother's dinner, all thecontents of the platter; and she, too happy to eat, wagging her tail asif she would wag it off; now licking Mrs. King's hands as the good olddame leant over her, the tears streaming from her eyes: now kissingTom's honest face, who broke into loud laughter for very joy, and, withlooks that spoke as plain as ever looks did speak, "Here I am come homeagain to those whom I love best--to those who best love me!" Poor dearChloe! Even we whom she left, sympathised with her fidelity. Poor dearChloe! there we found her, and there, I need not, I hope, say, we lefther, one of the happiest of living creatures.