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arriving at what was the correct type, or what the origin of the dog had been. Of the latter many peculiar ideas had been promulgated, one writer urged that the odd shape and long body were originally obtained by a cross at some remote period with the dachshund; and, strangely enough, this idea is still believed in some quarters. Others suggested a cross between the otter hound and some kind of terrier; whilst from another quarter the more correct solution of the mystery would come, that the Dandie Dinmont terrier had been originally produced in the same way as other varieties of the dog. He was like Topsy, “he had growed,” and no one was old enough to bring proof as to when he did “grow” or how. As some writers might say, and with exceeding truth, “the origin of the Dandie Dinmont is lost in the mists of obscurity,” and the less I tell about him before he became known on the show bench, the better for my readers and for future generations. As I have said, the Border farmers and others kept a hardy race of short-legged terriers, answering to the description of the Dandie Dinmont, even before the end of last century. They assisted the hounds to kill the otters, and of themselves were hardy enough to destroy foxes in their holes, and the sweetmart and the foulmart whenever they were come across. The dogs, as hardy as their masters, notwithstanding their short legs and long bodies, were fairly active. But the original Dandie Dinmont terrier stood a little higher on the leg and was shorter in the body than the modern article. This may be observed by reference to early pictures of this dog, notably to that by Landseer in his well known portrait of Sir Walter Scott. Here a “mustard ” dog is introduced, said to have been painted from a terrier then at Abbotsford, and which originally came from James Davidson. As to how he became crooked in front is more a matter for scientists than for an ordinary writer about dogs, but, more likely than the dachshund theory, I would suggest that at some earlier period in his history a terrier had been born with his or her fore legs pretty well crooked, and somewhat stunted thereon, as all terriers with unduly heavy bodies undoubtedly must be. He proved, though slow, to be a good hand at vermin, better indeed than others of the same strain. Then he was freely bred from, and his descendants were bred from, and so the strain of crooked legs and long backs became perpetuated. I am no believer in foreign crosses, and have often smiled to find how often they crop up at most convenient periods, and, as I have said before, these unduly crooked fore legs are deformities, and Nature of T

herself never intended them to be on any dog. We must not forget that the original Dandie Dinmont was a smaller dog than the modern one ; perhaps in an endeavour to obtain greater bone, larger heads, and stronger jaws, a cross with big terriers was introduced, and as heavier bodies were procured the legs gave way, which deformity, at first but tolerated, eventually became hereditary. Terriers and hounds were, a century or two ago, kept in considerable numbers in the north of England, and in Scotland, by the farmers and others, who required them to kill the foxes which at certain seasons of the year were extremely destructive to the hill flocks. Some of the farmers would keep a hound or two, another a few terriers, and so on, such animals being great favourites, and forming part and parcel of the family household. There is a story told of one old Cumbrian, who, owing to the bad times, had to leave his farm, and ultimately he came to a state of extreme poverty. Friends who had known him when in better circumstances relieved him occasionally, but going from bad to worse he was compelled to seek relief from the parish. An officer called to see the poor old chap, whom he found sitting in a broken-down chair with an aged and grizzled foxhound at his feet. The official told him that he could not receive any assistance so long as he kept the hound, and asked that it might be destroyed. This the hungry farmer, with tears in his eyes, would not allow; “Nea,” he said, “me an' Bellman has leeved tagither an' we'll dee tagither,” and, notwithstanding the protestations of friends, he refused to part with his dog, and continued to starve and starve, sharing his crusts with his faithful canine companion until the old hound died. The master was not long in following it to the grave. Men such as the above kept the dogs on the Borders; so much per head was given for each fox killed, the amount, which varied from sixpence to a shilling each, no doubt going to pay for the refreshment of the farmers and their servants when out on such hunting expeditions, the whole of the hounds and terriers kept in the district banding themselves together on such occasions. The gipsies, too, were a sporting lot then as they are now, and they had their dogs too. Many of them, even as recently as forty or fifty years ago, kept a couple or so of otter hounds in addition to their terriers, and they were keen at the sport. About twenty years since I was otter hunting in the north; an otter had been bolted, which we had lost for a short time, and our hounds were making casts to pick up the lost scent. On the high road close by were a couple of gipsies' vans, from one of which stepped out a comely “Romanie.” The weather was cold even for the end of April. “Eh! young man,” said she to me, “be careful wi' those hounds; both my father and grandfather became crippled wi' rheumatiz before they were forty-five years old through wading in the water when otter hunting.” I can see the young woman now as I saw her that day, when, leaning on my pole, I watched old Rally (young Rally then) trying every little stone by the beck to find the missing scent, and I often wondered why she so addressed me. Happily, wading in the water, after either hounds or fish, has not yet “crippled me wi' rheumatiz,” although I heeded not the gipsy's warning. Perhaps some of our terriers were descended from “Piper Allan's,” who was immortalised in Dr. Brown's “Horae Subsecivae" (1858), where he said of one of his dogs that it was “of the pure Piper Allan breed.” Piper Allan (Thomson Gray says, in “Dogs of Scotland,” 1891) was the son of William Allan of Bellingham, Northumberland, who was born in 1704. This William “had much shrewdness, wit, and independence of mind, and in early life he became a good player on the bagpipes. For a livelihood he travelled about the country mending pots and pans, making spoons, baskets, and brooms,

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