Recreations of Christopher North, Volume 1Wilson, John
General
Recreations of Christopher North, Volume 1
Wilson, John
Essays
were not present--or by all that is holiest in heaven or on earth--our
arms had been soon around thy neck, when thou wert seemingly about to
perish!
But a poor dumb despised dog--nothing, as some say, but animated
dust--was there,--and without shout or signal--for all the Christian
creatures were alike helpless in their despair--shot swift as a sunbeam
over the deep, and by those golden tresses, sinking and brightening
through the wave, brought the noble child ashore, and stood over him, as
if in joy and sorrow, lying too like death on the sand! And when little
Harry opened his glazed eyes, and looked bewildered on all the faces
around--and then fainted--and revived and fainted again--till at last he
came to dim recollection of this world on the bosom of the physician
brought thither with incomprehensible speed from his dwelling afar
off--thou didst lick his cold white hands and blue face, with a whine
that struck awful pity into all hearts, and thou didst follow him--one
of the group--as he was borne along--and frisking and gambolling no more
all that day, gently didst thou lay thyself down at the feet of his
little bed, and watch there unsleeping all night long! For the boy knew
that God had employed one of his lowly creatures to save him--and
beseeched that he might lie there to be looked at by the light of the
taper, till he himself, as the pains went away, might fall asleep! And
we, the watchers by his bedside, heard him in his dreams mentioning the
creature's name in his prayers.
Yet at times--O Fro--thou wert a sad dog indeed--neither to bind nor to
hold--for thy blood was soon set aboil, and thou--like Julius Cæsar--and
Demetrius Poliorcetes--and Alexander the Great--and many other ancient
and modern kings and heroes--thou wert the slave of thy passions. No
Scipio wert thou with a Spanish captive. Often--in spite of threatening
eye and uplifted thong--uplifted only, for thou went'st unflogged to thy
grave--didst thou disappear for days at a time--as if lost or dead.
Rumours of thee were brought to the kirk by shepherds from the remotest
hills in the parish--most confused and contradictory--but, when
collected and compared, all agreeing in this--that thou wert living, and
lifelike, and life-imparting, and after a season from thy travels to
return; and return thou still didst--wearied often and woe-begone--purpled
thy snow-white curling--and thy broad breast torn, not disfigured, by
honourable wounds. For never yet saw we a fighter like thee. Up on thy
hind-legs in a moment, like a growling Polar monster, with thy fore-paws
round thy foeman's neck, bull-dog, collie, mastiff, or greyhound, and
down with him in a moment, with as much ease as Cass, in the wrestling
ring at Carlisle, would throw a Bagman, and then woe to the throat of
the downfallen, for thy jaws were shark-like as they opened and shut
with their terrific tusks, grinding through skin and sinew to the spine.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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