



Produced by Punch, or the London Charivari, Malcolm Farmer,
Lesley Halamek and the Online Distributed Proofreading
Team at http://www.pgdp.net






PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.

Volume 109, November 9, 1895.

_edited by Sir Francis Burnand_




[Illustration: FIRST IN THE FIELD.

WEATHER BREAKS. DELIGHTFUL PROSPECT! GOING STRONG!]

       *       *       *       *       *

ROUNDABOUT READINGS.

       *       *       *       *       *

I have been staying recently at Oxford, the home of perennial
youth--and of innumerable dogs. In fact, it was the canine aspect of
Oxford that impressed me on this occasion more than any other. Nearly
every self-respecting undergraduate keeps his dog, and the mediaeval,
academic look of the place is pleasantly tempered by these careless,
happy, intrusive, "warlike wearers of the wagging tail," who career up
the High, make the meadows to resound with their barkings, and bring
the bicycled rowing coach to eternal smash on the tow-path. There
being, roughly speaking, some 3,000 undergraduates, the floating
population of Oxford dogs cannot be less than 2,500.

       *       *       *       *       *

Perhaps, however, the most remarkable thing about Oxford dogs is the
variety of their migrations. Some dogs, of course, remain constant to
one owner. Others spend their lives under the general ownership of
the whole University. These know the best rooms for bones from term to
term; they can track the perfumed ash-pan to its lair, and indulge
in hideous orgies of fish-heads and egg-shells. The most prominent
representative of this class is, of course, _Oriel Bill_, who has,
perhaps, the most gorgeously ugly and tenderly pathetic face ever
granted by nature to a bull-dog.

       *       *       *       *       *

But ordinary dogs, though they remain nominally the possession of one
original owner, migrate from sub-owner to deputy-sub-owner, and thence
to pro-deputy-sub-owner, with a wonderful rapidity. For instance,
I once gave a retriever puppy to an Oxford friend. This is the
life-history of that amiable animal, so far as I can gather it up to a
recent date.

       *       *       *       *       *

A. (my friend) kept the dog faithfully for a term. As he was going
down, it occurred to A. that _Ponto_ would be happier in Oxford than
in London, so when the following term began, _Ponto_, still in his gay
puppyhood, was once more found in Oxford under a different master,
B. B. kept _Ponto_ in his lodgings in the High. They were prettily
furnished; there were cretonnes, and embroidered cushions, and
handsome rugs. One day _Ponto_ was left in solitary charge for one
short hour. Upon B.'s return he found that remarkable dog sleeping
soundly, with a well-gnawed slipper under each of his forepaws, amidst
a ruin of tattered stuffs. Not a hanging, not a cushion, not a rug
remained entire. This was too much, and _Ponto_ promptly became
the fleeting property of C., a Balliol man, who changed his name to
_Jowler_ (this happened in the time of the late Master), and taught
him to worry cats.

       *       *       *       *       *

After three weeks of glorious scrimmages amongst the surrounding
feline inhabitants, _Jowler_ took it into his head to get lost for
a week. C. mourned him, but took no further steps when he found him
living under the protection of D., a Brasenose man, totally unknown to
A., the original owner. D. took him home in the vac, broke him to
the gun, imbued him with an extraordinary fondness for beer, and
re-christened him "_Hebby_."

       *       *       *       *       *

At the beginning of the following term _Hebby_ once more turned up
in Oxford, being then almost a full-grown dog. He again lived in
lodgings, this time in Turl Street. By this time he had acquired
luxurious habits, and was particularly fond of taking his naps in any
bed that might be handy. Having on four separate occasions covered
himself with mud and ensconced himself in the bed of the landlady, he
was not as popular as a dog of his parts ought to have been. But
the culminating point was reached when _Hebby_, having stolen a cold
pheasant and the remains of a leg of mutton, took the bones to the bed
of his master, into which he tucked himself. After this he was passed
onto E., a Magdalen man, and was called _The Pre_.

       *       *       *       *       *

I cannot follow his wanderings after this point in any detail. I know
he has gone the round of the Colleges twice. He has been a boating
dog, a cricketing dog, an athletic dog, and a footballing dog. He
has been a canine member of Vincent's Club; he has waited outside the
Union unmoved while a debate, on which the fate of the Ministry hung,
was in progress. He has been smuggled into College, he has disgraced
himself, and caused a change of carpets in nearly every lodging in
Oxford. He has lived near New College under the name of _Spoo_, has
been entered at Christ Church as _Fleacatcher_ (a delicate compliment
to distinguished oarsman), and has frequented the precincts of the
Radcliffe Infirmary, and been joyfully hailed as _Pego_ by budding
doctors. I believe he is still a resident member of the University,
but his exact place of residence is more than I can tell. His original
owner endeavoured to trace him not long ago. He got as far as Lincoln
College, and there lost the clue.

       *       *       *       *       *

This, I am sure, is no solitary example. Hundreds of Oxford dogs are
at this very time undergoing the same vicissitudes, through a similar
Odyssey of wanderings. And probably, if the truth were known, there
are Cambridge dogs in no better case.

       *       *       *       *       *

OUR BOOKING-OFFICE.

"I like it muchly," quoth the Baron, finishing BARING GOULD'S
_Noemi_:--

  "This scribe for publishers ne'er writes in vain;
  His pen prolific, Baring Goulden grain."

And _Noemi_, if a trifle less Gouldish than Weymanish, is a tale
of stirring times, when to plunder, hack, stab, and string up a few
unfriendly fellow-creatures, who would have done the same by you if
the turn of luck had been theirs, came in the day's work; while to
roast an offender whole "all alive O," just for once and away, was,
so to speak, "quite a little 'oliday," as a special and exceptional
treat. And all these jocular barbarities were occasioned