"LOVE ME LOATHE MY DAWG."

Observer, Volume 7, Issue 231, 14 February 1885, Page 3

"LOVE ME LOATHE MY DAWG."

Wikrell wants to know what is the best way of murdering a dog when he cannot be reached personally, but can only be seen and heard in the next door neighbour's yard. He is a big dog, entitled Turpin, with, unreasonably big ears, a sooty muzzle, a skin that is at least a couple of sizes' too large for him, and — as Win-ell can see when the beast puts his paws on the. dustbin, and barks in the erect position — a map of the Dark Continent on the roof of his mouth. > Although Wirrell has projected pieces of coal at his ribs, he has still induced him to partake of morsels of bacon rind and the bones of mutton chops, and he, therefore, feels positive that the animal will consent to devour any reasonable thing that the readers of this journal- may recommend ; for him. The reason why Grustavus^ Wirrell has condescended to cherish designs i against the .dog's life is this: Whilst: .the dog is alive he employs the whole night in barking* . If even he stops, , it. . is., merely, -to. enable Wirreli to doze a. little, and to realize r ,how, delicious it would Toe. 1;o go, right, off to'sleep. .. . Gustavus Wirrell' is particularly-desirous of killing this dog bepause^sp' far 'as, he, can see into the affairs of- this world, there 'is* a dog or two to every, acre,. where, people. .have to do their.best to go to sleop, 'and to make sure of getting . up: When Wirrell 1 - was ■a r younger man lie used to say that if ther£ ! was anything in- life that was more absurd than getting into bed it was getting out of bed:' " lie says now that to ilie awake all night to listen- to the (-monotonous and "uninstructive bark •of an !<ahirn'al-'that never earned a' penny iri its life 3 and has nothing- whatever to do the next day,' 'is infinitely more absurd than either. Nor does he feel that he could escape the nuisance by going away from his lodgings, and sacrificing the quarter's rent that his landlady exacted from him in advance as ! soon as she noticed' what a fancy' he took to. the room. There would be a dbg' at the next place."

T^here is a dog wherever Wirrell goes. "Wherefore, he that loves Wirrell should loathe Wirrell' s dog. A month ago, Wirrell's address was — 2, Chickweed Shanties, Peckham Rye, S.E. ; whither he had gone because it was rustic and unassuming, a place where real grass could be seen and the leaves were not made of tin. But his dog reported himself on the very first night. He barked and hayed, and whined, and supplicated ; he roared like close thunder, he exploded into successions of sharp cracks like a volunteer Teview, and he filled up the intervals with lowguttural maledictions. Gustayus Prendergast, Wirrell went out one rainy night, with a stick, to try and find him; "but directly he got well out into the cold, the "barking ceased. The dog was content. ' He. saw. Wirrell, and even sniffed his unsuspecting I •calves as he crept past the. neck of the barrel that the dog lived in ; but he was not an unreasonable animal, and he watched the entertainment with calm satisfaction. He wished that Wirrell would walk about for a time, but he didn't. He went back to bed, and of course the dog was able to bark louder that night through having rested his throat a little. After this the beast thrived upon the hope that some night in the fulness of time Mr Wirrell would come out again. "I barked the funny little man with the red whiskers out of the house once, and I will bark him out again, or my name isn't Snap !" Such was his process of reasoning. But one morning Wirrell went round and saw the owner, who received him with great civility, and took him straight into the front garden, where Wirrell had walked in his dressing-gown and night- cap. "There," said the owner, with friendly •condescension — " there ain't nothing to make a bother about with him. Why, man, he's only a pup." " Oh, only a pup," said Wirrell, nervously. " That's all," replied the man. " I — l didn't know that he was only a pup," said Mr Wirrell, with an apologetic smile. It was ridiculous to allow one's self to be disturbed by a pup, he could but confess ; so he came away a little out of conceit with himself. Still, after another week's wakefulness, he was not satisfied. So he went round to the man s-gain, and asked him how much h$ would take for the animal. He would like to have him all to himself, he said : ' ' That there pup is worth a pound of anybody's money," was the man's answer. So Wirrell bought it — and strangled it. But by the very same night there was another dog in the barrel — a big one, with a bass voice ; a dog that slept Avell all day, beginning his bark at from eleven to twelve p.m., and ceasing only when the men had all gone past to get to their work at six o'clock in the morning. Wirrell went round to the man directly after breakfast. "I cannot endure this disturbance," he exclaimed. " That wretched thing has kept me awake all night again !" "It ain't his fault," answered the man. "He can't get to sleep hisself That there dawg over at Tulip Cottage keeps a-barkin' at him !" " Why, Tulip Cottage is a quarter of a mile off!" " Never mini. The dawg there keeps on ■a-barkin' at him !" " I don't believe it !" said Wirrell testily. "Ah, well, you haven't listened properly," replied the man, in a tone of courteous despair. " Here you come here a-bothering me, and you haven't studied (rhe facts of the -case !" " Well, can't you go to sleep without always having a dog barking in front of your ihouse ?" asked Wirrell angrily. _ "I might try it," said the man. compressing his lips with resignation, '' if you'd buy this 'ere dawg at the same price as you did the other. It's a " lovely dawg— a dawg to be proud of." * "I can't go on buying these dogs," answered Wirrell, in the voice of a man ■determined to speak out. "It's preposterous !" And he didn't. But as the country air was not doing him a bit of good, with so much wakefulness, he came to live in Cawdle•street, Bloomsbury, where Turpin acts as his ineveitable "dawg." What he wants to hear of is a poison that will go inside a scrap of mutton chop and kill quickly. All communications are to be sent to Cawdle-street. There is no number on the door, but it is next to where the boy spits on the heads of the humble pedestrians. The postman will iknow it. C 4 q # p t

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