This Praise, which would be unmeaning Flattery
If inscribed over human ashes,
Is but a just tribute to the Memory of
BOATSWAIN, a Dog,
Who was born at Newfoundland, May, 1803,
And died at Newstead Abbey, November 18. 1808."
The poet, Pope, when about the same age as the writer of this
inscription, passed a similar eulogy on his dog,[97] at the expense of
human nature; adding, that "Histories are more full of examples of the
fidelity of dogs than of friends." In a still sadder and bitterer
spirit, Lord Byron writes of his favourite,
"To mark a friend's remains these stones arise; I never knew
but one, and here he lies."[98]
Melancholy, indeed, seems to have been gaining fast upon his mind at
this period. In another letter to Mr. Hodgson, he says,--"You know
laughing is the sign of a rational animal--so says Dr. Smollet. I
think so too, but unluckily my spirits don't always keep pace with my
opinions."
Old Murray, the servant whom he mentions, in a preceding extract, as
the only faithful follower now remaining to him, had long been in the
service of the former lord, and was regarded by the young poet with a
fondness of affection which it has seldom been the lot of age and
dependence to inspire. "I have more than once," says a gentleman who
was at this time a constant visiter at Newstead, "seen Lord Byron at
the dinner-table fill out a tumbler of Madeira, and hand it over his
shoulder to Joe Murray, who stood behind his chair, saying, with a
cordiality that brightened his whole countenance, 'Here, my old
fellow.
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