Fifty years ago my great-grandmother sat in the porch of her cottage,
looking with pleasure on the fragrant flowers growing in her garden
and listening to the song of her canaries hanging over her head. It
was a sultry August evening; and gradually the sky overcast, a solemn
stillness stole over the scene, while large drops of rain and heavy
claps of thunder denoted the approach of a storm. She rose and removed
her birds to the interior of the cottage. On returning to the open door
she saw a woman dragging wearily up the garden-path followed by a lean
and hungry-looking dog.
‘For the love of mercy, ma’am,’ began the tramp, ‘please to buy a
box or two of matches of a poor woman, for I’ve not tasted food this
blessed day.’
My great-grandmother looked at her with pity. Benevolence formed
a large ingredient in her character. Here stood a fellow-creature
whose forlorn appearance and sickly countenance denoted her condition
as plainly as her words; while the famished animal beside her was
evidently unable to travel farther. The good old lady spoke at once in
her primitive hospitality.
‘Come in, poor soul, and sit ye down and rest. A storm is coming up.
Here, take this meal, and enjoy it. You are truly welcome.’
She busied herself in setting food before the wanderer, and then turned
to the wanderer’s companion, her dog. ‘The poor dumb beast is nearly
dead,’ she said; and amid the violence of the storm she exercised the
bidding of the apostle to the best of her ability.
As soon as the tempest subsided the woman rose to go, full of gratitude
for the kindness shewn her. The dog reposed comfortably on a rug, and
seemed indisposed to quit his new home.
‘Would you care to have the dog, mistress?’ said the owner. ‘He’s none
so handsome; but he’d guard thy house; and it’s part we must, sooner or
later. He’ll have a blessed exchange, that’s certain.’
My great-grandmother thanked her and expressed her pleasure at the
prospect of keeping the dog. The woman went her way; her canine
companion stayed in his new home, and was, in remembrance of his
former owner, named Match. He proved faithful and affectionate to his
mistress, and soon learned to distinguish her particular friends; while
to members of her family he ever paid the greatest attention, trotting
regularly every day to see her daughter, my grandmother, who lived
in the next village, about a mile apart. He would, if the front-door
was open, walk through the house to the part where the family lived,
receive and return their greetings, walk to a particular mat which lay
at the foot of the staircase, lie down for a time, and then return.
After he had lived some years with my aged relative, a nephew of hers
from the border of Sherwood Forest, came to pay her a visit, and
witnessing the intelligence and fidelity of Match, begged him as a
present. Very loath she was to part from her faithful friend; but the
entreaties of her favourite nephew prevailed, and when he returned
home he took the dog with him. His journey was performed partly by
stage-wagons, partly on foot. Finally he wrote to announce his safe
arrival at home, with Match. Three weeks later, as my grandmother and
her daughters sat at work one afternoon with open doors and windows,
the apparition of an emaciated dog stumbled over the threshold,
crawled feebly through the room to his accustomed corner, and sank
exhausted upon the mat, too far gone to do more than raise his eyes
for sympathy to his well-known friends. There was a great outcry. ‘It
is poor Match!’ Work was thrown aside and all gathered round the dog.
His bleeding feet were bathed, and some milk given him, which he drank
eagerly, afterwards licking the hands outstretched to help; then, with
a sigh of relief and contentment, he fell asleep, and stirred not all
night. But in the early morning, with a joyous bark, he bounded off
through the doorway, and swiftly made his way to his dear old home,
where he was received with every demonstration of delight, which he
returned with interest.
From that time to the day of his death, some years later, Match was
regarded as a hero, having travelled more than one hundred miles
on foot, a road over which he had passed only once. Afterwards it
transpired that he had experienced a beating for attempting to escape
previously; and when his flight was discovered, it was at once
conjectured whither he had gone, although it was considered impossible
for him to accomplish the journey. Like many humble heroes, Match never
played a prominent part out of his own circle; but among the family in
which he lived his name is handed down as an instance of true fidelity.
He had no pretensions to beauty, being a sandy-coloured dog with short
rough hair; but must have possessed great powers of endurance and a
wonderful memory.