Rab and His Friends | Page 5

of horrid pain, making that pale
face, with its gray, lucid, reasonable eyes, and its sweet resolved mouth,
express the full measure of suffering overcome. Why was that gentle,
modest, sweet woman, clean and lovable, condemned by God to bear
such a burden?
I got her away to bed. "May Rab and me bide?" said James. "YOU may;
and Rab, if he will behave himself." "I'se warrant he's do that, doctor;"
and in slunk the faithful beast. I wish you could have seen him. There
are no such dogs now. He belonged to a lost tribe. As I have said, he
was brindled, and gray like Rubislaw granite; his hair short, hard, and
close, like a lion's; his body thick-set, like a little bull,--a sort of
compressed Hercules of a dog. He must have been ninety pounds'
weight, at the least; he had a large blunt head; his muzzle black as night,
his mouth blacker than any night, a tooth or two--being all he
had--gleaming out of his jaws of darkness. His head was scarred with
the records of old wounds, a sort of series of fields of battle all over it;
one eye out, one ear cropped as close as was Archbishop Leighton's
father's; the remaining eye had the power of two; and above it, and in
constant communication with it, was a tattered rag of an ear, which was
forever unfurling itself, like an old flag; and then that bud of a tail,
about one inch long, if it could in any sense be said to be long, being as
broad as long,--the mobility, the instantaneousness of that bud were
very funny and surprising, and its expressive twinklings and winkings,
the intercommunications between the eye, the ear, and it, were of the
oddest and swiftest.
Rab had the dignity and simplicity of great size; and, having fought his
way all along the road to absolute supremacy, he was as mighty in his
own line as Julius Caesar or the Duke of Wellington, and had the
gravity [Footnote: A Highland game-keeper, when asked why a certain
terrier, of singular pluck, was so much more solemn than the other dogs,
said, "Oh, sir, life's full o' sairiousness to him: hejust never can get
eneuch o' fechtin'."] of all great fighters.

You must have often observed the likeness of certain men to certain
animals, and of certain dogs to men. Now, I never looked at Rab
without thinking of the great Baptist preacher, Andrew Fuller.
[Footnote: Fuller was in early life, when a farmer lad at Soham, famous
as a boxer; not quarrelsome, but not without "the stern delight" a man
of strength and courage feels in their exercise. Dr. Charles Stewart, of
Dunearn, whose rare gifts and graces as a physician, a divine, a scholar,
and a gentleman live only in the memory of those few who knew and
survive him, liked to tell how Mr. Fuller used to say that when he was
in the pulpit, and saw a buirdly man come along the passage, he would
instinctively draw himself up, measure his imaginary antagonist, and
forecast how he would deal with him, his hands meanwhile condensing
into fists and tending to "square." He must have been a hard hitter if he
boxed as he preached,--what "The Fancy" would call an "ugly
customer."] The same large, heavy, menacing, combative, sombre,
honest countenance, the same deep inevitable eye, the same look,--as of
thunder asleep, but ready,-- neither a dog nor a man to be trifled with.
Next day, my master, the surgeon, examined Ailie. There was no doubt
it must kill her, and soon. It could be removed; it might never return; it
would give her speedy relief: she should have it done. She courtesied,
looked at James, and said, "When?" "To-morrow," said the kind
surgeon,-- a man of few words. She and James and Rab and I retired. I
noticed that he and she spoke little, but seemed to anticipate everything
in each other.
The following day, at noon, the students came in, hurrying up the great
stair. At the first landing-place, on a small well-known black board,
was a bit of paper fastened by wafers, and many remains of old wafers
beside it. On the paper were the words, "An operation to-day.--J.B.,
CLERK"
Up ran the youths, eager to secure good places: in they crowded, full of
interest and talk. "What's the case?" "Which side is it?"
Don't think them heartless; they are neither better nor worse than you or
I; they get over their professional horrors, and into their proper work;
and in them pity, as an EMOTION, ending in itself or at best in tears
and a long-drawn breath, lessens,--while pity, as a MOTIVE, is
quickened, and gains power and purpose. It is well for poor human