Scene: A lofty pine wood, from which can be caught distant glimpses of
the valley of the Thames. "Aileen Aroon," a noble Newfoundland, has
thrown herself down by her master's side. All the other dogs at play in
the wood.
Aileen's master (_speaks_): "And so you have come and laid yourself down
beside me, Aileen, and left your playmates every one? left your
playmates roaming about among the trees, while you stay here by me?
"Yes, you may put your head on my knee, dear, honest Aileen, or your
chin at all events, for you yourself, old girl, have no idea of the
weight of your whole head. No, Aileen, thank you, not a paw as well;
you are really attempting now to take the advantage of my good nature.
So be content, `Sable' [Note 1]--my good, old, silly, simple Sable.
There, I smooth your bonnie brow to show you that the words `old' and
`silly' are truly terms of endearment, and meant neither as a scoff at
your age, nor to throw disparagement upon the amount or quality of your
intellect. Intellect? Who could glance for a single moment at that
splendid head of yours, my Aileen, and doubt it to be the seat of a
wisdom almost human, and of a benevolence that might easily put many of
our poor fallen race to shame. And so I smooth your bonnie brow thus,
and thus. But now, let us understand each other, Aileen. We must have
done with endearments for a little time. For beautiful though the day
be, blue the sky, and bright the sunshine, I really have come out here
to the quiet woods to work. It is for that very purpose I have seated
myself beneath this great tree, the branches of which are close and
thick enough to defend us against yonder shower, that comes floating up
the valley of the Thames, if indeed it can ever reach this height, my
Sable.
"No noisy school children, no village cries to disturb and distract one
here, and scatter his half-formed ideas to the winds, or banish his best
thoughts to the shades of oblivion. Everything is still around us,
everything is natural; the twittering of the birds, the dreamy hum of
insect life, the sweet breath of the fir-trees, combine to calm the mind
and conduce to thought.
"Why do I not come and romp and play? you ask. I cannot explain to you
why. There _are_ some things, Aileen, that even the vast intellect of a
Newfoundland cannot comprehend; the electric telegraph, for instance,
the telephone, and why a man must work. You do not doubt the existence
of what you do not understand, however, my simple Sable. We poor mortal
men do. What a thing faith is even in a Newfoundland!
"No, Sable, I must work. Here look, is proof of the fifteenth chapter
of my serial tale, copy of the sixteenth must go to town with that. In
this life, Aileen, one must keep ahead of the printer. This is all
Greek to you, is it? Well then, for just one minute I will talk to you
in language that you do understand.
"There, you know what I mean, don't you, when I fondle your ear, and
smooth it and spread it over my note-book? What a great ear it is,
Aileen! No, I positively refuse to have that paw on my knee in addition
to your head. Don't be offended, I know you love me. There, put back
that foot on the grass.
"Yes, Aileen, it _was_ very good of you, I admit, to leave your fan and
your romps, and come and lay your dear kindly head on my lap. The other
dogs prefer to play. Even `Theodore Nero,' your husband, is tumbling on
the ground on that broad back of his, with his four immense legs
pointing skywards, and his whole body convulsed with merriment. The
three collies are in chase of a hare, the occasional excited yelp that
is borne along on the breeze can tell us that; we pray they may not meet
the keeper. The Dandie Dinmont is hidden away in the dark depths of a
rabbit burrow, and the two wiry wee Scotch terriers are eagerly watching
the hole 'gainst the rabbit bolts.
"Fun and romps did I say, Aileen? Alas! dear doggie, these are hardly
the words to apply to your little games, for you seldom play or romp
with much heart, greatly though it rejoices me to see you lively. You
seldom play with much heart, mavourneen, and when you do play, you seem
but to play to please me and you tire all too soon. I know you have a
deep sorrow at your heart, for you lost your former master, Aileen, and
you are not likely to forget him. There always is a sad look in those
hazel eyes of yours, and forgive me for mentioning it, but you are
turning very grey around the lips. Your bright saucy-eyed husband
yonder is three years older than you, Sable, and he isn't grey. But,
Aileen, I know something that you don't know, poor pet, for I'm very
learned compared to you. The seeds of that terrible disease, phthisis,
are in your blood, I fear, and will one day take you from me, and I'll
have to sit and write under this tree--alone. I'm talking Greek again,
am I? It is as well, Aileen, it should be Greek to you. Why do my eyes
get a trifle moist, you seem to ask me. Never mind. There! the sad
thoughts have all flown away for a time, but, my dear, loving dog, when
you have gone to sleep at last and for ever, I'll find a quiet corner to
lay your bones in, and--I'll write your story. Yes, I promise you that,
and it is more than any one will ever do for me, Aileen.
"Don't sigh like that. You have a habit of sighing, you tell me. Very
well, so be it, but I thought at first that it was the wind soughing
through this old pine-tree of ours. Yes, _ours_--yours and mine,
Aileen. Now, _do_ let me work. See, I'll put my note-book close to
your great nose, and your chin shall touch my left hand; you can lie so
and gaze all the time in my face. That will help me materially. But
by-and-by you'll fall asleep and dream, and I'll have to wake you,
because you'll be giving vent to a whole series of little
ventriloquistic barks and sobs and sighs, and I will not know whether
you are in pain or whether your mind is but reverting to--
"`Visions of the chase,
Of wild wolves howling over hills of snow,
Slain by your stalwart fathers, long ago.'"
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Note 1. The subject of this memoir was called `Sable' before she came
into my possession. She is well remembered by all lovers of the true
Newfoundland, as Sable One of the show benches, and was generally
admitted to be the largest and most handsome of her breed and sex ever
exhibited.--The Author.