One more digression suggested by the name of Arthur Sullivan; it
shall be the last. I am not going back to the time when we were boys
together in Leipsic, but will only mention him in connection with
Carry; this time Carry in another form.

[Illustration]


Shortly after that big wave intervened that separated her from us a
happy chance put me in possession of a dog, the most affectionate and
lovable of Skye terriers.

I named him Carry.

That dog, his qualities and virtues, and especially his musical gifts,
deserve more than a passing mention; but, trusting that he, like every
dog, will have his day, I will here only transcribe a letter of his
that he wrote with the assistance of his friend, Arthur Sullivan, who,
attracted perhaps by the gifts above named, had kindly taken charge of
him during my temporary absence on the Continent. Poor dog! He is dead
now; so that there can be no indiscretion in publishing his bark and
its translation. The former is best given in its original setting.
The latter, purporting to be a "Translation of the foregoing by A.S.,"
runs as follows:--

"MY DEAR AND ESTEEMED MASTER,--My kind friend, Mr. Sullivan,
who pretends to be as fond of me as you are, has taken me away
from the enjoyment of a delicious mutton bone, in order to
answer your letter; and as I cannot find a pen to suit me
well, he is writing whilst I dictate. I was very low-spirited