I named him Carry.

That dog, his qualities and virtues, and especially his musical gifts, deserve more than a pa.s.sing 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 a.s.sistance 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 publis.h.i.+ng 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 the other day after leaving you, and appeared to feel the parting very much, but it soon wore off under the influence of biscuit, bones, and kindness; indeed, I must do Sully and his family the justice to say that they try to do the utmost to make me happy and comfortable, although they don't always succeed, for sometimes I appear dissatisfied (hoping, _entre-nous_, by that means to get more out of them).

"I have several idiosyncrasies and failings, of which my master (_pro tem._) is trying to correct me, but finds it rather hard work, for I am not so easily brought out of them.

I have a will of my own, but Sully says: 'Train up a dog in the way it should go, and he will not depart, &c., &c.'--and Sully is right.

"Don't you think it is a bad plan to wash me with soap? I think it deters me from licking my skin, and consequently from having those ideas of cleanliness engendered within me which are so necessary to every well-bred dog moving in good society!

"I want to get back to my bone, but Sully says I must first deliver a message from him. You are to give his love to your dear parents (in which I heartily join), and tell them how grieved he was that he did not see them to wish them 'G.o.d speed' before they left England, and how it hurt him to think that a long, long time would perhaps elapse before he should see them again.

"And now, my dear master, I must say 'Good-bye.' Much love in few words, in which Sully joins me.

"Believe me, ever your

"Attached and faithful dog,

[Ill.u.s.tration: Carry

X

his mark]

"F. MOSCHELES, Esq."

And now I come to du Maurier's last letter--the best, as I am sure every right-minded person will admit. I have kept it "pour la bonne bouche" (excuse my quoting French. "Will me not of it," as our neighbours say; there are una.s.sailable precedents for such quoting, you know--or ought to know). The letter in question speaks of an event so momentous, that of all events it is the one most worthy to "be marked with a white, white stone"; and marked it was, if not with a stone, with satins and laces and a veil and white orange blossoms.

"Come and be introduced to the future Mrs. Kicky," it said. "She intends to celebrate her 21st birthday by a small dance. There will be friends and pretty girls, 'en veux tu, en viola.' So rek-lect, olf'lah, Tuesday, at half-past seven."

[Ill.u.s.tration]

The drawing shows how I was introduced, and how graciously I was received.

The letter needs a word of explanation, as it speaks of the "future Mrs. 'Kicky,'" and I have not yet mentioned that Kicky was but another name for du Maurier. He got it at an early period of his life. Just as any other baby less favoured by "Dame Fortune the witch" would have done, he gave himself his nickname. He picked it up in Brussels when he was two years old, and under the care of Flemish servants. They called him "Mannekin" (little man), and that he converted into "Kicky." I append one of the numerous varieties of his signature.

[Ill.u.s.tration: Kick]

The Rag, Tag, and Bobtail had its day, and was shelved soon after we bid adieu to Bohemia; but the Kicky survived and flourished, and to-day not only his old chums, but those nearest and dearest to him, feel that they could not do without that particular appellation, a.s.sociated as it is with a thousand and one happy memories.

And having arrived at that busiest of stations, the Matrimonial Junction, where the converted bachelor alights and changes for Better or for Worse, this chapter fitly comes to a close, meant as it was only to sketch some of the pleasant recollections that I, in common with so many of his friends, have of du Maurier's bachelor days.