DOG STORIES 129 



"I am black, but comely, 

 O ye daughters of Jerusalem, 

 As the tents of Kedar, 

 As the curtains of Solomon," 



has a more distinct meaning to me to-day than before I 

 learned to know the East, I scarcely dare confess to hav- 

 ing felt a momentary disappointment in the matter of 

 complexions when I once emerged from a burial of sev- 

 eral weeks among Orientals, far from the contact of 

 whites. That the disajipointment was due to the fact 

 that I came out upon a lot of unwashed humanity, and 

 that on a white skin dirt sits less gracefully than on a 

 brown one, in nowise alters the captivating quality of the 

 dark-hued women of the far East. 



All of which reminds me of a story. I find, as I grow 

 older, that I am more and more frequently reminded of a 

 story, I hold the dangerous tendency in check ; I shorten 

 the curb-chain by a link ; but the tendency will now and 

 then shy at some statement made in perfect innocence, 

 and give a mad plunge off in the direction of a story. 

 And ni}^ gripe on the rein is more lax than of old. It is 

 not my fault, it is your misfortune; I am incapable of 

 kicking a supposititious canine under the table in order to 

 tell a good dog story, but this one must out. 



Many years ago, down in Eichmond, I was standing 

 with a friend at his doorway while he gave instructions 

 to an old colored servant. There chanced to pass one of 

 the beauties of the city — and there were beauties in those 

 da3^s. We both took off our hats, courtesy in our atti- 

 tude, admiration in our hearts, " Isn't she a beauty ?" 

 said I, '•^IsnH she a beauty ?" echoed he. " Just isn't she. 

 Uncle Jed ?" said my friend. " Miss Ellen's a mighty fine 

 leddy," responded the old servitor, in a deferential but 

 somewhat hesitating tone, "Why, what do you mean. 



