
KIDD’S OWN JOURNAL. 299 
half-bred, half-starved little animal, who, 
strange to say, followed us quietly—as if it 
belonged to our party. 
I was now handed to another man, who 
immediately rolled me up ina cloth; bending 
my neck in such a manner that I could not 
cry loud enough for a person standing close 
by to hear me. How soon Rosa discovered 
that I was metamorphosed into a common 
cur, | know not; nor what took place on her 
arrival at home; nor how she explained the 
manner of my abduction. But I had scarcely 
been examined, and the address on my collar 
read, before the little actor who had taken 
my place an hour ago, came scampering into 
the room. The next thing was to fasten 
me up in one corner; and now the bull-dog 
came as docile as a lamb, and laid down by 
my side. 
“Now for the crib!” said the shabby- 
genteel man to his accomplice, a fresh-water 
sailor, dressed in a pilot cloak. 
They then both began to unbosom and 
disgorge their plunder. The one had a lady’s 
gold watch and guard in his breast. The 
other a porte mondie, and a massive cable- 
like Albert chain in his cap. This last, after 
the application of a liquid they had ina small 
bottle, was condemned as “ brummagem.” 
I need scarcely observe, that the watch 
and chain were Rosa’s; and that the Albert 
and purse belonged to some looker-on, when 
the monster actor was playing his part and 
pretending to worry me. My loss was 
immediately announced at the police-station ; 
and a full description given of my color, 
name, &c.; as also of the way in which I was 
stolen. But they held out no hope of my 
recovery to poor Rosa, who was of course in 
a sad way about it. However, while she 
was gone to the station, a lady who had 
lost her dog, and recovered it by paying 
£10, called on my mistress and volunteered 
to introduce her to the gentleman who had 
kindly transacted the “treaty of restore- 
ment” for her. To his place of business they 
accordingly went. It was in a fashionable 
part of the town; and it was the depét for the 
sale of almost everything that money could 
be made out of. Moreover, he was a sort of 
agent to a fashionable tailor. 
My mistress observed, that she thought it 
strange a respectable tradesman such as Mr. 
Parson appeared to be, should be able to do 
more to recover her stolen dog than any 
other honest man. But desperation often 
makes even the most timid speak out. So, 
after an introduction, she told Mr. Parson 
the manner in which I was stolen, &c., &c. ; 
and asked him, as a particular favor, to assist 
her in my recovery. She remarked that she 
did not mind what amount it cost; but she 
must have her dog again, or Miss Emily 
would break her heart. 


The respectable old gentleman hereupon 
bowed; and witha bland smile said, that 
although it was much against his principles 
to encourage dog-stealing by paying rewards 
to these desperate vagabonds,—yet, to oblige 
her, and the lady who had introduced her, 
he would endeavor to find the villains’ den, 
and restore her dog as soon as possible. 
That very night one of Mr. Parson’s men 
came to the house where I was, saw, and 
identified me ; he gave the shabby gentleman 
£3, and took me to his house. Thence, in 
the morning, I was taken to the shop for 
Mr. P. to see, and fix a price upon me. This 
was soon done; and the man was despatched 
with a polite note, stating, that by paying the 
exorbitant demand (£10), asked by the dog- 
stealer, he had arranged to recover Mrs. 
Vandelour’s dog. Mr. P.added, he sincerely 
hoped he should soon be able to bring the 
scoundrel to justice. 
With one bound, I jumped out of the 
man’s arms into those of my dear young 
mistress. The £10 was paid; and we were 
all too happy at meeting again ever to care 
or even think “ who” pocketed the £7, over 
and above what the thief received ! 
This is a splendid morning for a ramble; 
so lam just going with Dr. Kent into the 
park. 1 will tell you more of my troubles 
and pleasures anon. With kindest love to 
dear Fino, and yourself (of course), I remain, 
yours as ever, 
November 11th. CHARLIE. 
KINDNESS, BETTER THAN BEAUTY. 

My love is not a beauty 
To other eyes than mine; 
Her curls are not the fairest, 
Her eyes are not divine: 
Nor yet like rose-buds parted 
Her lips of love may be; 
But though she’s not a beauty, 
She’s dear as one to me. 
Her neck is far from swan-like, 
Her bosom unlike snow ; 
Nor walks she like a deity 
This breathing world below: 
Yet there’s a light of happiness 
Within, which all may see ; 
And though she’s not a beauty, 
She’s dear as one to me. 
I would not give the kindness, 
The grace that dwells in her, 
For all that Cupid’s blindness 
In others might prefer ! 
I would not change her sweetness 
For pearls of any sea ; 
For better far than beauty 
Is ONE KIND HEART TO ME. 
CHARLES SwaAIN. 

