
KIDD’S OWN JOURNAL. 


PASSAGES IN THE LIFE OF A DOG.—No. V. 
BY ONE OF THAT SUFFERING RACE. 
(Continued from Page 299.) 

And pressed her hand—that lingering press 
Of hands, that for the last time sever ; 
Of hearts, whose pulse of happiness, 
When that hold breaks, is dead for ever. 
Tom Moor. 
OUR FRIEND, ‘ FINO” (like yourself, my dear 
Mr. Editor), seems to be a jolly fellow. Like 
some few of the human race, he has been 
born for, and to pleasure, while my lot has 
been cast on a perfect sea of troubles,—where, 
when I had weathered the storm myself, I 
was compelled to witness others in distress. 
The Major called inthe morning; and I, as 
usual, ran by the side of “ Neptune,” to 
welcome him as he entered the room. But 
how different was our reception! How 
altered was the man! No word for either. 
His heart was full. He put his hand on 
‘‘ Neptune’s” head, and tried to smile on me. 
But I could see that some great grief op- 
pressed him, and I ran to Miss Emily, 
thinking she was the most likely person to 
explain the cause. Looking in her face, and 
in those of my master and mistress, I read 
the same wonder exhibited as to what could 
have caused the light-hearted, high-spirited 
Major to be so depressed—so pensive. We 
had not long to wait for a solution of this 
apparent mystery. After silently shaking 
hands with Mr. and Mrs. Vandelour, and 
while in the act of doing so with Miss Emily, 
he dropped upon his knee ; and kissing that 
fair hand a thousand times in rapid suc- 
cession, he told her that he had received 
commands to join his regiment on receipt; 
and that he was ordered to sail in three days 
from that date, for service in India. 
Now, although present on most of these 
occasions, I am not going to tell you all the 
loving converse, protestations of eternal 
fidelity, &c., &c., that took place between 
my dear young mistress and the Major, 
before \parting. Nor how he scorned the 
idea when suggested to him, as a common 
occurrence with gentlemen under such 
circumstances, of exchanging his commission. 
The answer he made to Captain Decimal, 
when he suggested this idea to him, was 
worthy of a Wellington. Holding up his left 
hand, he read the inscription on a signet 
ring he wore—“ swaviter in modo, et fortiter in 
re.” This, he said, looking the captain full 
in the face, being literally translated, meant 
“a soldier and a gentleman;” and he 
considered the man who had too much of 
either, was unworthy a commission in Her 
Majesty’s service. 
Mr. Vandelour complimented him on the 
nobleness of his nature; and | am sure, from 
the sweet pensive smile, and bright, flashing 




eye of Miss Emily, that he did not suffer in 
her estimation. The same day a brother 
officer read a communication he had received 
from the Horse Guards, to this effect: 
‘‘ Field-Marshal the Duke of Wellington’s 
compliments to Captain , and he must 
either sell or sail.” 
That evening the Major joined his regiment 
at Portsmouth ; and a dull evening it was at 
our house. Weallmissedhim. ‘“ Neptune” 
lay by the side of the room door, as though 
expecting him; and would not quit his post, 
even for the tempting morsel offered him 
from the dinner-table. Miss Emily opened 
the piano, ran over an air or two, and tried 
to sing. But he was not there to sing to. 
The harp was indeed unstrung! Had you, 
my dear Mr. Editor, known her, methinks 
that some of your remarks (as read to me by 
my doctor from Our JOURNAL), touching 
the want of affection, would have been more 
tempered; and you would have been com- 
pelled to admit that the love of an English- 
woman can be as warm, aud as sincere as 
that of any nation under Heaven’s canopy, 
be it Spanish or Italian. [Oh, yes, CHARLIE. 
Some Englishwomen have a heart—a very 
tender, loving heart. We cut at the “ fools- 
cap outsides,’—not at the feelings within, of 
the choice few. ] | 

In the morning we went out for awalk. I 
ran and barked; then I jumped up to Miss 
Emily’s hand, for her to throw a stone for 
me to run after. But she was dull, and did 
not even noticeme. ‘ Neptune,”’ too, on all 
former occasions, was scarcely out of the door 
before the whole parade rang with his joyous 
“Bow! wow! wow!” To-day, he walked 
out just like one of those men that I have 
seen striding along by the side of a mourning- 
coach, with a long stick in his hand; and all 
my attempts to get him to play with me were 
useless. I bit his legs, jumped up at his 
nose, pulled at his tail, (which hung down 
between his legs); but all to no purpose. 
He walked on, in what I thought was sullen 
silence. I knew not what dangers an otficer 
encounters when on active service. But 
‘“‘Nep’”’ had been in the mess-room scores of 
times, when his master’s brothers-in-arms 
had recounted the privations, fatigue, and 
hair-breadth ’scapes they had experienced in 
the Peninsular war;—and therefore he was 
sad. 
Our party, of course, met several friends 
during the walk, one of whom had with her 
a little acquaintance of mine. Glad of the 
opportunity to find some one alive, and fond 
of a bit of fun, he and I had a famous 
scamper after one another. On resuming 
our walk, ‘ Neptune’? was nowhere to be 
seen. He was gone, no one knew whither. 
The same course was adopted as was used to 
find me when I was lost. But even the 
