affairs, to find this bold bad man plotting some
unholy deed. We had no fair data to go on, but
we could see from the scowl and general
deportment of Lesparre, that something was rankling
in his breast.

It came to the Forest itself—the depths of
the Forest—a very flat scene, which came from
the right and left and joined in the middle;
and at the same moment, to impart a sense of
coming horrors, the lights went down to a
degree that hindered all view of what was going
forward. And yet there was an artfulness in
this enforced obscurity, for otherwise would
have been revealed—at least, I now feel an
instinct of this description—a cottage and
garden in the distance, with other objects wholly
inconsistent with the depths of a forest. The
mists of years rise up between me and that
lonely and sequestered place; yet still I faintly
recal that we were present at the deed of blood.
The fact is, all gave way before the overpowering
interest of the scene that followed, still
vividly imprinted, even to the minutest particulars:
the scene of the Midnight Cottage, with a
real green door, and a real garden gate, and a
bell, and general obscurity.

What was it that made our heart leap so?
Not the skipping grasshopper music which was
now being "made" in the orchestra, suggestive
of spasmodic walking, and which had somehow
a strangely oppressive effect,—not the silent and
deserted aspect of the village hamlet (the
proprietors of the green gate and bell being locked
in profound slumber), not the breathless
expectancy of the House, but the distant bark or
"baying" (most exquisite music!) of the DOG
(induced by pressure on his tail) heard
behind! At that sound a strange physical
impulse of rising and sitting down again in our
places took possession of us—a pleasing yet
disquieting restlessness—with an idea that force
would be requisite to keep us down in our
places. Every eye was strained to the wing.
And here, with a sort of joyous canter, his
mouth open, and a great red tongue lolling good
humouredly out, as the habit of Newfoundland
dogs is, entered the renowned dog Cæsar.

At last! Splendid creature, so noble, so grand,
so massive. Black and white all over, shaggy,
with his tail in a hairy and insolent cornucopia,
and his hair, ears, and general person, swinging
about him as he walked. We burst into a tumult
of delight as he jogged across, utterly indifferent
to the lights and intelligent audience who were
regarding his movements, and, oh! wonder of
wonders, reared himself on his hind-legs at the
green gate, took a cord in his mouth, and rang
the bell—at least appeared to perform that
function. For how were we to know that the cord
had been artfully rubbed with some substance of a
rich and savoury nature (it may have been
dripping), or that the bell was rung behind, by no
other hand than that of his master, the wicked
Lesparre! But wait. There was more to come.

To him opens the green gate a domestic of
the house, plainly roused from slumber, with a
familiar bed-chamber candlestick in her hand.
She looks round with inquiry for the human
hand that, of course, has rung, and at last sees
the faithful and intelligent animal at her feet.
But mark what follows. The faithful and
intelligent animal (on unseen invitation from the
base Lesparre) seizes the familiar candlestick in
his mouth, and ambles off with it (still lighted),
all his coat swinging and shaking about him.
Just at the end he stops a second (the base
Lesparre has got round in time) and looks round
over his shoulder by way of invitation, which
motion has set the candle all awry, and has nearly
lighted up his own tail—and then exit. Delightful
creature!

It was only natural that on the disappearance
of the noble Aubrey in the Forest of Bondy,
something in the nature of an investigation
should be set on foot. Was it the Colonel that
took the matter up? Suspicion someway
lighted on the vile Lesparre, whose deportment,
lowering, surly, and with a general tendency
to folded arms when questioned, did seem to
fortify the impression abroad. Why linger
over details? He is tried before some irregular
tribunal; the case breaks down. Already
there is an air of triumphant villany on his
lips; when hark! once more to the familiar
note at the side. The officers of the court look
out anxiously in that direction; a lane is opened;
and in comes, bounding, scampering, and his
great red mouth opened with frightful ferocity,
the noble DOG, making straight for the wretched
criminal. The wretched criminal was seen to
lift his two hands to his throat, no doubt for its
protection (but in the days of later scepticism
I knew it was actual invitation to the animal to
attach itself promptly), and then followed a
most distressing scene. The wretched criminal,
when he found the dog was securely fixed in his
handkerchief, sloped his back inward, held his
arms out, as if in the natural agony of the
moment, and began to turn round and round.
The noble dog held on firmly, and by the motion
was swung out in the air. Rounds of tumultuous
applause from all sides. Still, strange to
say, none of the court, or even of the soldiers
in cocked-hats who were standing by, interfered,
but all seemed anxious to allow canine justice to
take its course. Finally, without apparent reason,
the strength of the vile Lesparre gave way, and
he tottered to the ground, while the noble brute
got over him and burrowed at his throat, and
barked furiously, and at the same time wagged
the cornucopia,—although as if in apparent
satisfaction. At the end of all, the music braying
on mournfully, the green curtain slided
down in sad folds; the members of the court
formed in an exact semicircle round the dog and
the vile Lesparre, now almost exhausted; and,
with feelings of alarm and terror, we saw the
soldiers in the cocked-hats pointing their
muskets with deadly aim at the prostrate form
of the murderer of Aubrey!

As the curtain fell, a feeling of deep grief
settled on us, that we were never more to see the
renowned dog, and that we were, as it were,
parted from him for ever. But the audience began