"Speak," he would gather himself up, simulate
a certain ferocity, and finally deliver himself
of a startling bark in a full deep key. Or, he
would be shown, say a glove, or a whip, or other
portable article capable of being conveniently
carried in his mouth, and would be then brought
away down into the street, round the corner, up
past the square, for a quarter of a mile or more.
His demeanour during this interval would be of
a strange and mysterious sort; for he would
walk with his great black eyes fixed steadily, and
with a painfully earnest expression, on the face
of the party directing the experiment. To smile,
or even allow a muscle to stir, was fatal; he
instantly interpreted it as a signal of acquiescence,
and was off and away, bounding along in a sort of
heavy gallop, his tongue lolling out, his great ears
swinging like saddle-bags, and the momentum
of his progress clearly dangerous to unguarded
passers-by. The door being left open, he would
come tearing up-stairs, dash in rudely and
boisterously, seize the article, and disappear. It was
dangerous to play any trick with him on these
occasions, for he felt that it was a question of
character, and he allowed no consideration to
stand between him and duty. The flat candlestick
was once tried to be palmed on him by an
artifice—an insult which he resented by withdrawing
himself from all friendly intercourse with
the family for the space of nearly a day and a
night.

The hours of joy and social entertainment I
spent in the society of this noble creature are not
to be described. He was positively a second
brother to me; and I hope I shall not be
considered wanting in fraternal love, if I say that I
believe his mental powers were, if anything,
more developed than those of my first brother.
Our walks were delightful. In the house he
enjoyed universal respect, as a sensible, well-
bred, kind, generous, high-souled gentleman, who
would not descend to a mean action for the world.
From the housemaids, especially, not a breath
ever came to tarnish his good name. His
memory is still green, and——Ah! his memory!
I must come to that now.

It fell out in this way. It was a Saturday night,
and extensive painting operations, carried on
diligently through the whole week, were at last
concluded. The house was fresh and resplendent,
and we felt a natural pride in its glory. I
recollect that Saturday so well! We went to bed;
but I remember being awakened with a start,
and finding the butler, in his waistcoat, standing
over me with a lighted candle. "Hush, Master
Jack," he said. "Get up and come down. Poor
Cæsar! The poor dog!" I started up, and was
dressed in a moment. "Hush, Master Jack!
Don't let the mistress hear." "And what is it?"
said I, very agitated. "Oh, he's bad, he's very
bad I'm afraid——"

We hurried down and crossed the yard to the
wooden tenement where poor Cæsar usually
resided. The butler carried the candle—one of
thc old, old objectionable flat candlesticks. As
we came near, we heard mournful and piteous
groans, and there, at his kennel door, was
stretched out helplessly—his noble flank heaving
distressfully—his head rising and falling again
on the flags, with short gasps—the brave creature,
the dear dear dog, the gallant Cæsar!
"Those painters!" said the butler. "Some of
their stuff had got mixed with his food." "Call
up the house—fetch a doctor," I cried,
distractedly. The butler was a sombre man. He
shook his head. "In a few minutes he'll be
past that! the poor brute." I wept over him.
"See!" said the butler, holding down the candle.
The light fell upon his head, still working up
and down convulsively. I called to him
despairingly. "Cæsar! Good dog! Good fellow!
Poor Cæsar! Old fellow!" I was choking,
and here fairly burst out. "He don't know you,
Master Jack," said the butler, still holding down
the light. The large bright eyes were glazing very
fast, and the eyelids were dropping down quietly
over them. "Good dog!" I cried again, quite
hysterically. "Poor fellow! Don't you know
me? Dear old fellow, don't you?" The glazing
eyes gave no sign; but the large bushy tail,
which had been lying out quite straight and
limp, began to move ever so softly—the motion
was almost imperceptible, just as if a breeze was
stirring the hair a little. That grateful recognition
from the dying dog was inexpressibly sweet
to think of, long, long afterwards. And then
the butler, who was naturally a humane man,
took me away into the house.

This is the simple history of the Renowned
Dog Cæsar, once the property of the Delaval
Family.

                OUR OIL-FLASKS.

OIL? Of course every one knows what oil is.
Florence oil—for salads—comes from Florence
in those thin flasks always on one side, with a
wicker covering that never stands straight,
stoppered with cotton wool, or the blunt end of
the little straw tassel, when people are untidy
and put things to wrong uses;—comes out of the
olive-berry, those mouldy-looking green things,
all salt and oil, which one eats after dinner and
thinks very nasty, but daren't say so, and
doesn't know what to do with the stones, when
one is young and shy and not up to all the
nicenesses of table-manners. Surely there is
nothing so very particular about oil that one
need make an article out of it! And yet it has
some curious facts and circumstances connected
with it in its various appearances: quite curious
enough for a ten minutes' rapid reading in among
the graver tasks of the day.

There are two kinds of oils, the fixed or fatty,
and the volatile or essential. The first are
bland and mild to the taste, and, whether of
animal or vegetable origin, are all composed of
oxygen, hydrogen, and carbon, but with a large
proportion of carbon, which makes them good
for food and light. They are the chemists'
"oils," "tallows," and "butters." The second
are hot and pungent, chiefly used in perfumery
and as stimulants in medicine, and of a very