... We have another "dogue."... Trouvé is the name of Hector's successor. 'Cos for why, we found him locked up in one of the barrack rooms, when I was with Rex on one of his inspections. He is a "left behind" either of the 1st Battalion 22nd, or the 4th Battalion 60th Rifles, we do not know which. He has utterly taken to us, and is especially fond of me I think. He is a big, black fellow, between a Newfoundland and a retriever. In the "Sweep" line, but not so big. He is wonderfully graceful and well-mannered (barring a trifling incident yesterday, when he got into my little cupboard, ate about two pounds of cheese and all the rolls, and snuffed the butter). And another trifling occurrence to-day. We chained him to the sofa, which, during our absence, he dragged (exactly as the dogs dragged Mons. Jabot's bed) across the room, upset the ink on to the carpet, threw my photo-book down by it, and established himself in Rex's arm-chair. It was most ludicrous, for the other day he slipped his collar, and chose the sofa to lie on, but because he was tied to the sofa, with full permission to use it, he chose the chair! and must nearly have lugged his own head off. He does wonderfully little damage with his pranks; there were wine-glasses, bottles, pickles, &c., in the cupboard when he got the cheese; but he extracted his supper as daintily as a cat, and not a thing was upset! Oddly enough, when we are with him, he never thinks of getting into cushions and chairs like that blessed old sybarite the Bull-dogue. But if we leave him tied up, he plays old gooseberry with the furniture. I had been fearing it would be rather a practical difficulty in the way of his adoption, the question of where he should sleep; but he solved it for himself. He walks up-stairs after us, flops on to the floor, gives two or three sighs, and goes gracefully to sleep.... I wish you could have seen him lying in perverse dignity in the arm-chair, with the sofa attached to the end of his chain like a locket!!!

To H.K.F.G.

12th Sunday after Trinity.
Fredericton, N.B. August 16, 1869.

... We had a great scene with Peter yesterday. Rex has two guns, you must know—a rifle, and an old fowling-piece—good enough in its way, but awfully old-fashioned (not a breech-loader), and he determined to make old Peter a present of this, for he is a good old fellow, and does not cheat one, and we had resolved to give him something, and we knew this would delight him. I wish you could have seen him. He burst out laughing, and laughed at intervals from pure pleasure, and went away with it laughing. But with the childlike enjoyment (which negroes have also), the Indians have a power and grace in "expressing their sentiments" on such an occasion which far exceeds the attempts of our "poor people," and is most dignified. His first speech was an emphatic (and always slow) "Too good! Too much!" and when Rex assured him it was very old, not worth anything, etc., etc., he hastily interrupted him with a thoroughly gentlemanlike air, almost Grandisonian, "Oh! oh! as good as new to me. Quite as good as new." They were like two Easterns! For not to be outdone in courtesy, Rex warned him not to put too large charges of powder for fear the barrel should burst—being so old. A caution which I believe to be totally unnecessary, and a mere hyperbole of depreciation—as Peter seemed perfectly to understand! He told me it was "The first present I ever receive from a gentleman. Well—well—I never forget it, the longest day I live." The graceful candour with which he said, "I am very thankful to you," was quite pretty.

To Mrs. Gatty.

[Aldershot.] February 23, 1870.

My Darling Mother,

I was by no means sensible of your iniquities in not acknowledging my poor Neck,[35] for I had entirely forgotten his very existence! Only I was thinking it was a long time since I heard from you—and hoping you were not ill. I am very glad you like the Legend—I was doubtful, and rather anxious to hear till I forgot all about it. The "Necks" are Scandinavian in locality, and that desire for immortal life which is their distinguishing characteristic is very touching. There is one lovely little (real) Legend in Keightley. The bairns of a Pastor play with a Neck one day, and falling into disputes they taunt him that he will never be saved—on which he flings away his harp and weeps bitterly. When the boys tell their father he reproves them for their want of charity, and sends them back to unsay what they had said. So they run back and say, "Dear Neck, do not grieve so; for our father says that your Redeemer liveth also," on which the Neck was filled with joy, and sat on a wave and played till the sun went down. He appeared like a boy with long fair hair and a red cap. They also appear in the form of a little old man wringing out his beard into the water. I ventured to give my Neck both shapes according to his age. All the rest is de moi-même....

[35] The Neck in "Old-fashioned Fairy Tales."