ing Eusebius? You can put two and two
together as well as most people. The dog had no collar. Oh, oh! thought
you--the master of so fine a dog would have collar and chain, too, for
him. This fellow must have stolen him--it is my duty (your virtuous
duty, indeed) to rescue this fine creature, and perchance save this
wretched man from such wicked courses. So thus you proceed--you look
indignant, and accost the soldier, "Holloa, you fellow--whose dog's
that?" Soldier--"What's that to you?" Eusebius--"What's the name of your
captain, that I may instantly appeal to him on the subject?" Soldier
alarmed--"I beg your honour's pardon, but the dog followed me. I don't
know to whom he belongs." What made you, then, so particularly enquire
where he came from, and whereabouts he met with him? Your virtue
whispered to you, "Ask these questions, that you may be able to find out
the owner." Another imp whispered, "It might be useful." So you seize
the rope, lecture the man upon the enormity of his intentions, quietly
take the dog to your stable, and walk away with, as you flatter
yourself, the heartfelt satisfaction of having saved a fellow-creature
from the commission of a theft. To do you justice, you did, I verily
believe, for two whole days make decent enquiries, and _endeavour_, if
that be not too strong a word--_endeavour_ to find out the owner. But at
the close of every day question Rover himself; and questioning Rover led
you to look into each other's faces--and so you liked Rover's looks, and
Rover liked your looks--and when you said to Rover, I should like to
know who your master is? Rover looked with all his eyes, as much as to
say, "Well now, if ever I heard the like of that! If my name is Rover,
yours must be Bouncer"--then you patted him for a true and truth-telling
dog; and he wagged his tail, and looked again at you, till you perfectly
mesmerized each other, and understood each other, and he acknowledged
that you, and no other, could be his master--and so you mastered him,
and he mastered your conscience--and then you and your conscience began
to have a parley. I fear you had sent her to a bad boarding-school, and
had just brought her home for the holidays, with a pretty many more
niceties and distinctions than she took with her--and had come back
"more nice than wise." "Have you found the owner?" quoth she. "It is
time he were found," replied you. "Why?" quoth she. "Because," you
rejoin, "the shooting season is fast appr