startled by what appeared to be the balloon from Hayes Valley drifting
rapidly past my conservatory, closely followed by the Newfoundland dog.
I rushed to the front door, but was anticipated by my wife. A
strange lady appeared at lunch, but the phenomenon remained otherwise
unaccounted for. Egress from my residence is much more easy. My guests
seldom "stand upon the order of their going, but go at once"; the
Newfoundland dog playfully harassing their rear. I was standing one day,
with my hand on the open hall door, in serious conversation with the
minister of the parish, when the back door was cautiously opened.
The watchful breeze seized the opportunity, and charged through the
defenceless passage. The front door closed violently in the middle of
a sentence, precipitating the reverend gentleman into the garden.
The Newfoundland dog, with that sagacity for which his race is so
distinguished, at once concluded that a personal collision had taken
place between myself and visitor, and flew to my defence. The reverend
gentleman never called again.
The Newfoundland dog above alluded to was part of a system of protection
which my suburban home once required. Robberies were frequent in the
neighborhood, and my only fowl fell a victim to the spoiler's art. One
night I awoke, and found a man in my room. With singular delicacy and
respect for the feelings of others, he had been careful not to awaken
any of the sleepers, and retired upon my rising, without waiting for any
suggestion. Touched by his delicacy, I forbore giving the alarm
until after he had made good his retreat. I then wanted to go after
a policeman, but my wife remonstrated, as this would leave the house
exposed. Remembering the gentlemanly conduct of the burglar, I suggested
the plan of following him and requesting him to give the alarm as he
went in town. But this proposition was received with equal disfavor. The
next day I procured a dog and a revolver. The former went off, but the
latter wouldn't. I then got a new dog and chained him, and a duelling
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