Produced by Nick Hodson of London, England
Aileen Aroon, A MemoirWith other Tales of Faithful Friends and FavouritesBy Gordon StablesPublished by S.W. Partridge & Co., 9 Paternoster Row, London.This edition dated 1884.
Aileen Aroon, A Memoir, by Gordon Stables.
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________________________________________________________________________AILEEN AROON, A MEMOIR, BY GORDON STABLES.
PREFACE.
Prefaces are not always necessary; but when an author has either toacknowledge a courtesy, or to make an apology, then a preface becomes aduty. I have to do both.
Firstly, then, as regards acknowledgment. I have endeavoured in thisbook to give sketches--as near to nature as a line could be drawn--of afew of my former friends and favourites in the animal world, and many ofthese have appeared from time to time in the magazines and periodicals,to which I have the honour to contribute.
I have to thank, then, the good old firm of Messrs. Chambers, ofEdinburgh, for courteously acceding to my request to be allowed torepublish "My Cabin Mates and Bedfellows," and "Blue-Jackets' Pets,"from their world-known Journal.
I have also to thank Messrs. Cassell and Co., London, for there-appearance herein of several short stories I wrote for their charmingmagazine _Little Folks_, on the pages of which, by the way, the sunnever sets.
Mr Dean, one of my publishers, kindly permitted me to reprint the storyof my dead-and-gone darling "Tyro," and the story of "Blucher." Thisgentleman I beg to thank. I have also to thank Messrs. Routledge andSon for a little tale from my book, "The Domestic Cat."
Nor must I forget to add that I have taken a few sketches, though nocomplete tales, from some of my contributions to that queen ofperiodicals yclept _The Girl's Own Paper_, to edit which successfully,requires as much skill and taste, as an artist displays in the cullingand arrangement of a bouquet of beautiful flowers.
With the exception of these tales and sketches, all else in the book isoriginal, and, I need hardly add, painted from the life.
Secondly, as regards apology. The wish to have, in a collected form,the life-stories of the creatures one has loved; to have, as it were,the graves of the pets of one's past life arranged side by side, issurely only natural; no need to apologise for that, methinks. But,reader, I have to apologise, and I do so most humbly, for the toofrequent appearance of the "_ego_" in this work.
I have had no wish to be autobiographical, but my own life has been asintimately mixed up with the lives of the creatures that have called me"master," as is the narrow yellow stripe, in the tartan plaid of theScottish clan to which I belong. And so I crave forgiveness.
Gordon Stables.
_Gordon Grove, Twyford, Berks_.
CHAPTER ONE.
PROLOGISTIC.
Scene: A lofty pine wood, from which can be caught distant glimpses ofthe valley of the Thames. "Aileen Aroon," a noble Newfoundland, hasthrown herself down by her master's side. All the other dogs at play inthe wood.
Aileen's master (_speaks_): "And so you have come and laid yourself downbeside me, Aileen, and left your playmates every one? left yourplaymates roaming about among the trees, while you stay here by me?
"Yes, you may put your head on my knee, dear, honest Aileen, or yourchin at all events, for you yourself, old girl, have no idea of theweight of your whole head. No, Aileen, thank you, not a paw as well;you are really attempting now to take the advantage of my good nature.So be content, `Sable' [Note 1]--my good, old, silly, simple Sable.There, I smooth your bonnie brow to show you that the words `old' and`silly' are truly terms of endearment, and meant neither as a scoff atyour age, nor to throw disparagement upon the amount or quality of yourintellect. Intellect? Who could glance for a single moment at thatsplendid head of yours, my Aileen, and doubt it to be the seat of awisdom almost human, and of a benevolence that might easily put many ofour poor fallen race to shame. And so I smooth your bonnie brow thus,and thus. But now, let us understand each other, Aileen. We must havedone with endearments for a little time. For beautiful though the daybe, blue the sky, and bright the sunshine, I really have come out hereto the quiet woods to work. It is for that very purpose I have seatedmyself beneath this great tree, the branches of which are close andthick enough to defend us against yonder shower, that comes floating upthe valley of the Thames, if indeed it can ever reach this height, mySable.
"No noisy school children, no village cries to disturb and distract onehere, and scatter his half-formed ideas to the winds, or banish his bestthoughts to the shades of oblivion. Everything is still around us,everything is natural; the twittering of the birds, the dreamy hum ofinsect life, the sweet breath of the fir-trees, combine to calm the mindand conduce to thought.
"Why do I not come and romp and play? you ask. I cannot explain to youwhy. There _are_ some things, Aileen, that even the vast intellect of aNewfoundland cannot comprehend; the electric telegraph, for instance,the telephone, and why a man must work. You do not doubt the existenceof what you do not understand, however, my simple Sable. We poor mortalmen do. What a thing faith is even in a Newfoundland!
"No, Sable, I must work. Here look, is proof of the fifteenth chapterof my serial tale, copy of the sixteenth must go to town with that. Inthis life, Aileen, one must keep ahead of the printer. This is allGreek to you, is it? Well then, for just one minute I will talk to youin language that you do understand.
"There, you know what I mean, don't you, when I fondle your ear, andsmooth it and spread it over my note-book? What a great ear it is,Aileen! No, I positively refuse to have that paw on my knee in additionto your head. Don't be offended, I know you love me. There, put backthat foot on the grass.
"Yes, Aileen, it _was_ very good of you, I admit, to leave your fan andyour romps, and come and lay your dear kindly head on my lap. The otherdogs prefer to play. Even `Theodore Nero,' your husband, is tumbling onthe ground on that broad back of his, with his four immense legspointing skywards, and his whole body convulsed with merriment. Thethree collies are in chase of a hare, the occasional excited yelp thatis borne along on the breeze can tell us that; we pray they may not meetthe keeper. The Dandie Dinmont is hidden away in the dark depths of arabbit burrow, and the two wiry wee Scotch terriers are eagerly watchingthe hole 'gainst the rabbit bolts.
"Fun and romps did I say, Aileen? Alas! dear doggie, these are hardlythe words to apply to your little games, for you seldom play or rompwith much heart, greatly though it rejoices me to see you lively. Youseldom play with much heart, mavourneen, and when you do play, you seembut to play to please me and you tire all too soon. I know you have adeep sorrow at your heart, for you lost your former master, Aileen, andyou are not likely to forget him. There always is a sad look in thosehazel eyes of yours, and forgive me for mentioning it, but you areturning very grey around the lips. Your bright saucy-eyed husbandyonder is three years older than you, Sable, and he isn't grey. But,Aileen, I know something that you don't know, poor pet, for I'm verylearned compared to you. The seeds of that terrible disease, phthisis,are in your blood, I fear, and will one day take you from me, and I'llhave to sit and write under this tree--alone. I'm talking Greek again,am I? It is as well, Aileen, it should be Greek to you. Why do my eyesget a trifle moist, you seem to ask me. Never mind. There! the sadthoughts have all flown away for a time, but, my dear, loving dog, whenyou have gone to sleep at last and for ever, I'll find a quiet corner tolay your bones in, and--I'll write your story. Yes, I promise you that,and it is more than any one will ever do for me, Aileen.
"Don't sigh like that. You have a habit of sighing, you tell me. Verywell, so be it, but I thought at first that it was the wind s
oughingthrough this old pine-tree of ours. Yes, _ours_--yours and mine,Aileen. Now, _do_ let me work. See, I'll put my note-book close toyour great nose, and your chin shall touch my left hand; you can lie soand gaze all the time in my face. That will help me materially. Butby-and-by you'll fall asleep and dream, and I'll have to wake you,because you'll be giving vent to a whole series of littleventriloquistic barks and sobs and sighs, and I will not know whetheryou are in pain or whether your mind is but reverting to--
"`Visions of the chase, Of wild wolves howling over hills of snow, Slain by your stalwart fathers, long ago.'"
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Note 1. The subject of this memoir was called `Sable' before she cameinto my possession. She is well remembered by all lovers of the trueNewfoundland, as Sable One of the show