90 was tenanted by Mr. K----, an Anglo-German
who was deemed a very clever fellow at a certain London hospital, where
he was often occupied in vivisection. "'I dare say,' my friend went on to remark, 'K---- does a little
vivisecting in his private surgery, by way of practice, and--well, you
see, these foreign chaps are not so squeamish in some respects as we
are.' "'But can't he be stopped?' I asked. 'It is horrible, monstrous that he
should be allowed to murder our pets.' "'You don't know for certain that he has,' was the reply, 'you only
suppose so from what you say you saw, and evidence of that immaterial
nature is no evidence at all. No, you can do nothing except to be extra
careful in future, and if you have another dog make him steer clear of
No. 90 H---- Street.' "I was sensible enough to see that he was right, and the matter dropped. I soon noticed one thing, however, namely, that there were no more
pieces of meat temptingly displayed in the box, so it is just possible
K---- got wind of my enquiries, and thought it policy to desist from his
nefarious practices. "Poor Robert! To think of him suffering such a cruel and ignominious
death, and my being powerless to avenge it. Surely if vivisection is
really necessary, and the welfare of mankind cannot be advanced by any
less barbarous system, why not operate on creatures less deserving of
our love and pity than dogs? On creatures which whilst being nearer
allied to man in physiology and anatomy, are at the same time far below
the level of brute creation in character and disposition. "For example, why not experiment on wife-beaters and cowardly street
ruffians, and, one might reasonably add, on all those
pseudo-humanitarians who, by their constant petitions to Parliament for
the abolition of the lash, encourage every form of blackguardism and
bestiality?" This concludes the letter of correspondent No. 2, and with the sentiment
in the closing paragraphs I must say I heartily agree--only I should
like to add a few more people to the list. One other case of haunting of this type is taken from my same work. "One All Hallow E'en," wrote a Mrs. Sebuim, "I was staying with some
friends in Hampstead, and we amused ourselves by working spells, to
commemorate the night. There is one spell in which one walks alone down
a path sowing hempseed, and repeating some fantastic words; when one is
supposed to see those that are destined to come into one's life in the
near future. Eager to put this spell to the test, I went into the garden
by myself and, walking boldly along a path, bordered on each side by
evergreens, sprinkled hempseed lavishly. "Nothing happening, I was about to desist, when suddenly I heard a
pattering on the gravel, and turning round I beheld an ugly little
black-and-tan mongrel running towards me, wagging its stumpy tail. Not
at all prepossessed with the creature, for my own dogs are pure-bred,
and thinking it must have strayed into the grounds, I was about to
drive it out, and had put down my hand to prevent it jumping on my
dress, when, to my astonishment, it had vanished. It literally melted
away into fine air beneath my very eyes. Not knowing what to make of the
incident, but feeling inclined to attribute it to a trick of the
imagination, I rejoined my friends. I did not tell them what had
happened, although I made a memorandum of it in one of my innumerable
notebooks. Within six months of this incident I was greatly astonished
to find a dog, corresponding with the one I have just described, running
about on the lawn of my house in Bath. How the animal got there was a
complete mystery, and, what is stranger still, it seemed to recognize
me, for it rushed towards me, frantically wagging its diminutive tail. I
had not the heart to turn it away, as it seemed quite homeless, and so
the forlorn little mongrel was permitted to make its home in my
house--and a very happy home it proved to be. For three years all went
well, and then the end came swiftly and unexpectedly. I was in
Blackheath at the time, and the mongrel was in Bath. It was All Hallow
E'en, but there was no hempseed sowing, for no one in the house but
myself took the slightest interest in anything appertaining to the
superphysical or mystic. Eleven o'clock came, and I retired to rest; my
bed being one of those antique four-posters, hung with curtains that
shine crimson in the ruddy glow of a cheerful fire. All my preparations
complete, I had pulled back the hangings, and was about to slip in
between the sheets, when, to my unbounded amazement, what should I see
sitting on the counterpane but the black-and-tan mongrel. It was he
right enough, there could not be another such ugly dog, though, unlike
his usual self, he evinced no demonstrations of joy. On the contrary, he
appeared downright miserable. His ears hung, his mouth dropped, and his
bleared little eyes were watery and sad. "Greatly perplexed, if not alarmed, at so extraordinary a phenomenon, I
nevertheless felt constrained to put out my hand to comfort him--when,
as I had half anticipated, he immediately vanished. Two days later I
received a letter from Bath, and in a postscript I read that 'the
mongrel' (we never called it by any other name) 'had been run over and
killed by a motor, the accident occurring on All Hallow E'en, about
eleven o'clock.' 'Of course,' my sister wrote, 'you won't mind very
much--it was so extremely ugly, and--well--we were only too glad it was
none of the other dogs.' But my sister was wrong, for notwithstanding
its unsightly appearance and hopeless lack of breed, I had grown to like
that little black-and-tan more than any of my rare and choice pets." The following account, which concludes my notes on hauntings by dog
phantasms, was sent me many years ago by a gentleman then living in
Virginia, U.S.A. It runs thus:--


_The Strange Disappearance of Mr. Jeremiah Dance_

"Twenty pounds a year for a twelve-roomed house with large front lawn,
good stabling and big kitchen gardens. That sounds all right," I
commented. "But why so cheap?" "Well," the advertiser--Mr. Baldwin by name, a short, stout gentleman,
with keen, glittering eyes--replied, "Well, you see, it's a bit of a
distance from the town, and--er--most people prefer being nearer--like
neighbours and all that sort of thing." "Like neighbours!" I exclaimed. "I don't. I've just seen about enough of
them. Drains all right?" "Oh, yes! Perfect." "Water?" "Excellent." "Everything in good condition?" "First rate." "Loneliness the only thing people object to?" "That is so." "Then I'll oblige you to send someone to show me over the house, for I
think it is just the sort of place we want. You see, after being bottled
up in a theatre all the afternoon and evening, one likes to get away
somewhere where it is quiet--somewhere where one can lie in bed in the
morning inhaling pure air and undisturbed by street traffic."