ave his
faithful little dog."

These are small memories, perhaps, but to me more dear than the
praises too often unworthily bestowed on actions unworthy to be
recorded.

But here I pause. Jack rests in his little grave in Hyde Park, and
I sometimes go and look on the spot where he lies. Many and many an
affectionate letter was written to me bewailing the loss of our little
friend.

Only one of these I shall particularly mention, because it shows how
immeasurably superior was Jack to the lady who wrote it, in that true
and sincere feeling which we call friendship, and which, to my mind,
is the bond of society and the only security for its well-being.
She was a lady who belonged to what is called "Society," the
characteristic of which is that it exists not only independently of
friendship, but in spite of it.

After condoling with me on my loss and showing her sweet womanly
sympathy, she concluded her letter by informing me that she had "one
of the sweetest pets eyes ever beheld, a darling devoted to her with
a faithfulness which would really be a lesson to 'our specie,'" and
that, in the circumstances, she would let me have her little darling
for _five pounds_. I was so astonished and angry at the meanness of
this "lady of fashion" that I said--Well, perhaps my exact expression
had better be buried in oblivion.

BALLAD OF THE UNSURPRISED JUDGE, 1895.[A]

[Footnote A: It was a well-known expression of Sir Henry Hawkins when
on the Bench, "I should be surprised at nothing;" and after the long
and strange experiences which these reminiscences indicate, the
literal truth of the observation is not to be doubted. This clever
ballad, which was written in 1895, seems sufficiently appropriate
to find a place in these memoirs, and I wish I knew the name of the
writer, that my thanks and apologies might be conveyed to him for this
appropriation of them.]

("Mr. Justice Hawkins observed, 'I am surprised at nothing,'"--_Pitts
v. Joseph, "Times" Report, March 27_.)

All hail to Sir Henry, whom nothing surprises!
Ye Judges and suitors, regard him with awe,
As he sits up aloft on the Bench and applies his
Swift mind to the shifts and the tricks of the law.
Many years has he lived, and has always seen clear things
That Nox seemed to hide from our average eyes;
But still, though encompassed with all sorts of queer things,
He never, no, never, gives way to surprise.

When a rogue, for example, a