Note 9 — Chapter III · LE VRAI N'EST PAS TOUJOURS VRAISEMBLABLE.

This may strike such of my readers as never have enjoyed the confidence of a canine friend, as drawing too largely on their credulity; but I assure them, and 'I'm serious—so are all men upon paper'—that I had a dog once, of the Irish retriever breed, which carried my hat after me for the length of two streets from where it had been knocked off my head by some ruffian in an affray. I lost the same dog in Whitechapel, and it found its way home to St. John's Wood, across the breadth of crowded London.