JWC-JF, [11 Dec.]. MS: NLS 604.310A. Pbd: Froude, LM 2:92–93. TC wrote at the top of the MS: “Nero, the poor little Dog!—Try for date.” In his headnote in LM TC wrote: “Poor little Nero, the dog, must have come this winter, or ‘Fall’ (1849)? Railway Guard (from Dilberoglue, Manchester) brought him in one evening late. A little Cuban (Maltese? and otherwise mongrel)
shock, mostly white—a most affectionate, lively little dog, otherwise of small merit, and little or no training. Much innocent
sport there rose out of him; much quizzical ingenuous preparation of me for admitting of him: ‘My dear, it's borne in upon
my mind that I'm to have a dog!’ &c. &c., and with such a look and style! We had many walks together, he and I, for the next
ten years; a great deal of small traffic, poor little animal, so loyal, so loving, so naïve and true with what of dim intellect he had! Once, perhaps in his third year here, he came pattering upstairs to my garret;
scratched duly, was let in, and brought me (literally) the Gift of a HORSE (which I had talked of needing)! Brought me, to wit, a letter hung to his neck, inclosing on a saddler's card the picture
of a horse, and adjoined to it her cheque for 50l.—full half of some poor legacy which had fallen to her! Can I ever forget such a thing? I was not slave enough to take the
money; and got a horse next year, on the common terms—but all Potosi [see 7:326 TC to JAC, 28 Oct. 1834], and the diggings new and old, had not in them, as I now feel, so rich a gift! Poor Nero's last good days were with us at
Aberdour in 1859. Twice or thrice I flung him into the sea there, which he didn't at all like; and in consequence of which he even ceased
to follow me at bathing time, the very strongest measure he could take—or pretend to take. For two or three mornings accordingly I had seen nothing of Nero; but the third or fourth morning, on striking out
to swim a few yards, I heard gradually a kind of swashing behind me; looking back, it was Nero out on voluntary humble partnership—ready
to swim with me to Edinburgh or to the world's end if I liked! Fife had done his mistress, and still more him, a great deal
of good. But, alas! in Cook's grounds here, within a month or two a butcher's cart (in her very sight) ran over him neck and lungs; all winter he wheezed and suffered; ‘Feb. 1st, 1860,’ he died (prussic acid, and the doctor obliged at last!)—I could not have believed my grief then and since would have been
the twentieth part of what it was—nay, that the want of him would have been to me other than riddance. Our last midnight-walk
together (for he insisted on trying to come), Jan. 31, is still painful to my thought. ‘Little dim-white speck, of Life, of Love, Fidelity and Feeling, girdled by the Darkness
as of Night Eternal!’ Her tears were passionate and bitter; but repressed themselves as was fit, I think the first day. Top of the garden, by her direction,
Nero was put under ground; a small stone tablet with date she also got—which, broken by careless servants, is still there
(a little protected now).”
