id="pgepubid00007">Communings of Man and Beast.

It would appear to be almost an essential element in life that man should indulge in speech. Of course we cannot prove this, seeing that we have never been cast alone on a desert island (although we have been next thing to it), and cannot positively conclude what would have been the consequences to our castaway if he had rigidly refrained from speech. All that we can ground an opinion on is the fact that John Jarwin talked as much and as earnestly to his dog as if he knew that that sagacious creature understood every word he uttered. Indeed, he got into such a habit of doing this, that it is very probable he might have come to believe that Cuffy really did understand, though he was not gifted with the power to reply. If it be true that Jarwin came to this state of credulity, certain it is that Cuffy was deeply to blame in the matter, because the way in which that ridiculous hypocrite sat before his master, and looked up in his face with his lustrous, intelligent eyes, and cocked his ears, and wagged his tail, and smiled, might have deceived a much less superstitious man than a British tar.

We have said that Cuffy smiled, advisedly. Some people might object to the word, and say that he only “snickered,” or made faces. That, we hold, is a controvertible question. Cuffy’s facial contortions looked like smiling. They came very often inappropriately, and during parts of Jarwin’s discourse when no smile should have been called forth; but if that be sufficient to prove that Cuffy was not smiling, then, on the same ground, we hold that a large proportion of those ebullitions which convulse the human countenance are not smiles but unmeaning grins. Be this as it may, Cuffy smiled, snickered, or grinned amazingly, during the long discourses that were delivered to him by his master, and indeed looked so wonderfully human in his knowingness, that it only required a speaking tongue and a shaved face to constitute him an unanswerable proof of the truth of the Darwinian theory of the origin of the human species.

“Cuffy,” said Jarwin, panting, as he reached the summit of his island, and sat down on its pinnacle rock, “that’s a splendid view, ain’t it?”

To any one save a cynic or a misanthrope, Cuffy replied with eye and tail, “It is magnificent.”

“But you’re not looking at it,” objected Jarwin, “you’re looking straight up in my face; so how can you tell what it’s like, doggie?”

“I see it all,” replied Cuffy with a grin; “all reflected in the depths of your two loving eyes.”

Of course Jarwin lost this pretty speech in consequence of its being a mute reply, but he appeared to have some intuitive perception of it, for he stooped down and patted the dog’s head affectionately.

After this there was a prolonged silence, during which the sailor gazed wistfully round the horizon. The scene was indeed one of surpassing beauty and grandeur. The island on which he had been cast was one of those small coral gems which deck the breast of the Pacific. It could not have been more than nine or ten miles in circumference, yet within this area there lay a miniature world. The mountain-top on which the seaman sat was probably eight or nine hundred feet above the level of the sea, and commanded a view of the whole island. On one side lay three lesser hills, covered to their summits with indescribably rich verdure, amongst which rose conspicuous the tall stems and graceful foliage of many cocoanut-palms. Fruit-trees of various kinds glistened in the sunshine, and flowering shrubs in abundance lent additional splendour to the scene. On the other side of the mountain a small lake glittered like a jewel among the trees; and there numerous flocks of wild-fowl disported themselves in peaceful security. From the farther extremity of the lake flowed a rivulet, which, from the mountain-top, resembled a silver thread winding its way through miniature valleys, until lost in the light yellow sand of the sea-shore. On this beach there was not even a ripple, because of the deep calm which prevailed but on the ring or coral-reef, which completely encircled the island, those great “rollers”—which appear never to go down even in calm—fell from time to time with a long, solemn roar, and left an outer ring of milk-white foam. The blue lagoon between the reef and the island varied from a few yards to a quarter of a mile in breadth, and its quiet waters were like a sheet of glass, save where they were ruffled now and then by the diving of a sea-gull or the fin of a shark. Birds of many kinds filled the grove with sweet sounds, and tended largely to dispel that feeling of intense loneliness which had been creeping that day over our seaman’s spirit.

“Come, my doggie,” said Jarwin, patting his dumb companion’s head, “if you and I are to dwell here for long, we’ve got a most splendid estate to look after. I only hope we won’t find South Sea niggers in possession before us, for they’re not hospitable, Cuffy, they ain’t hospitable, bein’ given, so I’m told, to prefer human flesh to most other kinds o’ wittles.”

He looked anxiously round in all directions at this point, as if the ideas suggested by his words were not particularly agreeable.

“No,” he resumed, after a short survey, “it don’t seem as if there was any of ’em here. Anyhow I can’t see none, and most parts of the island are visible from this here mast-head.”

Again the seaman became silent as he repeated his survey of the island; his hands, meanwhile, searching slowly, as if by instinct, round his pockets, and into their most minute recesses, if haply they might find an atom of tobacco. Both hands and eyes, however, failed in their search; so, turning once more towards his dog, Jarwin sat down and addressed it thus:—

“Cuff, my doggie, don’t wink in that idiotical way, you hanimated bundle of oakum! and don’t wag yer tail so hard, else you’ll shake it off some fine day! Well, Cuff, here you an’ I are fixed—‘it may be for years, an’ it may be for ever’—as the old song says; so it behoves you and me to hold a consultation as to wot’s the best to be done for to make the most of our sukumstances. Ah, doggie!” he continued in a low tone, looking pensively towards the horizon, “it’s little that my dear wife (your missus and mine, Cuff) knows that her John has fallen heir to sitch an estate; become, so to speak, ‘monarch of all he surveys.’ O Molly, Molly, if you was only here, wot a paradise it would be! Eden over again; Adam an’ Eve, without a’most no difference, barrin’ the clo’se, by the way, for if I ain’t mistaken, Adam didn’t wear a straw hat and a blue jacket, with pumps and canvas ducks. Leastwise, I’ve never heard that he did; an’ I’m quite sure that Eve didn’t go to church on Sundays in a gown wi’ sleeves like two legs o’ mutton, an’ a bonnet like a coal-scuttle. By the way, I don’t think they owned a doggie neither.”

At this point the terrier, who had gradually quieted down during the above soliloquy, gave a responsive wag of its tail, and looked up with a smile—a plain, obvious, unquestionable smile, which its master believed in most thoroughly.

“Ah, you needn’t grin like that, Cuff,” replied Jarwin, “it’s quite certain that Adam and Eve had no doggie. No doubt they had plenty of wild ’uns—them as they giv’d names to—but they hadn’t a good little tame ’un like you, Cuff; no, nor nobody else, for you’re the best dog in the world—if you’d only keep yer spanker-boom quiet; but you’ll shake it off, you will, if you go on like that. There, lie down, an’ let’s get on with our consultation. Well, as I was sayin’ when you interrupted me, wot a happy life we could live here if we’d only got the old girl with us! I’d be king, you know, Cuff, and she’d be queen, and we’d make you prime minister—you’re prime favourite already, you know. There now, if you don’t clap a stopper on