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That
china
dog
that
ornaments
the
bedroom
of
my
furnished
lodgings
.
It
is
a
white
dog
.
Its
eyes
blue
.
Its
nose
is
a
delicate
red
,
with
spots
.
Its
head
is
painfully
erect
,
its
expression
is
amiability
carried
to
verge
of
imbecility
.
I
do
not
admire
it
myself
.
Considered
as
a
work
of
art
,
I
may
say
it
irritates
me
.
Thoughtless
friends
jeer
at
it
,
and
even
my
landlady
herself
has
no
admiration
for
it
,
and
excuses
its
presence
by
the
circumstance
that
her
aunt
gave
it
to
her
.
But
in
200
years
'
time
it
is
more
than
probable
that
that
dog
will
be
dug
up
from
somewhere
or
other
,
minus
its
legs
,
and
with
its
tail
broken
,
and
will
be
sold
for
old
china
,
and
put
in
a
glass
cabinet
.
And
people
will
pass
it
round
,
and
admire
it
.
They
will
be
struck
by
the
wonderful
depth
of
the
colour
on
the
nose
,
and
speculate
as
to
how
beautiful
the
bit
of
the
tail
that
is
lost
no
doubt
was
.
We
,
in
this
age
,
do
not
see
the
beauty
of
that
dog
.
We
are
too
familiar
with
it
.
It
is
like
the
sunset
and
the
stars
:
we
are
not
awed
by
their
loveliness
because
they
are
common
to
our
eyes
.
So
it
is
with
that
china
dog
.
In
2288
people
will
gush
over
it
.
The
making
of
such
dogs
will
have
become
a
lost
art
.
Our
descendants
will
wonder
how
we
did
it
,
and
say
how
clever
we
were
.
We
shall
be
referred
to
lovingly
as
"
those
grand
old
artists
that
flourished
in
the
nineteenth
century
,
and
produced
those
china
dogs
.
"
The
"
sampler
"
that
the
eldest
daughter
did
at
school
will
be
spoken
of
as
"
tapestry
of
the
Victorian
era
,
"
and
be
almost
priceless
.
The
blue-and-white
mugs
of
the
present-day
roadside
inn
will
be
hunted
up
,
all
cracked
and
chipped
,
and
sold
for
their
weight
in
gold
,
and
rich
people
will
use
them
for
claret
cups
;
and
travellers
from
Japan
will
buy
up
all
the
"
Presents
from
Ramsgate
,
"
and
"
Souvenirs
of
Margate
,
"
that
may
have
escaped
destruction
,
and
take
them
back
to
Jedo
as
ancient
English
curios
.
At
this
point
Harris
threw
away
the
sculls
,
got
up
and
left
his
seat
,
and
sat
on
his
back
,
and
stuck
his
legs
in
the
air
.
Montmorency
howled
,
and
turned
a
somersault
,
and
the
top
hamper
jumped
up
,
and
all
the
things
came
out
.
I
was
somewhat
surprised
,
but
I
did
not
lose
my
temper
.
I
said
,
pleasantly
enough
:
"
Hulloa
!
what
's
that
for
?
"
"
What
's
that
for
?
Why
--
"
No
,
on
second
thoughts
,
I
will
not
repeat
what
Harris
said
.
I
may
have
been
to
blame
,
I
admit
it
;
but
nothing
excuses
violence
of
language
and
coarseness
of
expression
,
especially
in
a
man
who
has
been
carefully
brought
up
,
as
I
know
Harris
has
been
.
I
was
thinking
of
other
things
,
and
forgot
,
as
any
one
might
easily
understand
,
that
I
was
steering
,
and
the
consequence
was
that
we
had
got
mixed
up
a
good
deal
with
the
tow-path
.
It
was
difficult
to
say
,
for
the
moment
,
which
was
us
and
which
was
the
Middlesex
bank
of
the
river
;
but
we
found
out
after
a
while
,
and
separated
ourselves
.
