The Newfoundland dog above alluded to was part of a system of protection which my suburban home once required.  Robberies were frequent in the neighborhood, and my only fowl fell a victim to the spoiler’s art.  One night I awoke, and found a man in my room.  With singular delicacy and respect for the feelings of others, he had been careful not to awaken any of the sleepers, and retired upon my rising, without waiting for any suggestion.  Touched by his delicacy, I forbore giving the alarm until after he had made good his retreat.  I then wanted to go after a policeman, but my wife remonstrated, as this would leave the house exposed.  Remembering the gentlemanly conduct of the burglar, I suggested the plan of following him and requesting him to give the alarm as he went in town.  But this proposition was received with equal disfavor.  The next day I procured a dog and a revolver.  The former went off, but the latter wouldn’t.  I then got a new dog and chained him, and a duelling pistol, with a hair-trigger.  The result was so far satisfactory that neither could be approached with safety, and for some time I left them out, indifferently, during the night.  But the chain one day gave way, and the dog, evidently having no other attachment to the house, took the opportunity to leave.  His place was soon filled by the Newfoundland, whose fidelity and sagacity I have just recorded.

Space is one of the desirable features of my suburban residence.  I do not know the number of acres the grounds contain except from the inordinate quantity of hose required for irrigating.  I perform daily, like some gentle shepherd, upon a quarter-inch pipe without any visible result, and have had serious thoughts of contracting with some disbanded fire company for their hose and equipments.  It is quite a walk to the wood-house.  Every day some new feature of the grounds is discovered.  My youngest boy was one day missing for several hours.  His head—­a peculiarly venerable and striking object—­was at last discovered just above the grass at some distance from the house.  On examination he was found comfortably seated in a disused drain, in company with a silver spoon and a dead rat.  On being removed from this locality he howled dismally and refused to be comforted.

The view from my suburban residence is fine.  Lone Mountain, with its white obelisks, is a suggestive if not cheering termination of the vista in one direction, while the old receiving vault of Yerba Buena Cemetery limits the view in another.  Most of the funerals which take place pass my house.  My children, with the charming imitativeness that belongs to youth, have caught the spirit of these passing corteges, and reproduce in the back yard, with creditable skill, the salient features of the lugubrious procession.  A doll, from whose features all traces of vitality and expression have been removed, represents the deceased.  Yet unfortunately I have been obliged to promise them more active participation in this ceremony at some