That dismal promenade, which was the greatest mental strain that I have ever been called upon to endure, seemed to have done wonders for Toto. He recovered his appetite and his affability, and wore a perpetual expression of such goodhumour that even Hélène became convinced that he no longer suffered from the pangs of celibacy. But though our affection for him increased every day, a bitter foreboding began to poison the cup of pleasure. The brother of the Beautiful Lady was anxious to return to Paris, and I had already missed several engagements in London. The question of Toto's future became a haunting obsession. If only I had been the proud possessor of an ancestral estate, as the Beautiful Lady had imagined, the problem would have been easily solved, but at that time I inhabited a small set of chambers on the fourth floor in the Temple, and I was quite convinced that the legal atmosphere of those antique groves would be very bad for a bear, and doubted the tolerance of the Benchers. I wrote to all my acquaintances who possessed ancestral estates, and they sent me charming letters in return, promising to find some friend with a passion for bears; but they all shied badly at the animal. One bold spirit, indeed, volunteered to adopt Toto; but as he seemed to think that the poor brute could exist comfortably in a small

VOL. CXC.-NO. MCLIV.

hen-coop I declined the offer with thanks. For the same reason I was reluctant to apply to the authorities of the Jardin des Plantes in Paris or the Zoological Gardens in London; the idea of Toto as a public spectacle in a cage and growing daily more bilious with buns was intolerable. It was bad enough to have to part with him at all, but at any rate I would arrange for his declining years to be spent in comfort.

At length the Beautiful Lady and her brother departed after a heart-rending scene of farewell in the second garage. She promised to find a home for the bear as soon as she reached Paris,-promised, too, to write incessantly demanding news of him. She sent some sweets from a shop in the Avenue de l'Opéra which made Toto very sick, but I never heard from her again. Sunt lacrimæ rerum. Day after day passed, but still no beneficent foster-parent glowed like a sun on the horizon, and at last I became desperate, and began seriously to contemplate the prospect of becoming a naturalised citizen of Provence, and of passing the remainder of my days in rustic seclusion with Toto. But Fate and the French Government conspired to prevent this sequel.

It befell that, about a week after the departure of the Beautiful Lady, a Saint's Day was celebrated in the town and was the occasion for a

3 с

large influx of peasantry from the surrounding villages which knew not Toto. Shortly before sunset the peasants had assembled in the market-place, and were presumably engaged in drinking to the spiritual health of the saint ere they departed for their homes. It was the hour of Toto's evening walk in the yard; unmuzzled, he was roaming thoughtfully to and fro, rubbing himself as he went against the walls, whilst I sat on an inverted bucket and contemplated him with melancholy pride. The yard door, which gave egress to the square, was shut. Beyond it I could hear the loud hum of gossip which rose from the assembled villagers.

Suddenly the door of the yard was partially opened and a man's face appeared in the aperture. Probably because it was excessively dirty I recognised the Basque at once. He stood for a moment watching the bear and grinning unpleasantly, and as it occurred to me that he wanted to see his old companion once more and to apologise for his own former behaviour, I called to him to come in. He looked at me, still grinning, and shook his head; then, putting his fingers to his lips, he gave a long shrill whistle. Toto, who had not observed his old tormentor, jumped round as if a hornet had stung him, stared for a moment at the Basque, and then made for the door at a pace for which I should never have given him credit. When, however, he reached the place where the Basque was stand

ing, I suppose that some memory of the iron spike must have revived in his besotted skull, for he bolted past the ruffian, squeezed through the halfopened door, and vanished from my sight. Ten seconds later I heard a vigorous and combined yell of astonishment ascend from the market-place, and I reached the door in time to witness a very smart stampede of men, women, children, horses, dogs, cats, and mules, combined with an instantaneous collapse of sweet-stalls, crayfish-and-snail stalls, a newspaper kiosque, and most of the tables and chairs in the café. I was rewarded also with the agreeable spectacle of several honourable and bulky citizens in the act of elimbing trees, and of others, not less bulky and honourable, who precipitated themselves over the railings that protected the statue in trousers. Meanwhile Toto, proceeding at a lively gallop, twice completed the circuit of the market - place, and gave vent, for the first time since I had known him, to a most blood-curdling sequence of roars. The sight of the Basque had evidently shaken up his nervous system very seriously. After these engaging evolutions he sat down (à la F.L.), and allowed me to approach and to capture him. I imprisoned him in the garage and returned to the marketplace, and then bulky and honourable citizens orawled painfully down trees and over railings, and said things to me which it is not fitting to reproduce.

I had a dismal suspicion that this was the End of All, and I was right. Early next morning I received a polite but highly formal document which entreated me to step round and interview the Chief of Police. It was brought to me by my old friend the gendarme, who listened to my somewhat sickly jests with a non-committal air, and marched heavily behind me when I went to visit his superior. The Chief of Police, a handsome gentleman with a grey moustache, was polite but firm.

The animal, he said, had become a source of public danger, and must be removed from the town. When I explained that an order for Toto's removal was tantamount to banishing his owner, the Chief of Police offered me his regrets, but was quite inexorable. Toto had either to go or to be executed as an enemy of mankind. If the latter horrible event happened, said the Chief of Police, I might apply to the Government for compensation. But he did not look as if he thought that I should obtain it. He gave me two days in which to make my plans, and promised that he would use his influence to make things easy for me. Only the bear must go. The inhabitants of the town had begun to insist. He had heard all the history of Toto, and when once his ultimatum had been pronounced, was extremely courteous and sympathetic, and actually concluded the interview by asking me to lunch. I accepted, and found that his wife was as charming as him

self, and that he had two adorable little girls who were wildly eager to adopt the bear. Next morning he wrote to me saying that if I wished to convey Toto to Paris he could arrange with the railway company for a kind of horse-box to be placed at my disposal. I gladly took advantage of this kindness, for my celebrity in the town had by this time become extremely embarrassing. In a directory I discovered the address of a keeper of livestock who lived in Paris, and I telegraphed, asking if he was prepared to meet Toto at the Gare de Lyon and to support him in luxury for a week. To my surprise and relief he answered in the affirmative.

Over the harrowing scene of departure I prefer to draw a discreet veil. Suffice it to say that the fair Hélène wept, that the maids wept, that the cook was deeply moved, and that even the proprietor had his emotions. The journey passed without incident, probably because Toto had been drugged with with innumerable delicacies before starting. I went to inspect him through a grill in the door whenever the train stopped at a station, and on each occasion I found him plunged in profound stupor. He created a small sensation when he reached the Gare de Lyon, but he was still torpid, and very soon we were discovered by the keeper of live-stock, who drove us away in a malodorous van. I found that he was able to give the bear comfortable quarters, and, after bidding Toto good-night, I drove to my

hotel. Toto displayed no emotion at my departure.

My luck, or Toto's, held good, for next morning I found a letter which promised an admirable future for him. An Englishwoman who possessed a large country house near Besançon had heard from a friend of my difficulty, and wrote to offer a home for him that was to be either temporary or permanent, according to my wishes. I had heard of her as an enthusiastic Female Suffragist, and for a moment I was visited by fears that she would make Toto walk in processions as a specimen of the Effete Male or the Typical Brute of a husband. But she sent her own husband (who was certainly not a brute) to meet Toto, and he fell an easy victim to the charms of the bear. Toto now fattens slowly in a luxurious domestic atmosphere, far from his Pyrenean home, and far from the ancient

town where he emerged for a fortnight into the glare of fame.

Our parting scene was brief, and we set an iron restraint on our emotions; it was said, however, that he pined for me for a while, and until I lost him I never realised how strong a fascination he possessed. Someday, I hope I shall see him; perhaps, if I live and do well and become the owner of a park that is not ancestral, I may comfort his declining years. But the mists of the future are heavy, and who shall reckon on the constancy of bears? The subject is omitted in all bestiaries. One thing only I know, that if the company of this species of animal is expensive, sensational, and teeming with anxious moments, his absence is the cause of boredom, yearning and vain regret. With which moral I drop my theorbo.

ST JOHN Lucas.