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Plague take the dog! he flies off from her; he has found the scent; he is making up to the buttress! Now pounce he is caught, whining ungallant discontent! Shall I not yet see the face? It is buried in Juba's black curls! Kisses too! Wicked Blanche, to waste on a dumb animal what, I heartily hope, many a good Christian would be exceedingly glad of! Juba struggles in vain, and is borne off!
Had I taken thy murmured blessing, my mother, for the whoop of the blacks, and Juba's low whine for the howl of the dingoes?
Does he serve him in a double capacity, as general and master of his wardrobe? But why Juba's guards? For the devil of any guards has Juba appeared with yet. Well, though this is a mighty politic invention, yet, methinks, they might have done without it: for, since the advice that Syphax gave to Sempronius was "'To hurry her away by manly force,
When we had been ten days in flight, and the earth had become like a round moon of dazzling brilliance, Juba's dog, which had grown feeble and refused to eat, died. Jack was broken-hearted, and protested when Edmund said that the body of the animal must be thrown out. He would have liked to try to stuff the skin, but Edmund was firm. "But if you open a window," I said, "the air will escape."
We anchored the car near the shaft, and carried out Juba's coffin. "Wait here," said Edmund, "while I descend." "No, you're not going alone," exclaimed Jack. "I'll go with you." Edmund made no objection and he and Jack descended the steps.
Jumping up I ran to Juba's assistance, but the fight was so furious, and the combatants whirled so rapidly, that I could get no hold. I saw, however, that Juba was more than a match for his opponent, and I darted into the car to get one of the automatic rifles, thinking that I could use it as a club to put an end to the struggle if the opportunity should offer.
The dog, unconscious of his dignity as an ambassador, or rather as a charge d'affaires, set out on his way home. As he was crossing Berkeley-square he was met by Sir Philip Baddely and his dog. The baronet's insolent favourite bit the black's heels. Juba, the dog, resented the injury immediately, and a furious combat ensued. In the height of the battle Juba's collar fell off.
If he had seen her in the street, why did he not set upon her in the street, since through the street she must be carried at last? "'Semp. How will the young Numidian rave to see His mistress lost! If aught could glad my soul Beyond th' enjoyment of so bright a prize, 'Twould be to torture that young, gay barbarian. But hark! what noise? Death to my hopes! 'tis he, 'Tis Juba's self!
Juba's waistcoat blazed with gold lace; Marcia's hoop was worthy of a Duchess on the birthday; and Cato wore a wig worth fifty guineas. The prologue was written by Pope, and is undoubtedly a dignified and spirited composition. The part of the hero was excellently played by Booth. Steele undertook to pack a house. The boxes were in a blaze with the stars of the Peers in Opposition.
But so great was the terror in general that some said that Juba's forces were marching up, others that Varus was hastening with his legions, and that they already saw the dust raised by their coming; of which not one circumstance had happened: others suspected that the enemy's fleet would immediately be upon them. Therefore, in the general consternation, every man consulted his own safety.
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