He mysteriously disappeared--an offered reward of seven dollars and a half failed to restore him to my fireside. I tearfully gave him up, and mourned sincerely. I suspected the dog-killers, and wept for him as for one gone "to that bourne from which" bull-terriers don't come back. Last evening I was aroused from a thoughtful contemplation of my nightcap (liquid and hot, with nutmeg,) by the unusual and remarkable conduct of a pet tom-cat, who deliberately climbed upon my lap, and, in a voice intelligible, if not absolutely musical, spoke to me--positively spoke to me!--he informed me that various spirits were present who desired to hold communication with me. Having recovered somewhat from my momentary astonishment, I sung out to fire away. No sooner said than done--the services of the feline "medium" were instantly dispensed with, and there suddenly appeared to my bewildered sight the unmistakable form of my lamented Pluto. I was astonished, and so I said, but I could not be deluded--it was my "real, old, original, genuine" Pluto. I knew his warning growl--I recognized the friendly wag of his tail--I could have sworn to each particular hair. He addressed me in a voice trembling with emotion--he narrated the full history of his untimely decease--told of his seduction by a tempting mutton chop, and consequent _ab_duction by the remorseless thief--his vain and ineffectual struggles to escape--related his incarceration in an unseaworthy canal-boat, with a hundred other unfortunates--described their embarkation and departure for a foreign market--the terrific collision which ensued when about four miles and a half from port, when the canal-boat was met by a mudscow which was recklessly running with great velocity in a thick fog, the entire force of her propelling apparatus (one-horse power) being brought into requisition to attain a frightful speed--he dwelt upon the terrors of the scene--the dastardly desertion of the crew, (a mulatto woman and two coffee-colored boys,) who took to the boat, (a bass-wood "dugout,") and escaped, leaving the helpless passengers to their awful fate. He told the agonies he endured when submerged in the raging flood--his attempt to save himself upon an empty cheese-tub. How he was crowded off by a frightened spaniel pup--the last excruciating, agonizing pain of the final struggle, and his subsequent entrance to the canine spirit world. He whispered, in a mysterious tone, that he had just come from a sixpenny eating-house, where he had witnessed the final disappearance of his mortal remains through the jaws of a confiding drayman who had asked for a mutton pie.