aptitude and intuition whenever it was his turn
to take the helm. One night Smith was seen
to jump out of his hammock, go down to the
hold, and shortly return to the deck of the ship
holding in his arms a bundle of smoking cordage
which had caught fire, nobody knew how, and
then quietly throw it in the sea. Another
time, he called the master carpenter aside, and
advised him to lose no time in repairing a
damage which no one had observed. A day or
two later this damage would have have caused a leak,
and compromised the safety of the ship.

The most remarkable incident witnessed by
the naval officer was this: He was on watch one
very dark night; so dark that, on looking over
the ship's side, the water was hardly distinguishable.
Smith was then at the helm. The officer,
happening to glance at the compass, perceived
that the ship had suddenly changed her course.

"Why, Smith!" he shouted, "what are you
about? Helm to starboard, man; helm to
starboard!"

"I can't," replied Smith. "He won't let
me."

The officer repeated his order, to no purpose.
He found it impossible to make himself obeyed.
Smith persisted in repeating, with energy, "I
can't, sir; he won't let me."

The captain, overhearing the discussion, came
on deck to ascertain the cause of the dispute,
and also to learn (for he had already remarked
it) why the vessel changed her course.

Before the officer could finish his explanation,
a large ship, with every sail set, shot past the
vessel that Smith was steering, so close as almost
to touch her. The presentiment in Smith's mind,
which he had obeyed with so much obstinacy,
saved them from a collision when both vessels
were running at their utmost speed.

From human to animal intelligence and
instinct, the transition is easy. Regimental dogs
were as great favourites with the Chasseurs
d'Afrique as with other soldiers. M. Gandon
immortalises two. Saragosse, an enormous long-
haired Bedouin dog, died of old age, and was
buried with military honours, having been carried
to his grave, in a triumphal attitude, on a funereal
bier, by two stalwart chasseurs in their stable
dress, with their blouses turned inside out, in
token of mourning. The chief mourner was a
spaniel, Coquelicot (Poppy), a respectable cortége
of hounds and greyhounds followed, who howled
out (by means of well applied kicks) their unanimous
funeral oration. A deputation of Arab
dogs attended; a military salute with pistols
rendered the ceremony still more impressive;
and a few days afterwards, a tuft of dog's grass,
planted by unknown paws, relieved with its
verdure the desolation ot Saragosse's grave. This
veteran, who had braved many bullets and ropes
— he was twice hung, undergoing an hour's
suspension each time— succumbed under the
weight of rheumatism and length of days.

A more tragic fate awaited Kebir (in Arabic,
Great), a pretty little poodle, who never was
a warrior, but who, nevertheless, was adored
by the regiment, on account of his grace and
his extraordinary intelligence. Left an orphan
at a fortnight old, he was adopted and reared
(by the milk-bottle) with paternal care by the
sous-officiers of the first squadron; as he grew
up, he learned to know every one of his
protectors by name, however exaggerated such an
assertion may appear. He belonged to the small
breed of poodles vulgarly called "moutons."
His frizzled hair, incomparably fine and silky,
was as white as snow, and his bright sparkling
eyes seemed to be constantly asking for
something to do or to divine.

Kebir was not yet four months old when a
formal order was given to clear the quarters of
every dog. A certain person who, luckily for the
chasseurs, did not make old bones in Africa, the
Commandant Seven-Stars, displayed in the execution
of this order a degree of vehemence and
brutality incompatible with the dignity of a superior
officer. Armed with a pair of pistols laden with
ball, Commandant Seven-Stars prowled about,
by day and by night, in pursuit of the proscribed
unfortunates, and fired without pity on every
poor animal who was indiscreet enough to fall
in his way. Kebir was very soon made aware
of the threatened danger. For three or four
successive days, his patrons pointed out to him
the commandant, with the following
recommendation: " You see that great long monsieur
there. Very well; whenever you see him
coming in one direction, you slip away in the
opposite direction, and come and hide yourself
in bed." Kebir's secret bed was so cleverly
concealed in ihe dormitory, that it was impossible
to discover it.

Kebir took the hint; never could Commandant
Seven-Stars get within pistol-shot of him—
which, perhaps, was as fortunate for the
commandant himself as it was for the pretty poodle.

Kebir adored horses in general, but he had a
particular friendship for the steed belonging to
the head quartermaster. Whenever the latter
returned to quarters after carrying a report to
the colonel, Kebir was always at his post,
awaiting the arrival of his friend the horse. The
quartermaster dismounted, tossed the reins to
the dog, who set off as fast as he could trot and
led the horse to his proper place. The stable-
guard gave the horse his corn, when Kebir
jumped into the manger to prevent the horses
on either side from pilfering their comrade's
ration. The repast concluded, the poodle
leaped on the back of his friend, and thence
bounding from croup to croup the whole length
of the stable, at last descended to the ground,
to join the sous-officiers at their mess.

So much cleverness obtained its recompence.
Kebir's presence, if not authorised, was at least
supported by the terrible commandant, who one
day, in the middle of parade, was greatly
astonished to receive, from the mouth of the animal
itself, a note to this effect: " I thank
Commandant Seven-Stars for leaving off firing at me
with his pistols. The commandant is requested
to give an acknowledgment of the receipt of
this."

While the commandant was perusing this