singular missive, Kebir, seated on his
hindquarters, fixed his bright eyes on the reader,
whose countenance unbent itself, perhaps for
the first time in his life. The acknowledgment,
signed and given into Kebir's charge, was
brought to the sous-officiers' chamber, whence
they were frequently accustomed to despatch
their orders by the same means, the surest and
the readiest of all. Often and often the adjutant
on service has given a sealed letter to Kebir,
saying, "Take this to your quartermaster, and
bring me the answer."

If the party in question were not in his room,
one of his comrades had only to say, " He is
gone to the canteen, or to the stable; you will
find him there," and Kebir always found the
person addressed, and always brought back the
answer.

Whenever a chasseur belonging to the squadron
had occasion to go into the military
hospital, the billet-master used to call Kebir, and,
putting the hospital ticket into his mouth, would
say, " You will go with the patient, and show
him the way to the hospital." Kebir, limping
on three legs, and pretending that he also had
need of the doctor, proceeded straight to the
establishment, jumped on a post beneath the
bell-pull, and rang the bell. As soon as the
infirmary porter opened the door, he knew at
once that he had to receive a patient belonging
to the first squadron. As soon as his receipt
was signed, Kebir took it back, without limping
at all— his care was supposed to be effected—
gave it to the billet-master, and the business
was ended.

On Saturdays— the day for cleaning up and
mending clothes— Kebir kept a little shop
supplied with trifling articles, such as thread,
needles, pipes, tobacco, and so on: the whole
arranged in packets of one and two sous each.
A chasseur came, took a two-sou article, and
purposely laid only one sou on the counter.
The shopkeeper would then jump up on his
shop, and sometimes inflict a sharp bite on the
dishonest purchaser, who was fairly forced to
come down with his cash. If any one gave a
two-sou piece in payment for a two-sou packet
of tobacco, so much the worse luck for him.
Kebir insisted on having two pieces of money
for every two-sou article, and there was no
means of avoiding it. It is clear that, with
such intelligence, the ordinary feats of poodles
were mere child's play for Kebir, who could
play at dominoes so admirably as to make other
canine gamesters die of envy.

Poor Kebir came to an untimely end. He was
murdered by a rascally chasseur discharged from
the service, who had sworn to have his revenge
for a punishment inflicted on him by an adjutant
of whom Kebir was particularly fond. When
the unfortunate animal's body, pierced with
sword-strokes, was found in an out-of-the-way
corner of the quarters, all the chasseurs of the
first squadron held a tumultuous inquest over it.
Luckily for the culprit, he was out of their
reach, on board ship.

"You see, quartermaster," said an old
chasseur who related the particulars of Kebir's death,
"if the brigand who killed our poor poodle had
not taken himself off immediately afterwards,
we should have fought him, every one of us, one
after the other, until one of the parties had
gained the victory. Never was the squadron so
sad since the death of your poor sparrow, Cyrus,
you remember, who whistled like a nightingale.
It was not a man who killed him, but only a rat;
and a rat is nothing but a brute. But for a
Chasseur d'Afrique to assassinate an unfortunate
little dog! O the wretch! If ever I lay hold
of him!"

RIFLE PRACTICE WITH ST. IVES.

I WENT down in the country the other week for
four or five days' rifle practice, with an enthusiasm
not unbecoming a zealous volunteer.

I wrote to my usual comrade in such sports,
my neighbour, Captain St. Ives, of the Cambridge
Rifles, and asked him to fix a day and place for our
first meeting. The same night I got the following
answer, which I subjoin, because its pleasant
rural tone gave me an agreeable foretaste of
the pretty scene where our " wappenshaw"
was to be held, and of the country beauty that
lent a charm to our five days' amusement:

"Walk up Summer Lees to the Abbey, turn up
across the down at old Hibberd's, and go straight
ahead; it cuts off a large corner. There is a post-
office at Knoyle, so you can put any letters in there.
When you get to the sign-post, shortly after the end
of the limekiln hill on your right, you will see some
pasture land and an orchard across the other side;
make for the left-hand corner—a path is trodden
through the grass the other side of the rails, avoid
the gate—and then turn sharp to your right through
the cut grass, which will bring you direct to Teffont."

But an hour after I received the note furnishing
such an attractive topographical map of the
country, I heard the sound of hoofs outside my
cottage-gate, and who should it be but St. Ives
himself, smart and soldierly, in grey uniform
cuffed with scarlet, mounted, and on his way
to drill one of his new companies at Crockerton
Furze. He had his rifle slung behind him,
and wore over his right shoulder a large canvas
haversack, containing, as he told me in a business-
like way, " a three hundred-yard cord, and
pegs for judging-distance drill." He agreed to
call for me (having changed his plan) as he
returned, send his horse home by my servant, and
walk up with me to Teffont Magna Downs,
where he had lately devised a new butt with
fifteen hundred yards' range.

I shot a blackbird or two, that were sitting
in permanent committee on my best
strawberries; and by the time I had cleaned my
gun, wiped my long Enfield, measured out
thirty ball-cartridges, counted out five-and-
thirty caps, put on my belt and cartouch-box,
got some paper for patching, and a pot of paste
to plaster up the wounds I intended to inflict
on the canvas target, St. Ives arrived again. He
was in good humour, for the smart innkeeper
who is sergeant of the Arrowbury Company had
been useful in drilling the recruits, and left his