But the most delightful dog of war within my knowledge is little Toutou of the French Zouaves. Once upon a time, when they were to leave France for Genoa, an order was passed, forbidding dogs on shipboard. Fancy the dismay of these pet-loving soldiers! What could be done? Each man, as his name was called, had to pass into the ship by a narrow gangway, with officers stationed at each end; and to conceal a dog under such circumstances was clearly impossible. At this crisis some inventive genius suggested unscrewing the drums, and concealing within them as many as possible of their pets. No sooner thought of than done; and so far, well. But now, like a thunderbolt out of a serene sky, came the horrid order: “Let the regiment embark to the sound of fife and drum!” There was no escape; the drums must be beat, and they were. Simultaneously with the sound, and smothering it, arose a lengthened, ear-piercing howl. “What! Where!” cried the officers in consternation. No sign of a dog anywhere, yet the louder the drums resounded the louder swelled the canine chorus. At last a spaniel fell out of an imperfectly screwed drum, and the stratagem was revealed. Then, amidst roars of laughter, each drummer was obliged to advance alone, and beat his instrument. If there was an answering howl, the drum was at once unscrewed and its occupant ejected. Only one dog ran the gauntlet successfully, and this was Toutou. Again and again the drum was struck in which he lay concealed, but only its own reverberations answered, and the drummer passed unsuspected. Once fairly out at sea, his pet was released. He remained with the Third Zouaves throughout the war; and when at its close they entered Paris, who should be seen proudly marching at their head but Toutou, the dog whom the drum-taps could not scare! A dog-loving soldier in our own army was the Hungarian General Asboth, a man of indomitable fire and courage. “Stilled, saddened, but not bitter,” says Mrs. Frémont, “he held fast to his faith in the progress of liberty. It was only natural that stray dogs should meet with kindness from him.” Two special favorites, York and Cream, were afterwards left by him to this lady’s care. Anything canine was dear to his heart: “Mongrel, puppy, whelp and hound, And cur of low degree,” and it came to be well understood in camp that all stray dogs were to be brought to the general. He was a noticeable figure, riding the rounds in a suit of white linen and great cavalry boots, with a noisy four-footed retinue at his heels.