“Haven’t, eh! Let’s see what is in your haversack. Leg o’ mutton, eh! Killed some person’s sheep,” said the colonel. Omar was sent to the guard house as usual, and the foraged property to the colonel’s cook. The regimental mess, consisting of most of the field and staff officers, had fresh meat for supper and breakfast. During the latter meal the colonel happened to look out from under the tent fly that was in use as a mess-room, and noticed Omar, who was under guard cleaning up around headquarters, eyeing him very closely. The colonel remarked: “Well, prisoner, what is it?” “Nothing, colonel,” replied Omar, “except I was just wondering how you liked your breakfast of _fried dog_.” Consternation seized the party at the table. With an exclamation or expletive, every one of them sprang to his feet, and from under the tent fled. Omar ran for his life, and at once, as per preconcerted agreement, over half the men in the regiment commenced barking and howling like dogs--big dogs, little dogs, hoarse and fine, bass and soprano, fortissimo and mezzo-soprano, dogs ’round the corner and dogs under the house--in short, there was the “dog”-onedest kind of a racket made until the colonel grasped his sword, and, foaming with rage, rushed for the men’s tents; but they were too old to be caught. For a long time, though, they would “regulate” the colonel if he showed signs of being excessive by barking, but at their peril, for he would certainly have killed a _barker_ if discovered. After that breakfast the regimental mess strictly abstained from eating any second-hand foraged meat. THE NOBLE ACT OF A HERO. Louis Abear, says the Detroit _Free Press_, was a private in Company H, Fifth Michigan Cavalry, and made a good soldier. At the battle of Trevillian Station he was taken prisoner, and before his release he was confined in five different prison-pens and two jails. While he was in Millen Prison, an exchange of sixty prisoners was to be made. The officer of the day told off sixty names at the door of the pen, but for some reason, probably because he was too ill, or perhaps dead, one man did not come forth. At that moment Louis, who had been sent out after fuel, under guard of course, came through the gates pushing a wheelbarrow loaded with wood. “Here, Louis, here’s a chance for you. We want sixty men to go North and are short one. Jump into the ranks here!” exclaimed the officer. “To be exchanged?” asked Louis, trembling more than he did when under fire. “Yes. Be quick.” “Then take Hank. He’s sick, and will die if he remains here,” and Louis darted into the hospital ward. Hank had a pair of pantaloons and shoes, but no coat or hat. Louis pulled off his, put them on Hank, and brought him out, weak and tottering. As Hank filed out the gate and once more breathed the air of freedom, Louis, hatless and coatless, took hold of the handles of his wheelbarrow and started for another load of wood.