"Oats," answered the driver.

" Can you give me a handful for a poor sick
horse ?"

"Take it, my lad; it's paid for," said the
driver.

Lotte's master did not wait to have the
permission repeated; but possessed himself of a
plump little bag which lay at the top of the
waggon, and rode on with his prize.

"See thou, now, we have got something to
keep us alive, Lotte, my beauty!" exclaimed he
to his half-dead horse, when the command for
the halt was given; "now, let us see what
we've got!"

He opened the bag—it was full of coffee-beans.
And, disappointed, he threw it,
contemptuously, into a ditch.

Again the march was commenced; the troops
hurried on still faster, for now the snow-storm,
which prevailed in the earlier part of the night,
had abated, and the day began to dawn; but
the Austrians were at their heels, and had
already attacked the rear with a superior force.
Ever and anon, a sharp sound was heard, which
they new to be a volley of the enemy's
musketry.

The poor horse slid out of the way, stopped,
again groaned, shook its head, and fell to the
ground. The dragoon stood, with the reins in
his hand, and looked round for help.

"On with you !" cried an officer, whose troop
was impeded by the fallen horse.

"She has strength for nothing more," said
the soldier, with tears on his face.

"Shove the horse into the ditch; and you,
fall into rank."

The soldier obeyed; but, when he had marched
a little way, he stopped, and looked back. His
faithful forsaken companion had raised her head,
and neighed faintly after him. He ran back,
patted his horse, and again taking the bridle in
his hand, sat down by the side of the ditch.
He remained sitting there, talking gently in
loving cheering accents to his fallen companion,
as long as the eye-witness who related this
circumstance had him in sight. Whether he were
taken prisoner, or whether his horse revived,
is not known ; probably, their fate was the same,
let that be what it might.

This sympathy for horses is, perhaps, uncon-
sciously shown in many of the soldier's
expressions. A cavalry-officer, for instance, when
speaking of an engagement, will say: "We
lost so many horses: " the riders never being
spoken of.

"Do you mind my going away, sir, on a little
business?" asked a soldier of a lieutenant.
"Where do you want to go?"  " Why, you
see, sir, I met Elise to-day as we came from
outpost duty, and I want to run and have a
look at her."  "Elise, who is she?"  "Goodness,
don't you know, sir?" replied the man, amazed
at the lieutenant's ignorance ; "it's my old
mare that was wounded at Mysunde. She is
now got quite right again,"

The soldiers in every campaign have always
some favourite occupation with which they
while away their idle time. In the Crimea
they caught bullfinches, which they taught to
whistle tunes. During the last Danish war, the
soldiers manufactured little water-mills, which
they set to work on every little stream and runnel
of water. The troops quartered on the
coast, made little ships of old wooden shoes
and bits of planks ; painted them black, red,
and yellow ; and put an old man at the helm,
made of a potato, two wooden pegs, and a paper
hat. By this, they meant to caricature the
German navy.

This year they have begun to train dogs, but
the time as yet has been short, and their
occupations have been of so serious a character, that
this amusement has not fully developed itself.
Still, there is quite sufficient to show in what
direction the popular taste inclines. One in-
stance must suffice, merely premising that one
dog will belong to several divisions of a regiment,
the number of which is cut upon his back.
He occupies the same quarters, and receives his
supplies, in the same manner as his regiment
does. He accompanies the regiment wherever it
is ordered, both on the march and to the battle;
meets the men at the alarm-post when the signal
for marching out is given; cheerfully leaves
the snuggest and most agreeable dog-quarters
to go to the outposts; in short, is inseparably
one with the brave fellows whose number he
bears.

The dog about which I am particularly
intending to speak was called Raps. I say was,
because, unfortunately, he is now no more.
Raps was a thin long-bodied dog, ugly beyond
measure, half cur, half poodle, always draggled
and dirty, but always in a good temper. He
had two rows of snow-white teeth, and two
black, brilliant, faithful-looking eyes. For the
rest, he was a genius, a Jack-of-all-trades, who
did great credit to his teacher, a man of Copenhagen,
by trade a shoemaker, by nature an
adventurer, endowed with a closely-shorn head and
a pair of large brass earrings, but who had been
raised by his merits to the post of under-corporal.
In quarters, Raps was nearly always with
the under-corporal, but whether the dog or the
man most sought each other's company is not
quite a settled question. It is enough that they
spent their leisure hours together, the evidence
of which appeared on the person of Raps. The
under-corporal disentangled his long matted hair,
then cut it with many artistic flourishes, till at
last Raps presented a most grotesque figure. In
the process of his transformation, he had at
one time small tufts of hair hanging over his
eyes and jaws, along his back, and down his legs,
until he resembled a creature set over with
prickles; then his head was closely cropped and
coloured bright green, the hair from his back
was cut off, and his moustaches were twisted up
to his eyes; in short, there was no end to the
rich devices of the under-corporal. Nor did he
neglect Raps's intellectual training, as was
evident one day when Raps accompanied him with
some reports to the captain. When the
under-corporal entered the room, with his fingers to