something from the neighborhood would fail to do so where the snow was deep.

Dogs are never trained to scent out the dead. Their business is to assist the wounded. Each one carries a first-aid package strapped about its back or neck and knows that when a wounded man is found he may take the package.

They are trained to carry letters from post to post and they learn to distinguish the various posts by name. They are also of aid to soldiers on the watch. A French officer tells of one night while on watch as a private in one of the front trenches, when every dog became suddenly uneasy, continually growling and very excited. This was enough for the soldiers; they knew their army dogs and believed in them, so they telephoned to the main entrenchments for support. Fully twenty-five minutes after the reinforcements arrived, a German attack was made from the trenches opposite which was turned back because of the superior numbers that answered the telephone call. The distance of the German trenches opposite those of the French is not given, but that does not stand in the way of a very interesting question: By what sense did these dogs know of the approaching attack? Did they hear the enemy making ready or do we excrete under excitement, through the sweat glands, certain distinctive chemical bodies that indicate to the trained olfactory sense of the dog either fear or passion? A French dog named Prusco, nearly white, that looks like a wolf, has a remarkable record. It is said that after one battle, alone, he saved the lives of more than one hundred men by seeking out those concealed by brush or depressions or who were too weak to make their location known. If it had not been for Prusco they would have been left to die on the field. At another time a French regiment, advancing against the Germans, received a set-back and was forced to retreat, leaving many wounded. A hail of bullets was flying

over them. Three Frenchmen, shot in the legs, were slowly dragging themselves toward a depression to avoid the fire of rifles and machine guns. They had thrown off everything that hindered them but they made very slow progress. Prusco saw them and bounded to the side of one who caught him by the collar and was quickly dragged to shelter. Then he returned and brought along the other two in the same way. This accomplished, he waited until the wounded men had supplied themselves with first aid from the kit on his back and then hastened off to render other aid where it was needed. Prusco has been honorably mentioned in the dispatches.

In the campaign on the Eastern Front Lieutenant von Wieland led a party of men in an attack on the Russian trenches. Seeing the task hopeless on account of the Russian fire, the officer signaled a retreat. Turning with the soldiers that were left he made for the trenches and safety. When he had covered less than half the distance a rifle ball shattered the bone of his leg and down he fell amidst the still bodies of the men who had set out with him and lay there in the blood and muck and filth of the battlefield. The Russian fire was so murderous that no one dared bring him in. Presently a dark form bounded from the German trenches, rushed to Lieutenant von Wieland's side, grasped his coat between his teeth and, foot by foot, dragged him to safety. Once, but only for a moment, did he loosen his hold, and that was when a bullet "creased" him from shoulder to flank. The blood gushed from the wound but the dog took a fresh hold and finished his job at the edge of the trench where willing hands lifted the lieutenant down to safety. They had to lift the dog down, too, because just then a bullet broke both his fore-legs.

It was the lieutenant's dog Steif that, when his master's hour had struck, gnawed through his leash and rushed to him. There are evidences that Steif is partly of great Dane breed,

partly mastiff and partly hound, but the rest of him is pure dog miscellany.

Man and dog were both taken to the hospital and the surgeons worked as hard over the one as they did over the other. Then one day, when His Majesty made his rounds, they brought Steif in on a cot and placed him beside the lieutenant. The emperor had heard the story and as he came along he took from the supply that he carried with him, an iron cross, which he pinned upon von Wieland's bosom. Then, taking another iron cross, he tied it to the collar of the dog.

In the Belgian army dogs have largely displaced horses for rushing machine guns from one location to another, according to a correspondent of the Boston Post. Officers claim that under fire they are more dependable than horses and may be relied upon to keep the gun out of the hands of the enemy even though the entire escort be killed. And they can be kept in trenches safe from hostile bullets, which is impossible with larger animals.

In Russia dogs have been used to carry ammunition to the firing lines and by the quickness of their work, which was formerly done by crouching and creeping men, have kept the soldiers well supplied from the ammunition wagons which are always likely to be far in the rear of advancing files.

There are canine sentries on duty on both sides in the Great War, and dogs that are dispatch-bearers. Marquis, a French dog, fell dead from a bullet wound almost at the feet of a group of French soldiers to whom he bore a message across a shell-raked stretch of country. But the message was delivered! And there is Stop, of the Fifteenth Army Corps, the savior of many wounded, and Flora, of the Twelfth Alpine Chasseurs, merciful dogs of war with reputations for distinguished service. There are many Stops and Floras actively

engaged in humanitarian service, and it is quite unfair for me to single out individual animals — a conference of dogs of war would doubtless so decide except as a means of giving typical stories of what are everyday exhibitions of intelligence, devotion, and self-sacrifice on the part of dogs of numerous breeds in the vast zone of battle.

The people in the warring countries are called on for many and varied contributions. The French War Department has on record a communication from the father of a family which poignantly illustrates this, for he wrote: "I already have three sons and a son-in-law with the colors; now I give up my dog, and vive la France!"

Other stories of the heroism of dogs are likely to come to us when the war is over, and from them we may gain more wisdom about dogs. We are likely to become informed - but whether we learn it or not rests with us - that a chance for education and training is important for a dog if it is to lead a useful life, and that in the economy of a better order of things there is a great deal of work for dogs to do.

There was a crotchety old man who said to a lover of dogs: "I never could understand why you do not visit an asylum and make merry and dance about with idiots. You can get the same type of mind there that you find in dogs, and then you could come away and not be bothered with dog-fights and muzzles and the destruction of your property.",

"Yes," the dog-lover replied, "but they do not seem to succeed in training idiots to any useful purpose, while they do succeed with dogs. There's the shepherd's dog that is still worth while, the husky of the Arctic sled train, the dog in harness of the Netherlands, the boy's dog that helps him to go fishing, and of course there is the watch dog. Now the watch dog is conservative by nature and he holds fast, among other things, to the theory of the sanctity of property.

He is a disturber of the burglary business, but that also goes with the general principles of conservatism. The dog is a useful animal."

In dealing with dogs we should be philosophical and remember that misplacement is a cause of disorder; that dogs as well as men, women, and even boots and shoes, are most useful in those places where they can do most good. Unfortunately we do not employ much philosophy in our dealings with dogs. We use them for our left-over emotions. I know an excellent woman who ruins every dog she owns by sheer spoiling; by letting it have its own way without restraint. And I know a man, a good citizen, who strives to deal justly with his kind, but who is disposed to kick dogs if they bother him. Both take out their emotions on dogs. This does not give the dog a fair chance.

However, we do not have to go killing people to make dogs worth while.

Ellwood Hendrick

HIS GREATER TASK

THEY were packed closely together, a sea of olive drab, topped by a row of happy faces. Jests and bits of laughter rose here and there, and every now and then one of the soldiers would glance around expectantly as if seeking somebody. It was evident they awaited some one. Suddenly there was a movement at the door a burst of music from three lusty. Highlanders and in came a short, rather stocky figure. At once it became evident that the suspense was over for Harry Lauder had come to cheer the soldiers.

Instantly the intervening years dropped away and I found myself back some eight years ago, in a seat in a theater, where the galleries rocked with noisy merriment at the antics of a