“The dog,” says Bonaparte, “as if he had known my voice, removed his eyes from his master, and throwing them on me for a moment, resumed his former posture; but in that momentary look there was a mute eloquence beyond the power of language; it was reproach with all the poignancy of bitterness.” Bonaparte felt the appeal; he construed the upbraidings of the animal into a comprehensive demand of mercy; the sentiment was irresistible; it put to flight every harsh and hostile feeling: Bonaparte gave orders to stop instantly the pursuit, and carnage.

The barbet-dog and Bonaparte have been associated in my mind ever since I heard the story; and were I to be the negotiator for peace, I should send with my dispatches to every cabinet, the portrait of the little dog at the battle of Castiglione.