also its peculiar stamp. In them he has
the skill to combine a madder-red cloth
uniform with an article of clothing more in
harmony with the exigencies of a tropical
climate. The hybrid pantaloons consist of
cloth, as high up as the skirts of the coat;
but, after this externally visible zone, there
commences a much more extensive region of
linen, borrowed from army sacks, or from
the remnants of some old worn-out tent.
When the coat is buttoned up nothing unusual
is even suspected. But to see the
Zephyr battalion in action storming a breach,
they look like wiry, energetic beings disguised
in tatters that never belong to them.

However fallen the Zephyr may be, you
will always find in him one unfailing motive
impelling him towards good and towards
evil. Vanity, pride, the love of glory, if you
will (there being many different sorts of
glory) is his mainspring of action, and his
guiding-star. The Zephyr, unequal to a consistent
line of life, is still susceptible of the
most generous transports, and capable of the
most heroic and brilliant actions. He would
willingly sacrifice his life to obtain a trophy
from the enemy. He would risk his neck,
ten times over, to steal a fowl from a native
hut. He is greatly influenced by surrounding
circumstances. Danger elevates the most
degraded soul. But the bright side of our
aerial heroes, on which they shine with
undisputed splendour, is their joyousness and
hilarity. Their spirits flow on with inexhaustible
wit, passion, and sometimes even
madness. Their industrial talents know no
bounds. Happy, ye officers, who command
such troops; if the lash had not so often to
be used. Beware, even, of too much of it.
In action a Zephyr has been known to put a
bullet into the back of his commander's head,
coolly remarking to his next door neighbour,
"He made a little too free with me; it's my
turn now to make free with him. When he
feels the lead he'll merely say, ' Those
confounded Arabs have done for me!' " But
use your Zephyrs decently, and they will
furnish you with every assistance you can
want;—a valet-de-chambre for yourself, a first-
rate head-dresser to curl your wife's hair, a
watchmaker, a farce-writer, a painter, a
nursemaid, and, thanks to the suck-bottle, even
a nurse. These various talents are displayed
either in so many separate volumes, or
all are bound up in one single copy. Does
there exist a cocoa-nut which a Zephyr cannot
transform into a trinket?—a wisp of straw
which will not, in his hands, become a useful
piece of furniture?—a scrap of white and pink
paper which is not soon converted into a
hand screen, a cocked hat, or a pin basket?
And you, celebrated iron wire, what is it
that a Zephyr cannot make with your
metallic threads, from a gun-pick to a
suspension bridge?

The Zephyrs were the gentlemen who sold
the police-station. Shortly after the capture
of Bougie, a few of these happy rogues, in
consequence of some extempore fantasia, had
been imprisoned in a native house recently
abandoned by its Arab owner. For want of
better gymnastic exercise they mounted to a
garret window, to enjoy the pure and intellectual
pleasure which the mere sense of sight
affords. They soon perceived an honest compatriot
who had followed in the train of the
expedition, looking out for a place wherein to
exercise the trade which flourishes wherever
the European plants his foot—the profession
St. Crispin delights to patronise. To question
him about his plans, and to tell him to
use a little strength against the outside of the
door while they lent a helping hand within, was
the work of a very few seconds. " You want
to hire a shop, my friend? Take our advice at
once, and buy one. That is the only certain
method of contriving to get off without paying
rent. Never fear; your countenance pleases
us. We are the conquerors and masters here.
Come, we won't be too hard upon you. You
shall have all this freehold property for a
mere nothing—twenty francs, say. The only
trouble you will put us to is to move a little
further up the street. Here, you know, we
are quite at home."

Two hours afterwards an officer going his
rounds, found the innocent purchaser installed,
and cobbling away with an easy
conscience. The Zephyrs had made use of
their wings and were flown. But at that very
moment the sound of wine-impeded voices
fell upon his ear. A group of men with torn
uniforms, and eyes veiled by bruised eyelids,
made their appearance at the corner of the
street. The gentle Zephyrs, having spent the
twenty francs, were returning home under
arrest.

Not long after, a horrible sirocco was blowing
at the same place. Who on earth could
help being thirsty? At noon eight of the most
knowing sylphs presented themselves to a
Bougie merchant. Their serious, almost military
attitude, their ropes and wooden shoulder-yokes
which are used for carrying various
burdens, all seemed to intimate that an actual
order had been given. One of them addressing
the master of the house, said that the
superior commandant requested a cask of
wine, the same as the last which he had
received. The party took charge of their
precious load, and departed in the same deliberate
style. A few days afterwards the
wine-merchant asked the commandant how
he liked the last wine he had sent for.

"Wine! what wine?"

"The wine I gave the men of your battalion,
who said they were sent to fetch it for
you."

"You delivered a cask of wine to those
fellows? Then you furnish me with the
solution of an enigma, which I have in
vain been endeavouring to comprehend. It
has happened that for two days past every
man who goes up to the fountain just outside