was drawn when, at twenty years of age, the
day of conscription arrived for chance to
decide whether he was to go for a soldier
or not. Fatal number One replied in the
affirmative. The slight success he met with in
his new career, his punishments, his transit
to the Battalion of Zephyrs, were all attributed
to the malign influences of that hated
and cursed unit. So, during a melancholy
fit, believing it useless to struggle against
fate, he turned the evils that awaited
him into a subject of pride and boasting.
As a final mode of defying destiny, he had
tattooed, from temple to temple, " Unlucky
Number One." The ice once broken he
did not stop; and his whole body soon
swarmed with choice engravings, like Punch
and the Illustrated London News combined.
It is impossible to describe the contents of
this truly curious museum; for at least half
the subjects are unmentionable. From the
hands, covered with red and blue rings, you
passed to the wrists, decorated with cameos.
On his arms were daggers threatening hearts
that burnt with an ever-equal flame, and
were encircled by the motto, " Death to faithless
woman!" Then came names entwined,
and full-length portraits. On the shoulders
were a pair of spinach-seed (officer's)
epaulettes, with the three stars of lieutenant-
general; a cross of the Legion of Honour
on the heart; an enormous crucifix on the
middle of the chest; and, lastly, the Order
of the Garter, tattooed at exactly the spot
which it ought to occupy on a knight's leg.
Meanwhile the day arrived when Unlucky
Number One ceased to be a Zephyr. He was
snatched away to the altar. It would be curious
to know what soft-hearted woman took pity
on this miscellaneous gallery. Perhaps she
afforded another instance of severely punished
female curiosity.

The Zephyrs have contrived to raise
auxiliaries among quite a noble kind of
recruits. At Bougie, the service of the place
compelled that the ground should be
reconnoitred every day, up to the edge of a certain
ditch; which ditch had been hollowed out to
prevent cavalry from advancing too near, and
from retreating too abruptly after a surprise.
This reconnoitring duty was seldom performed
without several Arab shots being fired from
the opposite thicket, to the disturbance of
the morning walk, and sometimes the
sudden death of the walker. The Zephyrs
determined to train some dogs to take part
in the sport; since it proved so dangerous
to the sportsmen themselves. They, therefore,
reared some fierce Arab puppies, of a
species nearly related to the wolf and the
jackal, with whose merits they became
acquainted in the course of their adventures.
As the little Mussulman dogs grew up they
were fed and caressed by the red-legged
Zephyrs. They imbibed a strong affection
for their masters, who taught them, by a very
simple method, to entertain a profound
aversion for the costume of the indigenous
population. As the pupils' dinner-hour
approached, a Zephyr clad in a burnous, or Arab
cloak, treated them all with a hearty good
beating; after which his comrades, in their
ordinary costume, overwhelmed them with
kindness and fed them liberally. Such a
mode of education produced its fruit. The
full-grown dogs entertained such an aversion
to the Arabs, that any who ventured within
their reach would instantly have been torn to
pieces. These dogs were afterwards perfect
wonders; beating the woods and hunting
the thickets, marching fifty paces in front of
the column; and, not content with indicating
the presence of danger by pointing
at any hidden enemy, furiously joined in the
attack whenever a skirmish or engagement
took place. At a later period the organisation
of these brute allies was officially recognised.
Every blockaus (outpost) had three or
four dogs, who were included in the effective
forces of the garrison, and who were supplied
with regular daily rations. One of them, whose
thigh had been amputated in consequence of
a gunshot wound, enjoyed for several years the
honours of superannuation. Her position,
nevertheless, was not purely honorary; for
she still, in spite of her infirmity, continued
to supply the state with valiant defenders.

In the midst of the varied excitements of
African life, the Zephyr's thoughts will occasionally
recur to the day when he is to return
once more to the land of France. That day
is not merely the moment of liberation; it is
the concentration of liberty itself.  For a
long time past, he has lived in complete ignorance
of furloughs, Sundays, and holidays.
His dream, against the day of departure, is
to purchase a uniform of his original corps,
from which his pranks have banished him;
to exchange the hated bugle button for the
button displaying the number of his original
corps. If he belonged to the cavalry the expense
would be beyond his hopes; but for infantry
the thing is possible. There is nothing,
therefore, that he will not do to amass the
trifling sum which will enable him at least to
change his buttons. For he would not like
to return home with the marks of disgrace
upon his coat. At this last epoch, at the approach
of the metamorphosis, the most wasteful
spendthrifts are suddenly seized with the
love of economy and of gain.

A monkey, the property of a friend of mine,
once procured us the acquaintance of a Zephyr.
The introduction took place thus:—One day,
the Zephyr, melting with perspiration, and
apparently quite out of breath, rushed into
the middle of a café, holding my messmate's
monkey in his arms. "Lieutenant," he
gasped, " I've caught your monkey, who
had got loose. He had already reached
the blockaus, and was going to desert to the
Arabs. Luckily, I seized him just in time.
I had a devilish hard chase after him,
though!" These words, uttered with charming