from the Morocco city of Ouchda. In this immense plain, intersected by the Oued-Isly, clouds of Morocco cavalry, denser than serried swarms of grasshoppers, were scattered to the winds by our battalion under the command of Marshal Bugeaud, in one of those glorious encounters in which discipline overpowered multitudes. This was a glorious epoch for France, for I can assure you that, a month afterwards, the tri-colour-the cannonadings of the Prince de Joinville contributing thereto-was saluted with respect and with fear along all the coast of Morocco. The martial tints of Horace Vernet have perpetuated on canvass those battle scenes, or, rather, represented the fête after the battle. In one angle of the picture alone, is a battalion seen advancing to the charge to the sound of the trumpet, with their commander at their head, who seems to be rushing on to meet the death which met him a year afterwards at the Marabout of Sidi-Brahim.

When General Cavaignac's column marched for the first time through this country, three months after the engagement, the bones scattered over the ground might clearly point out all the different phases of the fight. Here the charge commenced, here it stopped; a little further was

the last skeleton. On this spot the column halted, and, forming a square, the blanched bones being piled together, defiled before them, thus rendering solemn homage to the brave who had fallen in battle. A week afterwards two battalions of infantry, and Colonel de Cotte's regiment of cavalry were sent expressly to convey these relics of heroism to Djema. The Abbé Suchet accompanied the party, and under the vault of heaven, in the midst of soldiers and the suppressed clatter of their arms, a funeral service was performed. Then the ranks opened, and the pious burthen was borne away. Having passed over the ground of this heroic defence, we saw, about two hundred paces from Djema, under the shade of branching carol trees, in the middle of a meadow, a rude funereal monument that had been raised over others of our soldiers fallen in action. Before this tomb every one uncovered his head, and soldiers and officers, without distinction, grouped together around it. In five minutes more we were at Djema. This post is built on the sea coast, at the mouth of a little river between two steep shores, whence may be perceived ruined villages, formerly the refuges of pirates. Wooden barracks, a battlemented wall, large magazines,

and cabarets; on the coast, a few fishing boats and marine stores; out at sea, one or two brigs, sometimes a war steamer; and, in the midst of all this, bustling soldiers, hucksters and traders. Take this picture into your eye, and Djema is before

you.

This is a dull place, and in time of peace sporting and study are the only resources of those who are condemned to a garrison life in one of these advanced posts. In France many may be surprised at this. They can hardly imagine men with swarthy complexions and long beards bending over books, and devoting their leisure to scientific researches, or literary recreations. Nevertheless, such is the case, and these habits of study form one of the characteristic peculiarities of the African army. This tendency has always been encouraged by its chiefs. There is at present a library at every post, composed of about three hundred volumes of the best authors, scientific and literary. These works must needs oftentimes powerfully mollify the minds of their readers, and now that the generation of soldiers formed by the Algerian war is likely to exert a great influence on the future destinies of France, the kind of reading the African campaigner most addicts himself

to would be a curious and interesting subject of inquiry. Assuredly some curious traits of character would be discovered, for all read, and all read much. No doubt it would be absurd to suppose that the African army is an army of savants; but it is certain that among its officers, and soldiers too, one may meet with more intelligence and more literature than is usually found in military men. And for this simple reason: the mind requires change and variety. When one is forced for long months to live shut up with the same people, weariness soon ensues; and the recreation one can no longer find in camp companionship, is sought for and found in books-the legacies of those immortal men who, from age to age, bequeath the mind of each generation to generations following, as a viaticum and solace to a race condemned to toil and suffering.

Though the dead charm, the living have the stronger claims upon us, and never does one meet a friend with so much pleasure as at an advanced post. How glad was I, then, to meet at Djema one of my best friends and pleasantest companions. We had just dined in the barrack where we had our officers' mess. The dining room, I must need confess, was not so elegant as the salons of the

Freres Provencaux. Deal planks were the substitute for sculptured panels, and joint-stools did duty for cushioned chairs. The wine was blue too, I assure you, beautifully blue; but we were all young, free from care, full of buoyancy, and with a consciousness of a frank uprightness of heart that we should be ever able to preserve. This is one of the reasons why soldiers are always light-hearted and jovial. After dinner we went, that is my comrade and myself, to smoke our cigars on the beach, where the waves just rolled their shelly murmurs up to our feet. The vessels out at sea, inclining gently to the surge, seemed to be rocked softly to and fro, by the trembling light of the bright moon; and the silence of the earth and of the ocean, whence one seemed to catch the distant echo of mysterious voices, carried our thoughts back to France. Leaning on the side of a stranded boat, we were deep in our reveries, when my companion suddenly exclaimed: "Oh! what a lovely evening, how I should like to be in Paris!"

"And what would you do there?"

"I am almost inclined to tell you something I have never told you before; but in such weather as this I am always in love."