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A touching anecdote was related to me to-day respecting a minor incident of the war. A Zouave sergeant had been shot at an outpost near Tiziouzoun. perpetrator of the deed could not be discovered. An old man, however, was seized an hour or two afterwards near the spot, brought before the general and accused of the murder. He was in Kabyle costume, but denied having ever been armed, and stated that, though a Kabyle, he was of a tribe in the province of Oran in alliance with the French, and was actually on his way to the camp to see his son, a soldier in their service, in the regiment of Tirailleurs Indigènes. The incredulous tribunal replied that this was an easy story to tell, that he could without difficulty have concealed or thrown away his arms in the ravine, and cross-questioned him as to where he had spent the previous days. A stranger to the locality, his 'replies were not satisfactory, whereupon he was ordered to be remanded. But the Zouaves were discontented, and clamoured for vengeance for a comrade's blood. On this the general gave way and assented to his execution at once. The old man was dragged forth and shot "sans cérémonie." Next day the truth of his story was ascertained. His son, like a true Moslem, made no outward sign of indignation, but was carefully watched for a week lest he should desert. Still he betrayed no such design. But nine days afterwards he disappeared, taking with him to the Kabyles nine comrades and twenty muskets. Happily he has not yet been found to share his father's fate.

Another story to show the prompt severity of French military discipline in war time. A party of native cavalry, Spahis, on a night march had received orders on no account to smoke, lest their pipes should betray them to the enemy. The officer in the rear smelt

tobacco, and riding forward demanded of a trooper if he had not been smoking. The man, who had already extinguished his pipe, made no reply, and the officer, drawing his sword, cut him down, while the squadron passed on, leaving their headless comrade in the path.

General Yusuf, who commands the greater portion of these native troops, is considered the most relentless general in the service, whenever the slightest breach of military discipline is brought before him, yet no man can more thoroughly enjoy the confidence of his soldiers, whether French or native. Tall, of commanding aspect, and strongly-marked Italian features, his history is perhaps the strangest romance of modern times. His origin is unknown even to himself, but it is said that he has a faint recollection of seeing his mother murdered before his eyes when he and his sister were captured by corsairs. Taken to Tunis and educated in the household of the Bey, he might have risen to some important post by his own ability and the interest of his sister, when, for a fault never to be pardoned in an Oriental palace, he had to fly for his life and escaped to join the independent Arabs. Still it is said that, conscious of his Christian origin, and smarting under a sense of the cruelty to which he had been exposed, he was not sorry when the fortune of war enabled him to take refuge with the invaders. He joined their service as an interpreter, and, from his knowledge of the wells and paths of the Sahara, was enabled to afford invaluable services to his new masters in their southern campaigns. His military genius soon qualified him to be transferred to the rank of a combatant officer, and after his heroic valour at the capture of Bona he rapidly rose to be general of division. His marriage with a lady of fortune

has enabled him to cultivate a taste for horticulture

and natural history, and his gardens and menagerie at Blidah are ever open to strangers, to whom he is delighted to point out every object of interest; and the ruthless hero of many a Zouave camp-fire tale can scarce be recognised in the gentle savant, cultivating his herons, cranes, and water-fowl.

General Yusuf is not the only European who has served under the Moslem banner. A Frenchman, now high in the diplomatic service of his country, taken prisoner when a lad, and finding escape or exchange hopeless, conformed to the religion of his captors, and made the pilgrimage to Mecca. Though he afterwards found means to escape, and has since done good service to France, the Moslems continue to honour him by the title of Hadj (pilgrim), and firmly believe that he is still one of themselves in heart, and only a Frenchman by necessity. They appear to hold it impossible that one who has visited the shrine of the Prophet can ever be really a renegade.

The opportunities afforded to a Christian, in Algiers, for examining the interior life of the Mussulman population, are very few; yet there are some of their ceremonies to which admission may be obtained. Among these are the "fantasia," or entertainments, of a Marocain sect, which are frequently given by the richer natives. Being invited one evening to accompany a friend, after climbing many precipitous back streets we entered the low doorway of a Moorish dwelling, and found ourselves in a small courtyard open to the sky, with light pillared arches in antique arabesque supporting a cloister round it, and a verandah above, over whose balustrades a row of veiled Moorish women were leaning and gazing down on the scene below. The floor of the centre was paved

with bright tessellated tiles. In the midst squatted the dervishes, or Beni Yssou. Round three sides the musicians sat on the ground, beating large tambourines, and swinging their heads as they accompanied their voices in a low measured chant, which never varied more than three semi-tones. Nothing could sound to our ears more monotonous than this unvaried wailing cadence, no music less capable of inspiring frenzy. The fourth side of the square was occupied by a young man sitting cross-legged before a low table, on which lay a bundle of tapers and a long lighted candle. Near him was a chafing-dish, over which he frequently baked the tambourines. One of the musicians, in lieu of a tambourine, held a huge earthen jar, with a parchment cover stretched over its mouth, which, by incessant drumming, produced a bass groan deeper.even than the other instruments. Shrouded spectators occupied the background; and a few Moors, and one or two Frenchmen, the front and sides, without the pillars. We were accommodated with a form and courteously supplied with coffee and pipes from time to time. Meanwhile the courtyard filled and became a vapour-bath. The dervishes having now worked up the steam, a huge negro with grizzled-grey moustache rose, plunged forward with a howl, and swayed his body to and fro. He was supported by the attendants, stripped of his turban and outer garments, and accommodated with a loose white burnous; he then danced an extempore saraband in front of the lights. Meanwhile he had been anticipated in his excitement by a little boy in the rear, whom we had noticed on the stairs behind, for the last twenty minutes, gradually working himself into an ecstacy, rolling his head and swaying himself on his seat, apparently unconscious and unobserved. The black had

now become outrageous; his eyeballs glowed and rolled as he grunted and growled like a wild beast. The musicians plied the sheepskins with redoubled energy, and the din became deafening. The negro craved for aliment. They brought him a smith's shovel at a red heat. He seized it, spit on his fingers, rubbed them across its heated edge, found it not sufficiently tender, blew on it and struck it many times with the palm of his hand. He licked it with his tongue, found it not yet to his taste, and handed it back to the attendants with evident disgust; squatted down again, glared carnivorously, and was gratified by an entremêt of a live scorpion. This he ate with evident relish, commencing carefully with the tail; but his voracity was still unabated. Next a naked sword was handed to him, which he tried to swallow, but failed, the weapon being slighly curved and about a yard long. He recommenced the saraband, brandishing the naked sword after a fashion very promiscuous, and not altogether satisfactory to the spectators, as he cut the candle to pieces, and made the musicians dive to avoid him. He then attempted to bore his cheek with the point, then to pierce himself in the abdomen; setting the hilt at times against a pillar, then against the ground. A friendly fellow-fanatic assisted him by jumping on his shoulders, but all to no purpose. He was evidently for the nonce one of the pachydermata; his hide would rival the seven-fold shield of Ajax. Now several maniacs simultaneously howl, stagger forth to the centre, and repeat the same extravagances; not omitting the dainty taste of scorpions. Three of them at length kneel together before the presiding Marabout, or chief of the dervishes, who benevolently feeds them with the leaf of the prickly pear; which they bite with avidity, and masticate in large mouthfuls, spines and