cook in Europe.

His ragoûts might not make his fortune in Paris; but in Africa, in the desert, how many generals have smacked their lips over them!

Any one can make a savory dish of stewed rabbit with a rabbit; but to make it without a rabbit, that is a difficult task, quite worthy of a zouave.

His fertile imagination never shines as brilliantly as when the larder is empty; then, he employs all his wits; he searches, he invents. On such days, he dines admirably; but how many strange animals are made to turn from their usual path to take the road to the saucepan.

"I do not ask my zouaves for strawberries," said Marshal, then Colonel Canrobert, one frightfully hot day, in the middle of the desert; "but if I really desired some, they are quite capable of discovering them in the sand."

To-day the zouave is the most popular of all our soldiers; his chachia threatens to pass down to posterity with the towering bear-skin cap worn by the grenadiers of the First Empire.

It is to the zouave that we owe the words of the celebrated march known as the "Casquette." This is the origin of it:

One night the French camp was surprised by Arabs. A murderous fire so astonished our soldiers, that they almost wavered at first; but Marshal Bugeaud rushed from his tent, and his presence inspiring our troops with their wonted enthusiasm, the enemy was repulsed.

When the conflict was ended, the marshal noticed that every one smiled on looking at him. He raised his hands to his head. In his haste, he had left his tent adorned with the anything but heroic head-gear of the King of Yvetot; in short, a night-cap.

The next day, when the trumpets gave the signal for the troops to resume their march, the zouaves, in memory of that original coifiure, sung in deafening chorus: