about him bright and clean, from his white gaiters and gloves to his shining shoes and the glistening number on his ротроп, is as attractive a model of a soldier as one could wish to see. He can be nowhere seen but in the French army, for in no other country have so much skill, science, and ingenuity been employed to form a soldier. To his other attractions must be added his happy and satisfied look, arising from his perfect health and freedom from care. He knows that the government will do everything for his support. The past history of the army shows him, that, though arduous services are frequently required of him, he will be rewarded according to his merit; that he will be advanced in proportion to his talents, will be cared for if wounded, and provided with a comfortable home in his old age.

These soldiers are always in sight at Rome, and one sees them in the Coliseum and other ruins, at the various museums and galleries, apparently enjoying what they find around them in a quiet, gentlemanly way, in the cafés, taking their after-dinner coffee, or eau de vie, strolling along the Corso

in

groups or couples, looking into the windows and examining the engravings and other objects, and always chatting and joking according to their custom, but they are never excited by liquor. Now and then a company moves by at a quick pace, always to the sound of good music, at least drums or bugles, invariably well played; with their military air and neat uniforms, they add still another attrac

tion to the many delights of Rome. Seeing them thus continually in contrast to the Roman troops, dirty and uncivil, ill-bred and ill-fed, pompous and impudent, I could not help thinking that the French are the real representatives of the ancient Romans, and that the present inhabitants of the Imperial City are no more the successors of its former denizens than are the bats and owls which infest an abandoned castle the worthy inheritors of its former lords, who held high festival within its walls, or sent forth armies from its gates.

any

I found the French soldiers extremely pleasant company. They are polite, intelligent, and respectful, and always gay. They are very thankful for little civility, like a cigar or café, and eager to give all the information in their power. Many of them had been in the Crimea and at Solferino, while not a few had visited Algiers, Madagascar, China, and other lands where the all-grasping power of Napoleon had sent them. The stories they told were extremely interesting, and were well set off by that lively manner which characterizes the French, whose language has so many neat and finished expressions. There were no zouaves at Rome. These form a distinct class by themselves, and are somewhat less scrupulous in their manners and conversation than the rest of the army. They are looked upon with great admiration for their deeds of daring, and each one feels himself quite a power. When one did occasionally make his appearance, he was regarded as a little demi-god in turban

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and trousers, and feted accordingly. He was always followed by a crowd of admirers, who frequently requested "le plaisir de prendre la goutte' with him; so that if he had been anything but a zouzou," the little tasselled Mars would certainly have become unduly excited. They are all citizens of the world, however, invariably suit themselves to affairs around them, and receive every tribute of their admirers as if it belonged to them.

Every French soldier has his "camarade de lit," or boon-companion, whose bed is placed beside his own, and with whom he takes his meals, walks, and fraternizes generally. This arrangement is indispensable in the army; and no soldier, even if his social nature did not prompt him to follow it, would dare to break through it. If he did attempt to indulge in any of his cynical ideas, he would be ridiculed and abused by the whole regiment. It is a rule generally understood that no man shall be allowed to take his café alone; and if any soldiers find any one of their comrades in the act of so doing, it is perfectly proper to upset his cup, or drink off the contents, and drive the offender into the street. I saw this done one evening in a café at Rome, by two soldiers, who afterwards came to my table and explained the reason. They said they had only followed a good old custom, which required that the laws of good fellowship among brothers-in-arms should not be broken.

CHAPTER XVII.

THE FRENCH ARMY.

It may appear somewhat strange to many to be informed that most of the French soldiers spoke very good French, but it will hardly appear so to those who know how few of them, comparatively, can speak that language at all when they join the army. The recruits come from every part of the Empire indiscriminately, and pure French is the tongue of very few of them. There are in France four different languages besides that of Paris, and the inhabitants on the German, Flemish, Spanish, and Italian frontiers speak those tongues, or a modification of them. There are also over thirty dialects and uncouth patois, which are understood by no one but those of the district where they are spoken, such as Bretagne, Gascony, the Basque provinces, Poitou, and others. These sound strangely harsh when contrasted with Parisian French. Thus the first duty of many of the recruits is to learn a new language; and as they are at least twenty years old, this is not a very easy task. They come frequently from the most uncivilized parts of France, where there is but little intercourse among the inhabitants themselves, or with other districts; where there are no educa

tional advantages, and no railroad or telegraph, or any of the enlightening influences of modern times, has yet penetrated. (There are still many such regions in France.) Hence they are often extremely ignorant and awkward, not knowing how to read or write, or even able to tell the right hand from the left. It is thus necessary to take immense pains in order to make good soldiers of them, and the difficulties are greatly increased by the age of these military neophytes. I presume no one who has not undertaken the task of teaching the difference between his right hand and his left to a pupil who has not acquired that elegant accomplishment before reaching his twentieth year, can appreciate its laboriousness. The same is true in regard to teaching them their letters. These men come out of the woods and fields, where many of them have earned their living by ploughing with a burnt stick, or making charcoal, or tending sheep, into an entirely new world. And it is safe to say that their new position is about as strange and unnatural as it would be for an intelligent American to be transferred at once to the planet Saturn. But the examples they see around them, the education they receive, and their natural military spirit as Frenchmen, are strong incentives. Hence, but a comparatively short time is required to change the awkward, shambling plough-boy, who knows not A from Z, and who knocks off his schako with his own musket a dozen times a day, into a neat and clever chasseur, who can read and write decently well, handles his musket with precision,