The Hairy Ammophila 325 



duty, squatting in the snow, he saw fall beside 

 him what he calls a flower-pot. It blazed and 

 flared and shone and lit up everything around. 

 The infernal machine threatened to burst at 

 every second ; and our man gave himself up 

 for lost. But nothing happened : the flower- 

 pot went out quietly. It was a star-shell, an 

 illuminating contrivance fired to reconnoitre 

 the assailant's outworks in the dark. 



The tragedy of the battle-field is followed by 

 the comedy of the barracks. He lets us into the 

 mysteries of the stew-pan, the secrets of the 

 mess, the humorous hardships of the cells. 

 And, as his stock of anecdotes, seasoned with 

 racy expressions, is inexhaustible, the supper- 

 hour arrives before any of us has had time to 

 remark how long the evening is. 



Favier first attracted my notice by a master- 

 stroke. One of my friends had sent me from 

 Marseilles a pair of enormous Crabs, the Maia, 

 the Sea-spider or Spider-crab of the fishermen. 

 I was unpacking the captives when the work- 

 men returned from their dinner : painters, 

 stone-masons, plasterers engaged in repairing 

 the house which had been empty so long. At 

 the sight of those strange animals, studded with 

 spikes all over the carapace and perched on 

 long legs that give them a certain resemblance 

 to a monstrous Spider, the onlookers gave a 



